An Open Thank You Letter to the Dude who Taught me about Relationships

Dear Dude who lives on Manning Street who who I see outside every morning at 7:15 AM,

      You do not know who I am, and I don't know you; but you inspire me greatly. You don't know me, and likely have never seen me, but I feel like I have known you for years. I, like many other passengers in automotive vehicles frequent the street in which you live. Your street helps me get from one point to the next. And by passing your house every morning, I have observed you do one thing for which you have become a profound role model: You spend time time with your daughter. In the freezing winter, this meant simply waiting with her in the bitter cold, as she awaited her school bus. In the spring it has meant playing catch with a baseball in front of your house, awaiting the bus. But you don't just spend time with her, playing catch when you know it will only be for a short time before her bus comes. Because I have also seen you outside on the weekend with her, with no place to go, tossing a ball back and forth with lacrosse sticks.

      At first I was unsure why exactly watching you had been so inspiring to me. And then I recalled my own youth, where my parents did the exact same thing: My pops played catch with me, coached my baseball teams, and hit my groundballs. And my momma was cheering me on in the bleachers. And perhaps without even consciously realizing it at the time, the love that they were showing me seeped into my bones, enabling me to feel secure, confident, happy, and beloved. 

     One of the three things the Torah contractually requires a man to provide for his wife is "onah." There are different understandings as to what exactly this word means, but I have heard quoted in the name if a tremendously brilliant and righteous rabbi, that in its most simple form, "onah" means time. In modern hebrew, "onah" means "season." Thus, according to this most literal understanding of the verse describing a man's legal obligations to his wife is that he must give her time. Perhaps this means that they have dinner together. And during dinner, the TV is off, the cell phone is charging in the other room, and the newspapers (if the couple is archaic and still gets newspapers) are put away. It is just one-on-one time-- an opportunity for the couple to connect and to convey the feeling of how they thoroughly enjoy being in the presence of their beloved. 

      This idea is a secret for success in any relationship today in which we find ourselves: with a friend, a spouse, or a child. We need to give one another time. Sometimes it is hard, in a world with so many distractions: we could be checking our email on our iphones, or speaking to Siri, or avoid spending time  with someone by emailing or texting them. Yet it is obvious that the most cherished, scarce, fleeting gift we have is time. What possible better way to show you love someone, than by investing your precious time in them. 

     For this profound lesson, Dude who Lives on Manning, I thank you.

Sincerely,

Danny Wolfe

SMH

5-8-2014

Dear Henry,
       I hate to be a Debbie Downer, but I am SMH. Sorry for being such a negative Nancy, but I cannot stop SMH. For those of you out there in the vast universe who are currently reading my blogg, who are not as updated in the the times we live in as I am, let me explain what SMH means. SMH, oh Henry, means "Shaking my head." It means shaking my head in disgust or bewilderment at something one reads, sees or hears. And Henry, two days ago, I was SMH when I read an article on ESPN.com excitedly describing how two former athletes, Gilbert Arenas, and Tracy 'T-Mac' Mcgrady "trolled" the struggling center for the Indiana Pacers, Roy Hibbert. (For those older readers out there, "trolled" is a nicer word for "bullied" (http://espn.go.com/sportsnation/post/_/id/10889007/gilbert-arenas-tracy-mcgrady-troll-roy-hibbert-pacers-loss-wizards). Arenas posted a fake jeopardy answer on his instagram page, describing how this "all star" is averaging 1.7 rebounds per game in April, and a picture of someone who posted a meme, describing how Hibbert was Mr. 0'0- 0 points, 0 rebounds. Retired ball player TracyMcGrady tweeted, "Me and Roy Hibbert had the same amount of points and rebounds tonight."Mcgrady, was watching from his couch, while Hibbert was playing in the game. The ESPN article then goes on to excitedly post other comments from random people on the internet, further making fun of Roy Hibbert.
     After reading this article, I was sickened. Call me old fashioned. Call me reactionary. Call me radical. Call me extreme. But whatever you do, please do not call me late for dinner. This article was disgusting, and down right cruel. It is one thing to talk trash to someone you're playing against in the heat of an intense game. Its quite another thing for retired players to smack an innocent, very talented guy, when he is down. And the fact that ESPN proudly posts this article, is yet another reason I am SMH.
       (As I am editing this blogg post, ready to post it, I come across a post on twitter from bleacherreport.com, condescendingly reporting that " Even the NFL’s official Twitter account mocked Johnny Manziel’s draft fall http://bit.ly/1ja5vSH ." Johnny Manziel is a quarterback for the Cleveland Browns who was drafted last night. He was once projected be one of the very top choices of the draft, but he was passed over by team after team during the draft. The Official Twitter handle of the NFL posted "#SadManziel?")
      One has to wonder: What exactly compels people to berate others when they are down? Why kick someone when they are in pain? If I would find someone in the street suffering, and I slapped them in the face, what would that say about me? Am I so weak and pathetic, that I think the only way to attain happiness or respectability is by making other people feel like dirt? Lest you say, "he makes millions of dollars, he deserves it," is that really true? Just because a person is fortunate enough to make a good living, people have a right to be downright cruel and hateful? I am not a psychologist, but it seems to me that the only types of people who would act in such a manner are people with an extreme lack of self-worth, and a boat-load of insecurities. And for that, I feel sorry for T-Mac and Arenas.
      The Torah teaches that one should love his neighbor like he loves himself, and the Talmud elaborates with the famous statement of Rabbi Akiva that," One should not do to others what he would not want done to himself." If Tracy Mcgrady and Gilbert Arenas would not want to be taunted and ridiculed after humiliating games in their careers, they have no business making fun of Roy Hibbert.

Sincerely,
Danny Wolfe

PS. Thank the Lord Above for real role models like Kevin Durant, who so beautifully thanked his mother for his success. (Go to 23:00 of this video, and hold a box of tissues as you watch.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kxVAOoQeNJ8

Reflections on Broncos Super-Blow (out)

Dear Henry,
       My name is Danny Wolfe, and I am a Broncoholic. (For more on this see previous post, http://rabbidannywolfe.blogspot.com/2014/01/love-and-confessions-of-broncoholic.html)
I was very confident that the Denver Broncos would win Superbowl 48 against the lowly Seattle Seahawks. I made arrogant predictions to my thousands of followers worldwide on the social media. I tried to arrange campaigns to send me to the Superbowl. I had grandiose visions of Peyton Manning and Champ Bailey hoisting up the Lombardi trophy. I debated in my head if I should take off a few days and fly to Denver for the victory parade. I was so pumped up for the game, that immediately prior to going to watch it, despite the weather being about 20 degrees here, I unknowingly left my coat on the hanger at my synagogue, after reciting the evening service. I was amped up-- the adrenaline was pumping like a stream of regular unleaded gas into my glowing, golden Hyundai.
      And then the game started. And 12 seconds into the game, I had to literally pinch myself, to see if I was experiencing a nightmare. And then, after the first play of the second half, in which Percy Harvin returned the kick for a touchdown, I realized that this was no nightmare-- that in fact, I was watching the ugliest, most disturbing football game I had ever seen in my life-- the complete unravelling of the Broncos as they were absolutely demolished to the Seahawks in the Superbowl.
     During the commercial break after that touchdown, I turned my attention to Facebook-- to peruse the  statuses, and to be able to commiserate with my fellow Broncos fans. This perusal of Facebook instantly and radically changed my entire life perspective. You see, Henry, as I was looking at Facebook after the first play of the third quarter, a play that made the game an unreachable 29-0, I felt some sadness, and downright sorry for myself. And as I felt this sadness I took a glance at a status from a dear friend who less than a week ago tragically suddenly lost a very beloved, close family member. She had written a status update, vividly describing the profound pain she was experiencing, the flow of tears she had shed, and her unbearable heartbreak.  And with that jarring, eye-opening glance on Facebook, any 'pain' or 'sorrow' I had due to the Broncos game, instantly evaporated. I was coming home, alive and well, to my loving family, alive and well. There is nothing in the world that I have a right to be sad about, or to complain about.
     Upon reaching this stirring realization, I reflected to myself, that literally about 48 hours earlier, I was by the bedside of a comatose young teenager, praying for his full recovery, as a dear friend of mine played the guitar for him.  And the timing of all of this hit me like a ton of bricks: Within a five day span, on one hand, a dear friend experienced such a tragic loss, and I am by the bedside of a child who is in a coma, and l'havdil elef havdalos, on the other side, the Broncos lose the Superbowl by 35 points. The enormity of the difference between these events gave me extreme clarity.  I learned from the proximity of these three events a very stark lesson: I need to be exceedingly grateful for every gift I have, and G-d forbid I should ever, ever pity myself over something as stupid as a meaningless game.
      The Torah teaches us, Eizeh hu Ashir? HaSameach b'Chelko. Who is rich, the one who is happy with what he has.  Each and every one of us, no matter how difficult life can be at time, still has a tremendous amount for what we can be grateful. No matter how bad any one in the world ever has it, there is always someone else, who would trade places with them in a heartbeat. (For more on this see http://www.aish.com/sp/f/48968901.html).
     The night of the Super Bowl, I did not sleep well-- but not because the Broncos lost-- but because of the genuine pain I felt for my friend.
     This stirring experience taught me one crucial lesson about football that I would like to convey to hundreds of thousands of my fellow Broncos fans world-wide, still seeped in a deep depression after the brutal loss: It's just a lousy game.
   

Confessions of a Broncoholic

1/20/2014      

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Dear Henry,
                Euphoria. Delight. Unadulterated Joy. Pure Happiness. Contentment. These are the only adequate words to describe my mood yesterday. No, I did not have a child. Yes, the Broncos dismantled the New England Patriots.
                As I left synagogue after dutifully reciting the afternoon and evening service, and became aware that the score was now 20-3 in favor of the Good Guys, I was astounded at my genuine sense of delight and happiness. Utter joy, that I literally have not felt since holding my youngest in my arms on the night he was born a year and a half ago. Indeed, I was one very, very happy rabbi.
               This feeling of genuine simcha (happiness) kind of surprised me.  I have not lived in Colorado in over ten years. I am now in my late twenties. I do not own a television-- not wanting to be bothered by the values promoted on it. I traded in my Eminem CDs for 8th Day CDs. I like to wake up early in the morning to immerse myself in the vast Sea of the Talmud.  As I matured, I came to realize, at the end of the day, how futile professional sports are. After all, what personal connection do I have to the Broncos? Because I happened to be born in Colorado, the Broncos success can really determine my happiness? Do the players know I exist, care about me, or root for me in my own life?  Some might be good guys, while others mights be arrogant, violent, and downright nasty people.
         And when I reflected further, I grappled with some of my emotions: How I was delighted when Wes Welker took out Akib Talib from the game; how I was cherishing Bill Belichek's scouring, kvetching, and downright suffering; how I was savoring the Tom Brady pout, with his head buried miserably in his shaky hands; and most  satisfying of all--how I vengefully mocked the miserable Boston sports fans who were so nasty in their arrogant comments about the Rockies in the 2007 World Series. I eagerly opened Boston Sports news articles, and websites, rejoicing over their misery.
             And yet, I am a peace-loving, revenge-hating rabbi. I don't want people getting injured. I don't want people to be sad. And I don't believe in revenge.
            These mixed emotions really troubled me, and I asked my better half why it is that I love the Broncos so much. As always, she told me something incredibly profound:You have spent your whole life investing crazy amounts of time in the Broncos-- you cannot suddenly stop loving them. That love does not just disappear. She is right. Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler famously teaches that in hebrew, the root of the word for "love" means "to give." The Torah teaches that the more one invests, and gives to another, the more he comes to love them. And I have invested hours upon hours of my life into this team--I love them.
          I will conclude this piece as confused, and bewildered and perplexed as I began this piece: On one hand I have the pure joy of victory under my belt-- and absolute confidence that the Broncos will take care of business in two weeks in New York shutting up Richard Sherman for hopefully a very long time. And yet, on the other hand, I have profound disappointment in my sadistic emotions about my team defeating the other team. I am better than that.
        However, one lesson that I can take out of all of this with absolute clarity, is the following logical argument: If I have invested immense amounts of time and effort into loving my local football team- your Denver Broncos, the best offensive team in the history of the National Football League, who I do not even know, who don't know me, who have never tangibly ever given anything to me, then certainly, without a doubt, I ought to invest all the time and effort in the world into loving my fellow man--those I interact with on a daily basis. The Torah teaches us that we are required to love our fellow human being as we love ourselves. This is puzzling--after all, how can the Torah command us to feel an emotion such as love? One answer is that we can in fact choose to love-- by investing, and giving to others. The more you invest, the more you love. Any parent can tell you, the more sleepless nights you have taking care of your children; the more diapers changed, the more you absolutely adore your precious child.
      My New Years resolution is to start to love others, the way I love the Broncos-- to learn from the way I invest time into the Broncos, and to apply that to everyone else around me. Maybe then, will I discover the futility of my relationship with the soon to be three time Super Bowl Champs--The Denver Broncos.

Sincerely,
Danny Wolfe

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Eight Crazy Nights: A Deeper Look

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11-29-2013

Dear Henry,    

        Anyone who has ever heard of Adam Sandler is well aware of the origins of the Jewish holiday of Chanukah. As Adam Sandler sings about in a song that later becomes a movie, “Instead of one day of presents, we get eight crazy nights!” The Talmud tells us that when the Jews returned to the Holy Temple which had been desecrated by the Syrian Greeks, they found one small jug of pure oil, that had not been contaminated. It seemed like there was only enough oil to last one night, but in the end, it lasted for eight nights. As a commemoration for this miracle, the Rabbis enacted an eight day holiday of thanksgiving to G-d.

            If one delves into this idea a little deeper, it seems a little bit puzzling. We know that there was also another very significant miracle that took place at the same time—namely that a small band of Jewish priests, overtook a massive force from the Syrian Greek army, in an unprecedented, shocking military victory. If the Jews would have lost the military campaign, the results would have been catastrophic. And yet, when the rabbis decided to enact a holiday to commemorate these events, they chose to commemorate the miracle of the oil lasting eight days instead of the more significant military victory. The obvious question becomes—why then, is Chanukah based on the miracle of the oil, as opposed to the key military victory?

            Rabbi Chaim Shmuelevitz gives a phenomenal answer to this question by giving a very powerful metaphor: Imagine if there was a family who lost a very precious object. For a full week, the whole family is searching for the object, with no luck. Finally, the five-year-old boy finds it, and immediately, the father runs over to him, gives him a hug and a kiss on his head. For that boy, there are two things happening: A) The overall, large-scale satisfaction of the whole family finding the lost object, and B) the personal delight and immense pride that the child experiences when his father gives him a kiss on his head. For that child, that kiss was priceless.

            Rabbi Shmuelevitz says that this was the reason that the rabbis enacted the holiday of Chanukah. While it is true, and undeniable, that on a macro level, the larger miracle clearly was the military victory, what we want to remember throughout the generations is how G-d enabled one small jug of oil to last for eight days. Were we to have walked into the Temple, as victors of the battle, that surely would have been enough. But in G-d’s immense love for us, He gave us the miracle of the oil lasting for eight days. He demonstrated His love for us by giving a timeless kiss on our head, and that is what the Rabbis want us to remember , and to cling to, during Chanukah, the darkest time of the year.

            Rabbi Shimshon Pincus points out that even nowadays, there are tremendous miracles happening all the time. Our problem, however, is that we are unable to perceive them. We are unable to perceive the kiss and embrace of our loving Father. He likens this reality to the reality of the abundance of sound waves that exist in the vast universe. It is true that there are sound waves—but if we don’t have the right instruments, they will never be perceived. On Chanukah, our job is to work on perceiving these daily miracles; to build our own personal radio transmitters, so that we too, can bask in the unending love of the Almighty. 

Sincerely,

Danny Wolfe

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IPhones, Shabbos, and JetBlue

11-27-2013
Dear Henry,
       Before I begin my long-awaited blogg post (its practically been a month since my last one-- sorry to all of you dedicated readers checking your facebook statuses every day anxiously awaiting tidings of my new post), I wanted to give a shout out to my big Little Man, Avrumie, on the occasion of his fifth birthday. It was 5 years ago today, the day before Chanukah that he made his grand entrance into the world in Up-town Manhattan, and he has given us unending joy ever since.
      On November 6, 2013, I received a very disturbing email from my favorite airline, Jet Blue. Sorry to all you good folks reading this blogg who work for Southwest-- I love you too-- but there is nothing quite like Jet Blue. Maybe its the blue potato chips. Maybe its the incredible customer service. Maybe its the pleasant late night flights. I don't quite know what it is. But Jet Blue is awesome.
       The subject of the email instantly caught my attention: "Take off without Shutting off!" The email then said, "We'll leave you to your own devices. We know you and your personal electronic devices go hand-in-hand. Now you can use smartphones, tablets and similar devices from departure gate to arrival gate..."
     Henry, it used to be, back in the old days, that if you wanted to go online, you had to sit in front of your big fat desk top, wait for AOL 3.0 to dial up, and then you would be connected. Then, we evolved to world of cable connections, wifi, and eventually 3G and 4G. But even in the more modern times, whenever people would go on a subway or airplane, they would either have to sit down nicely and listen to themselves think, read a paper, listen to music, or just close their eyes. The one consistent sanctuary people would have from constant connectivity was the airplane flight. But now, because our devices and us go "hand in hand," that sanctuary has been stripped from us, and we can always remain connected.
     I was disappointed to read the email from Jet Blue, because I think that we are all addicted to our iphones and androids, and society is simply perpetuating our addiction. You might be thinking, dear Henry, "whats so bad about this addiction to our iphones? After all, it means that I can read your blogg mere seconds after you post it!" Henry, while this is true, and undeniably a tremendous benefit of the speedy connectivity we find ourselves in, it is also true and undeniable that our addiction to technology has ruined our ability to communicate with one another. It is hard to focus on the person we are speaking to when our phones are buzzing in our pockets. It is hard to bother dialing a phone number, when I can send you a text, in a shorter amount of time.  It is hard to read a book,  have a meaningful conversation, or spend quality time with children, when I can see whats going on with my fantasy football team right now, or when I can see what interesting tweets are flying around the twitterverse.
     But as much as these devices are messing up our ability to communicate, they are also messing up our ability to think. Rather than bother thinking, I usually just pull out my phone, and check my email for the 78th time today. Its as if we are afraid to be left alone to our own thoughts, and I think it messes with our ability to be thoughtful, introspective, creative individuals.
    Thank G-d, as an observant Jew, I have Shabbos. On Shabbos I have no choice but to power down, and there is no greater feeling of serenity in the world. Having the opportunity to connect to myself, my loved ones, and G-d, with no outside distractions, is more precious than a little baby playing with his or her toe jam. In fact, even the non-religious world, is picking up on this concept, referring to a "secular sabbath," in which people turn off their devices. (See great article here: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/02/fashion/02sabbath.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0)

       I double dogg dare all of my devoted readers, (and I am also speaking to myself) to consider three steps to overcome our addiction: A) Walk around 1 day with a pen and paper, and make tally's every single time we check our email from our phones. This will prove to us, that we are in fact, insanely addicted to our phones. B) Read this essay that deals with how to connect to yourself: http://www.aish.com/sp/48w/48971986.html C) Take a break from your phone- an I-phone shabbos if you will. Turn off your phone at 4:15 Friday afternoon, and leave it off till 5:30 PM Saturday evening. You will thank me.

To Jet Blue, I thank you. I thank you for waking me up, exposing me to the tragic reality that my phone and I really do go hand in hand. That needs to change. And it will.

Sincerely,
Danny Wolfe

Halloween: What on Earth am I Missing?

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10-27-2013
Dear Henry,

       I am going to toot my own horn for just a second. If you haven't noticed I am a very hip rabbi. To say I'm in with the times would be a massive understatement. I know what Breaking Bad is. I know the theme songs to the OC and One Tree Hill by heart. I know Snoop Doggy Dogg changed his name to Snoop Dogg, and then again, to Snoop Lion. I have two fantasy football teams, and I am beating most of my opponents. To put it simply, I am cooler than ice cold. Cooler than the other side of the pillow. After receiving a text message from me, One girl responded "a texting rabbi! I always knew Jews were so cool." Little did she know I also got BBM. Like I said, I'm cool.

      So it greatly confuses me that I completely, and absolutely do not for the life of me understand the American borderline obsession-like craze about Halloween. I write this not as a religious Jew, but as a father of adorably precious little children. 

      I first noticed this feeling of confusion last year in August, when we first moved back to America, after having lived in Jerusalem Israel for two years. We went to the book store, and I was amazed to see that the whole kids section was dedicated to scary stories involving Halloween, which was coming up right around the corner, in a mere 3 months. I thought to myself quite simply, as much as I want my children to be mortified and spooked before they go to sleep, I will pass on these books for now.

      I again recalled this feeling of bewilderment a few weeks ago when I was in New Jersey for a Shabbos. We were walking around a large community and I saw on every other lawn statues of bloodied, mangled corpses, some playing the piano. Some were half-buried. Again I thought of my kids: this is probably awesome seeing bleeding dead looking people in people's lawns. These are healthy images to inhabit the innocent minds of my 2 and 4 year olds. Although an observant Jew, I get the appeal of having beautiful lights on one's trees outside, or even a friendly looking dude with a cool white beard on a sled, with some deer behind him. Thats pretty cool. But bloodied, mangled corpses?Hands and legs sticking out of the ground?
      Henry, maybe I am old fashion, but this type of stuff downright gives me the willies. 

      Maybe instead of having limbs scattered across the lawn, we could make new types of lawn decorations. Maybe we should start making statutes of a young man or woman helping an elderly person cross the street. Or maybe a young whippersnapper helping up a stranger who had tripped and fallen to the ground. Or perhaps depict an image of a person giving money or a sandwich to someone less fortunate. Or even a high school student shlepping her grandfather's groceries up to his apartment.  These are the images I want to implant into my children's brains when they walk outside-- not the annual vivid memory of bloodied human remains.
      Is our obsession with the morbidity of Halloween any indication of our society at large?  Like, perhaps our TV shows are too violent, and our video games are too graphic?  Am I living on a different planet? What am I missing? Maybe all this stuff is good old fashion plain fun. But can't we have fun by going to a baseball game, playing checkers, or going apple-picking?
     This might sound radical--which is crazy-- but when my kids get older, I would much rather they remember their childhood autumns by the stunningly exquisite leaves on the trees, than by the ghosts and skeletons hanging from them.
       
Sincerely,
Danny Wolfe

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