Weird thing of the day • דָּבָר מוּזָר שֶׁל הַיּוֹם

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Beat it all the way to the other side of the Misty Mountains

Jewish date: 22 Nisan 5773 (Parashath Shemini).

Today’s event: National Peanut Butter and Jelly Day.

Greetings.

It is the day after Pesaḥ (Passover), and your humble blogger finds himself scrambling to get everything in order that got put aside for the major Jewish holiday (as well as buying bagels and doing laundry). Today’s weird thing is a bizarre crossover he would like to get a link to off his desktop: “‪THE HOBBIT - Misty Mountains Cold (Michael Jackson Tribute)”:

Enjoy and share the weirdness.

’Aharon/Aaron

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

The Force is strong with this blog; it keeps marching on

Jewish date: 9 Nisan 5773 (Parashath Ṣaw).

Today’s events: International Day of the Francophonie, National Quilting Day, National Agriculture Day, Great American Meat Out Day, Proposal Day, Festival Of Extraterrestrial Abductions Day.

Greetings.

Sorry to be posting sparsely, but I have other things taking up my time, such as iOS programming and getting ready for Pesaḥ. I do not expect things to get any better on this soon.

In the interest of not letting things pile up, today there are two weird things. The first is a song I remembered from The Big Book of Jewish Humor. The song came to mind recently, and I could not find the lyrics in my copy, but I did find the original song, Allan Sherman’s “The Ballad of Harry Lewis”, on-line:

Today’s other weird thing is a mockumentary currently making the rounds which makes the argument that there was something very fishy about the destruction of the Death Star, Luke’s Change: An Inside Job:

(Tip of the hat to Barry.)

Enjoy and share the weirdness.

’Aharon/Aaron

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Oz the Great and Powerful (2013): A Review

Greetings.

The following review was delivered to me by a short man in yellow who claimed he was acting as messenger as a favor for an old ally. He was holding a strange magical instrument and claimed that I would turn into an amphisbaena if I did not post this review. Enjoy (or have some other emotional reaction.)

’Aharon/Aaron

Oz the Great and Powerful (2013): A Review
by
The Witch of the West

It’s nice to see writers try to keep up with the times. The first so-called Royal Historian, L. Frank Baum, bucked the trends of his days in 1900 when he published The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. This “nonfiction novel” (as Truman Capote would put it) centers around Dorothy Gale, a simple country girl who finds herself in a fundamentally terrifying situation, being far from home. Instead of being a pushover or a pansy, she pulls herself together and does what she has to do to get home, facing dangers, making friends, and helping others. Even today, Gale’s example makes her a role model. There are other female characters in the story, from generous ones like the Witch of the North to grateful and helpful like the Queen of the Field Mice. Even myself, the Witch of the West, despite Baum’s attempt to rewrite history, can be seen as any good leader, trying to protect herself and her people from strange foreign invaders. In contrast, the famous MGM movie that came out 39 years later reduces all women to a few one-dimensional types, from an idiot version of Glinda to a pointlessly evil version of myself to a Gale so pathetic that the only time she stands up for anyone is when she slaps a lion on the nose to protect her dog. Today we’d call the movie sexist, but the earlier book is not.

Now in 2013, a lifetime after the MGM version, Disney has presented is own prequel. I won’t get into how this version differs from the real Oz or how these events supposedly occur after Baum published his first book; that’s only so much rigamarole. There are far more serious problems here. The movie attempts to expand on certain characters, giving them something of a past and reasons for why they did what they did. However, aside from being wildly untrue to life, these expansions are more than disturbing.

Let us start with the Wizard, Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkel Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs, or as I like to call him, OZPINHEAD (played by James Franco). That the man is a huckster and a fraud should be obvious, but the motion-picture-makers have added that he is highly promiscuous, trying involve himself with almost every woman he sees. However, a man capable of maneuvering himself into seats of great power ought to have some discretion, and OZPINHEAD doesn’t have any foresight in the matter. Is it possible that he first seduces one of the rulers of Oz, then openly courts the other? Yes, but unlikely. Even great rulers known for their indiscretion are usually a little more discrete with women of far less power.

The objects of his affection in Oz are three of the most formidable witches who ever lived. Glinda (played by Michelle Williams), correctly identified as the Witch of the South, in real life has been the most duplicitous, always seeming calm and serene, but constantly keeping herself informed on everyone’s doings and working behind the scenes on long-range plans to ensure the safety of her people. In Oz, she is the last opponent anyone wants to tangle with. However, in this movie she is much more dim, showing a naïve faith in the inner goodness of OZPINHEAD despite him being so promiscuous and clueless and a little dim himself. None of the intelligence or planning she is known for ever appears. In this version, she gets all her power from her magic wand, and if a woman getting all her power from a phallic symbol is not disturbingly Freudian, I do not know what is. As the daughter of the former king, Glinda ought to be the rightful heir to the throne, but inexplicably she is not, nor does she ever seek to wrest the central power away without OZPINHEAD’s help.

In charge at the Emerald City is Evanora (played by Rachel Weisz), who is not explicitly called the Witch of the East but must be by process of elimination. She is the only one who seems to understand what a Lothario OZPINHEAD is and acts accordingly to manipulate all involved. She is intelligent, forceful, and shows initiative, perfect to be a leader. Her sister is Theodora (played by Mila Kunis), who will become the Witch of the West. Theodora starts off as a beautiful, innocent (that is, utterly stupid) young woman whose shirt always seems on the verge of falling off. Despite being a powerful witch, she shows a lack of initiative and a weakness of will, not so much the kind of woman documented by Baum, but a clingy, helpless woman-child that seems more of a throwback to the pathetic version of Dorothy played by Judy Garland, or worse, the kind of princess “heroine” in early Disney animated features.

It is with this that we reach the crux of the problem. Like Queen Zixi of Ix in Baum’s eponymous book, Evanora is actually ugly and disguises her appearance to look beautiful; the equivalence of beauty with goodness is a sexist cliché that trivializes a woman’s worth to a single dimension, and Disney films are rife with it. The situation is even worse for Theodora, who becomes infatuated with OZPINHEAD at first sight and allows him to seduce her. She mistakes their night of bliss for real love and commitment, and foolishly believes that he wants her as his queen when he takes over the rule of Oz. The revelation (real or fake, it does not matter) of his infidelity upsets her, of course, her tears literally burning her as they run down her cheeks. No one can blame her for being upset and angry, and this is when her true powers show. Unlike Glinda’s phallic symbol, the powers of Theodora and Evanora come from within, and unlike Glinda’s powers for good, they are controlling and destructive. Theodora is tricked into taking a spell which withers her heart, turning her ugly and setting her loose to wreak havoc on the world with her magic. The situation suggests the descent of Anakin Skywalker in the Star Wars prequel trilogy, in which an initially good character becomes the evil Darth Vader. However, even that involved unusual traumas, with Skywalker starting as a slave, enduring the murder of his mother, and finally trying to save his dying love. Anyone suffering all that could go mad, and we sympathize with him despite his becoming a monster. For Theodora, what she goes through is horrible but nowhere as bad, and while the typical woman might scratch up the seducer’s car or defame him in country-western songs, turning into an evil dictator seems a little out of proportion. The character in the 1939 movie, played by Margaret Hamilton, at least was smart and thoughtful, but this version seems mercurial and out of control, fundamentally unstable and mentally ill.

This is not the Oz documented by Baum, where OZPINHEAD was eventually succeeded by Princess Ozma, the daughter of the former king who, after many bumpy years, finally proved her worth. In the movie, powerful women are dangerous, and when they’re intelligent like Evanora or emotional like Theodora, everyone is at risk. Far better is a limited woman like the dumbed-down Glinda whose only power is borrowed from a phallic symbol, and better yet is the authority of a man in charge, even a deceitful impostor like OZPINHEAD. The special effects are fantastic, but the story is even more regressive than the 1939 movie, filled with not the innocent sexism of fools who knew no better, but a willful hostility to powerful women who would not accept their place. The writers (Mitchell Kapner and David Lindsay-Abaire, both men) knew full well the emotional damage that a cad can inflict upon a fool, and if OZPINHEAD really wanted to make amends, he should have presented himself in person, begging for forgiveness, the way a real man does. Instead they let off OZPINHEAD easy, making a token offer of acceptance to Theodora if she ever changes her mind, then graciously allow him the throne and a clear conscience, a complete injustice. More than anything, this trivializes the harm OZPINHEAD has done, shifting the blame from action to essence, ergo, women with their own power are bad.

As documented by Baum, Oz became an immortal land, and it is hard for anything there to truly die. That is most fortunate for me, and even though I was melted once by an angry girl, that hasn’t killed my resolve. Much as I hated the lies told about me by Gregory Maguire, they are nothing compared with the character assassination in this movie, or more properly, character rape, as bad that of some of the worst, most amateur fan fiction. Those who have read Baum will remember that I have one eye, but it can see anywhere, and through anything, even as far as from Oz to Kansas and beyond. I hope those motion-picture-makers will remember who is watching them, or what one intelligent, powerful woman can do.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Authorized guest post by Larry Adelman: Lewi ’Eshkol Alley, part 2

The Adventure of Levy Eshkol Alley (Part 2)

Larry Adelman

I wasted the next morning at the police station. After tripping over a rock near the front, I had a hard time convincing the police that I was working with Israel’s greatest detective, even after I showed them a business card. Even when they talked, the news was depressing. There weren’t a lot of murders or missing people in Giv‘at Shmu’el, let alone any bodies lying in the morgue, and no one who had been reported recently missing had any resemblance to the mysterious Mr. Pinchas Abramowitz. For good measure I checked the wanted posters and found no matches either. My next stop was the library, on the way to which I tripped over another rock and seriously questioned whoever’s responsible for decorating the town. Once there, I did find mention of a painter of that name who died in 1986, but obviously he was not the man in question. The Internet provided nothing of use, so I looked up the phone numbers of every Pinchas Abramowitz in Israel and called them, all to no fruition. For lack of anything better, I confirmed the address for Ms. Bluma Pomares, and then I was off again to trip on another rock.

A rock right outside the police station which only a stupid person would have put there.

Why are there so many rocks like this in Giv‘at Shmu’el?

On a hunch, I returned to the Bar Mitzvah, where I showed around the picture of Mr. Abramowitz to no avail. Few if any remembered him, and none could tell me more than he had been there a few times, always in the company of Ms. Pomares. On thinking about it, that did make sense. Since she was dating the man, staying in a public place such as this, surrounded by so many reputable men and women, that would satisfy any religious requirements against them being alone together. I tried one last time at the bar, where my waitress, an old grandmother who encouraged me to finish my soup, looked suspiciously at the picture.

“Who is this man?” she asked, and I gave her a quick outline, something which she gave a disgusted snort. “I have this boy in my apartment building who resembles this man. Perhaps they are brothers.”

“An Abramowitz?” I asked.

“Who knows his name? But this boy, he is always is trouble, his parents are always yelling at him. If his brother disappeared, this is the one you should look at.”

Shortly I was off down the street, and cutting across a back walkway I soon reached the apartment building. The giant concrete structure might hold dozens of families, all stacked on top of each other. There were buttons near the entrance, labeled with apartment numbers but (sadly) not names. I pressed them all, and soon somebody buzzed me in. The inside felt foreboding, too sparse and sterile, no common areas outside of the dreadful halls and lobby to bring the residents together. A short elevator ride and I reached the proper floor.

A picture which shows my incompetence as a photographer because the apartment building I was trying to capture is pretty badly centered.

My plan had been simple: I would go to the apartment the waitress described, and if Mr. Abramowitz was not there himself, perhaps this brother of his might be. The problems with my plans began to sink in: what if no one was home, or the resident became violent? I was not an expert at krav maga‘ as my brother was, and should a gun be brought into play, the situation would become deeply unfortunate for me.

I came to the correct door number and had to check it twice to be sure. To my surprise I heard yelling behind the door, though who it was or what they were saying were lost to me.. I even tried putting my ear to the door, hoping for a clue, but an old lady came out of a nearby apartment and chased me off with her walker. So much for a clue.

That afternoon I met up with Aaron again at his favored café and related everything I had experienced. “Entirely unsurprising,” he said in between sips. “Everything is exactly as I expected it.”

An extremely bad picture of behind the café which shows absolutely nothing except my dire need to take photography classes.

“What, that there’s no missing person who matches Abramowitz?” I asked.

“When someone expects something to happen to them, which is more likely, a premonition or a plan to disappear?”

“But why should he want to disappear?”

“Perhaps the problem is with her, our client.”

“I can’t imagine such a thing. Ms. Pomares is quite an agreeable woman.”

“I expected that opinion from you, but not everyone shares it. Even if Abramowitz is interested in Ms. Pomares, there may be other factors involved.”

“But what could possibly keep him away?”

“Quite a few possibilities come to mind. But let’s not worry about that. All will be clear this evening.”

“So you’ve solved the case?”

“A minor puzzle, but not without its charms. Come, Larry. We must prepare.”

I expected Ms. Pomares to join us that evening, but Aaron did not think it wise. “A case such as this is bound to be trying,” he said. “I believe certain facts should be brought to light before all is revealed. Fortunately that should not be long.”

It was only a few minutes before there was knock at the door. Two young men stood on our doorstep, skinny, college-age, and fidgety. “Ah, so kind of you to come as invited,” said Aaron. “Larry, allow me to present Mr. Dror Pomares, Ms. Pomares’ brother, and is his best friend, Mr. Rafael Lifshitz.”

“Where exactly where did you bring us?” asked Dror, the one with more gel in his hair. “I thought you said they had a keg!”

“That’s what the guy from the radio told me!” insisted Rafael. “So where’s Nickleback?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive me for the ruse,” said Aaron. “Aaron Adelman, private detective, and this is my brother Larry. We have been retained to investigate the disappearance of one Pinchas Abramowitz.”

The two of them stiffened up, glancing at each other. “Dror…” Rafael began.

“Shut up, Rafi!” insisted Dror. “Look, Mr.… Mountain Man, there’s obviously been some kind of misunderstanding.”

“Hey, he knows!”

“What did I tell you? He knows nothing!”

“Perhaps you should let me tell you what I’ve surmised, and then you may tell me how much I know,” said Aaron, stepping in front of the door. “Or perhaps I could be the first to tell all this to Ms. Pomares, and we shall see how well she handles this.”

The two bickered a little more but at last assented. “Ms. Pomares’ religiosity has been quite a source of friction in your family,” Aaron suggested. “Some learn to accommodate, while some never manage, even become resentful. Let us suppose then that you are of the latter, and being such, decide to have a little fun at her expense. You know she’s attending matchmaking functions, and as you attended the same university, you easily learn the where and when. Obviously if someone threw himself in the pool, there’d be opportunities to gain some embarrassing information, or perhaps even make a fool of her. You of course could never be there yourself, Mr. Pomares, but if you had a confederate in the dating pool… Mr. Lifshitz, I presume, or is it Mr. Abramowitz?”

Rafael spat out a profane Arabic loanword.

“That’s enough,” said Dror. “You have no proof!”

“On the contrary,” continued Aaron, “the convenient overly long beard, certainly false, and the sunglasses would both serve well to hide one’s identity. Padding within the clothes could easily serve to give the appearance of greater weight. Ms. Pomares may not have recognized him; I presume she avoids your friends, Mr. Pomares. No surprise there. However, Mr. Lifshitz, someone at the Bar Mitzvah identified you, even so far as to point out your apartment; a simple check of the listings confirms the match. Of course, instead of a single meeting, you had to keep seeing her. Perhaps you genuinely liked her. And that presented the problem of what eventually happens when she wants to move to the next phase. Impossible, of course, so you arrange to break it off. I can’t imagine she will be pleased with either of you when learns the truth of the matter. Have either of you anything to say for yourself?”

“He said it would be funny!” cried Rafael, and soon the two were rolling on the floor, trying to kill each other.

We eventually sorted it out. The two miscreants apologized under duress, which was not to Ms. Pomares’ liking. Aaron, of course, quickly became engaged in the next mystery to come along, typical for him, though not always using what services were available. For once, I actually had little problem with this, especially as now Ms. Pomares was open to my attentions.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Authorized guest post by Larry Adelman: Lewi ’Eshkol Alley, part 1

The Adventure of Levy Eshkol Alley (Part 1)

Larry Adelman

As is well known, the Adelman family is very extensive. From the same set of parents came first the twins, Aaron Solomon “Nails” Adelman and Barry Eshkol Adelman, then two years later their brother David Eli “Snake Eyes” Adelman, then a year later our brother Fred Mortimer Adelman. After another few years came our sister Adele Adelheid Adelman, then another brother, Reuben Z. “Ripper” Adelman, and then finally me, the youngest, Larry Adelman. We, of course, all went our separate ways: Barry is a psychologist, Davey Snake Eyes a mechanical engineer, Fred runs a sporting-goods store in Bangor, Maine, Adele is a pediatrician, and Ripper (having taken his nickname from a pet rabbit) is serving five to ten for grand theft auto. Aaron had been a puzzle, and for the years he lived on our parents’ couch, I had the impression that he did absolutely nothing with his degree in epidemiology. It was not until six months ago, when I came to live on his couch through no fault of my own, that I came to know what his real profession was, and that was being Israel’s greatest private detective.

“Greatest detective in all of Israel, Jordan, Syria, Egypt, probably Lebanon” he told me, showing me a business card which said as much. I wasn’t in a position to argue, but there was always a stream of clients through his door, a strange assortment from the poorest of new immigrants to the highest officials in the Israeli government. Much of what I’ve seen I’m not at liberty to reveal at this time, but of the remaining cases there are quite a few which are quite instructive of his methods, and of which I am happy to relate for the education of the reader.

Our story begins after a particularly harrowing case. We had wandered over half of Israel in just under two days, following clues from Bethlehem to the Negev and all the way back to Ramat-Gan. Having saved the Israeli government from a scandal, once we returned to our apartment in Giv‘at Shmu’el, we set out again for a little relaxation. I had wanted to take Aaron to a restaurant in Tel-Aviv called Super Sushi, but Aaron had his strange, squeamish ways that he was loathe to give up. The compromise was to head for the nearby Levy Eshkol Alley, which held the town’s only Orthodox Jewish bar.

“Levy Eshkol Alley

1895-1969 head of the government of Israel

during the period of the Six-Day War.”

Officially known as the Bar Mitzvah, it is more commonly known as the Two Parrots Bar because of the two fake parrots mounted in a tree outside. The inside is comfortable and well-lit, with plenty of simple wood panelling and furniture that suggests more of a European shtetl than the modern world. A large table in the back is reserved for study, and some of the top religious scholars at Bar-Ilan University regularly show to participate in a Talmud study group which has so far completed the entire seven-and-a-half-year cycle three times. The food is kosher, of course, serving not just a variety of beers, wines, and spirits, but also several appetizers and snacks such as matzo-ball soup and their famous mini-kugels. The atmosphere is heavily religious; not saying a blessing is considered highly improper, as is swearing and rude behavior. Everything stops for the daily prayer services, and of course all the major holidays are celebrated, including a costume contest on Purim.

The fake parrots outside the Bar Mitzvah.

Sitting at the bar, I ordered us some beers (Aaron, who rarely drank, had no idea what to order) and we talked for a bit. After a variety of religious topics (Aaron’s favorite pet peeve), we came to the topic of why such a successful detective was not married yet.

“My work does keep me busy, it is true,” he admitted. “But I have also yet to find the right woman.”

“That is just an excuse,” I claimed.

“Certainly not,” he countered. “I assure you, my powers of observation are as keep as ever on the matter. If I can tell, for example, that the gentleman sitting to the left of us is a left-handed Radziner Hasid who has compulsive tendencies and regularly does his morning prayers near an east-facing window—”

“How could you possibly know that!” I exclaimed.

“The same way I know that you are wearing blue striped underwear, Larry: mere observation. Note the faint bands on his right arm which are lighter than the rest of his skin. Obviously the result of the strap of the tfilin he wears for his morning prayers. However to obtain such a result he would have to be near an east-facing window so the sunshine could reach him. Morning prayers, however, typically do not last long enough for significant tanning in any one day, so he must also be compulsive as the strap must be put back exactly the same way every morning.”

“Splendid! But how about him being a Radziner Hasid?”

“Note the blue thread of his tsitsit. The majority opinion is that the dye to be used comes from the banded dye-murex snail, Hexaplex trunculus, this being chemically identical to indigo. That man’s tsitsit, however, are dyed with Prussian blue, which comes from the common cuttlefish. That is from a minority opinion by the Radziner Rebbe Gershon Henoch Leiner, which is thus followed by the Radziner Hasidim. And since he wears his tfilin on his right arm, he must be left-handed.”

“And what about the underwear?”

“Your fly is unzipped.”

Aaron took a swig as I remedied the situation. “The same methodology can be applied to selecting women as potential matches,” he continued. “For example, that woman over there.” He indicated one sitting at a small table by herself. “She has obviously been waiting for her fiancé, of whom she has been having doubts and today is much later than expected. But still, attached, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“Now you’re just making stuff up!” I insisted, but Aaron shook his head.

“The hair is uncovered,” he noted, “and that is clearly not a wig, suggesting an unmarried woman. No recent haircut obviously, no makeup, no particularly attempts to look especially attractive, so she is definitely considers herself off the market. That and the ring, which has a diamond, appropriate for an engagement ring but not a wedding ring. All those point to a fiancé. Note what is in front of her, just a glass of water the waitress has brought, nothing more substantial, as if she were waiting on someone to order. Also note the lack of a book or other activities, and the way she glances around the room and at the clock over the door. Clearly she expected someone to be here who is now unusually late.”

“But how do you know she is having doubts?”

“How else would you explain her taking off her ring and repeatedly looking at it?”
In a moment I was up and out of my seat. After spending time with Aaron, I had developed a better sense of justice, and the thought of leaving her there alone seemed callous. Perhaps the thought of taking her out if her current engagement didn’t work out crossed my mind, but I sure wasn’t about to admit that. “Hello,” I began, and her eyes fell upon me, brilliant hazel of all colors. “My name is Larry Adelman, and this is my brother, the famous detective Aaron Adelman. Tell me, how late is your fiancé?”

The woman’s jaw dropped. “How could you possibly know I had a fiancé?” she gasped.

And then Aaron, in his typical style, went over every picky detail of his reasoning. “As you can see, it is all quite obvious,” he concluded.

“Well, it is true,” she admitted. “He was supposed to meet me over an hour ago, and now he is dreadfully late. Oh, he said that something like this could happen!”

“Fortunately you have the services here of Israel’s greatest detective,” I said, and Aaron took me by the ear and dragged me halfway across the room. “We’ll only be a moment!” I assured her. “Detective business!”

“Pardon,” said Aaron, “but I am running a business. If you’ll notice, the shoes are a few years out of date and the coat is worn. I doubt she is terribly well off.”

“After the handsome reward you got for returning the Immovable Ladder? We can afford a few pro bono cases.”

“That is not the point. You are not at liberty to bestow my services willy-nilly.”

“Please, I’m asking you.”

“And who’s paying for it?”

“Um, I will.”

“You sleep on my couch.”

“I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise.”

Aaron sighed and we returned to the young lady, who told us her story. Bluma Pomares (our client) had come from an secularist family, her Ashkenazi mother and Sefardi father recently both settled in Tel-Aviv. Out of the set of four children, she was the only one to turn religious, and over the past year or so, whenever her complicated schedule as a graduate student at Bar-Ilan allowed it, she began attending one of the synagogues in Giv‘at Shmu’el. Her family had decidedly mixed feelings about her religiosity, though they tried to accommodate her as best they could. Her younger brother, Dror, still in college at Bar-Ilan, had been especially unhappy about it.

As for the fiancé, the story of their meeting was an interesting one. It happened at a religious speed-dating event, only the second she had ever attended. At the first one, sponsored by her favored synagogue, she had been strongly discouraged by what she saw as a poor selection. Whether her expectations were off or it was simply a bad night, she couldn’t be sure, but it was almost bad enough that she felt like giving up. Oddly enough, it was her brother’s friend Rafi who encouraged her to go to another event.

“Pray tell,” said Aaron, tenting his fingers together, “who exactly is this Rafi?”

Ms. Pomares went on to explain that Mr. Rafael Lifshitz, one of Dror’s childhood friends, was also a student at Bar-Ilan. Back when they were younger, Ms. Pomares had babysat for him once or twice, but that ended badly when he developed a crush on her. However, things had settled between them since, and in fact he had been the one to encourage her to try again. So, showing up at the local Melon Hotel just down the street, she first met some of the same disappointing men she’d met before, and then the one who became her fiancé, the amazing Pinchas Abramowitz. Pinchas was a graduate student like her, attending the Jewish Studies program. Unlike the other men attending, she found him funny and engaging, maybe not the most knowledgeable about his program (he claimed to have gone religious rather recently), but certainly never boring.

The Melon Hotel in Giv‘at Shmu’el.

“And what exactly does Mr. Abramowitz look like?” Aaron asked.

“Well, he is a bit scraggly,” she admitted. “Quite a large beard. Maybe a little portly. Would seeing a picture help?”

She produced a small photograph, and he was indeed as she described, in the typical understated dress of the observant, though with the strange addition of wraparound sunglasses, so large that they seemed to half-swallow his face. Ms. Pomares explained that her dear Pinchas had a medical condition, making him unusually sensitive to light.”

“That’s a very unusual condition,” I noted.

“And one with quite a few causes,” said Aaron. “Has he ever discussed what his medical condition was?”

He hadn’t. Whatever it was, Mr. Abramowitz was so engaging that she soon began to see him regularly, even agreeing to marry him after a few dates. But then the last time he’d seen her, there’d been a change, with him talking about a fear that he might not be seen again, that something would happen to him, and if that happened, he wanted her to wait for him.

“And now,” she continued, “he’s so very late, hours late. Please, Mr. Adelman, you must help me! I’m ever so worried his premonition came true!”

Aaron agreed to help, collecting some basic information from her, and then we had to stop for the afternoon prayer service. Ms. Pomares, of course, agreed to contact us if she heard anything from Mr. Abramowitz. Afterwards Aaron and I departed, dividing up the investigating chores for the day.

“Your tasks,” said Aaron, “begin with checking with the police. See if there are any unclaimed bodies matching Mr. Abramowitz’s description or if anyone else has reported him missing. Probably not, but one should always be thorough.”

Pylons outside police headquarters to prevent car bombings.

“Where will you be?” I asked as we crossed the street, moving around the thickly parked cars.

A critical parking crisis on Levy Eshkol Avenue near the Bar Mitzvah.

“I will be going to Bar-Ilan University,” he answered. “So far I have my own suspicions about Mr. Abramowitz. Have a look at the picture again, Larry. What else do you notice?”

I took from him the same picture that Ms. Pomares had given us, but so far nothing especially odd struck me. “He has incredibly poor fashion sense?” I suggested. “That and his beard could use a trimming. Not that the same doesn’t apply to you as well.”

“You don’t know how close you are,” pronounced my brother. “Cheer up, Larry. I expect the whole mystery cleared up by this time tomorrow.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Sunday, December 2, 2012

The Boring 2012 conference

Jewish date: 19 Kislew 5772 (evening) (Parashath Wayyeshev).

Today’s events: National Fritters Day, Special Education Day.

Greetings.

Taking a break from the series on Giv‘ath Shemu’el, today’s weird thing is the Boring 2012 conference, a conference dedicated only to boring things, documented in “Boring Conference: A dispatch from James Ward’s annual celebration of banality” and “Boring festival brings unexpected intrigue”. Enjoy and share the weirdness.

’Aharon/Aaron