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babbushka · 4 years ago

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The Rabbi Is Coming

Flip Zimmerman x Reader (Darling Jewish Wife AU)

A/N: This oneshot is based entirely off of one of my favorite videos of all time, Company is Coming by Chris Fleming. Every time I see it, it reminds me of preparing for my own family holiday gatherings, so I’ve taken it and run with it lol. I just wanted to write something short and silly for Passover, lol, and I hope you enjoy!

Also inspired by this prompt sent in by anonymous: From your Passover prompts, will you please do this one for Flip? It sounds just like him!“They tried to kill us. We survived. Let’s eat.”

2k, crack treated seriously lol, humor. Putting a small cw for the Zimmerman’s son, in case folks don’t like reading about kids (this is the last time he’s mentioned for a while I promise lol)

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Early in the morning, just after sunrise, Flip yawns and stretches awake. The golden light of morning shines through the curtains that gently move from the breeze of the ceiling fan, and a melody of chirping birds signal the official start of morning. Despite having to get up early for work every day, Flip isn’t much of a morning person. But something about Springtime and the warmth that’s on the way makes him appreciate getting up, even on the weekends.

“Good morning, sunshine, light of my life – ” Flip rolls over onto his side, ready to coax you out of your sleep as well, ready to kiss you and start the day together, but when he reaches you’re your sleep-snuggled body, he finds the bed empty, and frowns.

Sitting up, he looks around the bedroom. Your side of the covers are neatly made, and Flip can only blink, his frown deepening. He clears his throat, raspy from disuse overnight, “(Y/N)?”

It isn’t until he hears the vacuum cleaner going downstairs, followed by a frustrated groan echoing through the house, that he remembers just what day it is, and falls back onto his pillow with a wince, lighting up a cigarette and scrubbing a hand over his face with a low,

“…Oh shit.”

He checks the clock, sees that it’s practically seven o’clock, and gets out of bed. Pulling on a casual t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans, he leaves his room to see his son standing tentatively in his own doorway, as loud sounds come from downstairs.

“Pop?” The five year old asks with no small amount of hesitation in his voice, immediately reaches for Flip, who scoops him up and balances him on his hip.

“Mornin’ honey.” Flip kisses his son’s cheek, and the boy giggles, clinging to him as Flip walks down the stairs.

He’s obviously annoyed that it’s not you who gets to wake him up and carry him downstairs, as he normally prefers, but Flip doesn’t know how to tell him that today isn’t a normal day. Still, the boy is always filled with questions, and his little eyebrows furrow into an all too familiar frown as they move closer to the chaos that is you deciding to vacuum first thing in the morning.

“Why is Mama acting like that?” He demands to know, as the two of them stop at the landing, watching as you, still in your pajamas, are fighting with furniture.

“Tonight’s the first night of Pesach.” Flip explains.

“So?” His son challenges, and Flip wants to laugh, because he agrees with the kid, but when you get into a mood like this, there’s no stopping you.

“So, there’s a very special guest coming for dinner tonight, and she wants to make sure the house looks nice and clean for him.” Flip sets the boy down, and he purses his lips, like he’s trying to assess the validity of that, eventually settling on complaining,

“But we already cleaned the house.”

Flip sighs, because he’s right, you spent the entire week cleaning to prepare for Passover. It wasn’t like a normal house cleaning, Passover had special rules that had to be obeyed. One of which, was the complete and total elimination of chametz, or food made from leavened dough. The other, was the koshering of the kitchen.

But he wasn’t so sure his five year old would care to hear about all that this early.

“I know son. Let’s go see what she fixed up for breakfast,” Flip leads his son through the living room carefully, before crouching down to his level and saying very seriously, “And then when you’re done eating, just do whatever Mama says, you hear me? Whatever she says.”

Just then, you come barreling through the living room with the vacuum and a tangle of cord in your hand, shouting at a completely inappropriate volume for the hour, “Zeeskiet if you haven’t made your bed just throw it away it’s too late to make it now!”

The boy looks up at Flip, and Flip immediately shakes his head and amends, “Not that.”

Flip is a good helper. He likes to help, and he wants to help, but sometimes when you get like this, it’s a danger to himself and everyone around for him to try and insert himself into a situation where you are a hurricane of anxious energy. He busies himself with getting your son settled at the kitchen table, giving him a big breakfast of fresh fruit, nuts, and yogurt, before bracing himself to venture back towards the dining room.

“The Rabbi is coming – get rid of the couches we can’t let people know we sit!” You shout, pointing an aggressive finger at one of the dining chairs, “This chair needs to be pushed in, there cannot be any signs of living in this house.”

Flip is quick to do as you say, even though what you’re saying is nonsense – he knows better than to point that out.

“I don’t care if we have to throw everything out,” You’re mostly talking to yourself at this point, just…loudly, and aggressively, “I want this place looking like a contemporary fusion restaurant by noon.”

It was a miracle and a half that the Rabbi agreed to lead your Seder dinner, and to say that the pressure was getting to you was the understatement of the century. You had everything picked out, what you were going to wear, what Flip and the kids were going to wear; you’d been cooking and prepping all week, and now the day was finally here and you were totally freaking out.

“Flip?” You shout, walking in circles around the dining room, trying to get rid of any possible point of contamination of chametz.

“Yeah?” Flip replies, already knowing that because he’s in the other room, you probably can’t hear him. He already is walking towards you when he hears you again.

“Phil!” You call a little sharper, and Flip huffs out a laugh, his suspicion correct.

“I’m right here ketsl, what can I do?” Flip startles you by suddenly being behind directly behind you, and you throw your hands up in exasperation.

“Oh my god – we need more pillows.” You gesture to the den where the conversation pit is decked out entirely with pillows. ��Can you fluff the pillows? I need these things looking fluffed.”

Flip does exactly as he’s told, and the rest of the morning follows suit.

You wandered around the house cleaning; vacuuming sweeping dusting sanitizing every possible surface, the floors, even the ceiling, shouting out random demands and requests like:

We need more flowers. We gotta put flowers in every window. Philly can you put flowers in the kitchen?

We can’t have any clothes! Everyone take off your clothes!

At that, your son cast a semi-distressed look to Flip and asked, an uncertain, “Pop?”

“Not that either!” Flip immediately answered, lest his son think it’s okay to go running around in the nude tonight.

Somewhere around hour two, your mood shifts from manic to meltdown. Your son had been instructed to make sure his toys were all nicely put away in his room, mostly to keep him out of trouble or to prevent any accidental tripping over wires. Flip though, is still running around trying to keep up with you, out of breath from your own chaos.

“What is this?” You yank the perfectly good little towel out of the oven door handle where Flip had just watched you place it, and near-tears, you groan, “This is a dish towel! We need a hand towel! What are we, barbarians?”

He’s about to say something, try to console you or at the very least calm you down, but then you come to a complete and sudden stand-still and point out, “Phil oh god there’s muffins on the counter.”

Frowning, Flip whirled around and wondered how the fuck those even got there. All of your friends knew that there was absolutely no leavened product allowed in the house, Rabbi or no, and he’s trying to wrack his brain around where they came from as you back against the wall.

“Oh my god oh – that’s it -- we have to go into the witness protection program folks!” You chuckle humorously, effectively giving up. “Shalom Rabbi! Welcome to the Zimmerman household. We live outside. We eat mud. And sticks.”

At this, you give one big overwhelmed sigh, and a little sob hiccups out of your chest.

“Hey,” Flip frowns, kicking himself for not trying to get you to take a breather earlier than this, “Hey it’s going to be okay.”

Flip gets down on the floor with you, and pulls you into a tight hug. You shove your face under his neck and cry it out, and Flip soothes your back. He knows how big of a deal tonight is for you, and he wants to do everything he can to make you happy, but letting this go on any longer won’t be good for anyone.

“I’ll get rid of the muffins, we won’t tell anyone about it, okay?” He pulls you to face him, your eyes wet and wide, your chin wobbling. He thinks you’re so ridiculous, working yourself up like this, but he loves you so much to see it regardless.

“Did you fluff the pillows?” You ask in a small sad voice, and Flip nods seriously, brushing some of your stray locks that escaped the scarf you have wrapped around your head to protect your hair, away from your face.

“Yes ketsl, I fluffed the pillows.” He kisses each of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your forehead.

“Okay, alright okay, everyone calm down.” You say, wiping your tears away and taking deep measured breaths, suddenly asking, “What time is it?”

“Uhh,” Flip cranes his head around to try and catch a good glimpse at the clock on the wall, wondering how the hell it’s only, “Nine-thirty.”

You blink, and blink again, and then shuffle to sit upright there on the kitchen floor.

“Oh.” You reply, pursing your lips and scratching the side of your jaw. “In that case…I’m going to take a nap.”

Flip chuckles and lets you go. You’re too much all the time, and that’s exactly why he loves you. He’s never met anyone who cares as much about something like this, than you, and he wants you to go relax while he takes care of everything.

And he does, his son a proper helper as you snooze in bed, already having worked yourself to exhaustion and needing your strength back for the long dinner that’s going to come. The offending muffins are given to a neighbor, the surfaces re-sanitized, the kitchen all prepared. Your son even sets the table all by himself, enjoying being tall for his age thanks to Flip’s genetics.

When evening falls much later, and all your other guests have arrived, you feel your pulse spike as the doorbell rings. You’re dressed to the nines, as is everyone else, but Flip thinks that you’re the most radiant thing in the universe. You’re holding your son on your hip as Flip opens the door, already extending a hand for him to shake.

“Shalom Rabbi, thank you so much for joining us tonight, we can’t tell you how much of an honor it is.” You beam, as if you hadn’t had a total breakdown only that morning, as Flip invites the Rabbi inside.

“Of course Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman, the honor is mine. And may I say, you have a beautiful home.” He looks around appreciatively, giving a nod of approval that has all the air rushing out of your lungs.

“I’m thrilled to hear you think so.” You grin, leading him through your home and into the dining room where your other guests have been happily entertaining themselves, “Shall we get started then?”

“They tried to kill us, we survived, let’s eat!” Flip announces, and that has everyone laughing, including the Rabbi.

And as the Seder commences, Flip looks across the table and gives his son a wink. In return, he lets out a small giggling laugh, glad that all the preparations and chaos you put them through have successfully paid off.

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Taggin’ some Flip lovin’ friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @the-unmanaged-mischief @materialisthicc @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @loverofallthings @bxnnywriting @groovetoob

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman fanfic #adam driver fanfic #adcu #passover #my writing #jewish!reader #flip zimmerman fluff #idk how to tag this lol

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dontwarnthetadpoles · 3 years ago

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Things about Willow that i still can not understand despite multiple rewatch: why the writers changed her relationship with her parents between season 1& 2 and the rest of the show?

In those first seasons, she is an obedient daughter coming from a religious family, who had a conservative upbringing: her mother picks some of her clothes and she ensures that they stay modest (the wardrobe department found and/or created original clothes to make her more trendy but she was never sexy except that time in Halloween). Also, in her home, her father won’t allow her to see Charlie Brown Christmas films on tv because he wants to give a religious education to his unique daughter (so no Christmas celebration in this jewish family), she’s not allowed to invite boys in her room and when her mother hears noise in her room late a night, she checks on her to be sure that she’s going to sleep.

Those are not signs of neglectful or indifferent parents. They are signs of protective parents, responsable parents who know rules are necessary as a guidance for her in life. They are invested/have a vision of what they want for her in the future and insure that she learns how to follow the rules to live a better life. Their education comprises moral values and self discipline.

Though Willow is sheltered, her parents don’t check her whereabouts at every hour, she’s allowed to go to the Bronze even during the week when she has school the day after, she can go to Buffy and Xander’s houses whenever she wants. So her parents also care about her well being, make a way to let her have friends and enjoy a good social life.They are also loving parents.

During those seasons, i imagined them being like Fred’s parents but more upper middle class :with better jobs and academic backgrounds (a guess mostly based on their house, though the real estate market in Sunnydale is certainly cheaper than every other place).

So, why did her mother suddenly become in season 3 a woman that doesn’t notice that her teenage daughter cut her long and beautiful hair that look just like hers 3 months ago(!)? How could they become so distant that they haven’t had a conversation since weeks and only about Tv? The only spark of interest that her mother showed was for Oz, because a boyfriend is something new and potentially dangerous.

In seasons 4 and 5, Willow’s coming out should have been a big deal for them but it’s barely mentioned and it doesn’t seem that her parents were interested in knowing Tara. It took Joyce’s death to push Willow to make more efforts and see her mother more often.

It’s like their family relationship hit a wall between season 2 and 3. As if they fell apart: maybe because her parents were getting estrange from each other emotionally, or were more invested in their professional lives and less available for their family. The writers didn't bother to explain this radical change that has separated them and just decided to continue as if it was a logical consequence of an event that the viewers haven't seen.

But why mentioned it if they had no intention to develop it more? There’s some missing pieces here, and it’s hard to tell how important they are or could have been for Willow’s character development and arc.

#btvs #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy meta #my btvs meta #willow rosenberg #all about willow #i think the the missing pieces are important and explain an arc that was planned for her for the last half of season 2 but was abandoned #the change this arc would have made in her life would have concerned her family too #instead the writers took a safer road #let her have a full relationship with oz and a normal year at school

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salixj · 4 years ago

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(December 21, 2020 / JNS) It’s one of the few rap videos around that features a lead singer in frockcoat, tallis and shtreimel—paired with a cascade of gold chains (one bearing a Magen David) and leopard-skin scarf—dancing with guys from the ‘hood facing off against others in Chassidic garb.

As such, “Mothaland Bounce,” where our hero proudly calls himself “Hitler’s worst nightmare,” reveals much about the man behind it and what it means to be a passionate and deeply committed Jew of color.

Because for Nissim Black—successful rapper, father of six and Orthodox Jew—the video makes a strong statement about how Jews of color merge their very disparate identities into a (nearly) seamless whole.

(Fans may want to check out Black’s newest rap video “Hava”—a thoroughly Nissim spin on the traditional “Hava Nagila”—its release timed for the first night of Hanukkah).

Black is perhaps the most famous of today’s Jews of color. (Readers of a certain age will recall when singer Sammy Davis Jr. could claim that honor).

Though the term itself has gained traction in the last decade, there have always been Jews of different races. Scan the globe today, and you’ll find Ethiopian Jews and the African Lemba tribe whose men test positive for the Kohen gene, a marker of the Jewish priests.

What’s more, many Sephardic, Cuban, Mexican and Yemenite Jews consider themselves Jews of color. Not to mention the murky waters surrounding pockets of the Black Hebrews found in Israel (largely in Dimona and Arad in the Negev Desert) and around the Diaspora, many of whom claim descent from the ancient Israelites.

The numbers are equally murky. Estimates range from 6 percent to 12 percent—or even as much as 15 percent—of today’s Jewish population being Jews of color. But there is little in the way of standardized definition of who is a Jew; some studies count all the members of a household as Jewish household when only one member actually is. But when researchers Arnold Dashefsky and Ira M. Sheskin held the disparate estimates of Jews of color up to the light of demographic standards earlier this year, they concluded that the percentage of Jews of color “is almost certainly closer to 6 percent nationally [from the 2013 Pew study] than 12 to 15 percent. And this percentage has not increased significantly since 1990, although it is likely to do so in the future.”

It stands to reason that this year of painful racial tensions across North America could trigger an internal debate in African-American Jews, especially those who came to the faith not through birth or adoption, but who, like Black, embraced Judaism as adults.

And embrace it many of them do—with passion, perseverance and a deep appreciation—often overcoming raised eyebrows, insensitivity and even downright racism in the process. With a surprising number of them finding their spiritual home in Orthodox Judaism.

Nissim Black

Damian Jamohl Black, whom the world knows now as rapper Nissim Black, was born into a family of Seattle drug dealers in 1986. His childhood was pockmarked by FBI raids on his home, his dad was taken away in handcuffs, and he was accustomed to assorted incidents of street violence and crime. By 9, he was smoking marijuana, and plants were growing in his room. By 12, he’d joined the family business.

The only faith Black was exposed to back then was his grandfather’s Islam. His first religious service? A mosque, which he attended until his grandfather went to prison.

But at 13, Black was pulled into Christianity by missionaries. He now says it was the best thing that could have happened to him. “This was the first time I was around people who had normal healthy relationships. No one sold drugs, they had a heart for kids from the inner city, and their summer camp was the most fun I’d had in my life,” he recalls. “Becoming religious saved me from the world of street gangs.”

By high school, he was “the poster child of the missionary center.” That’s when he met the woman who would become his wife. As a Seventh-Day Adventist, Jamie (now Adina) went to church on Saturdays. They wed in 2008 but remarried in an Orthodox ceremony after their conversion five years later.

By 19, Black was making rap music professionally, and his mother died of an overdose. But by 20, Christianity was beginning to feel foreign to him, and he began wondering what the Jews walking in his neighborhood on Saturday mornings were up to. “I went to Rabbi Google and found Chabad.org. And it all began to make sense,” he says. “I told my wife [they were newlyweds] that I didn’t want to celebrate Christmas and Easter anymore. Pretty soon, she was doing her own digging into Judaism.”

The couple’s conversion followed in 2013 and aliyah to Israel three years later. The Blacks now make their home in Ramat Beit Shemesh with their six children, ages 1 to 12. “I wanted my kids to grow up here,” he says, “where they’d see Jews of different shades all praying the same prayers.”

“I’ve checked every box, right?” he says with a laugh. “One rabbi at my yeshivah told me, ‘You have a lot of strikes against you: You’re black, you’re a convert and you’re a Breslov Chassid. And in all these things is your greatness.”

Maayan Zik

Maayan Zik was 13 when her soul woke her up. Growing up in Washington, D.C., with her mom and sister—her parents divorced when she was in first grade, and she didn’t see her dad for another 10 years—she attended Catholic schools and was close with her maternal grandparents, Jamaican immigrants who took her to museums and taught her the value of hard work and education.

Accompanying her Jamaican-born grandmother to church every Sunday, by 13, Zik had “begun to wonder if what my family believes is right for me.” She explored a number of world religions, but when she saw a photo of her light-skinned Jamaican great-grandmother Lilla Abrams, whom family lore says was Jewish, “I realized I had to go way back to find out who I am.”

When she moved to an apartment in 2005 in the Crown Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn, N.Y., she noticed the previous tenant had a left up a poster of a white-bearded man. “I said to myself, ‘I’m going to find out who you are.’ The man turned out to be the Lubavitcher Rebbe. Two years later, after courses and a summer seminary program, she converted. Thirteen years later, now 36, Zik remains there—with her Israeli-born husband and four children. “This somewhat awkward coexistence that lives inside me” fades into the background when she begins to pray, she says. “Having a personal conversation with God as part of the Jewish people, it’s who I’ve always been; I just didn’t know it.”

Mordechai Ben Avraham

Black and Mordechai Ben Avraham are both African-Americans from the West Coast (Seattle and Los Angeles, respectively), and both found Judaism in their 20s. But their early environment could hardly have been more different.

Growing up in an affluent neighborhood with a successful businessman father and a professor mother, “my focus was on how someday I could make more money than my dad.”

Ben Avraham’s spiritual journey took him from Sufism to the Kabbalah until at 22 he experienced Shabbat in a Carlebach-style minyan. “It was like I was floating in outer space. This is what Jews do? This is amazing! The Torah, the prayers, this beautiful spiritual system God gave to the Jews for people to transform themselves—they literally grabbed my heart.” His conversion was complete in 2013 with his move to Israel three years later.

Now 39, the former TV producer is living in the heart of Jerusalem’s religious Mea Shearim neighborhood, working towards his rabbinical degree and publishing a book on the joys of Torah as a black Jew.

But why would anyone who’s already making a huge leap religiously and culturally choose to embrace Orthodoxy with its full menu of mitzvot, accepting the Torah as Divine and committing to living within halachah (Jewish law)?

“If someone is going to make this big of a change completely based on their need to go beyond, there’s a very real tendency to go what many would consider ‘all the way,’ ” says Henry Abramson, dean of Brooklyn’s Touro College and author of The Kabbalah of Forgiveness: The Thirteen Levels of Mercy in Rabbi Moshe Cordovero’s Date Palm of Devorah (2014), among other titles.

A shared history

Much of this tendency to search spiritually can be traced to African-Americans’ religious experience in America, adds Abramson. “Since the 1960s, we’ve seen the phenomenon of questioning the Christianity foisted on their slave ancestors.”

And though Islam has attracted many of these disenfranchised souls—in part, he says, because the black Muslim culture permeated prisons beginning in the 1960s—Judaism offers another option.

Ben Avraham maintains that, in a spiritual sense, Judaism may feel familiar to those raised in the black church. “Like Judaism, gospel Christianity is an intense personal relationship with God without any intermediaries,” he says.

This is a connection Ben Avraham experiences every day of his life. “Living in Mea Shearim, in a fundamental way, I’m around people who are just like me. I just connect with my Chassidic neighbors.”

A growing fissure

But after the 1960s and ’70s, when Jews fought alongside blacks for civil rights in the United States and in South Africa, “there’s been a growing fissure between blacks and Jews,” says Rabbi Maury Kelman who, as director of Route 613, a New York City conversion program, has welcomed many students of different races into his classes.

And, with last summer’s rise in violence between the African-American community and the religious Jewish community, primarily in New York,” says Black, “lately, it’s gotten uglier.”

‘I cried all the way home’

Not everyone in the Jewish community rolls out the proverbial red carpet for someone of color.

After working up the courage to walk into synagogue on Shabbat, Zik couldn’t miss the two women glaring at her, eventually yelling at her to get out and threatening to call the police before giving chase.

“I cried all the way home, but my friends would not let me give up,” she says. “I also knew from everything I’d read about the Rebbe, with his emphasis on love and kindness, that eventually this would be the right place for me.”

“Unfortunately, like in all communities, you’ll find the occasional ignorant Jew or racist,” allows Kelman, who offers programs on the importance of accepting the convert.

A time of racial tensions

With this year’s heated racial debates and demonstrations following the May 25 killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis, where does that put Jews of color, with feet in both the African-American and Jewish worlds?

Zik, for one, helped lead a rally in Crown Heights this summer where black neighbors shared their experiences with racism. “It was a reminder,” she says, “that the Torah teaches us to protect the rights of all God’s children.”

And the learning goes both ways, she adds. “When black friends ask me if now that I’m Jewish, do I have money? I tell them about the Jews I know who struggle to pay for rent, food and their kids’ yeshivah tuitions. I tell them that, when I’ve had my babies, neighbors bring us meals and help furnish the nursery. People here always want to do another mitzvah.”

Ben Avraham also says he better appreciates African-American history because he is a Jew. “We can see our own story reflected in the Torah,” he says. “Our two peoples had so many struggles just to survive.”

Adds Black: “Just knowing there are black religious Jews can help the two communities see they aren’t completely separate after all—not to judge each other so quickly.”

Kelman agrees. “Black Jews can be a terrific bridge chiefly because they have credibility on both sides. It’s increasingly important to teach our fellow Jews that we’re a family that comes in different colors, that Judaism is colorblind,” he says. “Once they convert, they’re just as Jewish as any of us—and our diversity only strengthens us.”

‘Something bigger than myself’

By the end of “Mothaland Bounce,” the guys from the ’hood and the Chassids are dancing together with Black as ringmaster.

But it may be “A Million Years” that’s Black’s love letter to Judaism.

In this 2016 music video (with singer Yisroel Laub), Black takes a journey proudly carrying a Torah throughout Israel—archeological digs, mountain caves, a busy shuk (marketplace) and Jerusalem’s Old City—turning heads as he goes. (Don’t miss the moment when Black stops to let some haredi kids lovingly kiss the Torah), finally nestling it inside a synagogue’s ark.

“Since I was a kid, I was looking to be part of something bigger than myself,” says Black. “I prayed and prayed, and finally, I knew who I needed to be, a Jew, and where I needed to be, the Holy Land. It took time but now God’s answered my prayers. And one thing I know is that to God there is no such thing as color. He sees us for who we are inside.”

As he raps:

“I came from a distance Where everything was different … I called out to You And You showed me that You listened … I gave my all to You And You showed me who I am.”

#Israel #Jews of Color

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josmoore · 3 years ago

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𝕄𝔸𝕂𝔼 𝔸 ℙ𝔸ℂ𝕋 𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ 𝕐𝕆𝕌 𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝔾𝕆𝔻 —

𝕚𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕞𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕚 𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝕥𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚'𝕞 𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕒

𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕪

full name: josiah barnabas moore

reason for name: both names were chosen by his mother — josiah, meaning god has healed, was her father’s name, and barnabas, son of consolation, was his father’s name before him

nickname(s): jo, jos, josie, jojo / sparrow’s nicknames for him are plentiful and do not make the cut

date of birth: may 2, 1995

age: twenty-six

gender + pronouns: cismale + he/him

place of birth: roswell, new mexico

parents: oliver moore + laurel moore ( née abrams )

siblings: sparrow ( twin ) / jade ( older sister ) / rowan + wyatt ( older brothers )

relationship with family: grew up very close with all of his siblings, particularly sparrow and jade but became distant after their parents’ divorce as his father and his siblings all left roswell / tried to keep in touch with siblings but unsuccessful save for jade and rarely his brothers / extremely close with his mother

pets: several colonies of bees in hive boxes out back behind the trailer

𝕡𝕙𝕪𝕤𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝

height: 5′11

build: broad / muscular / athletic

nationality: american

ethnicity: a mix of several, including english + russian + ashkenazi jewish

distinguishing facial features: bright blue irises / thick + bold eyebrows / sharp jaw

hair color: brunet that lightens in the summer

usual hair style: wild unruly curls held back with a rolled bandana / lil’ bun sometimes

eye color: bright, light blue

complexion: tanned from years outside tending to the bees ( read: farmer’s tan ) / freckled shoulders

disabilities: alcohol use disorder / intermittent explosive disorder

what do they consider their best feature?: he doesn’t think he has one, but if he had to answer, his mama always said it was his eyes

worst they’ve ever been injured?: gouged his right thigh open on some jagged fencing when he was running from the cops one night as a teenager trespassing on walker air force base + needed fourteen stitches / extensive second degree burns from a radiator bursting at the shop a few years back / broke three ribs in a fight one time and could barely move for about a week

𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖

favorite outfit: a pair of well-worn levis / white cotton t-shirt / brown leather work boots / maybe one of his brothers’ old hand-me-down flannels depending on the weather

glasses? contacts?: twenty-twenty vision

personal hygiene: clean + showers daily but still smells like motor oil and cigarettes

jewelry? tattoos? piercings?: woven bracelet his sister made him when they were kids / a crystal tree of life inside of wire pendant shaped like the star of david that his mama made by hand worn on a chain around his neck / several tattoos, the most notable of which are an orchid on his neck + the roman numeral v on the inside of his right ring finger + a laurel branch over his heart + hebrew script on his left hip reading לחיות לא במראה אלא באמונה, or live not by sight but by faith

what does their voice sound like?: kind of gruff, the rough around the ages that comes from years of smoking cigarettes and shouting at rowdy bargoers

style of speech: slow and quiet / takes his time talking / loud when he’s agitated or feeling argumentative

accent?: a bit of one, influenced by a lifetime in new mexico and his mother’s southern roots

unique mannerisms/physical habits: twists his curls absently when he’s tired, a trait he’s had since he was a kid / chain-smoking, pacing and picking at his cuticles when he’s anxious or upset / playing with the pendant his mama gave him when he’s thinking

left handed or right?: right-handed

do they work out/exercise?: working 90+ hours/week is enough, he’s dead on his feet if he’s off the clock

𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕗𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕔𝕥

known languages: english

zodiac: sun taurus / moon cancer / ascendant sagittarius

gifts/talents: playing the fiddle / winning rigged carnival games / mixing a damn good drink

religious stance: jewish, raised in a jewish/catholic household / observes only major holidays + holy days

political stance: liberal

pet peeves: gossip / fidgeting / lying / unnecessary or dull conversation / tourists / alien talk

optimist or pessimist: realist / pessimist

extrovert or introvert: introvert

𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕔𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡𝕤

relationship status: single / interested in one ( 1 ) blonde gremlin

sexual orientation: bisexual / not open about it

ideal mate/qualities they look for in mate: argumentative / affectionate / adventurous

ever been in love?: maybe, but he’s not sure he knows what it feels like / tbd / could be rn who knows?

what’s their love language?: acts of service / quality time

most important person in their life?: mama moore, no question

𝕧𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

level of education: diploma from roswell high school

profession: mechanic + bartender

past occupations: none / got a job at sanders’ before he’d fully graduated high school

dream occupation: fulltime beekeeper

passions: beekeeping + bee rescue / his family / mixology / music / woodworking + construction

attitude towards current job: grateful he has the income of both, even if it is absolutely exhausting

spender or saver? why?: spending, but not by choice — mama’s medical bills on top of the simple cost of living mean there’s not a lot to save after everything’s paid up anyhow, but josiah doesn’t bat an eye handing over damn near his entire paycheck for her

which is more important – money or doing something they love?: right now it’s the money, because the health of the person he loves most is on the line and he’s struggling enough as it is to make ends meet, but sometimes when he’s laying in bed at night he thinks how nice it would be, in a perfect world, to work just forty hours a week doing something he loves

𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕤

phobias: the ocean / natural bodies of water

life goals: stay in touch with his family this time around / save as many bees as he can / find love maybe

greatest fears: losing his mother / turning into his father / pushing away everyone he cares about / being alone after mama moore passes and all of his siblings leave again

most embarrassing thing ever to happen to him: probably causing a scene at jj’s birthday and being yelled at that he’s just like his daddy in front of a whole crowd of people / but also somewhere, on somebody’s phone, exists a video of him blackout drunk on tequila and shirtless, dancing to black velvet by alannah myles, on the bar of the wild pony sometime in winter of last year

something they’ve never told anyone: sometimes when mama’s asleep, he goes into her room and sits down on the floor by her bed and just cries until his head aches worse than his heart or he falls asleep

biggest regret: the first time he ever picked up a bottle + realized it was a comfort

compulsions: constantly working / being in a state of motion or busy / drinking

police/criminal/legal record: a colorful list of misdemeanor charges including assault / battery / public intoxication / trespassing / vandalism / resisting arrest / driving while intoxicated

vices: cigarettes / whiskey / long drives / late night conversations with daphne / phone calls to jade

𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤

hobbies: beekeeping / reading / woodworking / violin ( though not so much anymore )

favorite color: aegean blue

favorite smell: gasoline / meyer lemon / the dryer sheets out of the laundromat dispenser

favorite food: anything his mama used to cook / a full diner breakfast literally any time of day

favorite book: silent spring by rachel carson / walden by henry david thoreau

favorite movie: romeo + juliet directed by baz luhrmann

favorite song: nights in white satin by the moody blues

coffee or tea?: coffee, no cream but sweetened with honey

favorite type of weather: clear skies / warm / breezy

most prized possession: the family trailer, under his name when he became his mother’s p.o.a.

most used word or phrase?: for fuck’s sake

#☽ ⋆ [ about ]#roswelltask #alcohol tw #injury tw #hospital tw #cancer tw #insects tw #this is literal shit but i have been working on it for days #and wanted to post it before work #so i can finally start working on sulley's

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mexcine · 4 years ago

Photo

Jungle Street (1960) review: as an adolescent in the Sixties, I was a fan of the "Man from U.N.C.L.E." television series, and was firmly in the "Team Illya Kuryakin" camp, preferring the cool, accented, black-turtleneck wearing Russian agent to the Brylcreemed Napoleon Solo. This didn't translate to a life-long David McCallum fandom, but I'll admit McCallum's presence in Jungle Street was one reason I decided to watch this admittedly minor film.

Working-class Terry (McCallum) supplements his income as a garage mechanic by committing crimes; however, when a senior citizen robbed by Terry subsequently dies of his injuries, Terry decides to leave the country. He'd like to take Susan (Jill Ireland, McCallum's wife at the time)--an "exotic dancer" at the Adam & Eve club he frequents--with him, but she rejects his advances: she's the girlfriend of Johnny, currently serving time for a robbery he and Terry committed.

Johnny is released from prison: he reunites with Susan and demands his share of the previous robbery's proceeds from Terry. Terry has spent it all, but suggests he and Johnny rob the strip club's safe. They do so, but Terry double-crosses Johnny, knocking him out and fleeing with all the cash. Terry confronts Susan at Johnny's apartment and tries to force her to accompany him, but the police arrive, tipped off by Johnny. A neighbour is accidentally shot to death during the hostage situation. A screaming Terry is dragged off by the police to pay the price (presumably hanging) for the two deaths he caused.

What could have been a routine crime film with a fairly simple plot is spiced up with a bit of "kitchen sink" drama, some police procedural footage, and several interesting performances. Jungle Street also contains a number of strip-tease performances-- while quite tame, the dancers are generally attractive, seem to actually know how to dance (except Jill Ireland, but she was an actress, not a professional dancer, as the others apparently were--even in the context of the film she’s not supposed to be an expert stripper), and the shots of the middle-aged men in the audience are subtly ironic.

The influence of the "kitchen sink" dramas of the era is evident in several sequences of Terry's home life. These scenes are extended and effective. His surly father does manual labour in the market (”lifting sacks of potatoes”), spends his free time in the pub, and makes no secret of his disdain for his "soft" son. Terry's mum plays peace-maker between the two. In one interesting scene, Johnny visits Terry's home in search of his former partner in crime; he introduces himself only as an old friend of Terry (who isn't home), and chats up Terry's mother over a cup of tea. Although she tells Johnny that Terry is "artistic" and deserves a better life, the viewer sees no evidence of this in the film itself. Aside from mooning over Susan, Terry seems entirely self-absorbed, weak, and has no particular goal in life. The script gives him no scenes of introspection that would help the viewer understand why he is the way he is. He's not a sympathetic character at all and goes to pieces at the conclusion, struggling and protesting in a juvenile manner, highlighting his lack of maturity.

Not that other characters in the film are especially sympathetic. Johnny doesn't appear until the plot is well-advanced; he's shocked to learn Susan has become a stripper, and hits her, but they reconcile. Susan is not especially pleasant--to be fair, until Johnny returns we see her mostly fending off her lecherous boss Jacko and avoiding Terry's (very) slightly more well-intentioned advances.

Perhaps the most entertaining character has little or nothing to do with the main plot: Joe Lucas (Brian Weske), a smarmy, hypochondriac spiv who hangs around the Adam & Eve club. 21st century viewers might find him reminiscent of some of Eric Idle's later sleazy, pencil-thin moustachioed characters from "Monty Python's Flying Circus." Joe is a shady character who behaves insouciantly regardless of what happens to him, including enduring repeated police interrogations; he threatens to blackmail Terry and gets a punch in the face for his trouble, but shrugs it off and says the blow just confirmed his suspicions (that Terry was the mugger who killed the old man early in the film).

Jungle Street spends a fair amount of time on Inspector Bowen and the police, depicted as competent and professional. They discover the murdered man's wallet, complete with fingerprints of the presumed killer, and resolve to fingerprint everyone in the area to solve the crime--and "pay close attention to anyone who refuses to be fingerprinted," Bowen adds.

While one wouldn't want to claim Jungle Street as an unsung feminist film, it is interesting that a fair amount of film is constructed around the exploitation and objectification of women by men. Obviously, the concept of a strip club, where (mostly) middle-aged (and older) men stare fixedly at the performers as they disrobe, is a large part of this. The women have some agency, but it's chiefly exposed as a fiction: Jacko uses (or tries to use) his dancers as his personal harem (late in the film he's hiring a new performer and makes it clear her salary is based on how "friendly" she is to him). Susan says she hates working at the club and despises Jacko, but he has "long arms" and would pursue her if she quit (this doesn't seem entirely logical, but she believes it). Both Johnny and Terry have "honest" intentions towards Susan, but they also both view her as a possession and both threaten her violently. Terry's father doesn't abuse his wife openly, but he seems to treat her in a dismissive manner and apparently spends most of his evenings in the local pub (although there is a reference to Terry's parents attending the cinema together on a sort of “date night,” so he's not completely oblivious to her). Even Joe, having an affair with dancer Dimples, brusquely bursts into her dressing room and orders her to get out so he can have a private conversation with Terry.

Jungle Street was clearly made on a low budget but this doesn't seriously affect the film's impact. Shot at the Twickenham studios, it also includes some actual location footage; the sets are adequate, the direction (Charles Saunders), cinematography and editing are all fine, albeit without a great deal of style.

The performances are satisfactory. McCallum--who rather shockingly reminds one a bit of Macaulay Culkin in some shots!--is stuck with playing an unsympathetic character but does his best; Jill Ireland (who somehow looks...different than she did later) is adequate. The aforementioned Brian Weske turns in the most entertaining performance, although Martin Sterndale (Inspector Bowen), and Thomas Gallagher and Edna Doré (as Terry's parents) are also fine. Special mention should be made of Meier Tzelniker as the ill-fated tailor Mr. Rose: Tzelniker, a Romanian-born Yiddish theatre veteran, had a substantial career in the UK, chiefly playing (as he does in Jungle Street) somewhat stereotyped Jewish characters. Mr. Rose stands up to Terry at the climax, encouraging him to hand over his pistol and surrender to the police, only to be accidentally shot when the police burst into the room. It's a tribute to Tzelniker's acting--in a two-scene role-- that his character's death has considerable emotional impact on the audience.

Not a classic or even deserving of cult status, Jungle Street is nonetheless interesting, well-paced and entertaining.

[Trivia note: This film was also known as Jungle Street Girls (the U.S. release, billed as in “Sin-O-Rama”), Criminal-Sexy, and (translated) Murder in the Strip Club [Morderen fra Strip-Tease Klubben]--the latter title is rather misleading, since neither of the two deaths that occur in the movie take place in the "Adam and Eve" club.]

#Jungle Street #british cinema #crime film #david mccallum #strip-tease

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beepbeeprichiellc · 5 years ago

Note

Hey! If you could write anymore of the best friend’s brother au with Stan and Eddie as brothers I would love to read it!!!

Yes I can. Part One.

Richie had never seen someone so pissed off in his life.

Sure there was that one time he had stolen Wentworth’s keys to take Betty Ripson to make out point, which ended with the loss of his virginity but even then there was a glimmer of knowing amusement in his father’s eyes when amidst the scorning. Now though-he knew that what honest and true annoyance looked like as Stan shot him the dirtiest look ever known to man. Mrs. Uris was cooing about having someone other than Mike over, practically fawning over the fact that Stan had more than one friend-not that the woman knew that Mike wasn’t exactly Stan’s ‘friend’-and asking him all about himself. Richie was in love with this, giving him something other than Stan’s annoyance to keep his attention.

Not that Eddie was giving Mrs. Uris a run for her money.

All he was doing was sitting there, in a school hodie and the same pair of sweats that had nearly given Richie an aneurysm earlier. Looking closer Richie realized that Eddie was an angel in disguise, his features soft and tangible, his voice like bells and every time he looked in Richie’s direction the air in the trashmouths lungs vanished. This was probably apparent to everyone except the parents, giving that Stan constantly growled out his answers and Eddie smirked when he did so.

“Yeah, my dad is a dentist and my mom stays at home. Although she has become quite a master of needle point here lately.”

“A dentist, that’s pretty neat.” Mrs. Uris replied, apparently fascinated with every word Richie spoke. “That must be why you are so polite, dentists always have polite kids.”

“How many dentist kids do you know there Andrea?” Mr. Uris asked, chuckling to himself. “Do you go around grading childrens politeness based on their parents occupation?”

Eddie snorted, nearly choking on his food in the process. “Sorry,” He sputtered out. “Went down the wrong tube.”

“Right,” Stan nipped, “And I’m Johnny Depp.”

“I didn’t know the Depp man was Jewish.” Richie playfully pointed out, earning a small chuckle from Eddie, causing the trashmouth’s heart to skip a beat. “You’d think they’d advertise that.”

“Anyways,” Mrs. Uris ushered, trying to keep her son form jumping from his chair and strangling Richie. “What are your hobbies Richie? Do you play any sports?”

“Oh god no.” He chuckled, earning an unimpressed look from Eddie. “I mean no offense but I’m not the most graceful person in the world.”

“I don’t know, have you ever seen Stan play any sport? It’s like watching a newborn calf walk.” Eddie laughed at his own joke, forcing Stan to toss his roll right into his chest. “Hey now, the truth hurts Stanley.”

“Now boys.” Mr. Uris warned, making both children halt their actions and mutter an apology under their breath. “Eddie her is on the track team at Saint Ann’s, they are expecting him to take state.” It was a brag, no doubt about it making Mr. Uris’s chest puff out and his wife smile. “Stan is set for an academic scholarship so both of the boys are looking at only the best colleges. A good extra curricular activity is good for you Richie, you should look into taking up something even if it’s like the chess team.”

“Richie is in the drama club.” Stan blurted, making Richie’s ears burn. “The president even, I think.”

“Wow.” Eddie whistled, coming to Richie’s defense. “That’s about as cool as Stan’s bird club.”

“Alright you know what Kasbrak?” Stan shot back, pointing his fork right at his brother. “If you wanna go there we can go there, remember that I have pictures of you with that stupid fanny pack on. Want me to bring those bad boys out?”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Eddie hissed, narrowing his eyes.

Stan licked his lips. “Try me big boy.”

“Kasbrak?” Richie asked, the name sparking a memory in his brain. “Wait, are you related to Crazy Kaspbrak that lives down on 2nd?” The entire room went tense, making Richie realize his mistake immediately. The Uris’s became fascinated by their plates as Stan shoved his fork into Richie’s thigh. “Oh shit, I didn’t mean to-”

“I didn’t know Sonia had a nickname.” Eddie chuckled, his face twisting into an unreadable emotion. “Why didn't’ you tell me Stan?”

“It wasn’t something I thought you would be impressed with.” Stan quipped, staring down an already shrinking Richie. “It’s just a dumb name some kids gave her Eddie, no one thinks-”

“It’s fine.” Eddie cut, shaking his head. When his brother tried to speak again, he would have none of it. “Stan, it’s fine, really.” Looking at Richie he continued, “Sonia is my mother, although she’s nothing more than a birther to me.”

“Eddie…” Mr. Uris whispered softly, reaching out to his adoptive son but faltering when the phone began to ring from the kitchen. For a moment it looked like he was going to ignore it, but politeness won over as he pulled from the table and disappeared from the room. His voice still carried, the moment the person on the other line spoke, all politeness vanished. “I told you not to call here again.” Pause, “No, he doesn’t want to-”

Eddie sighed, rolling his eyes and excusing himself to go to Mr. Uris aid. His voice was much louder, much sharper and borderline pissy. “I told you not to call here again Sonia.” The name like venom to the dinner table. Stan looked sympathetic to Richie for the first time since his arrival, biting his lip and closing his eyes. “I don’t care what your therapist says, stop trying to contact me. You know what the judge said, I don’t have to put up with this bullshit anymore.” A very long pause, followed by. “Call here again and I’ll call the cops.” The slam of the phone caused everyone to flinch, their eyes advertising Eddie as he walked into the room. Eddie cleared his throat, making the parents look up. “Can I please be excused from dinner? I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Eddie, are you okay?” Mrs. Uris soothed, her eyes soft and inviting.

“I’m fine.” He assured, “Just tired.”

“Alright.” She replied, obviously unconvinced. “Goodnight son.”

“Goodnight.” His eyes lifted once more to meet Richie’s and a shiver ran down the trasmouths spine, settling down at the pace of his hip making him buzz. Once gone conversation lagged until it was over, and Richie was relieved when he and Stan could go back to their homework, although Richie’s mind kept wandering to the room next to Stan’s, ACDC blaring form it’s walls.

It was well past midnight before Richie realized Stan had actually passed out sitting upright. His mouth hung open, a deep breath coming from his lips. It wasn’t that Richie wasn’t impressed-because he was-it was that he knew how pissed he was going to be when he woke so to make sure he didn’t kink up his neck too bad, Richie literally tucked him. Once that was done he picked up the books and paper, careful not to disturb other things that Stan himself had organized. With a need for a cigarette making him itch.

Knowing that he had to be sneay, Richie chose the backyard for his secret smoke, careful not to make a single creek aas he snuck out. It was a relief, feeling the nicotine touch his lungs and he thanked every deity for whoever invented the damn cancer sticks. It was calm out here, Derry was fast asleep as well as it’s residences. A sweet release that only a cool night could bring and an easy feeling that a good breath provided. Richie was at peace.

“You know those things kill right?”

Richie nearly jumped out of his skin, obviously not expecting the sudden voice. It was Eddie, sitting on the porch swing, silently swaying to and fro. How in the hell Richie hadn’t noticed him was beyond him but there he was, in all his angelic glory. “Fuck, I didn’t know anyone was awake. I’m not-uh-this isn’t-”

“Calm down, I don’t care that you smoke.” Eddie reassured, waving away Richie’s fear of being outed. “Did mean to scare you, sorry about that.” He didn’t sound one bit sorry, his smirk an indication of his amusement. “What are you doing up? Isn’t Stan’s bedtime like nine o’clock?”

Richie chuckled, “Yeah, he straight up passed out while writing. Not a night owl is he?”

“Never has been.” Eddie nodded, “Does have a tendency of waking up early though. It’s super annoying.”

“Hmm.” He hummed in response, taking in the last drag before flicking the bud onto the ground and stomping on it. “And what about you? What are you doing awake this late?”

“I don’t sleep much.” Eddie shrugged, crossing his legs. “Come out for fresh air when I’ve got a got alot on my my mind.”

“What what do you have on your pretty little mind Eds?” The nickname just slipped out, tumbling down his front before falling between them with no grace whatsoever. He thought about taking it back but it stuck with him, Eds. His Eds.

“That’s not my name.” Eddie corrected, rolling his eyes. “Eddie already is a nickname dumbass.”

“I like it.” He admitted. “And that’s not really an answer.”

Eddie sat there for a moment, squinting his eyes and pursing his lips. “I’ll tell you what,” He sange, standing from the swing and strolling towards where Richie stood. “I’ll tell you what’s on my mind if you take a walk with me.”

“A walk?” He repeated, raising an eyebrow. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Hmm.” Eddie passed by him, turning so that he was walking towards the gate backwards, his sparkling eyes inviting the trashmouth to join in the sins that the night held. “So it is.”

“Wait, what are you-”

“Come on Richie, where is your sense of fun?” Eddie playfully jested, licing his lips and pushing open the exit with his hip.

Richie knew Stan’s rule.

Knew what he had promised.

But those eyes, that smirk, it called to him in a way that couldn’t be ignored. It was an invitation, a sudden need to fulfill any of Eddie’s request that made Richie want to run head first through that gate. Somewhere deep down he knew that it would only cause his best friend to scold him in the morning but that was hours away, which right at that moment felt like a century. There was no use in arguing, which is why Richie followed, his heart leading him out into the streets and into the unknown.

Eddie fucking Kaspbrak, Richie thought, you are going to be the death of me.

#it #it au #requested #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kasbrak #best friend stan #best friends sibling au

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bourbonboredom · 6 years ago

Text

A Reason To Believe Chapter 3

Being an undercover officer is a perilous job and Flip Zimmerman knows this far too well. He keeps his romantic life limited to one-night stands, never letting anyone get too close. That all starts to change when he meets a vivacious Jewish woman named Elle just as he’s about to take on a seriously dangerous undercover job; infiltrating the KKK. Elle and his undercover work make him question things he’d never thought to before and challenge him to see the world, and himself, in a whole new light.

A Flip x OC Fic

Word Count: 4,751

Warnings: none

Of all the boys I've known, and I've known some

Until I first met you, I was lonesome

And when you came in sight, dear, my heart grew light

And this old world seemed new to me

(x)

“Grandma said today’s the New Year,” Flip told his mother as he watched her move around the kitchen. She was making dinner so it was ready for dad as soon as he came home.

She smelled of perfume, as always, and was immaculately dressed while making cooking, as always. He sat at the kitchen table, his legs swinging from his seat, not quite able to touch the ground yet. His growth spurt wouldn’t happen until seven years later when he reached thirteen.

“Did she now?” His mother’s voice had just a hint of annoyance, one Flip didn’t yet recognize. And so he powered on.

“She told me on the phone last week. She said we should call her today so say Luh-Sannatovah--”

“Luh-sha-NAH tov-AH,” She corrected him, opening the oven door. “And we don’t celebrate that, Grandma knows this,”

“But why not? We’re Jewish aren’t we?”

“We don’t celebrate it Phillip, don’t ask again please,” her voice was clipped but dangerous. The roast pan clattered as she slammed it on the stove top.

“Don’t mention this to your father when he gets home, the last thing he needs is to hear you bringing this up,”

Flip stopped swinging his legs. He kept his mouth shut from then on about the holiday from then on.

------------

As promised Flip was at the apartment before sundown, a bottle of red wine in hand. He parked his truck on the street outside the plain brick building. He looked from the sheet of paper with her address, it said she was on the third floor. He looked up to the windows, hoping to maybe catch a glance of her before making his way into the building.

He went up the old rickety staircase, the steps groaning under his weight. He opens the door to the third floor hallway and looks for her apartment number. As he walked he could hear the different tenants going about their night. One room had a tv blaring the latest variety show, another had the game playing in the radio as some kids were running around. He finally reached her apartment door, music drifting into the hallway.

He knocked on the door and awkwardly looked around while waiting for her to open the door. He noticed a tiny brass object hammered into her door frame, just at his eye level. It was a mezuzah, which had parts of the Torah inscribed on a piece of paper inside in order to bless the home. He vaguely remembered his grandmother instructing him to touch it before coming into someone's home. He placed his fingertips to it gently, feeling the cool metal under his skin. In that moment he heard a lock unlatch and he pulled his hand back to his side right before door swing open in front of him.

"Hey you," Eliana looked up at him, opening the door wider. "Come on in, you're the first one here,"

"Hi Eliana--”

“You can call me Elle,” She interjected, walking further into the space.

“Elle. It smells good in here," he following her into the kitchen.

He noted she was wearing a pair of chords and a simple blouse, her Star of David necklace hanging freely now that it was unrestricted by a uniform. Her hair was half pulled back and she was barefoot. For a moment he wondered if he should have taken off his shoes but before he could ask she started speaking again.

"Thanks, I've been cooking all day. Sorry it's a bit of a mess in here right now," she said, moving back to the oven to check on what was cooking inside.

"All day?" He asked.

"All day," she reaffirmed. "It's a holiday, and a lot of the traditional foods weren't really available at the supermarket. So I had to make do,"

She motioned to the kitchen table, which held an impressive amount of food. Round loaves of challah still giving off steam, bowls filled with cooked carrots and potatoes, and another platter of unidentified food filled the small table.

"Well it looks great," he said, settling the bottle of wine among the feast.

“Thanks! The chicken will be ready soon. I figured that would be friendlier than the customary fish head. Besides, my other friends don't eat a lot of fish so this was the safest option,"

"Where are your other friends?" He asked, trying to make polite conversation.

"They should be here soon. I think they're running late, Ruth always seems to be a good ten minutes late to everything. We had to change her watch to be fifteen minutes fast so she could actually get to work on time," Elle rolled her eyes and lifted herself up to sit on the counter.

The two sat in awkward silence for a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was the record player crooning pre-war tunes. The harmonizing of The Andrews Sisters poured from the speakers, playing a song he hadn’t heard since his childhood.

Bei mir bist du schön, please let me explain

Bei mir bist du schön means you're grand

Bei mir bist du schön, again I'll explain

It means you're the fairest in the land

Despite having an obvious attraction to one another, they both realized in that moment they really didn't know much about the other person.

"So... did you have any trouble finding the place?" she asked.

"No, I have a pretty good idea of where things are here. Police and all," he responded.

"Yeah, that'd make sense," she said, seeming like she was kicking herself on the inside.

"Do you need help finishing anything up?" He asked, trying to be polite.

"You could cut some apples with me, I haven't quite gotten there yet," she hopped off the counter and pulled a bowl of apples off the counter and placed it between the two of them.

"Knives are in the drawer by your leg," she pointed. He stepped back and pulled a couple out for them and they got to work.

"So any particular reason for apples? Kinda strange for dinner," He asked.

"Wow, you were serious about not celebrating, huh?" Elle said, smiling up at him. "Apples slices and honey are eaten together to symbolize having a sweet new year ahead,"

"And the fish head you mentioned?" He asked, almost not wanting an answer.

"You start with the head of the animal, its supposedly good luck. My mother used to go to the market to get sheep head, and would get mad when we wouldn't eat it,"she grimaced. "I'll take my chances with the chicken if it means my dinner isn't gonna be looking at me,"

"Understood," he said, not wanting to think about that memory.

"My siblings and I would collect the meat in napkins and toss it outside to the neighbor’s dog. My mom thankfully never caught us,"

"You have siblings?"

"An older sister and a younger brother. Rebecca is off living the housewife life with her husband and 4 kids in Brooklyn. Alex is finishing up college in Manhattan,"

"Is it hard being away from them?"

"Sometimes. Is it bad to say but I miss my brother more than my sister? I'm kinda the black sheep of the family, choosing a career over meeting a nice Jewish boy and settling down. Rebecca likes to remind me that my biological clock is ticking, she takes after mama," she tried to switch the conversation away from her. "How about you? Any siblings?"

"Nope, only child. I do get the settling down question from mom a lot though, that's seems pretty universal,"

"I guess so," she laughed. He laughed with her.

“So how did you get all the way to Colorado from New York City? Aren’t most people dying to move to your hometown?”

“New York is my home, and it will always be,” Elle mused. “But after going upstate for college, which was a good eight hours from home, I learned that I really liked my freedom,”

“I was away from my parents for the first time. I was taking classes on things that I actually liked and was making friends, and could wear pants without my mother kvetching about me looking like my brother! I love my family but being on my own felt great and I didn't know if I would be able to have that if I stayed in New York. So I took a job in Indiana at a hospital in a small city. I worked there for a few years and heard about a job opening at a hospital in Colorado that desperately needed nurses and was paying more than enough, so I thought why not? So here I am,” she gestured to the room surrounding them.

“That’s brave of you,” he noted.

“I don’t know if its brave so much as I’ve seen my sister’s life as a housewife and its encouraged me to want more. It’s like Betty Friedan said 'no woman gets an orgasm from shining the kitchen floor’—”

Flip’s lips twisted into a smile and he let out a short laugh. She realized the crassness of her quote and put a hand up to cover her mouth.

“I probably shouldn't be talking about orgasms during the high holy days,” she laughed.

“I get what you’re saying though. It’s not everyones calling,”

“And your calling is being a cop?” She changed the subject.

“I guess. I joined the military right out of high school. My dad was in the Air Force so it was expected of me. We lived on base in Nebraska, he didn’t retire until I was in my twenties. I did two tours over in Vietnam before coming back to the states and joining the Colorado Springs PD,”

“Is this the wrong time to tell you I spent a lot of time in college and post-grad protesting the war?”

“I mean, I went over there and I served but I didn't really agree with what was happening by the time I left. A lot of the people around me had been drafted. They didn't want to be there and were vocal about it, but we kept each other safe enough to get home,”

She was quiet and avoided his gaze. He knew what she was thinking. The country was so polarized about this war. It wasn’t popular by any means. He remembered the welcome he received coming home. Wearing your uniform didn't feel honorable when people called you a baby-killer as they walked by. He traded in that uniform for a CSPD one, finding it to be one of the only places where people didn’t scowl when they heard his resume.

“I didn’t kill anyone if thats what you’re thinking. My unit wasn't specialized or anything, we barely saw any action. There isn’t as much going on over there as the news is making it out to be,”

She bit the inside of her lip, cheeks flushing as she took in his words.

“I honestly hadn’t heard anything from anyone who had been over there. I appreciate you being honest about it. Sorry if I came off too strong,”

“It’s okay, I get it. Besides, you can make it up to me with dinner,”

He flashed her a cheeky smile and she shot one back his way. She looked beautiful right now, with her hair up in a loose bun from cooking and apron covering her outfit. He hoped he was appropriately dressed. He’d subbed out his usual flannel and jeans for a dress shirt and slacks. She was about to open her mouth, no doubt to shoot a sarcastic remark his way when she was suddenly interrupted.

The phone rang and she excused herself to go answer it. He found this all strangely relaxing. Slicing apples, the background music, the two of them just chatting and laughing. It was like they'd been doing this together for ages. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden change in her voice, he eavesdropped into her call in the next room.

"Are you sure? Do you want me to send some soup your way?... No, don't worry about it, you focus on getting better... Okay, I'll call you tomorrow then, L'shana Tova..." she said before hanging up the phone and coming back in the kitchen.

"Everything alright?" He asked, putting the apple slices on a plate.

"The girl that was supposed to come, Ruth, she's really sick and can't make it. So I think it's just gonna be us," she said with an air of uncertainty.

He realized she was nervous. He was practically a stranger, just sitting in her kitchen with this huge meal she’d created. With four people, it would have been a party. With two though, it was more of an awkward date. He tried to receive the tension, let her know he was okay with this.

"Oh. Well, more wine for us then?" He offered.

She broke into a relieved smile.

"More wine for us then,"

——

The sun had just started to sink over the horizon as Flip helped Elle with setting the table, the two extra chairs being dragged back into the small living room. She turned off the radio and motioned for him to sit down as she retrieved a candle that had been burning in the other room.

“You said you’ve never done this before, right? Do you want me to break some of it down for you?” She asked as she came back into the kitchen.

“Uh— yeah. I mean, yes. Please. That’d be great,” he said, wanting to seem at ease with everything that was happening.

She took the unlit candle sticks, set in silver holders, and lit them with the existing flame which she then set on the kitchen counter behind them. She turned back to the table, standing over the candles. After a deep breath through her nose she closed her eyes, waved her hands over the flames and began reciting a prayer.

If Flip was being honest, he didn't understand anything she was saying. He never went to Hebrew school. The closest was an hour away and his father basically forbid it. There were no celebrations in his house growing up, at least none that were explicitly Jewish. He never thought much of his secular upbringing, but he couldn't help but feel in awe of the way Elle stood in front of him, speaking a language that was thousands of years old.

She looked so at peace with her movements, the prayers could have meant anything to his inexperienced ears but they sounded reassuring when voiced by her. She moved to gently cover her eyes with her hands as she spoke, shielding them from the light. After she was finished, she placed the candle to the other side of the table away from the food.

“That was for lighting the candles, which is important for most of our holidays. Think of it as a signal that this is a sacred time, separate from the everyday,” She told him. “Could you pass me the wine?”

He handed her the bottle he brought her and she popped it open using a cork screw she had kept on the table. She poured some wine into a small metal cup and motioned for him to pass his own glass. His was filled as well and he listened as she recited another prayer. When she was finished, he wasn't really sure what to do with it. So he held it, waiting for her to continue.

"Say Amen, we drink it now. Kiddush cup first," she winked, taking a sip from the metal cup before passing it to him to do the same.

“That was us blessing the wine before the meal. This is good pick by the way,”

She turned her attention to the challah that was covered with a clean dish towel. She uncovered them and spoke again. Flip was starting to hear familiar words in her prayers, they all seemed to start the same way.

"Baruch Attah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Haolam…"

He couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed when she moved around with so much confidence. Elle had clearly been doing this for her whole life, and it made him think about how much of an absence there had been of this in his. There was purpose in her actions, the rituals being practiced were far older than either of them.

She broke off a piece of the challah, handing it to him before taking her own. She dipped it in a small bowl of honey, waiting for him to do the same, before bringing it to her mouth and eating it. He followed suit, met with sweet buttery bread and thick honey on his tastebuds.

“That was the HaMotzi, we’re thanking G-d for providing us bread,” She explained. “There’s one more blessing, and then we can eat. Take one of those apple slices you made and dip it into the honey,”

He did as instructed, mimicking the way she held it upward to keep the honey from dripping. He listened to her sing one more blessing, smiling to himself as he thought of how much he liked hearing her voice.

“Perfect! And now—” she took a bite of the slice. “We eat!”

“Thanks for walking me through, that was helpful,” he said as he ate his own slice.

“Of course. It’s weird to just sit there and listen to stuff you can’t understand. If Ruth and her boyfriend were here it might've been more fun, the more the merrier on holidays,”

“I’m still having fun with just you,” he looked to her, letting her know he really meant it.

She smiled at him, just staring back at him for a moment. It was hard to believe this was happening right now. He’d met Elle less than two weeks ago. He only learned her name earlier this week. And now they were having a holiday meal together in her apartment. He was used to moving fast with girls, but not like this.

“Oh no I forgot the chicken!" she gasped suddenly and rushed to the oven.

She pulled mitts on her hands and pulled the bird out in its pan. He'd forgotten about the main dish as well. There didn't seem to be any smoke so that was a good sign. She checked it over for damage.

"It's edible!" She declared, setting it down in the center of the table.

The two of them laughed before digging in.

---

Everything was delicious.

Flip couldn't remember the last time he’d had a full homemade meal. Maybe thanksgiving? Or going over to Jimmy’s one night? Whenever it was, Elle’s meal was two times better.

Between mouthfuls of food, they found time to converse. He wanted to know more about her, she was unlike anyone he’d ever met. Funny, assertive, intelligent, and had a pretty dirty mouth after a few glasses of wine.

“So you grew up an only child? Must’ve been nice having some damn peace and quiet,” she commented as he spoke about his upbringing.

“It was lonely sometimes. I think my parents might’ve wanted more kids but it just never happened. And yeah, it was really quiet. I didn’t realize how quiet until I started going to friend’s houses. My dad was a military man, very reserved and serious. And my mom was always concerned with fitting in with the neighbors,”

“That’s gotta be hard if you’re the only Jews on the block,” she sympathized.

“Yeah, we didn't really celebrate anything. Like, we had a menorah in the house but it was never lit. My parents said it was an heirloom and was too delicate for that, but I think my mom just didn't want the neighbors seeing. We even had a christmas tree up in later years,”

“Wow thats really bizarre. New York had literally everything. No one cared what you were doing for the most part. A lot of our neighbors were Jewish so there was never a second thought celebrating anything. I suppose that’s why my parents came here, the freedom of religion. There wasn’t much of that in Germany before they came over. Now they like to go all out,”

“They came before the war then?” he asked.

“Yep, 1937. They had my sister just a few months after arriving in America. Kind of an anchor baby, but don’t tell her that,”

“Do you speak German then?”

“German, Yiddish and Hebrew. They taught us German at home and we learned Hebrew in Hebrew school. We learned a little Yiddish too, but that’s just for talking at home, mostly simple stuff. I kinda wish I knew more,”

“Well, that’s still three more languages than I can speak,”

“I thought of going to school to study language. But then my mother said that’d be a good way to meet a husband and I decided to switch to nursing so I could make enough money on my own. And maybe to piss her off a bit,”

Flip laughed. He knew a lot of women went to college to get their MRS. degree, but he hadn’t heard of one who went to specifically avoid marriage.

“I’m sure she was thrilled. Eight hours away, protesting the war, and wearing pants,” he mused.

“Oh, she was ready to arrange a marriage at that point. I made the mistake of bringing home a box of rubbers one holiday break. She snooped around my bag and found it, I thought she was going to drop dead right there,”

He roared with laughter at the thought. Condoms were a very scandalous thing for a single woman to be carrying around in the 1960’s. For her even to obtain them was a mystery he thought was best unsolved. She was certainly ready to cause trouble at ever turn, and he loved it.

“I stole a cigarette from my father in middle school and went to the edge of the base to smoke it. One of the other officers caught me and told my dad. I don’t think I was more scared in my life than coming home and finding him in the living room with a belt next to him,”

She gasped before laughing again.

“Well was it worth it?”

“I smoke the same brand as him after all these years, it all worked out somehow,”

“I’m having trouble picturing you as a little trouble-maker, officer Zimmerman,” she confided, lips turned up.

“And I can’t see you as prim and proper. I saw you in your nurse uniform just a few days ago, looking all professional and crisp but then you’re telling me stories that make you out to be a hell-raiser,”

“I was a part of the National Organization for Women back in New York and Indiana, not to keep adding on to your narrative,”

N.O.W. was something he’d read about in the news, or seen on tv. A feminist group that was often demonized and dismissed. Passed off as a bunch of crazy women looking to achieve something that would never come about. He’d take those news stories with a grain of salt. He saw nothing wrong with a strong woman.

“A bra burn-er huh? You might need them here in Colorado, it gets pretty cold you know,” he teased.

“I’ll have you know my bras are fully in tact, thank you very much! We were more focused on getting the Equal Rights Amendment passed,” she informs him.

“Best of luck getting anything passed in Congress. But maybe there’s a chapter around here you could join,” he offered.

“You’re okay with me being a feminist?” she asked.

He was taken aback for a moment, unsure of how to answer that.

“Yeah. I don’t see anything wrong with that. Gotta be passionate about something, right?”

“And what are you passionate about Flip Zimmerman?” she rested her chin on her hand as she waited for his response.

He didn’t have one.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But this chicken sure is a forerunner,”

She gave him an odd little smile, somewhere between amusement and pity.

“You can take some home if you’d like, there’s more than enough,”

“I might have to take you up on that,”

They talked the night away, moving from the table to the couch once they were both full. The wine bottle followed them, perching on the coffee table as they spoke. They were just touching, her figure curled up on the cushion next to him, the two of them facing each other in the dim light.

She made him laugh like crazy and he did the same. They exchanged more childhood stories, and he filled her in on some of the more wild cases he’d been apart of on the force. Once they had both finished their last glass, things started to get heated.

What was ‘just touching’ became his large hand resting on her thigh. She rested her hand on his bicep as they spoke. And slowly, their faces grew closer and closer together until their words died on their lips. He was the one who bridged the gap, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. He was testing his luck, seeing if she was feeling the same way he was. She quickly returned the kiss, deepening between them.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were making out on her couch like teenagers. She moved to his lap, straddling him as they kissed. His hands settled on her waist and her’s rested on his shoulders. Flip hadn’t done this in a long while, just kiss a girl, really take his time. It was nice.

She broke a part their kiss, touching her nose to his as she spoke with a hushed tone.

“I have another bottle of wine we could open if you wanna stay a while,”

He thought about it. Of course he wanted to spend the night with her, she was fucking gorgeous. He would spend every night with her if he could. But that was part of the problem.

He wasn’t going to be able to one-and-done it with Elle. He liked her too much. He liked getting to know her and eating dinner with her and even preparing dinner with her. He wanted to get to know a girl with her clothes still on. Who was he turning in to?

New year, new Flip Zimmerman.

“As much as I would love that sweetheart, I gotta get up early for work tomorrow,” he heard himself say.

She looked disappointed. He felt disappointed in himself, to be honest.

“But this was nice. I’d like to do it again sometime,” he assured.

“You know Rosh Hashanah only happens once a year, right?” she teased. He chuckled.

“I mean us getting together and having a good time. Maybe more of this?” He accentuated his words by rubbing his hands down her sides.

“I think that could be arranged,” she hummed. “Yom Kippur in next week, I suppose you don’t so anything for that either?”

“I can’t say I do,”

“Well if you’re not up for fasting, you’re welcome to break fast with me. Maybe with some Chinese food from the place around the corner?”

“I’d like that. Not the fasting part, but after,”

She kissed him again, looping her arms around his neck as if to keep him there just a little bit longer. He felt himself getting tighter in his jeans, a sign that he should stop before the alcohol makes any major decision for them. He broke the kiss, lifting her from his lap with ease before setting her on her feet.

Her curls were slightly disheveled and her blouse was un-tucking but she still looked beautiful. She ran a finger over his Star of David before trailing into the next room.

“I’ll pack some of this up for you. You can get the Tupperware back to me whenever, there’s no rush,” she called from the other room.

he awkwardly stood on the doorway of the kitchen as she worked, not wanting to get in her way. She seemed to know what she was doing.

“You need any help with the clean up?” he asked.

“No, thanks for asking but don’t worry about it. It’ll help me sober up,” she joked. At least he wasn’t the only one who needed the break from the wine.

She strode over to him, three pink Tupperware containers in hand. He took them into his arms, cradling them so they wouldn't fall.

“I hope that’s enough,” she chewed at her lip.

“More than enough, thank you. And thank you for inviting me over. I hope your friend feels better,”

“I’ll tell her you said that, thanks. So I’ll see you soon?” she looked up at him with eager eyes. He had a feeling not just anyone got to see that.

“I’ll give you a ring tomorrow if you want. Around eight?”

Her face lit up.

“Perfect, I’ll hold you to it,” she warned him.

“Alright. Happy New Year Elle,”

“L’Shana Tova Flip,”

He swooped down to give her one last kiss before walking out the door.

“L’shana Tova” he mumbled as he walked down the hall, Tupperware in hand and a small grin on his face.

---------

Notes:

The light irony of having a Jewish New Year chapter released around the first week of 2019. Happy New Year! I tried to write Rosh Hashanah to the best of my ability, my family is on the Lite(TM) end of Judaism, so I asked a lot of friends about their family’s customs to help make sure everything was good. If anyone does anything differently, I’d love to hear it!

-For those who don’t celebrate Rosh Hashanah, it’s a two day celebration that is at the beginning of the seventh month of the Jewish calendar (which is different from the Roman one we use, thats why Jewish holidays fall on different days every year). It’s about the celebration and reflection of the last year, the latter helps prepare for Yom Kippur, The Day of Atonement.

-Rosh Hashanah usually has a service you attend, but Elle is new in town and I would think too busy with double shifts to make it to synagogue (if there were any close by at all). Dinner can be a big affair depending on what your family likes to do. There is a lot of symbolism involved in the food choices, and with two nights of celebration there are different customs for each night. For example, eating a new fruit is customary on the second night, but that isn’t written about in this chapter as it was only the first night.

-Kvetching is Yiddish for complaining/bitching

-Betty Friedan’s quote is from her book The Feminine Mystique, which was a huge influence for the second wave of feminism. She also co-founded the National Organization for Women (NOW). She also believed associating with the LGBT community would hurt Women’s Rights, calling lesbians “The Lavender Menace” (which is obviously shitty)

-the 1960′s was a turning point in the national attitude toward sex. The Sexual Revolution in the 60′s and 70′s made sex more of an open topic, but a lot of things were still taboo. Condoms for unmarried women in the 60′s were hard to come by. Also remember, Roe v. Wade was 1973. Abortion was still illegal at this time.

-I absolutely do not advocate punishing children with belts. But Flip grew up in the 40′s/50′s/60′s where corporal punishment was unfortunately a lot more common.

-I head cannon that Flip grew up on Offut Air Force Base in Nebraska.

-I head cannon that Elle went to nursing school in Buffalo, NY. The State University system would have been cheaper than private school, which her parents would have probably appreciated. SUNY schools were really big on protests in the 1960′s and 1970′s, some of the schools even having uneven staircases installed on campus that make it more difficult to riot (no joke).

-Voicemail wasn’t invented until the last ‘70s, if you wanted to call someone, it was best to tell them what time you were calling.

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip x reader #flip x oc #masterlist #ARTBmasterlist

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hethak-blog · 6 years ago

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Article on Bruce Lee

youtube

Bruce Lee’s Legacy.

5 myths about Bruce Lee, debunked by the author of his new biography

Friday marks the 45th anniversary of legendary actor Bruce Lee’s death. As his fans reflect on his life and career, the author of his recent biography is sharing a few insights from his extensive research and interview process. Below Matthew Polly reflects in his own words.

Bruce Lee died a month before the release of Enter the Dragon (1973), the movie which turned him into an international icon. His fame was almost entirely posthumous. Unlike James Dean or Marilyn Monroe, he lacked a well-defined celebrity persona. “I knew so little about him and wanted to know so much,” wrote a young woman from New Jersey to Black Belt magazine in 1973. “Suddenly, he is dead, and I just can’t accept it. It’s as if I knew him, and now I never will.” To satisfy fans ravenous for details about his life, dozens of special edition magazines and quickie biographies were cranked out, filled with fictionalized accounts of his heroic deeds. Many of these tall tales were cemented in the public’s consciousness by the Hollywood biopic, Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story (1993).

Six years ago, I set out to uncover the man buried beneath the legend. Shockingly, no one had ever written a comprehensive biography of the most famous Asian-American in the world. Most of the information about Bruce was spread out across martial arts magazines, self-published memoirs, and low budget documentaries — few providing sourcing for their claims. The legend had become fact, so they printed the legend. In the course of my research, I encountered five enduring myths about Bruce Lee that are taken as gospel by even his most well-informed fans.

1. He was a teetotaler

When Johnny Walker Whiskey released an advertisement in 2013 that starred a CGI “Bruce Lee” philosophizing in Mandarin for the Chinese market, I was in Hong Kong interviewing Bruce’s friends and family members. Fans erupted in outrage that their hero, who supposedly did not drink, was being used to endorse alcohol.

The origin of this myth comes from a quote Bruce Lee gave to the martial arts magazine Fighting Stars explaining why he avoided most Hollywood parties: “I’m not that type of cat. I don’t drink or smoke and those events are many times senseless.” In truth, what he meant was he didn’t drink very much or very often, because alcohol did not sit well with him. His friends report that after a few sips he would turn red in the face, start sweating, and feel nauseous. It seems Lee suffered from alcohol flush reaction —because over 35 percent of East Asians have the condition. Affected persons lack an enzyme needed to metabolize alcohol. The only type of booze Bruce Lee could drink without a severe reaction was sake.

2. He was the author of the TV series Kung Fu

I am often asked by fans and interviewers about the first Chinese martial arts show to ever air on American TV: “Bruce wrote Kung fu, right?” I always pause for a second before responding, “No, that’s not true. It was written by two Jewish comedy writers from Brooklyn, Ed Spielman and Howard Friendlander.” My reply is typically greeted with intense disappointment, as if I had told them that George Washington didn’t cut down that cherry tree.

This myth owes its strength to Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story, which portrayed Bruce as coming up with the idea on the backlot of a Hollywood studio only to have it stolen from him and given to the white actor, David Carradine. Furious at this racist betrayal, Jason Scott Lee, who plays Bruce in the movie, abandons Hollywood for Hong Kong. In truth, Spielman and Friendlander wrote the Kung Fu screenplay for Warner Bros. in 1969. When the project failed to get made as a theatrical movie, the script was turned over to Warner’s TV division in 1971. Casting for the series began after Bruce had already completed his first Hong Kong kung fu movie, The Big Boss (1971). Bruce auditioned for the lead role of Kwai Chang Caine but lost it to David Carradine, because executives were concerned his Chinese accent was too thick for an American TV audience.

3. He fought Wong Jack Man over the right to teach kung fu to non-Chinese

No event in Bruce Lee’s life has been mythologized more than his challenge match with Wong Jack Man. Both sides continue to bicker over it to this day. In Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story, which is based on Linda Lee’s biography of her late husband, Wong Jack Man is sent as an enforcer to Bruce’s newly opened Oakland school with an ultimatum from San Francisco’s Chinatown elders: Stop teaching kung fu to Caucasians. To keep his school open to students of all races, Lee has to defeat Wong.

Bruce Lee was the first kung fu instructor in America to accept students regardless of race or ethnicity, but that’s not why the fight happened. He had recently given a kung fu demonstration in Chinatown’s Sun Sing Theatre where he had insulted its traditional kung fu masters, calling them “old tigers with no teeth who teach nonsense.” When the crowd, filled with students of these traditional masters, became upset, Bruce said, “I would like to let everybody know that any time my Chinatown brothers want to research my kung fu, they are welcome to find me at my school in Oakland.” The audience gasped at what they perceived as an open challenge to all of Chinatown. After Lee’s performance, David Chin, a young Chinatown kung fu student, recruited Wong Jack Man, a waiter at a local restaurant and aspiring kung fu teacher, to take up Bruce’s challenge by convincing him he could make a name for himself by defeating Lee.

4. His fight with Wong Jack Man ended in a tie

While watching the Hollywood film Birth of the Dragon (2016) in a nearly empty theater, I began howling with laughter. A man two rows back asked me, “Excuse me, sir, but do you know this story?” I replied, “Actually, I do.” Since our conversation was more interesting than the movie, he asked, “What really happened?” I said, “Bruce Lee won.”

Wong Jack Man and his many kung fu students have long hated the villainous portrayal of him in Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story. They finally got their revenge 23 years later with Birth of the Dragon, which is told from Wong’s perspective and makes him out to a wise Buddhist monk who tutors the Westernized Bruce Lee in traditional Chinese values. During their fight, Wong is clearly winning but decides to back off and let it be considered a draw to demonstrate how evolved he is as a spiritual being. In truth, no one there that night, except Wong, believes it was a tie. According to David Chin, who arranged the match on Wong’s behalf, Bruce overwhelmed Wong with his opening series of attacks, causing Wong to turn his back and run. Bruce chased him around the room until Wong tripped and fell. Bruce jumped on top of Wong and rained down punches, forcing Chin to intervene and rescue Wong.

5. He was murdered

In a recent phone interview with a young reporter at the South China Morning Post, she said to me, “The consensus in Hong Kong is that he was killed.” I replied, “If only there was a consensus, it would have made my job easier.”

Bruce died at the age of 32 in the apartment of Betty Ting Pei, a sultry Taiwanese actress. To avoid a scandal, Raymond Chow, who was Bruce’s business partner, told the press that Bruce died at home with his wife, Linda. When a newspaper reporter uncovered the deception three days later, it unleashed a thousand conspiracy theories. Bruce was killed by Betty. No, it was Raymond. The more inventive blamed the Chinese Triads or Japanese ninjas. Maybe it was an ancient curse. The Hong Kong tabloids were particular fond of the sex and drug-filled orgy explanation. The public grew so upset there were protests and bomb threats, forcing the British colonial government to call for a full investigation. At the Coroner’s Inquest into his death, a British forensic expert posited that Bruce had died from an allergic reaction to an aspirin he had taken just prior to his death.

In truth, Bruce died from a cerebral edema (swelling of the brain). No one knows for certain what caused it, although I’m fairly sure it wasn’t ninjas. The aspirin allergy theory is the one cited in most respectable newspaper accounts, despite its obvious flaw: Bruce was a hardcore martial artist who took aspirin for pain most of his adult life without any side effects. In my book, I post an alternate explanation — heat stroke. A few months prior to his death, Bruce Lee had the sweat glands in his armpits surgically removed, because he didn’t like how his dank pits looked on screen. The day he died, July 20, 1973, was the hottest of the month in tropical Hong Kong. According to Raymond Chow, Bruce was vigorously performing scene after kung fu scene from his next movie in Betty’s small apartment when he began to feel dizzy. He complained of a headache, went to lie down, and never got back up again.

Written By: Seija Rankin

Sources:

https://ew.com/books/2018/07/20/bruce-lee-death-biography/

#bruce lee #legacy #death #tragedy #conspiracy theory #theories #conspiracy #drugs #actor #murder

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codesecretsanta · 6 years ago

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The Warriors’ Holiday Traditions

To @furlfangs from @nemesisadraste

Setting: The first holiday after they defeat X.A.N.A in season 4. Time setting: My story happens in December 2006 in order to follow the CL time line. P.s: English isn’t my first language so please be indulgent with mistakes.

1st December 2006: Jeremy called all the warriors (including William) for a meeting in his room.

William finally arrives at the meeting. It was the first time a member of the gang, other than Yumi, had contacted him since Lyoko was shut down. So it must be important. He entered the room to see Jeremy seated on his computer chair, facing the rest of the room where the others had already found their seats: Aelita was on another chair next to Einstein, and the others were on his bed. Ulrich near Jeremy, next to him was Yumi and finally, Odd was the one nearest the door, laying back with his feet on the wall and head upside down at the other side of the bed, looking at William’s funny confused expression.

Odd: Hey! Little Will! Don’t be shy, welcome to the party! Said the cat-boy while turning around to sit normally on the bed. Here, you can take my spot! He continues while getting up and sits on another chair next to Aelita.

William: Ok. He simply answers as he goes to sit next to Yumi where Odd was before. What’s this weird meeting about? Does it have something to do with X.A.N.A or Lyoko?

Jeremy: Absolutely not! I called you because, as you know, it is our first holiday together without having to worry about X.A.N.A ruining it and I realise we never actually talked about our traditions for this time of year. So I wanted to fix that.

William sat still for a moment. He was extremely happy to be invited. That means they consider him a member of the gang, but he didn’t dare say it out loud in case that reminded them that he wasn’t. He simply smiles and waits for Jeremy to continue.

Jeremy: Ok so here’s how it goes! I’ve got all our names in this Santa hat. I’ll pick one at random and this person has to tell the others about their holiday traditions. Once it is over, we’ll reuse the names to make a secret Santa. Is that good for everybody?

Ok why not? Agreed the warriors all at once.

Jeremy: Perfect let’s do this! First one to speak is…….(Drumrolls)…… Odd! So Odd? What are your holiday traditions?

Odd: Oh you know nothing big. I just go back to Italia with my family. We have some rotation process so every year a different house organizes the party and this house alone has a Christmas tree to put the gifts under. But usually it goes the same: all the people arrive around 5 o’clock then everyone talks about how the stores were a mess to go to this year and how well the house is decorated and shitty things like that until we eat dinner at 7. Then the conversations gets a little better, but I’m too busy eating to even care so… then we stay in the living room until we open the gifts around 10. The host puts on a Santa suit and delivers the gifts and once they’ve all been opened we go to the midnight mass and then everyone goes back to their homes. That’s it. For New Year we just shout out the countdown for midnight and kiss each other a happy New Year that’s all. Usually I just wait for the season to be over and I can’t wait to come back here with you!

Aelita: Why? Your family sounds fun to party with!

Odd: Oh it would be fun if I didn’t have to anticipate my sisters’ “joke” and spend the whole night recovering from it.

Ulrich: Funny I thought you’d be the joker.

Yumi: Maybe karma does exist at some point (Laughs)

Odd: (suddenly very serious) If that is karma I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

Everyone stays quiet for a while… What kind of jokes would scare Odd and take him that long to recover? He who never seems to be affected by anything… William was about to ask the question out loud when Jeremy, in order to change the mood, broke the silence.

Jeremy: Ok next one is (He puts his hand in the hat, mixes the papers and gets one out of it.) Ulrich!

Ulrich: Well that would be short I don’t have any.

William: What? How come? I though Dutch people celebrated Christmas!

Ulrich: Dutch people do! But my father doesn’t. I mean I used to get the Santa thing and all but my father learned somewhere that 7 years old was the rational age and he thinks that means to be little adults so a week or so after my 7th birthday, he spoiled it all about Santa and his magic elves not being real and even forbid me from watching “stupid children’s cartoons” anymore. Since then Christmas at my place is a business one where he invites everyone from his office and smooth talks the no-lifes who come. Same for New Year.

Yumi: Wow… I knew you didn’t have the father of the year but killing all the magic at once like that is just… super cruel.

Ulrich: It was just imaginary bullshit anyway so I don’t care. Who’s next Einstein?

Einstein: Yeah sure… ok (he mixes the paper in the hat again starting to feel uncomfortable with the whole thing… He did it for them to have fun not to relive holiday traumas… he didn’t even know such things could exist! Not so close to him at least.) Next one to share their holiday traditions is Yumi!

Yumi: Ok well don’t worry it won’t be awkward. (Everyone laughs nervously.) In Japan Christmas is a friends/couples holiday not a family one. On the 24th my parents go to a romantic dinner and I stay with Hiroki. We eat take-out fried chicken and watch some Christmas movies until we fall asleep on the couch and on the 25th we exchange secret Santa gifts in the morning. New Year is for family! We all go to my aunt Akemi in Japan from December 27th to January 5th and it is a time to clean, repair/replace everything broken and make resolutions to start the New Year on fresh good bases. It is very fun and I look forward it every year!

Jeremy: That sounds very cool!

Ulrich: Yeah can I go with you?

Yumi: Not for Christmas. Hiroki and I picked mom and dad on the secret Santa for the first time so we decided to only watch one movie while eating the fried chicken and then clean the whole house and then go to Millie’s house (guess who asked for that) for the night and the next day so our parents will have some time alone.

Ulrich: Oh that’s nice! And for New Year? Can I go to Japan with you? My dad probably won’t notice I’m gone for a week.

Yumi: If you pay your ticket I’m sure my dad won’t mind.

Ulrich: (totally broke) Forget it. But I’ll save up for next year.

Yumi: Fine by me said Yumi smiling.

Jeremy: Great! Now next one is……………………………………. William!

It took a few seconds for the ex Xana-warrior to realise his name was called. He didn’t realise he was actually in the hat, part of the gang.

Odd: Will? Do you plan on talking today? Cause if not I’m gonna get some snacks.

William: What?! Oh yeah it’s my turn… Ok well my dad and I are kind of Christmas freaks so all December we decorate the entire house. We would start sooner, but my mom doesn’t allow anything Christmassy until December 1st so… Anyway on the 24th we get my dad’s family here in France and it is a big super fun party until the Christmas mass. They go but I don’t because I’m atheist and I find it disrespectful to go to places of worship when you don’t believe their meaning.

Ulrich: So they leave you alone at home?

William: I’m not a kid I can take care of myself for a couple of hours! I just watch "Christmas Vacation" while finishing the party snacks. And on the 25th we go to my mom’s family in Quebec. Thanks to the time difference (Quebec is 6 hours late from France) we can get some sleep before going and still spend the entire Christmas day with them. Or the entire week since we stay for New Year which is really fun at their place and we all watch "Le Bye-Bye", a show where some popular local actors make comic sketches about what happens during the year. It is fun and my grand-mother explains every joke cause since we live in France, she thinks we don’t know anything about what happens in the rest of the world. It is useful sometime though… especially when they refer to Quebec TV shows so we let her do it. And that’s pretty much it so…

Jeremy: Cool… I didn’t know your mom was from Quebec.

William: Yeah they met during one of my dad’s business trips. I was even born and grew up there! I was 6 when we moved to France for my dad’s job. I never told you that?

All: Nope.

William: Ok, well now I just did.

Jeremy: Very interesting! Ok now there is only two left!

Yumi: The cute chubby couple! Screamed the manga fan, making everyone look at her in shock because of how unusual this sort of enthusiasm was from her. What?! They are a cute chubby couple. She adds pointing at Jeremy and Aelita.

Jeremy: Thanks! Ok so the first Chubby to talk about holiday traditions is……. Princess!

Aelita: Did you really write princess? She check out the paper to see that yes, he did.

Jeremy: And I wrote Einstein for mine he says while taking the last piece of paper to prove it. Though it was funny… It is funny right?

Odd: I give you my approval! But you lose points for not writing "Little Will”.

William looks at Odd angrily. What would it take for him to stop calling him that?

Odd: More than you could ever do in a life-time. Answered the trouble-maker as if he had read his mind.

William gets a little scared by it and manages to avoid eye contact with him for the rest of the meeting.

Aelita: I don’t remember. I was 6 when the men in black kidnapped my mom and after that Hopper didn’t celebrate any special days. He focused on Lyoko and his work as a teacher.

The room’s energy suddenly drops real deep down into sadness and compassion. Jeremy takes his princess into his arms and Aelita hugs him back for several long seconds before she gently pushes him back and wipes her little silent tears with her hands.

Jeremy: You know what? I’m sure you’ll find a way to make your own traditions and maybe this year I could share mine with you if you want.

Aelita: I’d love that! What are they?

Jeremy: I’m Jewish so I celebrate Hanukkah!

Ulrich: The thing with the candles?

Jeremy: It is more complicated than just "the thing with the candles" but yes. And since I’m the only one who hasn’t spoken yet I’ll be glad to explain it. A long time ago, a Seleucid king of Syria took control over the kingdom of Judea. He let the Jews do their own things but when his son took his place, wanting to unify his kingdom, he made it illegal to practice Judaism and to study the Torah. He wanted everyone to worship the Greek gods. Now many went along with it. But when the king invaded Jerusalem, a group of rebels called the Maccabees fought them for 3 years and once they pushed the invaders out, they had to rededicate the temple. To do so they needed to light the Menorah. Now they only had oil to light it for a day but it miraculously lasted eight days and eight nights. We call it "the miracle of the cruse of oil". And to commemorate this miracle and the victory associated with it, each year for Hanukkah we light the eight candles of the Menorah. One more each night during the eight nights of Hanukkah.

Aelita: What a nice story! I can’t wait to see the candle-lighting myself!

Jeremy: If you like how I tell the story you should hear when Jim does it! He is a good story teller despite what his "I’d rather not talk about it" anecdote suggests.

Ulrich: You mean Jim is Jewish too?

Jeremy: Yes! And so are some of the other boarding students. You see, Hanukkah isn’t exactly on the same date every year. Most of the time it happens before the holiday break. That means some boarders like me can’t be there for the menorah lighting with their family. And as real Menorahs (meaning not electric ones) are not allowed in the rooms for safety reasons, Jim does the lighting and the blessings each night in one of the classrooms so the students who want to attend can be there. And we can stay for the time that it burns which means half an hour or an hour and half. Non-Jews are allowed too if they stay respectful.

Odd: Cool! What time is it this year? I wanna see that! Promise I’ll behave I know this is serious.

Jeremy: You better! This year in 2006 Hanukkah starts the night of December 15th and finishes on December 23rd. But now it’s secret Santa time! I’ll put the names back in the hat and everyone pick the name of the person they’re gonna buy a gift for. Once you’re done, give it to Millie and Tamiya. They will give them to me once they’ve received them all and I’ll give you your gifts before we leave for the break. We all open them on December 25th at midnight on our own and not before then all right? We’ll talk about it when the break is over.

Jeremy puts the names back in the hat and shakes it to mix them randomly. After that, he passes the hat around the gang so everyone can pick a name. Odd was the last one and after reading the name he lets out a big sigh.

Odd: Oh damn I picked mine!

Everyone sighs heavily and puts their paper back except for William who instead says:

William: No you didn’t!

Odd: (With the greatest smile he’s ever had) Oh right I picked princess… guess that means you picked me!

Odd’s smile changes into a laugh when he sees William’s face as he realises he fell into Odd’s trap to find out who picked his name. Ulrich joins him while the others just look annoyed by his joke.

Jeremy: Seriously Odd! Now we’ve got to do it over because of your stupid joke! Ok all the papers are in? Good now Odd you pick first this time!

And everyone picks their recipient and goes back to their normal lives waiting for the big day.

Bonus: Who picks who and what was their gift?

Jeremy picks Aelita and gives her a necklace so he can finally say he is the giver without lying.

Aelita picks Jeremy and gives him Lyoko stats that she made herself since the supercomputer didn’t.

Yumi picks Odd and gives him a picture of the Lyoko gang so he remembers he still has a good family despite his blood-sucking one.

Odd picks Ulrich and gives him the “Pacific Rim” DVD cause it makes him think of Ulrich and Yumi.

William picks Yumi and gives her an antique looking glass so she never forgets how awesome she is.

Ulrich picks William and gives him an elf suit and he went to his house with a Santa suit and they had a merry XXX-mas.

Hope you enjoy it! Give me your comments! On my Tumblr (@nemesisadraste or @aidosshadow).

#code lyoko #code secret santa #code ss18 #nemesisadraste #furlfangs #fic

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updcbc · 6 years ago

Text

May 27, 2018 - “Jesus and Nicodemus” John 3:1-13

Click KEEP READING to read the full sermon.

Introduction

What spiritual condition should a sinner experience as a solid proof that he has been saved by Jesus Christ from his sinfulness?

Is it the knowledge of Christian doctrines? Indeed, the knowledge of the foundational truths of the Christian faith is an indispensable necessity for salvation. Unfortunately, so many professing Christians make such great confessions of the Christian creed, yet they have no personal relationship with Jesus Christ.

Is it the knowledge about God by going through Christian religious activities? Prayer, meditation of the Scriptures, fellowship among believers, worship attendance on Sundays and ministry involvement are good expressions of the Christian life. Sad to say, there are those who claim to be Christians who go through these sacred activities, but they do not have the assurance of being saved.

Is it the zeal in advancing the kingdom of God? The proclamation of the gospel of Christ is the heart of building the kingdom of God. Ironically, there are those who have the experience of having shared the good of news of salvation, but in the end they despise God and turn away from the truth they once zealously proclaimed.

And is it the pious living of a person who claimed to be a Christian? Justice, kindness and mercy are great virtues of Christianity. Yet, no amount of good deeds could ever satisfy the absolute moral demands of the holy God and it is impossible for anyone to be saved through one’s meritorious works.

If these things are all insufficient, what then can be the ultimate evidence for a sinner to have been saved by our Lord Jesus Christ?

There was a man in the Holy Scriptures who was knowledgeable of the Hebrew faith. He thought he knew God in a personal way through his deep-seated religiosity in Judaism. He was zealous for the kingdom of God for his own countrymen. And he was a pious man for the sake of the Lord. Into all these things he still lacked one thing. He was not “born again” and he was not saved. And he wondered what it meant to be born again to enter the kingdom of God. This man is Nicodemus.

In Jesus’ encounter with Nicodemus, we are confronted with a great mystery of the Christian faith. A mystery as taught by the Scriptures is something hidden in the past and made known at present. Despite of it made known it remains a mystery for it is beyond our human comprehension. What does Jesus really mean when he told Nicodemus that he must be born again to enter the kingdom of God? In light of the Scriptures we are called to listen and understand the essence of the dialogues between Jesus and Nicodemus: John 3:1-3; 3:4-8 and 3:9-13.

A. First Dialogue (3:1-3)

The first dialogue focused on the faith of Nicodemus to Jesus as a respected Jewish Rabbi who comes from God and the revelation of Jesus to Nicodemus for him to be born again in entering the kingdom of God.

1. The Faith of Nicodemus

It was Nicodemus who took the initiative to talk with Jesus.

“Now there was a man of the Pharisees named Nicodemus, a member of the Jewish ruling council. He came to Jesus at night and said, ‘Rabbi, we know you are a teacher who has come from God. For no one could perform the miraculous signs you are doing if God were not with him.’” (1:1-2)

Nicodemus was not an ordinary Jew. As a Pharisee, the strict sect of Judaism, he was a devout Hebrew who carefully observed the Law of Moses. He was a man of great authority and power since he was a member of the Sanhedrin, the ruling council over the unified political and religious affairs of the Jews. He was a well-educated Jew as Jesus himself acknowledged him as a respected Rabbi of Israel (3:10) who was trained in the Mosaic Law and the traditions of the Hebrew people. Obviously, he was a wealthy man. In the latter gospel narrative, he was the one who bought a hundred pounds of spices placed between the folds of the cloth in which Jesus was buried (Jn. 19:39).

Why did Nicodemus visit Jesus at night? Jesus then was in Jerusalem with his apostles in the midst of a great crowd to observe the Jewish Passover (Jn. 2:23). The increasing popularity of Jesus made it hard for Nicodemus to visit him during the day. In his earnest desire to have a serious talk with Jesus, he could have had visited him late at night.

One could carefully observe that in the gospel narrative, the night visit of Nicodemus was preceded by Apostle John’s portrait of Jesus as the all-knowing God who dealt to each person accordingly.

“Many people saw the miraculous signs he was doing and believed in his name. But Jesus would not entrust himself to them, for he knew all men. He did not need man’s testimony about man, for he knew what was in a man.” (2:23b-25)

Jesus knew the heart of Nicodemus. In giving him room to talk in private with him was a clear manifestation that he was sincere in his search for the truth. And Nicodemus opened the conversation by a word of commendation of who Jesus was. He addressed Jesus with deep respect and high regards, “Rabbi, we know you are a teacher who has come from God. For no one could perform the miraculous signs you are doing if God were not with him.” Nicodemus identified himself with those who acknowledged Jesus as an authoritative Jewish Rabbi. And he particularly cited the divine authority of Jesus as confirmed by his miraculous signs. Nicodemus believed in Jesus that his words were the words of God and that his miracles were the works of God.

2. The Revelation of Jesus

Nicodemus never expected the answer of Jesus.

“In reply Jesus declared, ‘I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again.’” (3:3)

Jesus said, “I tell you the truth.” The declaration of Jesus is the absolute truth. Jesus claimed of himself, “I am the truth” (Jn. 14:6). As God the Son who became fully human, his word is the Word of God.

Jesus declared with divine authority, “No one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again.” This absolute declaration speaks of the impossibility for any human being to enter the kingdom of God unless he is “born again.”

Throughout all generations, no human being, great or small, had ever conceived and spoken about the absolute declaration to be “born again” as the exclusive necessity to enter the kingdom of God. Jesus alone made such divine revelation that was meant for all of humanity regardless of color, creed and culture. It speaks of our great salvation and eternal destiny. Each of us must take a serious thought on this revealing truth.

B. Second Dialogue (3:4-8)

How did Nicodemus take Jesus’ authoritative declaration? The second dialogue between the two focused on Nicodemus’ perplexing confusion and Jesus’ profound explanation on what it means to be “born again.”

1. The Question of Nicodemus

Nicodemus raised a fundamental question and answered his own query in deep confusion.

“How can a man be born when he is old?” Nicodemus asked. “Surely he cannot enter a second time into his mother's womb to be born!” (3:4)

The question of Nicodemus and his answer to his own inquiry clearly showed that he took the word of Jesus for one to be “born again” based on a literal understanding in a physical perspective. He reasoned out that a man who had been physically born would certainly be impossible to enter a second time into his mother’s womb and be born again. Such hyperbolic line of thinking to emphatically drive his point should not be taken for him to have despised the word of Christ but it was a natural response to have understood the new birth in a physical realm which every one of us would likely do the same. Indeed, it is impossible for anyone of us to be born again from our mother’s womb!

Yet, on the part of Nicodemus, his own answer to his own question was an honest response driven by his genuine search for the truth and to have the assurance to enter the kingdom of God. In his own understanding, no one could ever enter the kingdom of God because it was impossible for any human being to be physically born again. Who then could be saved?

The dilemma of Nicodemus is a perplexing puzzle to every human being. Indeed, who then could be saved and enter the kingdom of God since it is inconceivable for anyone who had been physically born to be conceived for the second time in his or her mother’s womb and be born again? If that would be the case then no one would be saved.

2. The Answer of Jesus

The answer of Jesus bewildered Nicodemus.

Jesus answered, “I tell you the truth, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit. Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit. You should not be surprised at my saying, ‘You must be born again.’ The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.” (3:5-8)

Jesus defined what it meant to be “born again” in a manner which is comprehensible, at least, in a human point of view. How did he do it?

Jesus began by declaring that “no one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and of the Spirit.” He spoke of two kinds of births. First is the physical birth which he described as one “born of water.” Second is the spiritual birth which he differentiated as one “born of the Spirit.”

Then he made a clear distinction between the two: “Flesh gives birth to flesh” in reference to physical birth. This speaks of a human child born from a mother’s womb. And “Spirit gives birth to spirit” in reference to spiritual birth. This speaks of a child of God who experiences spiritual birth through the work of the Holy Spirit.

Apostle John particularly and purposely recorded the revelation of Christ with regard to those “born of the Spirit” with a capital letter “S” to the word “Spirit”. This referred to the Holy Spirit whom Jesus would have later introduced to his apostles on his farewell address in the Upper Room in Jerusalem (Jn. 14:16, 17, 26; 15:7-15). Jesus revealed of the Holy Spirit as “another Comforter” (14:16). The word “another” from the Greek allos, in reference to the Holy Spirit, denotes that he is another Person with the same divine essence as fully God like Jesus. The Holy Spirit, as taught by the Holy Scriptures, is the Second Person of the Triune God. When Jesus told Nicodemus that “the Spirit gives birth to spirit,” he was speaking about the spiritual birth of a human being through the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit.

What does it mean to be “born again”? It means to be born in the flesh and to be born in the Spirit. Obviously, in a human perspective, it makes sense. And yet for Jesus to have spoken about the spiritual birth remains a great mystery. It is a spiritual reality beyond human comprehension. Jesus used a natural analogy about the spiritual birth. A human being can sense the wind but can never see it and cannot fully comprehend its movement. Jesus said, “So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.”

C. Third Dialogue (3:9-13)

Did Nicodemus understand Jesus’ teaching on what it means to be “born again”? In their final dialogue, Nicodemus inquired how one can be born again to which Jesus have replied in upholding his divine authority as he unveiled the mystery of the spiritual birth.

1. The Inquiry of Nicodemus

Nicodemus asked Jesus, “How can this be” (3:9)? Nicodemus understood the aspect of physical birth for one to be born from the womb of a mother. But he could not comprehend the realm of spiritual birth for one to be born of the Spirit.

As a genuine seeker of truth, it was a matter of life and death for Nicodemus to know the absolute necessity to be “born again” for one to enter the kingdom of God. Definitely, he found himself totally at a lost in light of the teaching of Jesus. Despite of all his religious understanding and upbringing as a devoted Hebrew, he was confronted with the most disturbing truth he ever encountered in his life. Deep in his heart he knew that he himself was not born again! Ah! How could he really be sure of being born again to enter the kingdom of God? Anyone who is a genuine seeker of truth and who truly cares for his own soul will ask the same question as Nicodemus did, “How can this be?”

2. The Explanation of Jesus

Jesus answered Nicodemus.

“You are Israel's teacher,” said Jesus, “and do you not understand these things? I tell you the truth, we speak of what we know, and we testify to what we have seen, but still you people do not accept our testimony. I have spoken to you of earthly things and you do not believe; how then will you believe if I speak of heavenly things? No one has ever gone into heaven except the one who came from heaven—the Son of Man.” (3:10-13)

Jesus acknowledged Nicodemus as a reputable teacher of Israel who was well acquainted with the Old Testament Scriptures, Mosaic Law and Hebrew traditions. Nevertheless, despite the wisdom of Nicodemus as a Jewish Rabbi and his authority as a member of the Sanhedrin, Jesus firmly and gently pointed of his inability to understand his teaching on what it meant to be “born again.” For Jesus to have asked Nicodemus, “And do you not understand these things?”—it was not meant to demean him as an ignorant teacher but uncovered the reality common to all humankind that no one could really comprehend spiritual things by mere human understanding. Spiritual things could only be understood by spiritual discernment which is the work of the Holy Spirit who will guide his disciples “into all truth” (Jn. 16:13).

In driving home the truth on spiritual birth as an absolute necessity of entering the kingdom of God, Jesus upheld his divine authority that came from God in heaven. On earth he identified himself as the “Son of Man” with the full consciousness that he is the Son of God sent by his Father in heaven. With this heavenly authority, Jesus spoke on behalf of the Triune God about the absolute truth on spiritual regeneration. Thus he declared, “I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless you are born again.” For those who did not believe his testimony, in effect did not believe to the testimony of the Holy Trinity. The pronoun “we” used by Jesus referred to the Godhead—the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit. Unfortunately, no matter how he tried to explain to the people of the spiritual truths in earthly terms, his teachings made no sense to those who did not believe in him.

Jesus knew that apart from the Holy Spirit, Nicodemus could not really understand the mystery for a human being to be born again. The Holy Spirit whom Jesus promised to come on his behalf will do the incomprehensible task of enlightening the truth about the spiritual regeneration in the hearts of those who seek the Lord with all their heart.

In the gospel narratives, Nicodemus proved himself to have sought the Lord with all his heart. When the Sanhedrin planned to condemn Jesus in an unlawful manner, it was Nicodemus who stood for the legal right of Jesus, “Does our law judge a man before it hears him and knows what he is doing” (Jn. 7:51). And when Jesus died, it was Nicodemus who provided for a hundred pounds of spices placed between the folds of the cloth in which Jesus was buried (Jn. 19:39). The night when Nicodemus visited Jesus, he was sincere in his quest for truth. The truth about the spiritual birth was beyond his human comprehension. Yet he so desired to be “born again.”

The Greek adverb, anõthen, translated “again” signifies from above, or anew. To be “born again” means to be born “from the beginning” (suggesting a new creation) and to be born “from above” (that is, from God). In other words, Jesus declared to Nicodemus that physical birth is not enough, nor could his descent from the line of Abraham enabled him to be saved. Only a person who has a spiritual birth will be able to see the kingdom of God.

Did the apostles understand Jesus’ teaching on the spiritual birth? Under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, Apostle John gave this testimony.

“Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God—children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.” (Jn. 1:12-13)

John described the essence of spiritual birth as being “born of God.” It is not through birth out of “natural descent.” The Jews who come from the line of Abraham are not given the right to become children of God. It is not also a “human decision.” One cannot be born again based merely on one’s own decision. And it is not a “husband’s will.” A Christian husband cannot decide for the salvation for his non-Christian wife. An unbelieving spouse, child or parent must personally make a choice. Those born of God are those who receive Jesus and believe in his name. Above all these things, to be “born again” is absolutely the work of God.

On the part of Apostle Peter, to be born again is built upon the redemptive work of Jesus Christ and the power of the Holy Scriptures.

“In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead…For you have been born again, not of perishable seed, but of imperishable, through the living and enduring word of God.” (1 Pet. 1:3b, 23)

According to Peter, those who believe in Jesus Christ are born again and have received the salvation of their souls (1 Pet. 1:9).

And for Apostle Paul, to be born again is to be a “new creation in Christ.” Paul declared, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ; he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come” (2 Cor. 5:17). The Greek word kainos for “new” denotes new as to form or quality, of different nature from what is contrasted as old. How can one be “in Christ”? “And if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he does not belong to Christ” (Rom. 8:12). The “Spirit of Christ” or the “Spirit of God” (Rom. 8:14) refers to the “Holy Spirit” (Eph. 1:13). How can one have the Holy Spirit in his life? Paul taught, “And you also were included in Christ when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation. Having believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit” (Eph. 1:13). The “seal” refers to the eternal indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit as Jesus had promised his disciples the Holy Spirit who will be with them “forever” (Jn. 14:16). And what does it mean to be sealed by the eternal presence of the Holy Spirit? Paul assured the believers.

“…Those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God…You received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, ‘Abba, Father.’ The Spirit himself testifies with our spirits that we are God’s children.” (Rom. 8:14, 15b, 16)

To be “born again” is to be indwelt by the Holy Spirit. This takes place when we put our faith in Jesus Christ and receive him as our God, Savior and Lord. The Holy Spirit himself testifies to our spirits that we are the children of God. This is what Jesus meant, “The Spirit gives life to spirit” (Jn. 3:6b). And how can we be sure of this? The Bible tells it so.

Conclusion

Jesus declared to Nicodemus, “I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again.” Nicodemus thought it was a physical birth. Jesus stated it as a spiritual birth. And Jesus differentiated the two: “Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives life to the spirit.” Jesus said to Nicodemus, “You must be born again.” Nicodemus asked Jesus, “How can this be?” Jesus explained the spiritual birth through a natural analogy. Just as one feels the presence of the wind but no one can see it and fathom where it comes from and where it is going, so one can experience to be born in the Spirit though no one can see the Holy Spirit and can fully understand his indwelling presence to those who believe in Jesus Christ. This is a great mystery of the Christian faith. To be born again is a spiritual reality beyond human comprehension but we can have the blessed assurance to be born again and enter the kingdom of God. How can we know we are born again?

Do we anchor our lives in the Word of God? We need to take the word of Christ to heart, “You must be born again.” Anchored upon the word of Jesus Christ and the Holy Scriptures that Apostle Peter testified, “For you have been born again, not of perishable seed, but of imperishable, through the living and enduring word of God” (1 Pet. 1:23). The Word of God is alive and has the power to give us new life. It endures forever and assures us of eternal life. We can rest in the Word of God.

Do we have personal faith in Jesus Christ? Jesus declared, “I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again.” We must believe in Jesus and his word. Apostle John testified, “Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God” (Jn. 1:12). In yielding to Jesus Christ we become children of God “born from above” (3:13b).

Do we manifest the inner witness of the Holy Spirit? Jesus said, “The Spirit gives birth to spirit.” In receiving Jesus Christ as our God, Savior and Lord, we are “born of the Spirit” through the permanent indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit in our hearts. Apostle Paul testified, “You received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, ‘Abba, Father.’ The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children” (Rom. 8:15b, 16). And the clear manifestation that we are born of the Holy Spirit is a transformed life characterized by harmony in relationship and purity in life. Being led by the Spirit of God we are commanded, “Make every effort to live in peace with all men and to be holy; without holiness no one will see the Lord” (Heb. 12:4). Our Lord Jesus Christ declared, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God” (Mt. 5:8-9). This is the work of the Holy Spirit.

A Solemn Prayer

In light of this great truth, should we not search our hearts and be certain in our relationship with God? If ever there should be anyone among us who is not yet sure of his or her relationship with Jesus Christ and so desires to be a son or daughter of the Father in heaven, we can humbly come to God in faith and pour our hearts to him in a solemn prayer.

Heavenly Father, grant me the right to be your child. As a sinner, I do not deserve to be given this right. I make this earnest plea with a humble heart. Forgive all my sins as I yield my whole life in Jesus Christ and receive him as my personal Savior and Lord. Thank you that he died on the cross on my behalf and his blood was shed for the forgiveness of my sins. I am grateful that he rose from the dead that I may be declared righteous before your sight and be given the gift of eternal life. In yielding my life to Christ, grant that the Holy Spirit will make his eternal dwelling into my heart. Have mercy on me and save me by your grace. In the name of Jesus Christ, may the Holy Spirit give me an inner assurance to call you, Oh, God, Abba Father. And I rest in the trustworthiness of your Word. Now, I offer my life to you with a grateful heart. Amen.

#sermon #God #Christian #Jesus #Nicodemus #sermons #updcbc #dcbc #church #worship #service #Sunday #Bible

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nadasdirthalens · 7 years ago

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Remembrance

Heavy/Medic,

Notes: I use she/her pronouns for Scout, also I am Jewish and a large chunk of this is based off my own experience with the religion/culture. Also a song I imagined while writing this is this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=88pCBld3TVk&list=RDQM0Su66k1fLHA&index=7

Warning for: Antisemitism & The Shoah (it is not graphic and I do not go in depth)

AO3

There are very little things that Heavy remembers from his traditional childhood. He struggles to grasp onto celebration he knows he had, and prayers he must have sung in a language he does not understand no longer. He knows his father would begin the Sabbath, always with warm words that Heavy continues to try to find. His mother’s mouth works far better around Russian than Hebrew. He does not dislike her for it, he does not resent the missing moments he digs for late at night, when everyone else has settled down.

Tonight, he feels as if he is breathing through hot dense air, the desert suffocating from the home he holds to close to forget. It is static, as if he can reach into his own memory and pull out any of the pieces he wants.

It was an off-comment. Perhaps insensitive, but rather true nonetheless. It had been almost twenty years since Heavy tucked his rations under his arms and fed his family under the guise of sleep. Twenty years since his father had left him, and with his death, he took a God that Heavy was so ready to give a life for.

He felt sick.

“Don’t know,” Sniper began, lazily stretching his legs over the kitchen table, much to everyone’s dismay. “Never did understand the war by all of you. I was young, stupid, and far away.”

The kitchen was silent, most of those in the team had endured the harsh reality that Sniper wasn’t able to conceptualize. Solider had walked out of the room as soon as the conversation had begun, Pyro following after her. Medic sat bored by Heavy, not paying attention to anyone but Archimedes on his hand.

“Been a long time since I was reminded of it.” Sniper began to pick something out of his teeth, “You fought in it, didn’t you?” he began to nudge Heavy’s arm. It didn’t move.

Heavy stood up from the table, “No.”

This still felt like something that could not be said out loud, it hung uncomfortably around his shoulders. He left the room unceremoniously, not paying attention to whatever noise had begun to buzz behind him. He lingered in the corner before his room. His fist clenched beside him. Heavy rubbed his other hand over his wrist. Letting the rough pads of his fingertips graze over healed over scars and burns.

He was only somewhat aware of how the war had affected everyone else. He was aware of some things, of course: The Magen David around Medic’s neck, the photos he ungraciously took as often as he could. Snapping memories of Scout laughing, tears running down her face, her eyes. Medic collected the photos in a small book, a short sentence about the photo underneath. He keeps it under his desk, a nondescript leather bound.

Perhaps, Heavy was not the only one struggling to remember.

Heavy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing his fingers to uncurl from its stiff position, he began to walk forward. His feet shuffled across the tile floor slowly, unsure of his own movements. When the lab was in view, he shifted his weight between his feet. He lingered in the doorway.

Without pause, or glancing up from the counter, Medic waved him in.

“It was Sniper’s comment, was it not?”

Heavy tilted his head up slightly, a lie already forming under his tongue. He kept it there, let it run down his throat. His silence a better answer than anything.

Medic shifted his body, his necklace softly clang against the metal of the surgery table.

Unsure of what to say, Heavy sat across from the doctor instead, watching him deftly dissect an organ he wasn’t able to identify. Medic held the scalpel skillfully, yet relaxed. The tool loosely balancing on his gloved fingers. Letting the instrument write notes within the flesh of the body part. A novel on its own, Heavy reminded himself.

“What is eating you?” Medic asked, he still had not looked up.

“Am no meal.”

Laughing, Medic placed his scalpel beside him.

“This is an old pair of hearts I had lying around, unrecognizable, Ja?”

Heavy nodded.

“Can’t remembered who it belonged too, no matter however.” Medic flippendently flicked his wrist, “Used to collect my own, when I was a young boy, nothing else to do.”

“What did school friends think?”

Medic shrugged, “Did not go to a school, my mother taught me anything she could. My father kept me inside until I went to college to study medicine.”

Humming, Heavy looked over the organ in front of him, “Hmm. Lonely.”

“Perhaps. I understood his reasoning.”

“Reasoning?”

Medic sadly smiled, “We escaped when we could, erased everything. You know me, have I ever been known to share my secrets?”

“Da, I like that about you.”

“My father did not.”

“Hmm.”

“Do you miss it?”

Heavy furrowed his eyebrows. “It?”

Medic fingered his necklace, “the believing.”

Heavy shook his head, “I believe in many things.”

“You and I both know they took more than bodies, It is hard for me to ask him to feel safe. The believing, a blanket of sorts, Ja?”

Heavy nodded and swallowed thickly, his throat dry and hoarse.

“I’ll tell you what,” Medic picked up a pair of tweezers, and pointed them at Heavy. “If I will tell you what I miss, will you do the same?”

“Da.”

Medic went back to the organ, attempting to pick something out of the flesh.

“My name.”

Heavy pulled back slightly, “Doctor, you are not allowed to -”

Medic smiled and shook his head, “Do not worry Mein Freund, I will not slip any information should you not want it.”

Heavy paused. He categorized the sounds in Medic’s lab. The doves were sleeping in the rafters above, he could hear the soft noise of a sentry not far from the lab’s walls, his own breathing, louder than he would have preferred.

Heavy sunk down in his seat, “You can give me anything.”

Medic processed the request momentarily before smiling wide. “Now, if only I heard that in this office more often!”

He wiped his hand on his chest, leaving red streaks carelessly drawn all over his white coat. Heavy watched the blood dry almost instantly as it hit his fabric. Medic ignored the drop of blood that clung to his jawline.

“We had changed our family name for two reasons,” Medic began, once again giving his attention to the hearts on the table, “One of them, to hide.” Medic punctuated the last word with a unexpected jab, violently plunging the tweezers into the middle of the two organs. He left the tool half stuck in the muscles.

“The other reason,” He leaned against the table, facing Heavy. “Was because my last name became tainted.”

Heavy crossed his arms, “Tainted?”

Nodding, Medic put his chin in his hands, “Ja, I can no longer walk around with my previous name, both my parents realized this. That name, I miss.

“That name?”

“I had changed my first name as well, that one I chose.”

Heavy was quiet for a moment.

“What is name?”

Without hesitation, Medic obliged, his voice unusually quiet, “My full name is Ludwig Reichstein.”

“Ah,” Heavy shook his head, “Can see why ignorant people would have issue with name. However,” He uncrossed his arms, “Ludwig suits you.”

Medic smiled, “Thank you Mein Freund, I’m sure whatever name you possess fits your body like a sock.”

“Glove.”

“What was that?”

“English expression, da? Fit like glove.”

“Never did have good fitting socks,” He momentarily paused to think for a moment, the doctor’s eyes wide and unfocusing, when he snapped back into the present, he smiled.

Medic reached down to fiddle with the star around his neck, pausing for Heavy. He watched the doves above him breath softly, their feathers expanded across their chest.

“Mikhail.” Heavy said softly, his eyes down.

“Meek-Hail?”

Heavy gave a amused huff, “Mikhail.”

“Mikhail.” Medic repeated, smiling at getting it right, “As I knew it would be, it is a fitting name.”

Heavy put one of his pointer fingers on the tip of the tweezers, still jammed in between the two hearts on the table.

“My father prayed.”

Medic hummed, acknowledging and edging Heavy to continue.

Heavy hummed back, “Hmm, I can not remember what he said. But,” Heavy put his arms on his lap, “I had something.”

Medic stood still, “You felt safe.”

“Da.”

“Before the -?”

“Da.”

“When did he -?”

“When he died.”

“Ah.” Medic nodded, “Do you think you would try to continue after all of this?”

Heavy rubbed the back of his neck, “Maybe. If after happens.”

The silence between them buzzed. Heavy was used to silence, Medic was not. The doctor seemed to be contemplating something, his face scrunched up in thought. The two hearts between them continued to lay out in the open.

“I have something, you may like it, do you wish hear it?”

Heavy nervously played with the scalpel on the counter, “Hear?”

“Ja, hold on, stay there.”

Medic stretched up from his crouched position and lifted his arms in the air. He flitted to the corner of the room where a record player rested. Underneath, a stack of albums lifted the machine in the air, it looked one breath away from toppling over. Heavy sat, amused by Medic’s ability to retrieve the album from the tall stack with little trouble.

“This, I think you will like this one.” Medic briefly flashed the album cover towards Heavy. The cover itself was read in a mix of German and Yiddish, neither Heavy could understand well. The doctor spun the record, and lifted the needle.

The sound began warm, full of strings that Heavy can almost smell, his father’s study still dusty from the long since removed musician. It was not a tune he could recognize but it was a tune that felt familiar. It reminded him of his father’s prayers, the timber of his voice, the woman’s voice flew over the room and awoke the doves, who began to preen their feathers as they woke up.

Medic reached a hand out.

“I don’t know the moves either, come!”

Heavy slowly stood up from his seat. Medic reached further and grasped his hand.

“Doctor, I can not dance!” Heavy shouted over the music, a smile already forming on his face.

“Neither can I!”

Heavy let Medic pull him closer, they began to move from side to side, their feet tripping over themselves, their swaying not matching the rhythm to the song. Heavy felt warm and safe, he did not think to look behind him, didn’t check the door again, didn’t listen in to make sure Engineer’s sentry continued to search the high fortress, scanning for enemies.

They hadn’t realized the song had ended, and another slower one had begun, they had only slowed their dancing by a miniscule amount.

Erupting in a fit of giggles, Medic began to trip more often, having Heavy catch him more often than not. Their arms around the others for support more than anything. On the battlefield, they were together and solid, but in dancing on the surgery floor they both felt like fools, all limbs.

“I’m sorry! Haven’t done this in awhile!” Medic shouted above the music.

“Have never done this!” Heavy responded, smiling in kind.

The record stopped it’s spinning, the needle lifting from its grooves, and with a click, all sound in the lab had ceased. Heavy and Medic continued to smile at each other, both still clinging onto the other, neither of them made a move to dislodge themselves from their tangled arms and legs.

“I have not dusted off that old player in a while, I am thrilled for it to be used again.” Medic locked his hands behind Heavy’s neck.

“The music it was -”

“Traditional?”

Heavy shook his head, he tried to reach for words he did not have. His own education filled with beautiful languages that could describe anything. For this he was blank. “That is this it is.”

“What is it?”

Heavy leaned his forehead on Medic’s. Medic grinned, and closed his eyes. Heavy’s voice sounded revenant. His voice lower than a whisper. Medic wished to tuck it away, to fold it together and burn it over the candles he kept late at night, when prayer seemed the hardest way out of anything.

“The believing, this is it.”

#heavymedic #hey ill probably edit this as i find mistakes and what not but i've gone over this a few times and thought i'd post it #thus the birth of deep jew fic #tf2

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dybdahltravels · 6 years ago

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Overland to Chefchaouen

March 20, 2019

Bonjour and Salam!

I have a new Arabic phrase “inshallah.” Pronounced ʾIn shāʾ Allāh” This means “God willing” and it is inserted into sentences at will. It reminds me of “Lord willing and creek don’t rise,” that I heard as a youth. Everyone seemed to have some phrase that they remembered as a kid that meant the same thing - but we all agreed it is not a phrase that we hear much now.

We boarded a small bus and headed from Casablanca to Chefchaouen right after breakfast. We are all having some problems with our fancy schmancy phones and watches, all of which do not want to get on board with our new zone. I confess that I finally bypassed by watch and set it on Paris time GMT+1 because Casablanca time was not right. Later we found out the only a couple weeks before the country had moved out of the natural time zone to be in sync with France, its biggest business partner. That is great BUT someone forgot to tell all these satellites beaming down the time based on location. (Remember when clocks had hands and you could set them to anything you wanted.... sigh... yes, remember when YOU controlled your own watch instead of it controlling you....)

Anyway, the clock thing didn’t work for dear Sharon & David and a housekeeper awoke them 15 minutes before we were supposed to be on the bus. UGH! But they were there only a couple minutes late - flying high and ready to roll. Zouhair got some food for them and we were off. I felt so bad, but they are great human beings and can roll with the punches - so onward ho!

The trip was long but much of our time was devoted to learning about the history of Morocco and modern day Morocco with a few delightful breaks along the way.

We stopped by the side of the road to talk to a man herding his son’s sheep. He was hesitant at first to talk to us, but our guide Zouhair (Zoo-here) persuaded him to try. The shepherd explained to Zouhair that he did not know how to talk to the sons of Jesus. :) But he did just fine. The funniest part was when Zouhair wanted to give him a little money for his time, and the man demanded more - then more again. Apparently he did NOT have a hard time talking to the sons of Muhammed.

The shepherd told us that he had 4 sons and 3 daughters. The sons stays with the parents and brings his wife into that household. Only one son lived in the home with his wife and children and 2 of his sons lived in France and one in Seattle, WA. He has one daughter, age 15, still living at home and in high school, but his other daughters were married and living in their husbands home. He told us that his son works as a police officer and that by tending the sheep (his son’s sheep, now) he still helps contribute to the household. (Plus he could pick up some bucks on the side of the road by talking to tourists, inshallah.)

Frankly, these little stops are one of the things I really love and that would NEVER be possible if we were traveling on our own. We spent 7 days touring Malta - and I loved that - but other than the waiter or hotel clerk, I never spoke to anyone who lived there and was not experienced talking to tourists. And even so, the conversation never included anything about their life in Malta. So here we are on the side of a country road talking to a man who has lived in this area his entire life.

I have my own little barometer about learning. If I feel very uncomfortable in a situation I KNOW I will be stretching my brain and I heart. I don’t like the feeling at the time and want to flee - but I know that on retrospect these are the situations that will have the greatest impact on how I see and understand the world. I didn’t feel “uncomfortable” with the gentleman by the road, but I felt awkward. What I know about me is that “awkward” is the first step to mind expansion. Our next stop pushed me to “uncomfortable” but I loved it!!

We stopped at a traditional SUK - or market - where people come from nearby villages to purchase all the provisions necessary until they can return to the Suk in one week or two. It was AMAZING! Clothing, pottery, cookware, potatoes, car parts - WHATEVER you might need is right there. The name of this thriving city meant “Market on Wednesday.” As complex and dense as it was, Zouhair assured us everything - including the stalls and shade covers would be gone within a couple of hours. During the summer this market is EVERY Wednesday - but during the winter, every other Wednesday. People greeted us kindly and with interest because this is not where one might see tourists. We loved it! The picture below does NOT do this place justice as this was just he beginning. Multiply this by 100 and add shade tents. Anyway, it was an amazing experience.

Donkey carts are everywhere and the donkey is indeed the beast of burden. They are the tractors and the produce trucks. Additionally we saw many donkeys alone on the side of the road. We discovered that the owner had ridden the donkey from the village to a main road and then hitchhiked into town. After doing their business in town, they would hitchhike back to the awaiting donkey and head home. SWEET!!!

We traveled through some beautiful and surprising green and fertile farm lands until we reached the Rif Mountains. We were all surprised to discover the the farms of Morocco supply the food for the entire kingdom - which we probably should have known since during the Roman reign this region was referred to as the breadbasket of the Roman Army. “Kingdom” is the term Moroccans use to describe their country - FYI. The farmers grow everything from cauliflower to oranges and turnips to bananas. Additional they grow a lot of weed or “kief.". This is illegal but Zouhair showed us many marijuana fields - some near speeding checkpoints, manned by 4 police officer. His take on that was “Weed? I don’t see any weed. Where?” It is a big part of the economy and everyone knows it.

Finally as we climbed the Rif Mountain Chefchaouen came into view and what a treat.

Founded in 1471 this city positioned between mountains and rivers remained unconquered until the 1920s when Spain conquered it as part of Spanish Morocco. During the late 1600s, time of the Spanish inquisition the city served as a protectorate of Jews fleeing from southern Spain - and the town began painting their buildings a shade of blue. The Jews believed that blue indicated the infinity of the universe. This town was also a Jewish refuge during the Nazi reign of terror BUT after the founding of Israel most Jews began to migrate to Israel. Then during the 1967 Arab–Israeli War the majority of Jewish population fled to Israel.

The “streets” are super narrow and breathtakingly beautiful. The bus took us to the top of the city and we made our way down, down, down until we are at our riad.

This city is beyond gorgeous as is our riad where we will spend the next 3 nights. A riad is a type of traditional Moroccan house or palace with an interior garden or courtyard. Each room is unique and our room is on the top floor.

We learned a little more about the current King Mohamed VI and a quite a bit about this father, Hassan II, who ruled like a tyrant. More about them later.

Stay tuned,

Salam

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giacintodenmark · 6 years ago

Text

A Week in Rome

I journeyed over to CPH airport at around 6 PM to make it to my 8:30 PM flight on Friday night. After some difficulties, I made it to my home for the week at 2 AM.

Saturday

A late start to the day, I had nothing planned... and so began my first day wandering around the city without a particular destination in mind.

My first view of St. Peter’s Basilica. The sheer size of the building and the number of sculptures placed atop the structure, surrounding the square was quite an amazing sight to see.

I was taken aback by the sheer number of tourists surrounding the more famous places in Rome, I’ve never seen so many anywhere I have been... they are paradoxically beneficial and detrimental to the city. While tourism brings money and activity into the Roman economy, it also brings piles of garbage from careless littering and city spaces blocked off to the locals.

I found myself walking along the River Tiber. It was quite beautiful (save for the garbage within it and the general neglected decay of the areas bordering the river) and it served me well as a means to navigate my way through the city.

Another view of the river... an abandoned houseboat and small dock falling apart off in the distance. According to myth the founders of Rome, Romulus and Remus were cast off as infants on the banks of the Tiber River under the order of their Uncle, King Amulius... they were seen as threats to the throne. The brothers were later saved by Tibernus, God of the Tiber River, at the site that would grow to become Rome.

The Temple of Fortuna Virilis (”manly fortune”). Dedicated to the god of keys, doors, granaries, and livestock... Portunus. The building that stands now was constructed around 120-80 BCE. It is one of the greatest examples of classical architecture of the Ionic Order (there are three: Ionic, Corinthian, and Doric). It is one of the best preserved ancient buildings in Rome.

I cannot deny that the extremely hearty Roman food and it’s equally hearty people demand high regard.

I learned a lot about the simple and very rich food during my week here... and in turn learned a bit about the people that cook and eat the cuisine.

Campagna Amica Market was my stop for my first meal in Rome. Open only on weekends from 8 AM to 3 PM along a road near Circo Massimo, the place was filled with locals getting their fill of fresh produce, meat, seafood, bread, sweets, olive oil, and wine (and a few tourists, who knew what to do with themselves along a spectrum of absolute confidence to embarrassing incompetence, I was on the latter end).

After four embarrassing exchanges in Italian, English, body language... I managed to pull together I little meal for myself. It doesn’t look like much, but it was quite delicious. A loaf of bread filled with walnuts and olive oil, some fresh ricotta, some cured pork with red pepper flakes, fennel seed, and black pepper, and a very very ripe persimmon (they are going to keep their good persimmons for their regulars). Unfortunate the most Roman grocery stores and markets warrant so much packaging for their food.

I ate my lunch at Circo Massimo, the ruins of a chariot racing stadium. It was once the largest stadium of the Roman empire. I eventually went back to the market to escape the heavy wind that kept kicking up dust from the field.

Back in the market, I was given some charcoal roasted hazelnuts and squash + a bit of wine from some of the people managing the market. I sat for an hour or two watching the group of men and women, a few kids... working together cracking, cooking, and distributing the hazelnuts to visitors and friends.

I found myself before the Colosseum and the Arch of Constantine. The triumphal arch was built in AD 315. The arch interestingly reuses a number of pieces from other older imperial monuments of the 2nd century (piecing together other pieces like a collage is called spolia.

Taking old pieces of ruins/other monuments was quite common for Baroque architects (late 16th century) (many of the churches of Rome are of the Baroque style)).

The Arch of Titus, constructed in 82 AD to commemorate the war victories of the then recently deceased Emperor Titus, including the Siege of Jerusalem.

A detail of the Arch (not pictured in my photo). Depicts the spoils of the extraordinarily gruesome Roman attack on Jerusalem (stemming from a Jewish uprising within Judea, a Roman-held province). Much of the spoils coming from the Jewish Temple... one of which is the giant golden menora seen left from center.

The Colosseum, created in 70 AD and opened in 80 AD. Titus (the son of Emporer Vespasian, the one who began construction) opened the Colosseum, adding to his popularity in Rome.

A view of a residential area on my way back to the flat I was staying in.

Sunday

A view of Rome from Villa Borghese park near the Spanish Steps and Villa Medici.

A fountain within the Pincio Promenade. I recommend coming here to escape the swarms of tourists and busy car paths, its a pleasant place to wander... filled with large wavy trees... there are a great number of statues and busts dispersed amongst the area.

Old Bridge Gelateria, no artisan crafted ice cream or unique flavors... or something along those lines... like some of the other “top gelato�� places mentioned in articles by Eater and the likes... but this is one of the Roman classics for some simply good gelato. My friend and I ordered three flavors: crema (eggs, cream, sugar), chocolate, pistachio.

Castel Sant’Angelo or the Mausoleum of Hadrian initially commissioned as a massoleum for Emporer Hadrian and his family in 123 - 139 AD. It was later used as a fortress and castle by the popes... it is now a museum. The ashes of Hadrian and his family + some of the popes are likely held deep within one of the Treasury rooms within the building.

Altar of the Fatherland, built in the honor of the first king of a unified Italy (Victor Emmanuel. The building’s construction began in 1885 and was completed in 1925 in the Neoclassical architectural style.

View from the top of the Altar of the Fatherland. The easy to access spot provides a nice view of the many ancient Roman ruins within the area.... this view shows a portion of the Imperial Forum (?).

Another view from the same vantage point.

Michelangelo’s Moses with San Pietro in Vincoli... part of Pope Julius II’s tomb, which was originally commissioned in 1505 (with a much grander scale and design in mind) but not completed in 1545 (with great difficulty, inconsistency, changes in plans/scale/commissions ... the work troubled Michelangelo for 40 years of his life).

Monday

Today I wandered to a variety of churches and other landmarks south of where I was staying.

I first stopped for lunch at Mercato Testaccio to continue with my exploration of the different food markets scattered throughout the city. I wandered through the aisles, looking at the usual spreads of fresh produce and groups of Romans doing their mid-day grocery shopping.

I stopped by Mordi e Vai, a humble deli space ran by a man named Sergio Espesito who serves up classic Roman slow-cooked meals between two simple bread rolls. I ordered #1, allesso di bollito, brisket with bitter greens... the bun is dipped in stewing broth that holds the brisket.

After lunch, I wandered a little southeast to the Protestant Graveyards. Romanticist poets Percy Bysshe Shelley and John Keats are buried here.

Keats died of Tuberculosis in 1821 at the age of 25, his tombstone reads...

This grave contains all that was mortal, of a young English poet, who on his death bed, on the bitterness of his heart, at the malicious power of his enemies, desired these words to be engraven on his tombstone: Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

Shelley drowned while sailing along the Italian Riviera a year after Keats, his tombstone reads...

Nothing of him that doth fade, // But doth suffer a sea change, // Into something rich and strange. (A quote from Shakespear’s The Tempest)

I walked North, wandering through a number of small churches and parks on my way to the Roman Forum... once the heart of the ancient city’s government, trade, and culture.

I surveyed the Roman Forum from the Capitoline Hill Plaza, designed by Michelangelo.

I concluded my Monday adventure at one of the oldest wine shops in Rome, Ill Gocceto. I enjoyed watching the servers swiftly open wine bottles and pour while conversing with regulars. They’d pop the corks with a flourish of speed as they made their rounds through the busy shop.

Tuesday

I wandered East to visit the Ecstasy of St. Theresa by Gian Lorenzo Bernini in the Cornoaro Chapel of Santa Maria della Vittoria. I planned to stop by a number of places on my way to the destination.

I stopped by the landmark Fountain of the Four Rivers, also desgned by Bernini. The base of the fountain represents River Gods belonging to four major rivers within the four continents subject to papal authority: the Nile of Africa, the Danube of Europe, the Ganges of Asia, and the Rio de la Plata of the Americas.

For a snack I visited Forno Campo de’ Fiori, a historical bakery known for its classics like pizza rossa and pizza bianchi. Rossa is a thin pizza crust topped with a rich tomato sauce. Bianchi is even simpler, just pizza crust brushed with olive oil and speckled with flaky sea salt.

After my snack and a couple small stops, I made it to my destination. The Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Teresa is considered one of the central sculptural masterpieces of the Roman Baroque period that spanned from the 17th to the 18th century. The group’s imagery comes from the autobiography of Teresa of Avila:

I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it...

After reaching my destination, I enjoyed the long walk home to the light of the setting sun.

Wednesday

I got up early in the morning to get in line for the Vatican Museum. I planned well as I was the first in line behind the many hundred that congregated behind me as the time to open drew closer.

I did not take many photos while I was in the museum, I left my phone off to focus on what was in front of me.

The mysterious Belvedere Torso is a fragment of a statue from the 1st century BC. Over time the statue was damaged and lost to be rediscovered in the 15th century. was highly influential to artists of the Renaissance Michelangelo who uses the Torso’s iconographic form in many of his own statues and paintings.

One of Francis Bacon’s pieces from his study of Diego Velásquez’s Portrait of Pope Innocent X. Supposedly the study produced around 50 pieces between the 1950s and 1960s. The most well-known pieces from the study are those that are a part of the “screaming pope” series

Friday

I couldn’t do much Thursday, the storm was too strong to take the long walks needed to explore Rome.

I woke up early Friday to get into St. Peter’s Basilica, mainly to see Michelangelo’s Pieta.

I ended by Roman adventure at Mercato Trionfale, the largest market in Rome with an astonishing array of vendors.

Although the market is said to be the most busy in the mornings, my mid-day visit was still overwhelming. I didn’t buy anything, I just wandered through the aisles and watched the exchanges occur. I wished I spoke Italian to understand the conversations I would walk by, the way in which the produce is bought.

Saturday

I returned home on Saturday, I spent most of the day waiting for my departures at the train station and the airport... I watched people walk by and wrote in my notebook.

From the floor of Roma Termini, waiting for my train to the airport. I was glad to return to Denmark.

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dweemeister · 7 years ago

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Scarlet Street (1945)

Violence in American cinema during the 1930s was epitomized by gangsters and professional criminal syndicates toting Thompsons and packing pistols. Once the gangster film had been established in the imaginations of audiences, Hollywood never looked back. In the 1940s, film noir – a type of highly stylized crime drama delving into moral ambiguities and, oftentimes, featuring dishonest dames – refocused violence from those wielding it professionally to characters who might be a neighbor, a co-worker. These films showed that anyone is capable of heinous acts, and audiences flocked to these works.

German director Fritz Lang was one of the most instrumental figures in film noir, having laid the foundations in the German expressionist movement in films like M (1931, Germany). Lang, of partial Jewish heritage despite a Catholic upbringing, fled Germany to France, arriving in Hollywood in 1936. There, Lang would specialize in film noir for a majority of his American career. Scarlet Street, starring Edward G. Robinson, Joan Bennett, and Dan Duryea – also the lead actors in The Woman in the Window (1944; both films possess similar thematic elements) – is considered a watermark of film noir and arguably is Lang’s best American feature film. Based on Georges de La Fouchardière’s novel La Chienne (”The Bitch”), this is a work teeming with then-scandalous eroticism. Its ignoble intentions concealed by aged weariness and manufactured tenderness.

During the height of the Depression, soft-spoken and graying Christopher “Chris” Cross (Robinson) is a long-tenured cashier for a New York City retail store and a painter during his free time. Walking home after a late party honoring his twenty-five years with J.J. Hogart (Russell Hicks), he protects a woman named Kitty (Bennett), who is being harassed by a man named Johnny (Duryea). Chris and Kitty run off for a late-night coffee, strike conversation, and Kitty – who doesn’t mention that Johnny is her boyfriend – is awestruck by Chris, mistakenly believing her newest acquaintance is a wealthy man. After more lunches and dinner spent together, Chris finds himself in love with Kitty – he also fails to mention that he is in an unhappy marriage with his harridan of a wife, Adele (Rosalind Ivan). But, in collaboration with Johnny, Kitty is scheming to make a patsy out of Chris by asking for money to place a down payment on an apartment, and eventually to pass off his artisanship as her own.

Edward G. Robinson had played scowling, cigar-puffing, roughhousing gangsters in his heavily typecasted early career. His role as the eponymous Little Caesar (1931) contributed to that image that persists among fans of classic Hollywood today. But as he passed fifty years of age and no longer believable playing that youthful gangster archetype, Robinson reinvented himself to play meeker, sometimes even benevolent like in Our Vines Have Tender Grapes (1945).

That reinvention is apparent throughout Scarlet Street, as Robinson’s physical acting details the vulnerability of his character. He needs to protect Joan Bennett’s character when Dan Duryea is attacking her – the way he approaches the fraught situation physically anticipates that Duryea will overpower him. With his back hunched reminiscent to Peter Lorre in M (1931, Germany; also a Fritz Lang film) and a gentleness to his vocal inflections, Robinson plays a man who wanders his middle-aged life unwanted, neglected outside of the workplace. “There aren't many people you can talk to this way. So you keep it to yourself. You walk around with everything bottled up,” Chris philosophizes. Chris’ longing for mutual love makes him too forgiving – even if these desires are now unspoken after years of inescapable marital frustration. The final minutes of Scarlet Street cement the mastery of this lead performance, as Robinson must carry himself as a man bankrupt, broken, and more forlorn that he could have ever imagined himself.

As a Fritz Lang stock actress, Joan Bennett has a complicated balancing act in Scarlet Street. For femme fatales, their sexuality and untrustworthiness are often entangled in film noir. Dudley Nichols’ screenplay to Scarlet Street, with the character of Kitty attempting to embezzle money from a gullible, willing-to-please man, must separate those two aspects for her performance. When sharing the screen with Chris, Kitty must express her interest in him. Whether that interest – professional, platonic, romantic, otherwise – is genuine becomes further subject to individual interpretation as the film progresses. An initial discomfort with Chris in the opening half-hour is then replaced (aided by less harsh lighting and the recurring use of “Melancholy Baby��) with relaxed smiles, adoring glances. Bennett coaxes the audience to believe that this film noir might just have a clean, uncontroversial happy ending. So when her actual intentions are discovered, her reaction – filled with invective, derisive language – is unexpectedly startling, maybe too arbitrary.

Elsewhere, Dan Duryea’s performance as the serpentine, master manipulator of a boyfriend might produce mixed feelings. With two central characters showcasing their behavioral nuances and personal development throughout, the one-note nature of Duryea is offered a disappointing amount of alteration following the film’s climax.

Fritz Lang’s Hollywood films work best when they evoke his grounding in German silent films. There, in those moments, Lang is freed from early Studio System plot-centric norms and allowed to experiment with visuals. Working with cinematographer Milton R. Krasner (1950′s All About Eve, 1954′s Three Coins in the Fountain), these silent film practices are most pronounced in the opening minutes before Chris and Kitty have midnight coffee and after the movie’s horrifying climax. An introductory scene where Chris is walking home with a coworker in the pouring rain after their workplace party fulfills that prerequisite for moody chiaroscuro (faintly recalling German expressionism) found in film noir. A courtroom scene where witnesses are testifying sees some of the fastest editing in Scarlet Street. Here, the witnesses are shot from a low angle, sitting straight in front of the camera lens, bathed in a circular, glaring light. The visuals here recall the Dr. Mabuse films, as well as M. Combined with an intentionally simple production design, a scene in the hotel room following the trial (which should not be viewed before viewing Scarlet Street) suggests Chris’ mental entrapment – a pulsating light outside the hotel room fueling a swirling instability.

In any artistic medium, artists will celebrate or comment on the travails of being an artist – do not let Internet thinkpieces let you think that this is exclusive to cinema. Scarlet Street, in how it juxtaposes Chris’ artistic drives and Kitty and Johnny’s relationship to art, treats Chris’ portraits as a means of escape for all three central characters. It is the ends as well as the ultimate illusions of the protagonist and the antagonists that differ. The illusion that adheres least to reality is never realized; the illusion accepting a cynical reality will be realized. But the downfall of all those involved negates whatever dishonest victories have been earned.

The twelve paintings seen in Scarlet Street were completed by Hollywood painter and part-time art forger John Decker. All twelve were included as part of an exhibition at New York’s Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) the following year. Christopher Cross probably did not financially benefit from ticket sales.

Because Scarlet Street’s copyright holder failed to renew the film’s copyright, Scarlet Street is now in the public domain. As with any film in the public domain, multiple versions of different length and picture quality exist. For your convenience, a link to a complete 102-minute print from the Library of Congress has been provided at the end of this write-up.

And even during the film’s original theatrical run, multiple versions– depending on the U.S. state or city one lived in – were projected. Complaints about Scarlet Street’s licentious and obscene sexual themes dogged the film in different locations across the country. According to film noir expert and host of Turner Classic Movies’ (TCM) Noir Alley Eddie Muller, the climax (what else?) was often cut from Lang’s original print. From one stabbing to the original print’s seven, (the provided link has four), the outrage from moralistic critics was palpable – especially with Scarlet Street’s sensational murder (the murderer is not punished through the legal system or killed himself – requirements of the Hays Code for do-badders – but the ultimate financial and mental consequences of the murder were probably satisfactory enough for the MPAA).

Time has been kinder to Scarlet Street. Though the tonal turnarounds and lack of artistic invention in its middle third prevent it from being one of the greatest film noirs, it is impeccably crafted, exploring the depths of human desire when crossed with deception. At that darkened intersection, even the most innocent souls are lost.

My rating: 8.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down.

NOTE: Scarlet Street is in the public domain. It can be seen here.

#Scarlet Street #Fritz Lang #Edward G. Robinson #Joan Bennett #Dan Duryea #Margaret Lindsay #Rosalind Ivan #Jess Barker #Charles Kemper #Russell Hicks #Walter Wanger #Dudley Nichols #Milton R. Krasner #John Decker #Eddie Muller #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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