Wasted Land

"All I see turns to brown, as the sun burns the ground." Robert Plant, "Kashmir," Led Zeppelin

These are the only words that seem to fit our existence. The road stretched into the unknown, the empty landscape surrounding the desolate road. I knew the journey would be a long one, but it must begin here.

As the train rocked back and forth on its predetermined route, my mind wandered. The music that filled my ears and occupied most of my thoughts helped speed the journey along. It seems as if my wanderings have never ceased, nor ever will. This thought filled some of my mind. Other parts are taken up by these words, being written as I listen to music and think a multitude of ideas. I am fascinated that these precise words, and not others, end up on the page. I have not yet figured out how I decide what I will write down and what goes unwritten. Often I think it is the unwritten that is more important.

Right now Robert Plant's voice is burning its way into my soul. Some people really dislike Led Zeppelin. I have a more than slight obsession with them. I try to picture the words of the songs and exactly how I relate to them at this moment.

2:36 p.m. Central Time, Birmingham, Alabama

Well, I'm not impressed with my first visit to this state. I've flown over it, but this is the first time I have ever been here. The bus is crowded, but I have two seats to myself, although one is taken up by a man's (army) bag. He's asleep, plus he looks rough, so I won't wake him up. "Umm, sir," my voice cracks... hahaha. If I could take a picture of his tattoo, it would say it all. More people; I will probably have to move his stuff and mine to make room.

On the Road, 1996

As I sit on a bus on my way to Atmore, Alabama, I can only wonder about my bus journeys in Israel. Major differences: if I wanted to, I could speak with people on this bus. Also, no soldiers are on this bus. I don't have to worry about the bus being bombed or having rocks thrown at it. In Israel, everything was new. Here, while I've never been to Alabama, the countryside from the interstate looks familiar in an odd yet comforting way. No one is talking on cell phones. I'm probably the only Jew on this bus. No music from the bus driver, unlike Israel. This bus driver wears a uniform. The ride is longer and more expensive.

You are going to go back, aren't you? It looks that way.

December 22, 1996

Dear Leah,

I'm in Alabama on a bus, and you popped into my mind. I was thinking about what you are learning at Hebrew University, as opposed to what you and I might learn at religious institutions. It boils down to the premise each begins with when discussing the Bible. In a biblical criticism class at a secular university such as Hebrew University, they will no doubt begin with the premise that man wrote the Bible. From there they will carefully construct each class to prove this point, and believe me, the evidence is undeniable.

However, as one who took debate in high school, I am reminded that there are at least two sides to every argument. A religious institution will begin at the totally opposite starting point: that G-d wrote the Five Books. Each class will carefully show how this can be so. Both proofs are, in and of themselves, infallible. In other words, they withstand the tests of empirical evidence.

The unique thing, however, is that if you boil both sides' arguments down to basic definitions, you find they are not discussing the same thing. How can this be? It must be so; otherwise, if either position accepted the other's definitions, its argument would fail. Therefore, under no circumstances can you argue with one position using evidence from the other side. I guarantee that if you tried to use an argument against the Torah's validity, any rabbi worth his salt could disprove it or answer it satisfactorily. And it works the other way: if you bring up something you learned from a rabbi with a professor, he or she will have an answer ready too. Both sides must be prepared.

So does this mean one group has "a better argument," and is therefore truer than the other? That is highly unlikely. Both systems are true based on their own standards and definitions. I am thoroughly convinced that nobody knows, 100% absolutely, THE TRUTH. Oh, sure, both can come up with incredible proofs for their positions, but they have to.

So where does that leave you and me? Well, for one, it is not a question of which one is true or not true, but of which one makes a better person. Now, that is a totally relative, individual concept that neither system addresses. Since I've lived 22 years under "it's all myth," and made only passing attempts at the other way, I can't really say. I will lean toward the "religious argument" only because I see that it has values I agree with. This does not make them better or truer than "non-religious" values. It is just that the religious ones make sense, so to speak, to me.

So what does this have to do with you? Well, from your letter and our brief time together, I feel that you and I think alike, hence the strong connection. Your dilemma is mine. You are not willing to be all or nothing. You see the ugliness and the beauty in both systems, because in the end both systems are lived by very flawed creatures. We, you and I, strive for perfection. So what we must ask ourselves, in my opinion, or at least what I ask myself, is: "Is this helping me grow spiritually as a human? Is this the way I want to live the rest of my life?"

At this juncture I can report that I want to marry a Jewish woman, but I wanted that when I was 17 and didn't know anything about "religious" Judaism. Does this mean I will keep negiah, or Shabbat, or kosher, or tefillin, or tzitzit? I can't say anymore. I will not make any more promises. I'll just try to go day by day. Yeah, right! I always think about the future and how these decisions will affect me, now and forever.

So don't jump into anything, and don't be fooled by any clever arguments, because they cannot teach you how to find the real Leah, or how to put her in front of the world. In the end, it is you who decides, and not anybody else.

I've been thinking of Israel for the first time since I came back. I realized that I did cop out, and that my process will not be complete until I die. But in the meantime, I will go back. No agenda, no timetable, no promises. As for when I will start looking to go back: after Passover for sure, but other than that I cannot give any concrete answers.

December 22, 1996, Atmore, Alabama

Just think, though: I could be stuck in Atmore, Alabama, listening to the refrigerator hum. How does anyone end up in Atmore?

A steady buzz from the refrigerator filled the small cafe. Underneath its constant hum, the voices of the tired, plastic waitresses could be heard. Customers would walk in and, for a moment, interrupt the staff's break. The three women could have been my grandmothers, they were that old. What the hell were they doing working here? I had several hours to kill.

The male worker, Oliver, was in his forties. Perhaps he owned this dive. It was a twenty-four-hour restaurant next to the bus and train station in Atmore, Alabama. Me? I was just passing through, like perhaps a couple of thousand strangers before me. This place survived on strangers, and maybe made money off the locals. Either way, it was there, and so was I.

The women spoke to each other in an authentic Southern drawl. Understandable, but their conversation was boring, not worth detailing. It is enough to note that television had not affected their speech. As each of them spoke, I could not help but wonder: how does one end up in Atmore? Couldn't they make enough money and move to a city? Heck, Mobile isn't that far away...

Oliver spoke to me. Surprisingly, his voice was very soft, almost indistinguishable from the hum of the refrigerator.

"Where are you from?"

"Atlanta."

"Where are you headed?"

"West Palm Beach, to visit my granny."

I wanted the conversation to end. I hate talking with people from nowhere. Call it conceit, but I don't like coming off as an educated person, especially to good, kind folk like Oliver. He whispered that he lived here in Atmore. I asked if he owned this place. No, he does not; Mr. Sutton was the owner. A few more soft words left his lips. I nodded, even though I could not hear a single thing he said. Oliver had to go back to the kitchen.

I immediately began to write down what had happened. What caught my attention most was the lie I was going to make up if Oliver and I had kept talking. You see, when I talk with people who have little education in the formal sense, I hate coming across as the educated snob I am, so I make up the following tale. I grew up in Tampa (true) but wanted to go out of state for college (true). However, my parents couldn't afford it, and my grades were poor (untrue). So I ran track and got a full scholarship to a small private university. I consider myself fortunate, I continue, and usually the conversation turns to lost hopes. It gets me down, but it helps the person I am speaking with feel better, knowing that really I am one of them, just lucky. I always emphasize the element of luck in my life. Simple folk live and die by luck, so it works well in the story.

The story is so believable that sometimes I wish it were all true. Alas, the truth is that I am the product of two college-educated, upper-middle-class parents. My parents paid for my entire education. Not only that, but the school I went to doesn't even give athletic scholarships. Oh well. A little lie can get one through the rough parts of life.

8:15 p.m. EST, Somewhere in Florida

With Miles Davis soothing my soul, I watch the Florida landscape zip by. Maybe I'm standing still and it's going backwards, like on a treadmill. Or maybe I'm on the treadmill, and by jogging I bring new scenery closer to me? Actually, I am on a train heading toward Jacksonville. I've been traveling for 24 hours; by car I would have been there by now! No wonder flying is so expensive. The airlines know people are in a hurry. Basically, one pays for the convenience.

Near West Palm Beach, December 23, 7 p.m. EST

Thoughts of religion filter into my mind. My primary realization is how little I really know about Judaism. My other thought is how much I miss the Adlers. Why do I struggle so against what I know to be the right path? Am I so attached to my former path? Am I not stronger than my desires? Not yet. But when?

8 p.m. EST, Delray Beach, Florida

Waiting for my Amtrak while my grandfather slowly dies. It is this that makes a person doubt G-d's existence. This horrible suffering, inflicted every second on every human every day. In general, one may be able to see the Unity of All Things, even in tragedy. Except when it hits you.

Absolutely, it makes sense for people to die. That part I can cope with. It is the slow, debilitating, mind-wasting death that makes no sense. Why did G-d create us in such a flawed manner? How could it possibly benefit my grandfather to be alive? Yes, he breathes on his own, but he has no idea where he is. He knows who he is, but not where or what. Maybe it is good that he doesn't understand what he is going through. But not only is he dying slowly, he is taking my grandmother's sanity and patience with him. I can see why people go to Kevorkian. Why can't he just... I cannot bring myself to write it!

G-D, PLEASE HEAR MY PRAYERS! I don't know how to word them, or what purpose they may serve. I just want You to act in all Your providence. Help me understand how this fits into the Unity of All Things.

Frustration, sadness, despair abound.
Nothing I see fits.
Everything I see is dark.
My life is not complete.
Your mind now gone, why is your body still here?
Oh G-d, please tell me why!