Goodbye ODM

Its time to move on. ODM has lost its focus - if it ever had one, and I've lost my desire to blog here. So out with the old and in with the new. A change of scenery can do some good so my new blog is Road Does Not End .... I hope to see you over there.

Its About Time

Here is the NY Times article.

Rightfully so and long overdue if you ask me. I know that's not exactly the most PC opinion to have coming from an extremely left-wing position, but when it gets down to brass tacks Ward Churchill is a douche bag.

His firing was less about his infamous post 9/11 "Little Eichmann's" comment and more about the fact he is an absolute and complete liar.

He lied about his role in Vietnam; he lied about being a member of the Cherokee nation; and perhaps most egregiously he has been accused and found guilty by his peers of plagiarism - which ultimately is why he was canned.

Not to mention his hiring as an assistant professor back in 1990 and promotion to tenure status ONE YEAR later was a bit dubious considering his highest earned degree is a MA in Communication from the University of Illinois at Springfield and he never even attempted work toward a Ph.D.

He is suing, of course, but I doubt he'll win. Good riddance.

Escort's "All Through the Night" + Muppets =

The most amazing thing ever! OK, so maybe its not the most amazing thing ever, but it's pretty freakin' awesome.

Thanks to Amy at Huxtabled for finding this.

Troy Davis Gets 90 day Stay of Execution

The death penalty is a wretched punishment we mete out, it's good to see that new evidence can occasionally make a difference.

Read more here.

Seriously?

Why am I not surprised ...

NAACP hosts debate, whitey refuses to show up

And they wonder why everybody but them believes them to be racists.

Back to Blogging

First let me apologize for my long absence - I have no real excuse. This post will be mostly a catch-you-up blog as I've discovered a few people actually read this thing and have been asking when I'm going to blog again. Tomorrow will be a more substantive topic.

Things have been hectic lately: Work. Multiple family weddings. Helping my wife plan and pull off an academic conference. And stressing over what to do about law school in the fall.

I don't think I ever posted about the results of my law school applications. I applied to 5 schools in the area - I was rejected outright from 2, wait listed at 2 (still waiting), and accepted at 1 - my "safety" school. If the status quo remains, I don't think I'll be starting law school in the fall, instead I'll just reapply here in a few months. My heart wasn't really in it last year and my LSAT prep and outcome suffered, as did the timeliness of my applications - in general it was a very piss poor effort on my part.

That said, I am in a much better place right now. The only things missing from my life at the moment are financial and career satisfaction - but I now know want I want as a career and financial satisfaction and security will follow suit. However - emotionally, spiritually, physically, and relationship-wise I am in a great place. All of these facets are works in progress but for the 1st time in several years I am extremely pleased with the direction my life is headed. And perhaps most importantly, I am coming out from under the fog of depression I've been in for nearly two years.

I'm finally beginning to realize the truth of how much life cycles, and at this moment for me (and my family it seems) are in a season of rebirth and renewal as opposed to 2-3 years ago we trapped in a season of death. Hopefully we'll move toward a season of stability and prosperity and remain there for an extended period of time.

It sounds cliche, but I've stopped taking things for granted. I tell my family and friends how much I care for and appreciate them as often as possible. I'm becoming a different person - I was an extremely selfish person for the majority of my life, now I'm trying to change that.

It's sounds strange to say because it hasn't happened very often for me but I'm actually happy, not just content, but happy. No, that's not correct, I'm hopeful...

Beer Bloat and Then Some

I knew it - I just didn't want to acknowledge it: I'm fat ... again. Time to change this cycle ... again. I've never been thin and doubt I ever will be, as I've got a relatively muscular build under a growing layer of fat - I'm just kinda stocky, always have been. Ever since I stopped playing sports in high school its been difficult to maintain a decent weight - mostly because I like to eat and drink.

At the time of my brother's death I weighed a reasonable 190 lbs. not "thin" by any stretch of the imagination, but it was exactly what I weighed in high school as a varsity linebacker on the football team. When I stepped on the scale this morning I was up to a very unreasonable 214 lbs. and I have what some people not-so-affectionately call "beer boobs."

I've been on something of a food and drink binge lately packing on the last ten pounds over an eight week period. So its time to change a few things. 18 months of self-pity, depression, inactivity, and booze have led me to this point so I gotta unload a few bags of luggage.

I'm self-imposing a moratorium on booze sans red wine for at least two weeks. A consistent running schedule starts today. Additionally, I gotta get to the gym for weight training and extra cardio workouts. I gotta get off of the damn couch and walk more - I commit to walking the dogs every evening - its good for them and me. Drink more water.

My goals:
8 lbs. in two weeks, sounds like a lot but its not. The first week I'll probably drop 5 lbs. just because I lose weight so quickly on the front end and some of it will be water weight. The second week I'll probably "only" lose around 3 lbs. Total 8 lbs.

From there I want to lose 10-12 lbs. over the next 4 weeks, giving me a total loss of 18-20 lbs. over a 6 week period - that's only a little over 3 lbs. per week - very doable.

At this point I should be around 195 lbs. and the weight loss is going to slow down, probably to a pace of about 2 lbs. per week or less. But I hope to end the summer as close to 180 lbs. as possible which is right about where I should be. I really can't weigh less than 175 lbs. unless I wanted to get down to 5 % body fat - which I don't.

It starts today, right now - I'm off for a jog.

Guns in America

I expected to wake up on Monday and make a snarky and pithy post about turning 30. Instead, as I made my morning coffee and turned on the news the massacre at Virginia Tech began to unravel. At first it was reported that a shooting had taken place on campus and that "only" a single individual was dead. Horrifyingly though the story became much worse.

I know all too well the pain of losing a loved one to a crazed individual with a gun. What the family and friends of the victims are going and will go through in the coming days/weeks/months is unimaginable to anyone who hasn't experienced it ... I sincerely hope none of you ever know that pain.

Several weeks ago I promised to blog about American gun laws as the last part of the series I wrote about my brother's murder. Unfortunately, the time has come to write about that subject.

Many pundits, politicians, and various other opinionated persons have stated that now is not the time to debate gun laws/gun regulation in America. However, just yesterday in the immediate wake of the shooting, before we even knew the death toll, John McCain stated,

I do believe in the constitutional right that everyone has, in the Second Amendment to the Constitution, to carry a weapon. Obviously we have to keep guns in the hands of law-abiding citizens.

Really Sen. McCain? Because to me that's not what the 2nd Amendment says. The 2nd reads as follows:

A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.

See there's a comma in there, not a period. The second clause is dependent on the first clause. Today we have a standing military, the National Guard, the FBI, the ATF, Sheriffs' offices, Highway Patrol, local police, etc., etc. However, when the Bill of Rights was written these protection forces didn't exist putting the onus on private citizens and private militias - but the inability to control the militias led to creation of a national military and to a lesser extent domestic police agencies.

So what does all of that mean for the 2nd Amendment? It SHOULD mean its recognized as an anachronistic law that has no place in today's society. But for whatever reasons private gun ownership survived and now organizations like the NRA want to make sure everyone can have any type of weapon they want. The NRA has approximately 4 million members and opposes any reasonable restriction on gun ownership. Since 1989 they are the 31st largest lobby group in terms of hard money donated - however, according to Fortune magazine its their soft money contributions consistently make them one of the 10 most influential lobby groups on the Hill, earning the #1 spot in 2002.

But despite what the NRA wants us to think, the fact is that the SCOTUS has ruled that the 2nd Amendment doesn't actually extend to individuals but rather the state (the whole well regulated militia part) and that the State has every right to regulate weapon ownership. In US v. Miller, SCOTUS stated:

Since the Second Amendment. . . applies only to the right of the State to
maintain a militia and not to the individual's right to bear arms, there
can be no serious claim to any express constitutional right to possess a firearm.

However, that interpretation is under heavy challenge.

Most recently, the biggest defeat for gun control came at the hands of the 6th Circuit Court of Appeals as they ruled the The City of DC's restrictive hand gun laws were unconstitutional.

I heard some jackass on MCNBC this morning actually say, "The only way to stop a lunatic with a gun, is another person with a gun." His implication being that if we are ALL armed then no one would commit such crimes. How do you begin to address such flawed logic (or flawgic as I like to call it)? I'm sure he agrees with the NRA's position that we should be able to take our concealed hand guns to work.

So am I suggesting a complete ban on all guns in the hands of private citizens? No. As much as I might actually like that to happen, I'm also a realist and recognize I'll never witness the "repeal" of the 2nd Amendment. However, I think stricter regulation is necessary.

Why is that in order to drive a car one needs: A class on education, use and safety; passing a written and driving exam; be finger printed, photographed and issued a license; required to carry insurance; and if one violates any of these requirement (or numerous other laws) his/her license can be suspended or revoked? Yet to buy a rifle or shotgun anyone over 18 years of age can walk into any neighborhood pawn shop or Wal-Mart and pick one up - with the weakening of the gun laws under Bush and the previous Republican-controlled Congress, buying a hand-gun isn't much more difficult.

Let me put this in perspective: Approximately 28,000 people die every year in the US from guns. That's slightly more than NINE September 11ths EVERY YEAR. Here is a chart comparing gun deaths per 100,000 people in the US to several other nations.

Gun deaths per 100,000 population (for the year indicated):

Homicide Suicide Unintentional

USA 4.08 (1999) 6.08 (1999) 0.42 (1999)

Canada 0.54 (1999) 2.65 (1997) 0.15 (1997)

Switzerland 0.50 (1999) 5.78 (1998) -

Scotland 0.12 (1999) 0.27 (1999) -

England/Wales 0.12 (1999/00) 0.22 (1999) 0.01 (1999)

Japan 0.04* (1998) 0.04 (1995) <0.01>

* Homicide & attempted homicide by handgun

A serious and legitimate debate needs to take place in this country on the issue of gun control and politicians need to have the guts to stand up to the gun lobby and RE-AFFIRM what the SCOTUS has already stated.

And Now for Some Levity

Damn I really want Guitar Hero II - it just looks friggin' fun. Basically, you get to competitively air guitar to the likes of: Danzig, Kansas, Foo Fighters, Sting, Pretenders, Black Sabbath, Butthole Surfers, Guns & Roses, Rage Against the Machine, Jane's Addiction, Henry Rollins, etc., etc. ... to steal a phrase from by good buddy S.J.N. - Rockin' like Dokken 'til the cops come 'a knockin'!

Yes, I'm a video game junkie and have been for as long as I can remember as I've owned almost every game system ever introduced on the American market: Atari 2600 and 5200, Itellivision, The Original Nintendo Entertainment System, Sega Genesis, Game Boy, Super Nintendo, Nintendo 64, Playstation 1 & 2, XBOX, and most recently the PlayStation Portable. I plan to soon acquire the XBOX 360 but I have no desire to spend $600 samoleans on the PlayStation 3.

Don't judge me assholes - its who I am. Now I'm off to level up my High Elf Ranger.

Tuesday Meditation

Sooner or later all the people of the world will have to discover a way to live together in peace and thereby transform this pending cosmic elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality. This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant.
-MLK, Jr.

Happy Passover!

Off The Broiler is my new favorite blog and if you follow this link you'll find some pretty funny videos for Passover.

L'Chaim!

The Murderer

Heady stuff lately on this blog - I hadn't quite intended for things to get this morose, but I guess there's no other way around it - so I'll push on, but I'm going to postpone the final part of this blog series - the one on hang gun laws - to a later time.

The woman who murdered my brother was named Eloise Evans. I don't know much about her, in fact I never even heard her name until after she killed Zach, but I'll do my best to pass on what I do know.

She was a 50 year old African-American woman who was a student at the local community college. She already possessed a college degree but was pursuing a specialized certificate program in conjunction with BWXT Pantex - America's lone nuclear weapon assembly and disassembly facility. She had ongoing problems with her classmates and instructors - you can read more about that here.

She claimed to have some Jewish ancestry and therefore was taking Adult Education classes at the Temple. It was there that my dad met her. As a board member of the Temple, Dad goes out of his way to try and meet and greet new people. In talking to her he discovered that she was an avid and accomplished runner and invited her to participate in a run sponsored by a local running club. It was on the way back from the run that she first displayed any sign of instability: My Dad mentioned my deceased stepmother's running prowess (she was invited to participate in the 1984 Olympic Trials for the women's marathon) and Evans flipped out - yelling at my Dad to never mention my stepmother's name again. Evans had fabricated a romantic relationship between her and my father where none existed.

From there things worsened. She stalked my dad: calling him repeatedly, repetitively e-mailing him; showing up at his office, and once showing up at his house. It was then that my Dad threatened her with police involvement and a restraining order. At that point, for all intents and purposes she disappeared from Dad's life. She called him one last time a month or so before she killed Zach seeking help with the aforementioned school problems - Dad said he would see what he could do, but never heard from her again.

Two weeks before killing my brother, Eloise Evans walked into this gun store and purchased a Taurus brand revolver. The gun store owner/clerk later told the investigating officer that despite the fact that Evans was behaving strangely, he only sold her the gun because he feared she would sue him for discrimination if he refused.

The day AFTER the shootings, the police discovered she had lied on her gun application in two areas: 1) Her physical address and 2) on the box that asks if you have ever been diagnosed with having a mental illness she checked "No."

We found out that Evans had been previously diagnosed with bipolar disorder (aka manic-depressive illness) but was not taking any medication. Because of the fact that it is extremely uncommon that a person with bipolar disorder commits acts of violence against other people its entirely possible that Evans had some other type of mental illness such as schizophrenia but that is pure speculation and with her having committed suicide there is no way to accurately confirm or dismiss that notion.

Additionally, investigators discovered that Evans had a family in Missouri that she had abandoned 4-5 years earlier. If I remember correctly she had a husband and two adult children. To my knowledge no one in my family has spoken with them.

There's a great deal more to be said about Eloise Evans, but these three blog posts have been difficult to get through and I'd like to write on a few subjects that afford me a modicum of levity. That said, I'll throw these final thoughts out there: I have not forgiven Eloise Evans; I do NOT believe the death penalty is an effective deterrent for crime and I DO believe it is a highly flawed system that violates the "the cruel and unusual" clause of the Eighth Amendment; and the gun laws in this country are seriously lacking in enforcement and effectiveness.

Jewish Mourning

Warning! - This post is long and heavy on the info.

Blogging about death seems so emo kid and trite - I hope to avoid that trope in this post. The experience of death of another is such an odd occurrence. No string of adjectives can adequately explain it - mostly because each person's encounter with death is intimate whether we want it to be or not. We all remember the first time we become aware that someone we know had died: For me is was the suicide of my mother's best friend when I was six. I saw my first body when I was sixteen while I was working at a television station - the body was previously a transient middle-aged male who a week earlier had been hit by a train and had since laid in the Texas heat for seven days before being discovered. They say you never forget the smell of a rotting corpse - unfortunately its true. Several years later I would see the dead bodies of my grandmother and grandfather. I held my stepmother's hand as she took her last breaths. Eleven months later I saw my brother's dead body - correction, I didn't just see Zach's body I I helped prepare him for burial according to Jewish custom...

I debated how I would approach this particular topic and decided I would explain the practices my family opted to incorporate into my stepmother's and brother's deaths as opposed to a "comprehensive" listing of Jewish mourning practices. Jewish burial practices vary depending on several factors: The level of religious observance by the deceased; how the person died (a person who commits suicide does not receive the same treatment as a "regular" death); the branch of Judaism the person belongs to; and lastly the personal wishes of the deceased and his/her family. At the end of the post I will include several links that will help explain certain aspects better than I can and will also include rituals my family does not observe. For this post I utilized several online sites, books I own on Jewish practices and customs, and my own limited knowledge.

For all intents and purposes my Jewish family identifies as belonging to the Reform branch of Judaism. In a nutshell Reform Jews are not required to practice the strictest laws of Torah as opposed to the Conservative and Orthodox branches. Therefore a Reform Jew has much more leeway when it comes to burial practices. That said, my stepmother opted for a mostly traditional burial, as a family we decided to bury Zach much the same way.

BEFORE THE BURIAL
One of the first issues is deciding when the funeral is to be held. Jewish custom is ASAP, but a delay of no more than 3 days is considered acceptable. There are several reasons for this time-frame; 1) It's tradition going back as far as anyone can locate Jewish records. But why? There are several possibilities. Judaism was in the Middle East for thousands of years and the Middle East gets hot. What happens to a body that lays exposed to the heat? I alluded to it above. 2) Jews don't allow embalming because we believe it is a desecration of the body - cremation and autopsies are also considered desecrations of the body.

The period of time between death and burial is called anninut and the bereaved is called an onen. The prime responsibility of the onen is to arrange the funeral. During this time, an onen is exempt from positive religious obligations. As such, prayer is not obligatory at this time. However, an onen who finds it helpful to express feelings through prayers may do so. Only relatives or very close friends should visit during this time, primarily to help make arrangements for the funeral and shivah. After the funeral, a mourner is known as an avel. One is a mourner by obligation for parents, children, siblings or spouse. However, anyone is allowed to observe the mourning rites.

Before the met (the deceased) is dressed for burial, we observe the ritual of tahara, ritual washing, done by the hevra kadisha, the Holy Society. Additionally we dress the body only in traditional burial shrouds, takhrikhin, which are simple white garments along with a yarmulke or kippuh on their heads and we spread some earth from Israel in the bottom of the casket. Lastly, a simple wooden casket is preferred -an ornate all-wood casket, though ritually acceptable, is not in the spirit of the law. Zach and his mother's caskets were simple all wood caskets with a Star of David on the top. These are not things the coroner does, these are things we did. My wife helped prepare my stepmother's body for burial and my middle brother and I helped prepare Zach's body.

A few minutes before the funeral begins, the first formal act of mourning, kriah, the tearing of one's garment or a ribbon, takes place. Kriah is a centuries old symbol of inner grief and mourning. Mourners stand as they perform it, showing we face grief directly and that we will survive, even without our beloved departed. Before the cut is made, mourners say the words of Job, "The Lord has given and the Lord has taken, blessed be the Name of the Lord," and recite a brakha which is a reaffirmation of faith. We all wore ribbons, and as it is customary to grieve an entire year for a parent, Zach was wearing his kriah ribbon when he was killed.

THE FUNERAL SERVICE
A funeral can be held at graveside or the Synagogue and both Zach and his mother's funerals were held at the grave site. A service held only at graveside includes the same elements as those begun at another location. It is shorter because certain elements are repeated when a service is held in two locations. A graveside funeral is no less dignified nor less giving of honor to the deceased than any other service. The funeral service is brief. Selections are read from Psalms and a eulogy, depicting the life of the deceased as a guide for the living, is presented. El maleh rahamim, which expresses our faith in the immortality of the soul, is recited on most days. Once at graveside, the service consists of recitation of tziduk ha-din, a prayer which expresses our acceptance of God's decisions, followed by the recitation of kaddish and el maleh.

After the casket is fully in the grave, the interment is begun by shoveling some earth into the grave. This mitzvah, is known as hesed shel emet - true loving-kindness. This mitzvah demonstrates our continuing concern for the deceased as we make sure the final journey of the met is completed.

SHIVA
The next phase is Shivah. Shivah lasts seven days and the day of the funeral is the first day and one hour of the seventh day counts as a full day. Shivah is suspended at 1:00 Friday afternoon and is resumed after Shabbat is over. The shivah period begins after the interment with a simple meal, the seudat havra'ah, the meal of consolation. There is a custom to rinse one's hands with water before entering the house for the meal. This meal, traditionally provided by family and friends for the mourners, is not meant to serve as a social following the funeral. Since it is a time to rest and contemplate the day's events, only family and closest of friends should attend. A party-like atmosphere should not be allowed to develop - which is more difficult than you might think.

Men aren't supposed to shave and should practice only minimal hygiene. Kaddish is recited daily, the mirrors in the house are all covered, and many more customs that I don't remember are implemented during these seven days.

SHLOSHIM
This next stage last for 30 days after the burial, or 23 days after finishing shiva. It allows for a gradual re-entry into everyday life. Again, there are many laws and customs - we continued to wear our khria ribbons, I didn't shave, and I continued to recite kaddish daily.

YARRZEIT
Yahrzeit is observed each year on the date of death according to the Hebrew calendar. Therefore, the timing of Yahrzeit on the secular calendar will vary from year to year. The name(s) of the deceased are read at the appropriate evening service and at the Friday evening service the week before the Yahrzeit, if those who observe Yahrzeit are present and request it.

The Yahrzeit observance lasts a full day and it is customary to attend services on the evening Yahrzeit begins as well as the morning and afternoon of the next day. Those who come to observe Yahrzeit recite kaddish as part of the daily service and may lead portions of the service.
Additionally, it is traditional to make contributions to charity on Yahrzeit.

Perhaps the best known custom for observing Yahrzeit is lighting of a candle made to burn for at least 24 hours. The candle is lit the evening Yahrzeit begins. If Yahrzeit falls on Shabbat or Yom Tov, the candle is lit before the Shabbat or holiday candles. Although there is no formal blessing when lighting the candle, a meditation and/or Kaddish may be said. Kaddish is a special prayer and perhaps deserving of its own blog post.

WHEW! OK - sorry for the length but there is a lot that goes into Jewish mourning and I barely scratched the surface. Many people complain that the Jewish mourning process is too ritualistic, but for me it allowed me the time and tools necessary to process the grief I was - and continue to experience. Here are a few more links in case you want some more information - also if you have any questions just reply to this post - I'll do my best to answer them accurately.

LINKS FOR MORE INFORMATION

http://www.chabad.org/library/article.asp?AID=281541

http://www.jewfaq.org/death.htm

http://www.interfaithfamily.com/site/apps/nl/content2.asp?c=ekLSK5MLIrG&b=297374&ct=323822

The Worst Day of My Life

First let me apologize for not blogging for a month - my computer crapped out and I was forced to purchase a new one. Secondly, this post will be an emotional one - what I'm about to write on is the very reason I started blogging - I just couldn't bring myself to do it until now. Its not easy to write about and I doubt it will be easy to read, but I need to write it. This will be part 1 of a 4 part blog series I want to do: Part 2 will be on Jewish mourning practices, part 3 will be about Zach's murderer, part 4 will be about the extensive problems with America's hang gun laws - several of which helped contribute to Zach's murder. Lastly, please forgive my inadequate writing skills, lack of a strong literary voice, and the length of this post.

As many of you know my youngest brother was murdered in the Fall of 2005. His name was Zachary Benjamin Weir and he was 15 years old. I'll tell you more about him later.

It was Sunday October, 30th and I was awakened by the incessant ringing of my cell phone. The previous night had been my first Halloween party in Lafayette and I was mildly hung-over so I ignored the phone. Then my wife's phone began ringing, but I didn't get to it in time. It was my brother Patrick calling both times - he never did that so I immediately knew something was wrong, I just could have never expected how wrong. I called him back and when he answered I could tell he was in the car - you can just tell by the background noise, perhaps its the muffled radio, or just ambient car noise - anyway, I asked what was going on. He responded with, "David call Dad now. Zach's been shot." "Shot?" I asked stupefied. "Yea, and its not good."

The first of many lumps rose into my throat.

I called Dad. "What happened?" I asked. "Zach was shot several times by a woman at the synagogue and he's on his way to the hospital." I couldn't believe what he was saying nor how calm he was relaying the info to me. He must have been as shocked as me. "Is he OK?" I begged. "David, he was shot in the head and stomach - he's alive but unconscious." I sat there in stunned silence. "David you should come home" he finally said.

I don't clearly remember the next few hours. I don't even know if I took a shower. But I do know that I woke my wife up and told her what had happened and that we had to leave ASAP. We were frantic, yet somehow managed to find a place to board our dogs on a Sunday. On my way back to the apartment from the kennel I called to check on things. Dad answered, "David ... I can't ... here." He handed the phone to my god-father, "David your brother is brain-dead." I literally dropped the phone and had to pull over. I screamed and cursed for a period of time before I was stable enough to make it back to the apartment. On the drive I remember a friend calling to remind me that we had our fantasy basketball draft that night. I told him that I wouldn't be there because my brother had just been shot. He didn't believe me at first (no one does - hell I didn't) but after he realized I was telling the truth he started crying - he would be the first of many people I spoke to about Zach's murder that cried while I did not.

I walked into the apartment and collapsed. I started balling, it escalated into hysteria, my wife didn't know what to do and was just as bad as me after I told her Zach was dead. We were packed but now had to add clothes for a funeral. Neither of us was in any shape to drive to Indy, we were both hung-over and emotional wrecks but we had to catch our flight.

I don't remember the drive other than screaming at my wife that everything was fucked - and it was. The flight was full and we couldn't sit together but we were too numb to care.

My mom, aunt, and uncle were at the airport to pick us up. Mom said, "Hurry you guys, your Dad said to get the the hospital ASAP." I knew this meant they were about to take him off of life support, but I didn't ask. My uncle drove while my aunt stayed behind to get our luggage.

My uncle dropped us off at the emergency room entrance and we ran to ICU. Everyone was there but I didn't stop to say anything - I went straight to Zach's bed. He was pale and surrounded by bloody sheets. His head was wrapped in gauze and he had a breathing tube in. His fingers were bloated and cold to the touch - this was not Zachary.

Zachary was brilliant and precocious - an honor student at Amarillo High School taking AP classes and in the International Baccalaureate program. He was somewhat short and skinny - too skinny, with thick medium brown hair, green eyes, fair skin and strikingly handsome. He was witty, loved reading, wanted to be a writer, and devoted to his family - this person I was looking at was dead. Perhaps most importantly he was dedicated to his faith. After his mother died a year earlier from cancer, Zach made it a priority to continue to learn and grow as a Jew. In fact, he was teaching Sunday School (for lack of a better term) at the synagogue when he was killed. He was learning guitar and wanted to start a band with his friend J. English was his favorite class and he was in the middle of A Tale of Two Cities when he died and I made a silly promise to finish it for him - but I haven't yet. His second favorite class was history (I like to think I influenced him in this regard) and he was taking it from Mr. Mike Harter - who taught me Texas and U.S. History at Stephen F. Austin Middle School. Later, the following January we all found out that Zach had scored at or above the 95th percentile on his PSATs. He had also started writing short stories. I wish there was more to read. He would have turned 16 on February 18th, 2006 and Dad had already purchased him a car - a 1965 VW Kharmann Ghia - it need some work but Zach loved it and was already learning to drive it.

Its been a little less than 17 months since his murder and I think about him daily.

We fought with the coroner and District Attorney because they require an autopsy in all homicides, however; observant Jews are not supposed to have an autopsy, they are also supposed to be buried ASAP after death - if we fought the autopsy Zach's burial would be delayed indefinitely, if we allowed the autopsy we could bury him quickly as required by Jewish law. We decided not to fight the autopsy.

We left the hospital and returned to Dad's house - it was surreal. Zach's bedroom was on the way to the stairs and as I passed his door I noticed his bed was still unmade and his dirty clothes from the previous day lay on his bedroom floor. It was the last time his room would look like that.

I didn't really sleep that night, or at all for the next several weeks. After we received Zach's body from the coroner's office we performed the ritual washing of his body, dressed him in a shroud, placed him in an all-wooden coffin (all according to Jewish custom and I'll explain more in Part 2 of this blog series), and buried him on November 1st. The rest of that week people were in Dad's house constantly - it was a blur. I was numb for the most part but drank excessively to kill any feeling that might have remained. My wife returned to Indiana after a week, my brother had to go back to law school, we decided it would probably be best if I stayed with Dad for a while. He had lost his father exactly 1 year prior, his wife 1 month later, and now his youngest son. It was without question the worst year of his life. Just 3 short years earlier he was talking about retiring and moving out to California permanently - how quickly and tragically things can change.

I'm not sure how much good it did for him by me being there, but I stayed until the end of winter break. We didn't actually talk much, but we drank a lot together and I felt better knowing he wasn't alone in his house. However, in retrospect I think I was staying because despite confronting daily reminders of Zach, I knew that if I left his death would be more real - and I guess I wasn't ready for that.

Things are better today. "Life goes on" as they say -it may sound trite, but its true. I have a lot of guilt today - mostly from not being much of a big brother to Zach. I was 13 years older than him and starting my sophomore year of high school I just wasn't around much - boarding school, rehab, college, New York, Indiana, etc. I kept thinking if I hadn't had such wanderlust, if I had just been more linear in my career path, if somehow I just could have been there this awful thing ... might not have happened. Unlikely I know, but knowing it didn't change the fact that I thought that way. When my stepmother's cancer became life-threatening my wife and I decided to take a year off from school and our careers and move home so that we could be there. In that year Zach I and I became extremely close. I embraced the role of big brother: Picking up Zach from school, taking him for a soda, playing video games with him - basically I spent as much time as possible with him so that when he wasn't at the hospital with his mom he wouldn't be so preoccupied by the fact that she was dying. And after she died I spent even more time with him - talking about books, life, how he wanted to become a writer, where he wanted to go to college, etc.

The last few months we were in Texas, my wife and I helped Dad and Zach move into their new house. It was a fresh start for them and that summer was an amazing one - lazy days by the pool, cooking out, hanging out with my brothers - I was 28 but it felt like I was 16 again.

Late morning in early August of 2005 - the UHaul is loaded up and my wife and I are ready to embark on the next phase of our lives. Its the week before Zach starts his sophomore year of high school so he's sleeping in as late as possible. Dad has to go wake him up so he can say good-bye to us. He stumbles to the drive-way sleepy and shoeless and I give him a big hug and tell him I love him and how proud I am of him and that I'll see him at Thanksgiving. As we drive off I check my side-view mirror and Dad and Zach are still waving.

Its the last time I saw him alive.

Jewish People Driving German Cars

This was the name of a skit/song Sarah Silverman performed in "Jesus is Magic" - it was one of the few funny skits in the movie. It tackles issues of race/ethnicity and as the title indicates - what on earth would cause a Jew to drive a German automobile? I hadn't put much thought into this question until recently - a religious conversion forces one to confront his/her ethical responsibility in the world - or at least it should. So as a Jew who drives a Volkswagen what does that mean for me and how does it relate to my ethical responsibility? I wasn't exactly sure and I'm still not, but I'm gaining a better understanding of what it all means.

A little history:

VW is Europe's largest auto maker. It was founded in 1933 by Ferdinand Porsche - yes THAT Porsche after being approached by Adolph Hitler to create a "people's car" (volks = people, wagen = car). Porsche was a fan of Frederick Winslow Taylor and his principles of "scientific management." He also admired Henry Ford, and thusly Porsche was heavily influenced by Ford's anti-semitic theories in his "The International Jew" - a best-seller in the Weimar Republic and formative to Hitler's "Mein Kampf."

Porsche quickly gravitated to theories of increased productivity - and he was willing to achieve these goals at all costs. His first directive on labor as head of the German Automobile Industry Federation was: "Foreign workers will be treated so as to exploit them to the greatest possible extent, with a minimum of outlay." As Hitler gained power, Porsche rediscovered an old-hat cost and labor saving technique: Slavery.

The first mass-production VW plant opened in 1938 and Hitler personally laid the cornerstone of the factory. Porsche was a model Nazi party businessman and was awarded the regime's highest distinctions. He was hailed as an example to follow, extolled in documentaries, in the media, and at party meetings.

In 1945, 90% of VW's workforce was non-German. No one knows how many slave-laborers were used to manufacture VWs under the Nazi regime, but the estimates run as high as one-hundred thousand. They manufactured cars, transports, plane parts, etc. for the Nazi war machine. The life-expectancy of a slave-laborer under the Nazis was 3 and 1/2 months. Isn't it ironic that the victims of fascist regimes generally help perpetuate their industries?

But while VW may have the dubious distinction of being Hitler's brain-child, as a company they are not alone. BMW and Mercedes each participated in and profited from the Holocaust. I.G. Farben (the pharmaceutical and chemical giant) had 35,000 slave-laborers at Auschwitz - of those over 25,000 died. IBM supplied counting machines to tally prisoners, their personal effects, and their deaths. Many insurance companies sold life-insurance policies to European Jews then demanded a death certificate in order for the claim to be paid - the insurance companies knew full-and-well that no death certificates were issued for people killed in the camps. To provide a certificate of death was to acknowledge the life of the person. Swiss banks hid and protected the assets of German nationals who stole said assets from Jewish families.

All of these companies (and many more) have been sued, more often successfully than not. That said they are not yet absolved of their guilt. Personally I will never own a Ford, BMW, or Mercedes. I will never own another VW. Unfortunately I cannot run out and trade it in right away, but when I am in a financial position to do so, I will.

Superbowl Shennanigans

This past Sunday evening, the Indianapolis Colts defeated the Chicago Bears in Super Bowl XLI by the score of who cares to why ask. I do like football, especially college football but when it comes to the NFL and the Dallas Cowboys are not involved - well, its just tough for me to care. That said, by virtue of living in Indiana the Colts have become my adopted team ... even though I really don't like Peyton Manning.

Anyway, the real point of this post is me. We had a Super Bowl party and a had a decent turnout, not too big and bot too small. We had two TVs going in separate rooms so people could spread out, food was abundant, and booze flowed like Klingon blood wine... uh, nevermind.

You know that moment at a party when you decide, "fuck it, I'm getting drunk"? Well, early in the 2nd quarter that moment happened for/to me. And after half-time I became "Dave." Dave is my intoxicated alter ego. I was yelling, chest-bumping, high-fiving, cursing, making horrible off-color jokes (I think I said something along the lines of "If I became America's 1st Jewish President, I would Jew America down and make the Monday after Super Bowl Sunday a National Holiday.") In my mind it was comedic gold, but after sobering up my wife pointed out that it didn't even make sense - I argued, but she was right - it was a horrible joke that may require defending myself against future charges of anti-semitism.

Nevertheless, I had a blast. It's been a long while since I've been "Dave" and if my buddy Sol had been there, we probably would have "wrastled" breaking something in the process. It was that kind of drunk - the good-time, happy-go-lucky, damn I'm funny, much louder than necessary, I don't know you but I love you, annoying-the-shit-out-of-most-everyone-else-around-but-I-don't-give-a-flying-fuck type of drunk. Good times.

Its a rarity these days, and one a I pay a heftier price for as I approach the precipice of 30, but once in a blue moon its still worth it.

Cheers.

After a Long Absence

I apologize to you readers - all 2 of you - that I have failed to make a blog post in almost two months. I have no good excuse - simply life got in the way. I ask for your forgiveness and promise to blog more often.

More than anything this will simply be a post to catch you up on my happenings. Over the holidays my wife and I returned to Texas for nearly two weeks and had a grand time hanging out with our respective families. Upon return to Indiana, we textured and painted our entire downstairs (sans the powder room) - it was more work than I anticipated, but if I'm allowed a moment to brag - it looks pretty damn good. Next on the home improvement hit parade are the floors.

The remaining time I've mostly spent studying for the Feb. 10th LSAT - however, this past Wednesday I finally got my scores from the Dec. LSAT and much to my pleasant surprise I did well enough that I don't have to retake it. Mind you, I only did "good enough" ... if I were applying to the University of Chicago, Northwestern, Notre Dame, etc. I would still be retaking the exam but for the schools I've applied to I think I'll be fine.

On top of that good news came some terrible news: Molly Ivins passed away that same day. If you don't know who she was you can google her, but for me she was the catalyst for my political awakening. She was also the first person I ever had an intellectual crush on. Recurring cancer finally claimed her - I hate that disease ... no I loathe it. She was everything that is great about Texas and I already miss her wry political wit. In an article titled "Why Coloradoans Hate Texans" Molly astutely noted that "...Texans are the Jews of the West. Meaning that they are perceived as loud, vulgar, richer than most folks, and consequently widely resented." How apropos for a Texan Jew to read those lines.

She continues,

Texans are not, in fact, like other Americans. For one thing, we are obnoxious to be around when we are having fun. We talk loud, laugh loud, get drunk, and bang our beer bottles on tables, we whoopee and hoorah and are generally a pain in the hmmm-hmmm. We yell when we are having a good time. We do not yell when we get mad. We tend to get real quiet just before we stomp someone or shoot someone. Foreigners consider this peculiar.

Granted this statement is a a gross generalization - albeit a highly accurate generalization. And last night at my house during the Super Bowl I was that Texan. But that is another post.

I will leave you with one last quote from Molly.

Next time I tell you someone from Texas should not be President of the United States, please pay attention.

So true Molly, so true.