First, my metaphorical hat is off to anyone who can use the word “fiefdom” and not refer to a video game.

Second, if my daughter were human, I would find a way to home school. Thank heaven my daughter is a cat, purrfectly capable of fulfilling all the requirements of her species without a formal education.

Like Mr. Jacobsen, the plaintiff in the Nebraska case, I do not want my daughter to spend seven to eight hours a day absorbing messages that are anti-America, race-baiting, and in support of a radical gender ideology that far from just affirming the right of people to have sex with whom they choose, would likely try to convince her that she is a boy.

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I am not a lawyer, though at this point after listening to NCLA podcasts to relax after my eight-week summer teaching job finished, I am willing to concede that I should have been. But I do see why Professor Hamburger describes education as speech. In fact, it’s hard to see how it could be described as anything else.

All students do all day is absorb the speech of teachers, administrators, and students around them. That speech comes in the form of spoken classroom instruction, assigned readings, books that are available and showcased, and even posters and signs in the classroom and on the hall walls.

At every school where I’ve ever taught, there are giant all-inclusive Pride flags on many surfaces. In most, they are in every classroom.

The Pan-African flag also features prominently, as does the Black Lives Matter flag. Only once have I ever seen an American flag flown in a public school. Oddly enough, that was adorning my classroom, hanging sadly from the ceiling and looking older than any of the students, in the school where I taught two years ago. No American flags fly outside schools. None are seen inside. No one pledges allegiance to the United States of America, but everyone is informed that “This is a welcoming classroom,” by a Pride flag poster.

The unquestioning, universal left-wing bent of the schools means that kids are exposed all day long to speech that leans in one political direction. Classrooms feature pictures of the Obamas portrayed among key figures of black history, pictured as saints in icons.

This one is ubiquitous. A similar one with Mrs. Obama and female figures is also everywhere, all the time.

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Kids usually accept the worldview put forward to them by the adults in command without a great deal of quibbling. Sure, if that worldview involves putting away your phone and sitting in your seat, it might get some nasty back-talk. But if it involves an explanation for everything you see around you that blames white supremacy and systemic racism for all things bad, it’s just going to be part of the air they breathe.

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From what I read in Professor Hamburger’s article, it sounds like public schools in Nebraska aren’t that much different. Parents I’ve spoken to all over the country express similar concerns. They are all for black people, gay people, trans people being treated equally under the law and not being persecuted for their race or identity. But they don’t necessarily want their kids lectured that America is “the very worst,” being white is evil, and that under every seemingly normal boy or girl there is someone of the opposite gender just dying to put on a dress (or take one off!) and come out as the opposite gender.

When I was just starting to read The Free Press and learning about the things happening in public schools, I, like many of you nice liberals, did not believe it. I thought, “They must be exaggerating!” But no. The more I talked to parents, the more of the same I heard. Then I saw it for myself, with my own little eyes, not in isolated corners but in every single school where I went.

Can the state force parents to expose their children to speech with which they do not agree, that contradicts their religious or other beliefs? Yes, they can, as of now. They do, every day. And we wonder why young people are coming out of high schools and colleges suspiciously ignorant of basic historical facts yet filled with hatred for the country that provided them with the liberty to bash it?

Government speech is on the left, and right now, the public schools are indeed fiefdoms.

What is the remedy?

Vouchers for private schools, obviously, but the article makes it clear that this case is not about the remedy but about pointing out that education is speech.

I, perhaps like you, have some questions about the government paying for religious schools. Is paying for a child to be educated in a Christian, Jewish or Muslim school (are there Hindu schools? Can I teach English vocab in Hindi at one?) a violation of the separation of church and state? I’d like to hear from my lawyer friends about this. I think it is reasonable to ask what is being taught in a school that is funded by tax dollars, whether that school is religious or not. Right now, it seems that most of the concern is on the side of “What are religious schools teaching kids?” vs. “What are the public schools to which most people have no alternative teaching kids?”

Right now, many public schools (possibly most though hard to be sure) are teaching kids what amounts to Woke religion. While I used to say, “Don’t worry, the kids can’t even read and write! They aren’t absorbing anything they’re taught!” I no longer laugh it off so ruefully or so easily. I do see kids absorbing the messages the are fed for the majority of their waking hours. And just like I don’t want my tax dollars paying for kids to learn that women are not really people and jihad is good in Muslim religious schools, I don’t want them to be pressured to identify as another gender or to attribute all things bad to racism in a public school.

Whenever we talk about education, there is a tension between the ideal state and the needs of a particular child who is in school right now. Ideally, parents and other citizens would become more involved in education policy, ensure that students are educated not indoctrinated, and create fair, effective public schools for all.

That’s not going to happen anytime soon and I doubt it will ever happen.

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Meanwhile, actual human children are in the educational grind, their most formative years being influenced by the minute. We can all think of extreme examples so there is no need to enumerate them. But the less extreme example: kids who are absorbing constant messages that are leftist without any check on them; that is what I am really concerned about. Kids who will not speak out when someone says that America deserved 9/11 and is to blame for future terrorist attacks because they were taught that America is evil. Kids who will respond to the first crisis brought on by puberty not by seeking the advice of their parents or a trusted relative but by considering hormones to try to squash the new female or male emerging. This is what worries me. Because I see it happening.

I invite anyone who questions the truthfulness of my examples to substitute teach in any urban area near you. Whether you’re in Chicago, New York, LA, most anywhere, you will see exactly what I am writing about. Pride in being trans but not in America. Black Lives Matter… but black literacy? What’s that?

If you home school your child and are looking for an English, writing and social studies tutor who aligns with your values, let me know! I might be able to help!

In the meantime, check out more of what NCLA is doing on this issue. Here is the podcast with Zhonette Brown, General Counsel and Senior Litigation Counsel, who is heading up the work on this issue, and John Vecchione, Mark’s usual partner in the podcast who drinks Diet Coke in most episodes and is really funny. They let Mark take a vacation so he’s not on this one.

Meanwhile, my daughter is considering if I should be allowed to return to teaching in the public schools. She’s thinking maybe she should home school me. Could I learn how to catch mice?

Loviefluffy inspects my farmers’ market lunch: olive foccacia, heirloom tomatoes, and Milkhouse Valley Farms foxtail feta! She didn’t lick it, just checked it out.

I almost started to cry when I bought my membership to the Philadelphia Museum of Art yesterday.

I had been a member years ago, but for some reason I stopped. I don’t even know why. I love art. I used to go to the museum all the time. My mom and I were regulars at the Friday night live music and snacks show in the Great Stair Hall.

I wonder why I stopped going.

For me, art is more than therapy. It’s life. I’ve never been a visual artist unless you count my flower pictures (which I suppose you could) but I basically minored in art history in college and I’ve loved art museums since my parents dragged me to the North Carolina Museum of Art seemingly all the time when I was a kid. My favorite thing back then was the mummies.

Yesterday, as a reward for getting through eight weeks of six days a week of SAT camp, I took myself to the museum. Just me. I like to go alone. Though I wouldn’t mind meeting someone there, I like to commune with the art by myself. Then I sometimes like to just sit and stare at one of the art works, or just out into the stair hall, being a part of this wonderful home of civilization.

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My membership only cost $65 for the entire year because I got the educators’ discount! It’s usually $90 which is extremely good since one visit costs $30. They have “pay as you wish” on Friday evenings and Sundays, but I like to go anytime I want. I love it when it’s quiet and not so crowded.

A nice young lady named Fiona sold me my membership. I kept back the tears until I got into the American section just off the entrance. Then I started to see my old friends.

Homer. Eakins. Tiffany. So many.

Old friends…

Not going to the museum is a form of self-harm for me. It’s like not doing yoga or not walking every day. I need a dose of art to just keep going.

Life has become too much of a grind. I don’t do enough things I enjoy. Art, social events, entertaining… I need to do these things, so I am going to do them.

Somewhere along the line I got convinced, if subconsciously, that I should not do things I enjoy. I could outline how this happened but I won’t. I’ll just be glad that a series of events shocked me out of that belief, and back to being who I actually am.

Thank you for reminding me.

Van Gogh’s sunflowers are on display. A woman wearing sunflower earrings and a sunflower dress was looking at them. I complimented her look.

Do people live without art? Sure. Some people watch baseball and football and no doubt marvel that others survive on a daily basis without sports. Some people don’t care at all for art, but I am not one of those people. I would never try to force someone to come to the museum, but I will happily take their place as one of the art worshipers on any given day.

As I was leaving I read that Jason Arday had been found dead. I doubt that I am the only one who wonders: is he really dead? Given his history of creating fiction, this could be another. It’s the perfect ending to his story - if he could fake it I wouldn’t blame him.

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I actually hope he did fake his own death, as unlikely as that may be. I’d rather the fellow go off to live somewhere, perhaps happily, than to have died. Others have written better than I will about this, like my friend Chris Arnell, but I will echo a little of what Chris said.

Whatever the guy was guilty of, he didn’t deserve a death sentence. People can always do better in their next chapter. I’ve been given so many second chances that I figure I’ve run out of my nine lives. I’ve done some stupid things, hurt some people, as I suspect we all have if we are over the age of twenty. Even if we aren’t over the age of twenty yet, we may have had time to do some damage.

Chris tells in his piece today of his own near suicide. I have never been quite so close to suicide, but I am sad to say that I have thought of it before. Especially since my friend died at 24 in late 2022 of a combination of a suicide attempt followed by fatal medical errors, it has crossed my mind. Suicide grief has a tail that is long, if indefinite. I can see why there are copycat suicides. It seems to open the door to that terrible thought, a door that should remain closed.

I’d never leave Loviefluffy, and no matter what she always kept me here. I never made a plan or anything like that, but once when things got very bad I thought about how easy it would be for me, with no criminal record, to get a gun.

This is not an argument for gun control - far from it. If I thought I could actually defend myself I might get a firearm. As it is, I don’t trust myself with a water gun - that’s how uncoordinated I am! But I have felt very, very bad, bad enough to come closer than I would like to true hopelessness.

Art brings me back. If things ever get bad again, send me straight to the museum.

Just sitting with all the beautiful things of the world reminds me of why I am grateful to be alive, on my ninth life or not.

Thanks to Vishnu, perhaps. He’s as likely to blame as anyone.

If Arday is indeed dead, I wish him peaceful rest, and peace for his family and friends. That won’t be easy, to be sure. But I hope that if he is not dead, he finds his way to an art museum and remembers how beautiful life is, beyond whatever our personal failings may be.

If anyone out there is struggling and needs some art and company, tell me when and I’ll meet you there.

Any major dude with half a heart surely will tell you my friend

Any minor world that breaks apart falls together again.

I put the song on a mix tape my sophomore year in college. I was having a very early midlife crisis.

In the aftermath of the David the First Disaster, I got obsessed with computers, took computer science classes over the summer at UNC and back at school in the fall, became a Computing Assistant with a fake name of Rachel that I put up on the board when I was working my shifts, and made lots of new friends. I also dated all of David’s friends, which took quite a bit of time but very little effort.

[No fish were harmed in the production of this entry.]

My radical change in interests upset my advisor, Dr. Jaroslav Pelikan, the world’s foremost church historian. I wasn’t doing as well in my history classes and I was clearly checked out. Some strange thing had taken over my mind, it seemed, and I spent time I could have been writing history papers in the dorm room of one of my boyfriends where he taught me programming. What the hell?

I didn’t do badly in my classes, I just lost interest for a while. I had retired from the Yale Political Union after holding the office of Liberal Party Chair the first semester of my sophomore year, which is young but not unheard of.

I suspect that a lot of my motivation for running away to computer land was that I was still pretty shaken up from my highly controversial run for the Chair position. A faction of the Liberal Party prefigured the woke years by putting up a black man with no prior experience in the party to run against me and making an issue out of my purported (alleged) sexual conduct. “April is too open about her sexuality,” some guy said. I dressed very conservatively even then and had only dated one guy, the former President of the Yale Political Union (who is now a justice on a state Supreme Court, because that happens) that entire year as far as anyone could prove, but people will find a way to create a scandal if they want one.

It seems like a very innocent time now, long before keffiyehs on campus, when no one forced anyone to take a stand on Israel and when people could be on the opposite side of the political spectrum and still drink Diet Dr. Pepper together.

I didn’t end up going into computers, though I had a wonderful learning experience working as a Computing Assistant and made good money that helped me support myself in college.

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In 1996 I got involved in the movement supporting the union workers who were in an epic and ongoing labor struggle with Yale, and sure enough I was recruited to be a union organizer (after leading a takeover of the President’s office, getting arrested and risking expulsion but the charges were dropped after we did 25 hours of community service - painting the New Haven Courthouse!) I was born an organizer, always acted like an organizer, and my brief attempt to be something other than an organizer didn’t stick.

In the Yale Political Union we had to get people to sign in to three meetings per semester in order to qualify to vote in elections. It was called “qualling,” and it was almost identical to getting cards signed on a union campaign. Then there was “drag” on election day, when we almost literally dragged people to vote. This was the best experience one could possible get for any kind of organizing. I’m surprised that more of us didn’t go on to run campaigns, and not surprised that many of us ended up in positions of importance in law and politics.

[The kids made me this trifle and gave it to me yesterday, our last day! It was so sweet, both literally and metaphorically.]

You can take the girl out of organizing, but you can’t take the organizer out of the girl.

One of my two closest friends says I’m obsessed with finding people to run for Congress. It’s really true. I spent a lot of time thinking about which of my delightful, smart students might make a good candidate. By the end of yesterday I was illustrating vocabulary words with a tale of how I would run someone’s campaign for President in 2040.

“Will I still be alive then?” I asked the kids.

“That’s only fourteen years away,” they helpfully replied. I reminded them that I am not a math teacher.

I have a call coming up soon with my state committeeman about possible campaign work I could do. I’m not committed to anything other than my regular freelance gigs for the fall, and I’m extremely good at campaign work. I can talk to thousands of people on the phone and never get tired. Even with all the social media, phone banking is still a thing.

My last phone banking gig was actually a big turning point for me in moving the center and then right. I was talking to registered Democrats in Southern California who taught me the phrase “apocalyptic hellscape” when they described LA. Little did I know that the decline of the blue city would become a major political motivator for me. But I probably did know, on some level.

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If you are someone who read The Nation, The New Republic and The National Review religiously every week in the library where your mom worked when you were in high school, you are unlikely to ever cease being a political person. I never did get a date with TNR editor and columnist Michael Kinsley, but you can read here about how I sent a letter to him with Governor John Sununu, who hand delivered it.

All the while I am teaching the kids, I am scanning the room for future leaders. Not that I can do much about it, other than plant the idea in their minds that they could become leaders. There is no need to sit on the sidelines of our democracy. Most of the kids want to be doctors or engineers, but we had a few this year who were interested in law. I try to encourage them all to think big.

A few classes back, we had the word “trifling” on a practice test, in the “a very small amount” meaning. I taught the word and also taught the other meanings of trifle:

After showing pictures of trifles, I gave out little candies. Yes, I give the SAT kids candy after big test days. I don’t feel bad about it at all. None of them are overweight and I give small amounts that pep them up tremendously. A tiny pack of Sour Patch Kids is not going to kill the young ones. On the last day of their week, they take a full SAT, then they have two hours of hard math class, then an hour lunch and then three one hour classes. The kids are exhausted and work very hard. I do whatever I can to keep them going.

So it was very sweet that they made me a trifle. I’m pretty sure one brought the ingredients from home and assembled at at the school. The others had them too. What wonderful kids. I miss them already.

But it’s time to move on to the next thing. I’m catching up on Mark Chenoweth’s New Civil Liberties Alliance podcasts, in which he and his colleagues use SAT vocabulary words very well. It would be nice to work with grownups who can use SAT words, even better to work with grownups who use SAT words and dress properly.

If anyone has a subscription to The Economist, I’d love a gift copy of this article:

The band usually declines to talk about the origins of their lyrics, which is one of my favorite things about them. But this one eventually they did explain.

Apparently Rikki was the wife of a faculty member at Bard College, where Donald Fagen was in college. He had a crush on her, and the legend goes that he gave her his number at a party, even though he knew she was both married and pregnant.

She never called his number and did in fact lose it, ostensibly.

I have several vocabulary words for this story:

ostensibly

purportedly

allegedly

low-key I don’t believe it.

(The fourth is something the kids say these days.)

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If you listen carefully to the lyrics of the song, they are way too detailed to believe that this was an entirely unrequited youthful fantasy. Now I am not accusing Mrs. Rikki of cheating on her spouse with a college student - I strongly suspect she did not, as these things are quite frowned upon. But I cannot be convinced that there was absolutely nothing there. [Note: I would like to thank The Giraffe for teaching me how to properly use “cannot” vs. “can not.”]

She was leaving… we found out later that she moved to France and did not hear the song until ten years after it was released. Back then it was hard to find someone if you lost their number, and phone numbers changed all the time. Whereas today it is easy to track most people down via social media, then you might have to GASP! look at a phone book!

I suspect the only people who will ever know what happened between Donald Fagen and Rikki are Donald and Rikki. I’d also bet that their recollections differ somewhat.

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Donald Fagen is not dead. He was born in 1948 (an excellent vintage for men, in my learned opinion) to a Jewish family in New Jersey. His wife passed away in 2024. I have no idea if Rikki is still alive, likely she is not. But if she is, it’s not necessarily over between them. It’s never over until all parties are dead.

Then again, if Donald Fagen is not dead and is single… so am I! Maybe I have a chance too!

Does anybody have his number?

“What’s your favorite album of theirs?” he asked.

I replied, “Katy Lied,” and he said that that’s an excellent album name. It really is.

I put on my Facebook: “If you were making a Steely Dan playlist for someone unfamiliar with Steely Dan, what would you put on it?” Excellent answers followed. It’s hard to say what song is emblematic of Steely Dan, as there are so many.

I listened to Steely Dan growing up in the 1974-1988 time period in North Carolina. My dad and I would listen to the radio constantly. He told me that Steely Dan was named after the artist, whose legal name was Dan Steele. I suppose he was trying to save my young mind from the information that it’s actually the name of a dildo.

Steely Dan invented Vaguebooking, that thing where you say things that make sense only to you and maybe a chosen few. The songs tell a story that is hard to understand without the backstory, and in the time when the songs came out, you could not simply Google the backstory. I miss those times. I still prefer to make up my own stories as to what the songs mean rather than to look them up.

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Why not put my own meaning to the song, rather than accept either the artist’s or the internet’s? I think the band members wanted us to make our own truth out of their lyrics. But even if they didn’t… I do it anyway.

My first really powerful Steely Dan experience was listening to “Deacon Blues” in high school at Interlochen Arts Academy. There we were, in the middle of the woods of northern Michigan, far from any sort of jazz club or club at all. I had just bought a ripped up jeans skirt with safety pins holding the pockets on. It was incredibly cool. As I listened to “Deacon Blues,” I imagined a far away world of jazz, men, and clubs. I used to listen to the song on my Walkperson (inclusive language for Walkman! Yes, I said it ironically even back then) and dance.

I had grown up with “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number” and “Reelin’ in the Years” and so on as I listened to the radio without ceasing, but “Deacon Blues” was the one that finally turned me into a zealous Steely Dan fan.

Now I am attempting to listen to their entire body of work. It’s one of my goals for the next period of time.

“Aja” is another huge favorite.

I love how Steely Dan characters seem to live outside of normal society. As such, they are always getting into some kind of trouble.

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Clean this mess up else we’ll all end up in jail.

That’s from “Kid Charlemagne,” pretty transparently about making drugs.

California tumbles into the sea: that’ll be the day I go back to Annandale.

I did not think the girl could be so cruel.

And I am never going back to my old school.

Sounds like a guy’s girlfriend got into a bit of trouble that defied her class standing whilst she was visiting him. A problem, that.

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And my favorite, from “Dr. Wu”:

Katy lies

You can see it in her eyes

But imagine my surprise when I saw you.

Are you with me, Dr. Wu?

Are you really just a shadow of the man that I once knew?

She is lovely as she sighs, and you’re an ordinary guy

Has she finally got to you?

People with whom I usually disagree on Facebook climbed out of the interwebs to comment productively on the topic of Steely Dan. Clearly this is the way forward for our nation.

Oh please don’t let me find out that the band members were antisemites!

[Post-publication update: Donald Fagen was Jewish. Here is an article about the Torah of Steely Dan. https://religionnews.com/2023/05/24/steely-dan/]

A friend, who in the nearly 35 years I’ve known him has never shown signs of being excessively devoted to cats, while not opposing them as far as I know, recently started getting ads for cat-themed t-shirts. I posited (vocab word!) that the reason was that it was International Cat Day, but perhaps not. Have any of you been getting unexplained ads in your social media for cat-themed t-shirts if you are not a Certified Cat Person? If so, the ways of Cat World Domination are powerful. I don’t see how this could be contagious from my Substack, but perhaps it can.

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We are in our final week of SAT prep, and we have half days now as the kids take the test in the morning and then have two hours of hard math, then the teachers come in to go over the tests with them. Just three hours of teaching but with an hour drive on each end. Still, it’s nice to have time for Loviefluffy petting for an hour in the morning. Or more.

The kids sometimes call me Mrs. Smith, and I don’t bother to correct them. I wonder if they are even aware that Mrs. denotes a married woman, whereas Ms. does not. Perhaps they think I am married to Loviefluffy’s father. While I am a devoted daughter and servant of the Father Cat, I do not see myself married to an actual black cat.

In some public schools, Mrs. seems to be the default. I suspect that many women still consider that to be a higher status title than Ms., as marriage, in some circles, especially older ones, carries status with it. I used to want that status… now it seems a bit late to claim status points from purported (vocab word!) ownership of a man. Besides, I hear one has to pay property taxes if you actually buy the dude. Married friends: is this true?

Friends, do not take me literally. As I tell the kids, “Take the SAT literally. Do not take Ms. Smith literally.”

If you do, you’re likely to be consumed in a conflagration (vocab word!) of dragon fire!

I have many thoughts to write about, from the effects of AI on cheating and general motivation to cultural clashes and cuteness (saw an Indian woman, Korean-looking male young couple holding hands on the Drexel campus last night… so cute!) to ways to get people to stop the cycle of violence, which I am not so complacent about as the politicians seem to be. It is amazing to see how much more functional kids can be when they live in places where gun violence is unthinkable, instead of where they are afraid but not at all shocked to see a gun pulled at a corner store. There are many other factors, but having lived with the fear of violence seeped into my bones, I can tell you this is a major factor in how well executive function works.

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But for now I must get ready to drive a long way, teach the most wonderful kids who are or ever shall be, and drive home. Soon, soon.

It is no big secret that young people read less than those of us who are certified grown folks did. Even among my brilliant, sweet, well-behaved summer students who come from families that prize education, voracious readers are rare.

The kids come with almost no prior knowledge of grammar. When I teach words, I teach the various parts of speech that the words can become. “Pedantry” is the noun form of “pedantic.”

The kids liked this cartoon, and there was a sudden uptick in kids asking, “May I go to the bathroom?” instead of “Can I?”

Perhaps like math, grammar has been declared racist. I’ve never seen grammar taught at all in the urban schools where I’ve taught for several years now, except at the one amazing school where they teach every student Latin. Those kids know their parts of speech, by Jove!

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I also notice that the kids use very few adjectives. Their speech is subject verb, pronoun verb. I recently read my friend Keith Korman’s new book, God Loves Bad Men, which I recommend, and I was struck by how many adjectives he uses. Could kids get through prose that contains enough adjectives to give you a mental picture of a scene you’ve never visited and can never see because it occurred a century ago?

My teacher friends and I would like to teach remedial grammar and vocabulary to bring even the best students up to where we were in maybe eighth grade. Yet there is never time, never enough time…

What will happen to a generation who learn to write from social media, AI, or not at all?

I fear the vampire will get them.

I brought up the words to the Billy Joel song, “Great Wall of China.” It’s a riff off of the play On the Waterfront. I thought it was from The Godfather too, so if you did, you’re not alone.

You could have had class, you could have been a contender!

Charlie, you should have dealt with me!

You could have been standing on the Great Wall of China…

I had to dial back in my memory to remember when I was first obsessed with that song. Ah yes, it was during the David the First era.

That was a very, very long time ago. Back in 1993… as the winter closed in and stranger things closed in on me.

I could have become a conservative. I became a computer science minor and learned to program in UNIX. Everything could be different now… but it’s not.

So as I listened to more Billy Joel, deconstructing the timeline, I came across “Code of Silence” his work with Cyndi Lauper.

And isn’t it a kind of madness

To be living by a code of silence, when you’ve really got a lot to say?

That’s why I haven’t written my book proposal yet. I have a lot to say but I’m afraid to say it. Life is tenuous enough as it is… I have some risky truths to state, if I state them. I can’t lie… we’ve discussed that before in Live Not By Lies. So if I write under my own name, it has to be true.

I’ve started having dreams about my old school again. The one where I taught last year. I haven’t given up but I am not yet sure what role I can play that is productive.

It’s a time of reinvention. I love the American mythology of perpetual reinvention. Gatsby style. Or Moody Blues, from “The Other Side of Life”:

And come what may at the break of each day, we all begin anew once more, we all begin anew.

In the long story that is life, I identify the most with those who reinvent themselves. There is more than one of us in all of us… we can reject one part, try to become one part, reject the entire idea of synthesis… in my experience it will all come back in its own time.

It is a time of reinvention. I am not what I used to be and perhaps I am more comfortable with who I have become.

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I can hear an accent on the phone and place it within a province in a foreign country. I have called elections two years in advance because I talk to real people and they talk to me. For some reason I have yet to understand, people tell me the truth.

Let’s investigate the other side of life tonight

The lovers and the fighters and the risks they take are on the other side of life tonight

Let’s lose our way go completely astray… and find ourselves again.

You know the only way to get there is to take that step to the other side of life.

It’s not so easy as all that, as it sounds or looks in a video, if you’ve lived on the other side of life. I have less than others but enough so that I know what I don’t know. I’ve seen enough dark to know that it gets darker.

The only way to get there is to take that step, to tell the truth. And the only way I know how to do it is to write.

“We all try. You succeed.”

My old friend Mark Chenoweth, whom I knew when he was a twenty (or was it nineteen!) year old libertarian leaning conservative who first showed me that conservatives are not the mean-spirited, bad people I was brought up to believe they were, but could be well-reasoned, curious people with the best of intentions who actually make good on those intentions…

Well, we all try. He succeeds.

Check this Unwritten Law podcast out.

The short of it is: a county in Maryland passed an ordinance that no one, even with a concealed carry permit, can carry a firearm onto various kinds of property where people assemble, such as places of worship or parks. There are many of these places.

It means that those who defend their synagogue and own and carry a firearm lawfully can no longer do so.

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The New Civil Liberties Alliance is bringing suit against this, along with a congregation member who is impacted. The congregation members are specially trained to protect their synagogues and entrusted by their community with this responsibility. Now it is against an ordinance for them to protect their families and community.

I love when Mark says, “But you missed the good news! The good news is that the bad buys won’t be able to carry guns!”

I paraphrase. But you get the point.

Making a law that prevents lawful carriers of firearms from carrying weapons sends a giant message to anyone who does not want to obey the law that the Jews are sitting ducks, unable to defend themselves.

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The National Civil Liberties Alliance is stepping up where everyone else tries… or doesn’t try… but fails. Standing up for the right that the Second Amendment was meant to protect. Our right to defend ourselves.

Look into what they do. I love watching their podcasts and keeping up on my Constitutional law.

We all try. They succeed.

I don’t much care. I’m loving my job teaching the greatest kids in the world, but I am just so tired from working six days a week and driving an hour each way that I can barely hold my head up by 7 pm.

I haven’t had time to exercise, meditate or walk like I usually do. It’s just two more weeks and it will be fine, but in the coming weeks and months I really need to prioritize my health.

Still, I’m so grateful for the opportunity. To be able to teach these kids at such a high level and really support them at a turning point in their lives is so rewarding.

I’m thinking about a lot, and soon will write about it, but now I have to go to bed. I get up about 4:45 and hit the road at 6:30 am.

Night.

For $100, the first however many users (I hear it is sold out) could buy a pass that would allow them to eat unending pasta at Olive Garden for 13 weeks. But they cannot transfer it to any random person, including their family members. The pass can only be redeemed by the person to whom it is issued, and they may have to show photo ID.

It has been my experience that the Olive Garden is a place of racial and social class harmony. People eat in peace, not yelling or screaming. No one destroys property. No one fights. No one swears at servers. I doubt that everyone tips as well as my mom and I do, but no one defecates on their booth either.

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The Olive Garden is paradise for the not-rich who still want a nice, sit-down meal to share with family or friends. The food is really pretty good, the servers are nice, and the atmosphere is kitchy but cute. I may have my birthday lunch at the Olive Garden.

People of different classes, different races, different religions and nations of origin, all agree to show ID and basically behave in order to get a decent pasta dinner, maybe with an appetizer of soup or salad and those delicious breadsticks. I mean, who wouldn’t behave properly for that?

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It is getting harder and harder to counter the argument that Democrats want open borders and no voter ID because they want illegal immigrants to vote. I’ve always doubted that… I think it has to be more complicated, with the downstream effects of cheap labor being the main force at play. But you have to wonder when they so stringently oppose any attempt to prove that those who vote are in fact the people who are registered and eligible to vote.

Honestly, this deal is amazing. Unlimited pasta, breadsticks, soup and salad. Obviously, EBT should cover this pass! Feed people for thirteen weeks for $100! The pasta, soup and salad at the Olive Garden are much healthier than the free school lunches and breakfasts that taxpayers provide every day to all the students in the School District of Philadelphia.

I have a feeling that even Marie Antionette would be in favor of this.

Let them eat pasta.

I saw this on Substack. I’m pretty sure someone made it with AI because human intelligence does not seem able to put together such a sign as of yet.

Some would think it’s right wing because it implicitly makes fun of those “In this house we believe…” that everyone is wonderful except Jews and white men signs that dot every yard of a property owned by a white person in neighborhoods like mine. But it’s actually quite self-consciously centrist, I think. Against both fascism and socialism. In favor of vaccines and markets. No wild and crazy propositions here… unless you are on the far Left and think the mythical rich owe you a living and Hamas is your army of heroes.

I wonder if this sign could be a platform that could win. Just basic old common sense, it seems.

What do you think?

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It was a busy week and this is my only day off. I’ve been running around getting things done. Got to yoga class at least. Finally seeing a friend I used to see once a week and haven’t seen in maybe three. Loviefluffy got tons of petting.

The yoga studio is still on its wacko pro-Pali thing. I expect nothing else from a place that markets its yoga teacher training as decolonization workshops. Almost everyone there identifies as some kind of queer and has unnatural color hair, multiple piercings and tattoos. Exactly the people who would be thrown off roofs by Hamas.

I stopped in the bathroom at a local restaurant on my way home. Sure enough, the graffiti hasn’t improved.

I actually know Amber Wren, and I think her sticker is accidentally near the offensive graffiti, so don’t blame her.

One could develop a lot of theories about why the inhabitants of West Philly, who have the freedom to fly their freak flag high, build their own community, enforce their moral viewpoint on everyone else, and yell harassment at those they even perceive as disagreeing, hate Israel so much. These people are mostly white, to the extent their color is discernible under their tattoos. They seem to work in a revolving succession of bartending, waiting tables, barista and music industry jobs. What did Israel ever do to them? As we all know, it’s the only country in the Middle East where they would be welcomed. The gay cruise debacle proved that yet again. If you haven’t read Eve’s article about that, you should.

Israeli policy will not be changed by what’s written on the bathroom walls of a burrito shop in West Philly, of that I am pretty sure. Or what “Yogis for Palestine” is on about on any given day.

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Spending most of my time now among highly functional, polite and dare I say normal people, I feel a kind of fatigue when I am again confronted with the bizarre characters in my neighborhood. I’m so used to it that I’ve stopped being used to it.

Fortunately everyone probably assumes that I’m a good liberal woman, as I am of that age when single white women tend to be, and it doesn’t occur to anyone that someone in this neighborhood might not agree with them. I keep my head down, especially in downward facing dog at the studio. I chat with the owner about her wife and their Yorkiepoo, not politics. I like to build bridges and do bridge pose.

But I do long for a different environment.

Still, one should be grateful for what one has. I got to go for walks the last three days as we start later on Friday and Saturday and I had today off. It hasn’t been as hot. Last time I checked my car had not been crushed by a tree.

Another day in Bizarre West Philly. (yes, this sign is real.)

I commented (I try to stay out of it but sometimes my annoyance wins) that these are just plain taking responsibility for oneself.

He put the laughing emoji next to my comment and wrote:

It can both but the pay scale rarely advances but mostly everything mentioned on this list has ridiculously so I’m not typically down for blaming those who have less over those who have in ridiculous abundance! It’s called capitalism for a reason.

The comment is a little garbled but people write FB comments on their phones so no criticism of that.

I fail to see how pointing out obvious ways that people can save money is blaming those who have less over those who have… anything. Is it somehow a human right to order takeout, eat out, have a short commute to work or get out of debt without cutting spending?

And I don’t quite get how these make you poor more quietly. Seems more likely that doing these things would get you out of poverty.

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Perhaps because I don’t feel particularly sorry for myself, I have trouble feeling sorry for people who exercise incredibly bad judgement and then feel like government should get them out of the situation. I’ve made some poor decisions in my life time, many of them tiny everyday decisions that add up rather than big one-time decisions (though attempting to get an unfunded PhD program was the A#1 stupidest choice ever.)

I understand that a tremendous amount of social capital and help from friends is what has saved me from seriously bad situations more than once. But what really has turned the tide is simple, old fashioned hard work. It is, in fact, hard to work very long days, have an arduous commute, find any time to exercise, and avoid eating tons of Swedish Fish,

but I don’t blame the government or the mythical rich for these problems. They are my problems, and no one else is going to solve them. In fact, I bet Mamdani’s next promise will be free gummy candies for all! So the socialists would be more likely to contribute to my profligacy than to assist me in living better.

People want stuff for free. A life of ease is now in fashion. Hard work is no longer culturally supported, at least not in West Philadelphia, home of the “poor” who buy a $5 coffee every morning.

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I’m heading back to the place where hard work is expected, whining is not accepted, and people get on with it.

Jennifer stood up against abuse in gymnastics, against unnecessary and damaging COVID school closures, and now against the trans delusion insanity.

When one simply says that if you don’t affirm that an obvious man who is swinging his dick is a woman because he says so, you crossed a line. We aren’t doing this. Normal people aren’t going to play anymore.

I was at a coffee shop and got into a conversation with a barista who claimed that his human rights would be violated by the Trump administration.

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No one is jailing men who want to dress like women or women who want to dress like men. Some people find it annoying. Some people really don’t care. As someone who sees most of the people in their neighborhood dressed as unambiguous gender cosplay, I find it just gets old. Insipid. It’s boring. A fat man in a dress. Great.

Let people do their own weird identity as long as it doesn’t bother anyone else. Men can’t come into women’s spaces without us calling them out. Women actually do not want men waving their dicks at us in restrooms and locker rooms and showers.

I noticed that the man I met at the coffee shop who insisted that his name was Evile and he was a woman was quite ruffled when I mentioned that my closest friend had made a complete surgical transition to female in her sixties.

Putting your penis where your mouth is can be threatening to those who just want to cosplay at being female. If you want to sacrifice nothing while asking everyone around you to pretend you’re a woman, then you’re not going to be so excited about someone who sacrificed their male privilege and made themselves vulnerable to rape and other forms of assault are a threat.

Very few people are falling for the fake oppression anymore.

I’m glad Jennifer Sey is speaking out.

I plan to support her. Hope she runs for office.

I taught the word “oversight” last week. It has two meanings: oversight as in supervision, making sure the rules are enforced, and oversight as in an unintentional error, such as forgetting your mother’s birthday.

The message is not ambiguous. Mandami and his friends are hellbent on erasing America. Sometimes when people tell you who they are, you should believe them.

Quite a few of the people I’ve known over the years like this fellow, jump to his defense, and aren’t all that concerned - or actively support - his antisemitic views. Maybe if you aren’t Jewish, or if you are a Jew who does not attend synagogue, you aren’t so worried about his okayness with “protests” at synagogues. Maybe if you aren’t a victim of violent crime you are not so worried about his Ramadan prayers with inmates at Riker’s Island. Maybe if you don’t remember 9/11, you aren’t too concerned about his support of terrorists.

Where does this end? Those who chant “Death to America” might mean something along the lines of: “Death to America.”

I’m happy to see some of my New York friends stepping up to be active in the movement against the mayor. The regular Democrats let this happen, and now they will have to fix it. It’s unlikely that a Republican can win in NYC.

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Meanwhile, for the rest of us?

We need to stop quietly nodding along when leftists say that all people with brown skin are good and all people with white or lighter brown skin are bad. We have to stop accepting the oppressor/oppressed narrative, even socially, before it’s too late.

If you wonder what the far Left thinks should happen to those they have labeled as “oppressors,” look no further than those celebrating the October 7 massacre on October 8, before the IDF had done a single thing. They want you raped, your children burned, and your home destroyed, same as happened to Israelis. The peacenik Israelis on kibbutzim who used to drive Palestinians to Israeli hospitals for medical care - all the while, the Palestinians were collecting intelligence for the massacre.

This is not an accident. While liberals continue to rant about orange man bad and wring their hands over the poor illegal immigrants, actual Islamist radicals have come to power in one of the most important cities in the Western world.

As one of my favorite substacks is titled: “Tell me how this ends.”

Not well.

It’s not an oversight. It’s a plan.

Let’s stop it before it’s too late.

This is a spot on the street where I often park my car.

Fortunately, today I left for work at 11:05 and missed the storm that hit Philly. The drive home was scary: tons of traffic lights out. My colleague who rides with me did a great job of helping me navigate some frightening intersections. There were so many giant trees down all over the city. Large portions of town look to be out of power. The fire department is out, and people are inspecting the property.

Miraculously, our house is okay and the power is on. I was so eager to get to Loviefluffy and make sure she was safe. She is fine - just ate her wet food supper, had a cuddle on the bed and was ready to give me a little bite as normal.

Tomorrow is the one day off we have of the week. On Friday and Saturday we have a shorter day because the kids take the full SAT in the morning, supervised by the TAs. We come in to teach from 12:30-3:30.

Many of my neighbors are without power. It looks like a lot of trees fell on cars and homes. The top of a tree landed in the tiny backyard. I texted my landlords to let them know. So far I can’t see any damage to the house but I haven’t given it a full tour yet. My own apartment, one of five in an old Victorian, seems okay.

Once again, I feel like I am so lucky. If I hadn’t been working my car might have been destroyed. The 2004 Subaru is way too old to have comprehensive care on her insurance, so if a tree fell on her, I’d have no car. And I have six more weeks that I must drive to work and back six days a week. I don’t have the money to buy another car. Life is always a little scary, but today, I was again lucky.

I’m a little shaken up from the drive and from being scared about Loviefluffy. But she’s fine, I’m fine, we are all fine. I have a day off now, though plenty of things to do.

I think I will watch another Korean romantic comedy. Something light. I’m exhausted from the week - the teaching is intense and the drive an hour each way is really hard. It’s not easy driving, very urban with lots of traffic and crazy people double parking and ignoring traffic laws, so it’s not my favorite. But getting to the best kids in the world and being a part of their educational journey is all worth it.

Thank you God for bringing me safely home. Thank you all for being part of my life.

About seven weeks out of the year I get to teach SAT prep. The kids, at least the vast majority of them, are highly motivated, from families where respect for education and teachers is foundational, and they are so sweet! They aren’t the humorless, stressed out critters that jealous people make them out to be. They are fun, playful, loyal, and just plain GOOD KIDS.

I bring my absolute best everyday and these kids are the biggest reward a teacher could ask for. You’d think they’re my grandchildren, the way I go on about them! But really, they are the best kids ever.

They are fun to teach because they respond to challenge, something out of the ordinary, with curiosity.

I teach a passage on the SAT about Adam Smith’s idea of the invisible hand. You may associate the term with Smith, but surprisingly, he only mentioned it once in his writings. It was kind of a throw away line, a short stab at mercantilism, the dominant economic paradigm of the time.

(I could spend a class teaching “paradigm.” My mom could spend a year. We are word people. The kids love that my mommy was a librarian. That explains why these words are fun for me.)

Twentieth century economists were eager to show that individuals pursuing their own self-interest would create aggregate (as a group, putting together) benefits for society. They picked out this fairly unimportant concept from Adam Smith and elevated its importance in an effort to secure their own intellectual pedigree.

This is Chloe. She looks exactly like Sunny, our golden on the farm. I know her Mommy and Daddy now, and she comes running when she hears me. She flops over for belly rubs immediately and runs in the heat to greet me even though she is twelve now. She prefers the snow though. What is her pedigree? Pure golden retriever.

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I’ve taught this question for two years now, and I teach the concept of “intellectual pedigree” by asking, “Who has a dog?”

The first year I taught it, the most vivacious young lady in my last class of the day shot up her hand. “I have a dog Ms. Smith!”

I loved this kid. She wasn’t always the fastest with the answer, but she worked incredibly hard and had a personality that lit up the room.

“What kind of dog?”

“A sheepadoodle!”

Needless to say, it became a class about a sheepadoodle.

This year, I taught it the same way. This year I am teaching six, not three, classes, working six, not three days a week. Two cohorts: Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday.

First class: one of the young ladies helped me illustrate the point because she has a goldendoodle.

Second class: a young lady has an Aussiedoodle! That’s an Australian Sheppard and a Poodle!

Look at those paws!

Next class: another goldendoodle.

At this point, it’s seeming to be an association that is not spurious (are you getting how many SAT words I’m teaching you unsuspecting readers?)

Middle class of the day: one girl has a Burmese Mountain Dog. Another has… wait for it…

A Burmadoodle.

Most of my students do not have pets. Most of my students are of Indian descent, and it seems to not be such a thing to have pets. Many of them want cats when they grow up. But those who do have dogs have some version of doodle, and when we connect that concept to the phrase “intellectual pedigree,” it is etched into their minds forever.

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I wasn’t that into economics in college, even though all the hot guys were. I was a history major focusing on religion, binge reading Augustine for reasons I only now recall. But these days I love the economics passages. I think differently now, three decades after I graduated from Yale. Little things that I let pass by have importance now.

Did Adam Smith have a goldendoodle? I don’t know. This was all I could find:

I assure my students that I am no relation that I know of to Adam Smith. They laugh because their chronological and historical understanding shows them that it is very unlikely that I would be, so it’s funny. If they knew I was Scottish though…

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Today one of the TA’s - all kids who are alumni of the program and did really well on the SAT - came in to give one of my classes a pep talk. There is a way that people of the same generation can talk to each other that others simply can’t. It was marvelous to listen to through the wall.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do with the next part of my life. I want a secure job with benefits, of course, and I want to be able to contribute to the success of kids like these kids. I could do this by being a lobbyist for school choice and charter schools nine months a year and teaching SAT in summer (IDEAL WORLD!)

Finally I understand what side I am on: the side of American values, which happen to be embodied in the immigrants whom the Left doesn’t love, the people with brown skin who outwork white people and are incredibly successful.

The Left seems to hate those who are successful, especially if they have overcome obstacles. If you don’t continue to fail, continue to need a handout from the government… well, you must have cheated. And your vote can’t be bought with government programs or the promise of a higher minimum wage.

I tell my students that I want them to become leaders of this country, and I stand by that. They inspire me every day by bringing their A game, all the intellectual power they have plus their happy faces, to camp, when many of their friends are just having summer fun. These are the people who live American values.

Too many white Americans have forgotten our values. Remember when being smart, doing your work, showing up on time, and being polite and respectful got you good grades, status and a good job? When it wasn’t about claiming victim status or being the most oppressed?

Those times are coming back, and I’m happy to play a part in ushering them in.

Sunny would be proud.

In the time following October 7, my friends’ kids in college and high school, including our alma mater Yale, faced harassment, discrimination, and all sorts of absurd behaviors that made it impossible for them to enjoy and learn from the college experience they deserve, worked hard for, and their parents (plus their own work and loans) paid for!

Jill is here to help!

Check out her new website, still in progress.

Postsecondarypaths.com! I love it!

Friends: please reach out to Jill if your children are looking at college now, and please share with our huge network. This is what it means to be a worldwide family… we have resources to help each other!

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Meanwhile, I’m teaching SAT prep, and I love it. It’s a long day with an hour drive each way and seven hours of teaching with a half hour break, but the kids are amazing. I did it last year and I counted the days until I got to work with these kids and the awesome owner of the company and staff. I stand behind these young people all the way. Their work ethic, determination, and positive outlook on life are something our country would do well to imitate and learn from.

Off to my cat shelter shift… busy times these days, but much to write about!

The piece talks about Jews who denounce Israel, make art about how pro-Palestine they are, and all but completely disown their Jewish identity. The author cites the example of Natalie Portman. I had no idea that Natalie Portman was born in Jerusalem or was Jewish. I just thought of her as Padme, and since I have spend years contemplating how I turned into Anakin, I think she’s beautiful but wrong, naive and misguided… like today’s Democrats.

In the comments to the piece, a reader writes about “Shoot me last” Jews, those who try to assimilate and conform and denounce their Jewish identity and support those who kill Jews, all with the hopes that they will be accepted. There is a long, long history of this.

This phenomenon is not confined to Jews by any stretch of the imagination. Many people of all religions and ethnic groups go along enthusiastically with regimes in hopes that by flying under the radar, parroting the slogans, and behaving in public the way they think they are supposed to, they may be spared.

They hope that when the day of reckoning comes, when nothing but the identity that they can not erase is seen by those who would kill them, somehow their politics, their anti-Israel pronouncements or pro-Pali films, will save them. Even their conversions to Christianity haven’t historically saved them. I wonder if their conversions to Islam will. I doubt it.

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When I read, “Shoot me last,” I had a visceral reaction. It brought me back to October 7 and those days right after, when my mind was racing with anger and fear and I had nightmares every night.

It was not abstract. The violence against Jews was personal. It was about my friends, the people who have been closest to me in hard times and good times. It was about my high school best friend, who survived some crazy things with me and knows that I throw up all the time when I’m nervous or happy so it’s no big deal. It was about my college roommate, whom I never guessed would become a mother of three beautiful Jewish young ladies, in New York. It was about Ezra far away but having nightmares too and trying to explain what was going on to his child who never should have had to hear this. JD up in Boston who could have chosen not to be Jewish but converted and lives faithfully, along with his amazing wife who was one of my best college friends. So many of the people closest to me throughout my whole life have been Jewish… I had to do something.

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I had no idea I would meet all of you. Ari in Jerusalem wasn’t even in my imagination. I had no way of knowing what would come. But I had the same feeling that I had when I first read about Nazi Germany.

If you’re going to come for my Jewish friends, you will have to get through me first.

Like a lot of people who make great generals and terrible presidents, I was born a fighter. I know I’m not a diplomat. I make the quick decision in the heat of battle. I lead people through passion and on my off time enjoy flirting with the boys who live by reason. I love reason, but it doesn’t move most people. Wars are won because people will put their lives on the line for what they love: family, community, country, God. They follow those who can make crystal clear what they are fighting for and what is at stake. What we all have to lose.

Later on I figured out that I was defending Western civilization, everything we love about our Constitution, our freedom, including the freedom of the pro-Pali gay and trans yoga teachers to hate Israel. That’s part of the freedom we fight for.

But at the beginning it was just about my friends. I knew that many of them had way more to lose than I did. Suddenly my position of a freelancer barely making it economically gave me something that my high status, well off friends didn’t have: freedom to write.

I couldn’t very well say, “Fire me first!” when there was no employer to fire me!

Over the years, I have wondered if I have as much courage as I want to have. I am afraid for my economic security. I worry about my mom and my cat. Like all of you, I have to put a roof over my head. Like many of you, I have to put food in the cat’s bowl.

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I used to worry that the more violent anti-Israel factions in my neighborhood would figure out who I am but I fly under their radar and they don’t bother me. If you are a white person who has lived much of their life in poor black neighborhoods, you know how to detect when someone will become violent and how to be sufficiently meek and respectful in public that no one bothers you - usually.

Quickly things moved beyond my circle of friends. I became way more pro-Israel than most of my Jewish American friends. I criticized the Democrats early on for their failure to back Israel completely. Some of my friends don’t talk to me anymore. That makes me sad, but I stuck with my real friends.

Then there are the things that once you have seen, you can’t unsee.

Americans who stand up for everything that is good about our country: freedom to pursue our chosen vocation, to worship as we choose, to not just parrot words we don’t believe. Fighting back in ways that matter against the woke orthodoxy that deprived so many of their ways to make a living and ruined their lives. People who believe that we are individuals, to be judged on our character and our actions, not fixed with a label based on our skin color.

Supporting Israel is about more than supporting the Jewish people, though that I will continue to do as long as God sees fit to keep me on this earth. Supporting Israel is standing up for our way of life. Rights for women, rights to love and marry whom we choose, rights to dress as we choose (even for those whose fashion choices are horrifying!) It is not Christians who want to take away freedom. It’s the Socialist-Jihadist Left.

I know what I fight for. I know who I am. I’m not afraid of those who try to make us say things we don’t believe. As much as Scott Weiner helped create the mob that now attacks him, I’m glad he would not say the things they tried to make him say.

I get so much hope, faith and courage from my friends. It is worth everything to stand with you. Every time I feel like I’m losing hope or just don’t have it in me to keep fighting, one of you shows up to light the way. I’m with you, m'ayyeyaan.

An actual friend from college from whom I hadn’t heard in years posted on my page, “Antisemites shouldn’t be posting Jewish jokes.”

I had forwarded a joke that a Jewish friend of mine posted about an antisemite and a Jewish restaurant owner. Maybe it wasn’t all that funny but it certainly didn’t seem antisemitic, and the friend wasn’t saying it was.

Then he pointed to a post I had shared about Philadephia DA Larry Krasner now being under review by the state Attorney General in some of his cases. Here’s an article about that: https://penncapital-star.com/criminal-justice/pa-supreme-court-ruling-curbs-philly-district-attorney-adds-state-attorney-general-oversight/.

It’s not exactly a secret that while I used to support Krasner and even co-hosted a fundraiser for his first campaign, I now oppose him. The city isn’t safe, he prefers criminals to victims and the public safety, and he’s brought in a whole lot of people who are incompetent. So I take a position on a local issue that has nothing obvious to do with Jewish people as a whole or Israel.

The problem, it seems, the smoking gun that convinced this friend that I am an antisemite, was that the post said, “Soros-backed DA Larry Krasner.” From this, the college friend concluded that I am an antisemite.

To be honest, I didn’t know that George Soros is Jewish. Apparently it’s well known, and apparently he is not a supporter of Israel. I had no idea on either front. I always thought Soros sounded like a Greek name, to the extent I thought of it at all which is basically never. Are we now all responsible of knowing the religion or ethnicity or however you define it of people who give a lot of money to progressive causes and politicians?

Perhaps I should have searched up (as the kids like to say) a different article on Krasner’s circumstances, as I later did. But really… posting “Soros-backed” makes one an antisemite? How about posting “Sanders-backed” and calling that antisemitic because Bernie Sanders is Jewish? Quite confusing.

I took the opportunity to post all of my pro-Israel and against antisemitism articles from Splice Today on Facebook, which I hadn’t done in awhile, as well as a few entries from the blog. For the most part I post flower pictures and cat paintings, but when picked on for something I’m obviously not, I’m going to defend myself.

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It was lovely that a few Jewish friends posted that however they may disagree with various things I post, they can vouch that I am no antisemite. Here is my favorite:

“While I firmly disagree with most of what April has been posting as of late, as a Jew who has known her for almost 40 years, I can also firmly vouch that she is NOT an anti-Semite, and, in fact, she is more pro-Jewish than many Jews I know.”

Over the almost three years since I started speaking out in support of Israel and against antisemitism, I’ve had occasion to wonder why it is that I am more pro-Jewish and way more pro-Israel than any number of Jews you might know.

I’ve observed that many Jews, especially liberal Reform Jews, seem to feel a certain amount of guilt about the Palestinians they may have encountered on trips to Israel or otherwise found out about. Liberal Reform Jews tend to be extremely nice people who want to help everyone, especially those who are somehow disadvantaged. My former principal (You are my principal, now and always, she says, paraphrasing Jon Snow…) was such a person. He traced his choice of career to his Jewish values, which is wonderful and admirable. I got no problem with that. But to the extent that caring about Palestinians blinds one to the reality that their stated mission and intent is to kill Jews, that strikes me as a problem.

I have no interest in telling anyone how to be Jewish. I certainly don’t know and I respect however it is that people practice their religion or connect with their heritage.

What I do know a bit about is how to survive, and making oneself vulnerable to people who are quite open in their murderous intent is a bad idea, no matter who those people are.

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The more significant thing I’ve observed is that many non-Jewish Americans see standing with Israel as a logical part of standing up for our civilization and way of life. We have one set of values that includes a great deal of individual freedom, freedom for women, rights for LGBT+, and so on. The Muslim Arab world has a different set of values that are easy to see and about which they make no secret. We don’t want to have to veil, convert to Islam, give up our dogs, or any number of other things. I don’t mean to make light of it, but it’s just so obvious that I wonder why so many of the smart people I know seem confused. While we may want to live in peace with all people, quite a few people do not want to live in peace with us.

It took the horror of October 7 to wake me and a lot of others up to just how bad things have gotten. While progressives ran into the streets celebrating the horror and calling rape resistance, the Republican Party of Philadelphia made an unequivocal statement immediately condemning Hamas’ actions and pledging to keep Jews and Israelis in Philadelphia safe. I remember thinking… “Wait, I always thought the Republicans were the bad guys…” while my party blamed Israel before the blood of the massacred was dry.

Perhaps more are waking up now that the report on Pakistani rape gangs in the UK is out. Maybe more people will realize that even if you hate Netanyahu, he had a point when he said that this is not a clash between civilizations, it is a clash between civilization and barbarism. Between those who glorify death and those who sanctify life.

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During the time immediately following October 7, I hopped on the phone as fast as I could to check on all my Jewish friends. Guess what? They were not okay! All different varieties of not okay, but one thing I did hear repeatedly was that their non-Jewish friends had not called.

I decided to use the best tool I have, which is my writing, to try to come to my friends’ defense. In the beginning it really was mostly about just a few people who are important to me. Friends from college, high school, my professional life.

It wasn’t until November of 2023 that I even met an Israeli. I had always been a supporter of Israel, my dad taught me that, but I had no personal ties other than a strong idea that Israeli men are the hottest guys on earth (a view I stand by to this day.)

So it seems to me that my old friend who accused me of being an antisemite was barking up the wrong tree. He’s since disappeared so maybe he concluded the same.

I could be called a lot of things… I’m often reminded of the dialogue in Evita between Eva Peron and Mussolini:

Eva: Did you hear that? They called me a whore! They actually called me a whore!

Mussolini: Signora Peron, it’s an easy mistake. I’m still called an Admiral, yet I gave up the sea long ago!

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I’ve been attacked enough in my life for being seen with this or that guy or wearing something the wacko feminists thought was too friendly to men that I’d say, okay, I can see why you’d say that. It is nice to have reached an age where no one accuses me of sleeping with my boss (which a young co-worker on a job I had a couple of years ago pointed out would be great cover if I were sleeping with my boss. Which for the record I wasn’t. Really, I wasn’t. He was a Millenial and we all know Millenials don’t do things like that!)

But antisemite? No. Accused of sexualizing Jewish men on the basis of their ethnicity? Yes. To which I say, “Precisely which one filed a complaint?”

Disagree with me as many should and do, find a better name to call than antisemite.

But for those who were looking for an antisemite…

I am very afraid for my friends in New York. Things are obviously out of control. Mamdani and his socialists are winning more and more. I’m so happy that some of my friends are becoming more politically active to do something about this. I did the same, if in different ways. But you should not have to defend your right to safely live, worship and wear a Star of David in your own hometown. Most of my friends in New York have lived there most of if not all their lives. It’s their home. They aren’t running to Florida nor should they have to (though Florida seems very nice and if anyone offers me a chance to live in a nice retirement community with a golf course I’d probably take it. Not because I play golf but because I tend to like people who do. They are quiet. Golf if quiet. I like golf.)

I was recently at 30th Street Station, the train station where you catch Amtrak to New York and DC and Boston among other places from Philly. I hadn’t been there in years, then suddenly I was there twice in one week! I thought to myself, “I can imagine visiting New York or DC again.” It’s been a long time since I’ve ventured far from home. I would love to see the museums again and hang out with some New York friends. But New York does not seem like a safe place. As someone who does not dress as an Orthodox Jew or look stereotypically Jewish (maybe because I’m not), you might say I have no reason to be afraid. But I am afraid of a place where my Jewish friends have reason to be afraid.

Still not an antisemite.

I’m going to write my civilized friends in my Philly neighborhood and ask them if they know of any nice events that are happening July fourth weekend. I’m a bit scared to go to any of the big things downtown because of the possibility of terrorism, old fashioned crime, or just mayhem. So I’m fishing for an invitation to what I hope will be a dinner party of local nice people. I can bring deviled eggs! They’re Catholics… Catholics like deviled eggs too, right?

Still searching for a church home… thinking I might try out some churches that a friend suggested I might find comfortable. That may wait until after six day a week SAT prep is over though. I may be too tired to move much on my one day off!

Looking for a church home where one does not feel out of place praying for our Jewish brothers and sisters, in Israel, at home, and all over the world.

Still not an antisemite…

It’s about time to get my nails done again, and I’m thinking of a conservative pale pink because it goes with everything and where I teach in the summer an unobtrusive manicure is a better call than my school year glitter, but I’d have to say, I loved going bright red for the first time in years.

Red nails, red light saber, and faithful to the blue Israeli flag and the American flag, the country where I am proud to be a citizen and an active participant in our democracy.

Still not an antisemite.