David Andrew Jaffe's Blog, page 7

My People: Giving in Unimaginable Ways

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I have never seen anything quite like it.

When October 7th rolled around and war began, the collective conscious of the nation wanted to do something. Wanted to figure out a way to help.

Some people’s roles were rather obvious.

Soldiers, the Backbone of the Nation

Our country is filled to the brim with soldiers and reservists, and they mobilized immediately to tackle the immense task set before them. They’re heroes, and they came in droves. Some volunteered to serve even though they were exempt, for an assortment of reasons. Some enlisted right away, despite never having intended to do so earlier. Some got on planes to make sure they were readily available for their reserve service.

The IDF is the backbone of the nation. It always has been.

But the IDF is all of us. It’s not just those currently serving or those who still get called in occasionally. It’s the scores who have served in the past. And its the extensive families of the soldiers, which essentially makes up the entire country. After October 7th you were either immersed in military efforts, or you were up late at night worrying about somebody who was.

But worry doesn’t help a nation.

Action does.

The Collective Urge to Help

And there’s something so profound and beautiful about feeling millions of people collectively wanting to do something to help their homeland. Sitting at home and feeling bad about the world is not enough. Passing along videos and memes on Facebook is not enough. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was asking themselves, “What can I do?”

The first instinct is to fight. But what exactly does that mean? For a young soldier, it’s quite obvious. You’re part of a framework. You’re either being called to the frontlines, waiting to be called, or being utilized in some other fashion for the war efforts. Your soul belongs to the army and they will attempt to put you to work in the fashion they think will most benefit the nation. And they have been successfully keeping thousands of people busy.

But the country is filled with millions of others who are then left with multiple free hours in their days and no real idea of how to use that time. Do they just carry on with life as they had before? Or do they find where they fit into this incredible war effort?

It is neither logical nor practical for everyone to pick up a gun and some grenades and charge Gaza alongside young trained soldiers. The army has no need for a 50-year-old with a trick ankle who hasn’t exercised in over a decade to play GI Joe. They’ll get in the way and be more of a liability than an asset.

Money, the Old Faithful

So where does that leave said older gentleman?

At first, confused.

A nation of people who passionately cried on Facebook that they wanted to help, but had no idea what that meant. Sure, there were plenty of places seeking donations. But that was flawed on three levels.

First, not every one has the means to make a dent with their wallet.

Second, there were rumors galore of manipulative outlets not faithfully using such money.

Finally, donating doesn’t have the same air of utility as getting your hands dirty to truly make a difference. Rather, people craved immersing themselves in efforts that might directly make an impact on people’s lives.

Initial Efforts

At first, some efforts fell flat. There were too many people. It felt redundant. This is by no means a criticism. No one should ever be criticized for trying to help but not being needed. I went to drop off a bag of gluten-free food for soldiers with celiac. God bless the person who arranged that! When I arrived, I was the only person make a drop, and about twenty teenagers collecting.

Of course, they should all be praised for their efforts. And even more importantly, for their motivation. They were there to help. They weren’t playing video games or basketball or staying at home mocking their siblings. They were trying to make the world a better place.

But it’s still a small shame when a job that could be done by two people is done by twenty.

My People Found its Path

But Israel found its groove. And eventually people dug a little deeper, and everyone started realizing the infinite ways they could help. Moreover people started looking deep into themselves and tried to figure out their unique ways they could contribute to what was going on in the country.

The opportunities were far and wide.

There wasn’t just a war going on, and soldiers in need of assistance. There were wives at home with babies, alone and terrified with their husbands gone indefinitely. There were jobs impactful to everyone in the society that were currently not filled for an assortment of reasons. There were displaced communities, asked to leave their homes due to proximity to dangerous areas.

And it didn’t matter who you were or what skills you had. Everyone had a way they could help, and was looking for a way to do so.

And before you knew it, the society was at the best I’ve ever seen it. Imagine a world in which no one was seeking an advantage, but rather everyone was doing their part to make things better.

Imagine a world in which no one was seeking an advantage, but rather everyone was doing their part to make things better.
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A Beautiful Nation, Going Above and Beyond

People were paying for soldiers’ food in grocery stores. Offering free massages for soldiers who were hurting when they got home. Or free therapy for the other kind of pain.

People were watching dogs for those displaced from their homes. And doing activities to keep their children happy and entertained.

They were delivering flowers to women whose husbands were away at war, who needed a pick me up. Who needed to feel normal.

The list is endless. And in a sea of misery, with some of the most horrifying reports covering the news, my feed was simultaneously covered with a society showing how much it cares. Showing how willing everyone is to make things better in times of need. Showing how capable we are of putting aside our differences when the going gets tough.

And how an entire nation was able to continuously ask itself, “What’s my part in making everything better?”

And then immediately went into action.

Am Yisrael Chai!

The post My People: Giving in Unimaginable Ways is featured at Jaffe World.

I’m Not OK… But Pleased You Asked

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I know not everyone’s had this experience, and I’m sorry if yours is unlike mine, but the outpouring of support I’ve received from friends and family has been both touching and overwhelming.

And it’s coming from so many different directions. From all of over the world, Jews and non-Jews alike.

I find every word moving and appreciate them all. No, I am not OK. And even if it is sometimes hard to keep up with everyone, and even though some well wishes will not make a dent in the stress and pain of the times, their sentiments are well-received.

And I am grateful to have all of them in my life.

Not OK, Thanks for Asking

But not everyone is grateful. Not everyone sees things the way I do.

I’ve seen some interesting posts the last several weeks. And one style of post has irked me a bit.

The post basically looks something like this:

“No, I’m not OK. My people are getting murdered, raped, and kidnapped. We are in a war, and we are fighting to survive. It’s pure hell. So stop asking me if I’m OK.”

It’s an angry person telling people to keep their empty words to themselves. Criticizing people for asking unwelcome and obvious questions, burdening those of us who struggle with their vapid attempts to make us feel better.

And I couldn’t disagree more.

Why People Reach Out

There are multiple reasons why people are reaching out.

Yes, they are genuinely concerned for the safety of us and our families. But it’s not necessarily for us. It’s for them as well. They’re sitting at home, in relative peace and comfort. They’re panicking. And uneasy. And they feel like they need to do something, besides just flipping through awful posts on Facebook.

So they reach out. And it becomes our duty, albeit a challenging addition to everything else going on around us, to comfort the world. To let them know that even though we are struggling and stressed out of our minds, we are at the very least safe.

That’s not to say their concern for our wellbeing isn’t real. It’s that it’s potentially more complex than that.

What Can You Possibly Say?

And what do you say when you wish to check up on someone who’s life has been disrupted by a vile and revolting terror attack, followed by a war?

Fact is, there are no words that will do the trick. So we resort to the basics.

How are you? How’s the family? How’re you holding up?

You’re in my thoughts. You’re in my prayers. We’re all thinking about you.

Are they generic? Of course they are. But no more generic than anything any one of us pulls out when we wish to comfort someone in mourning. We don’t know what to say. We never do. We’re uneasy. We are trying to comfort someone through the unfathomable, a task that is virtually impossible. We want to say something beautiful, heartfelt, and inspiring. But instead we say, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Generic. It’s a real sentiment, but so oft repeated it loses any and all value.

But we’ll say it anyway. We always will.

Because there’s nothing else to say.

Stress On Top of Stress

But please don’t kick me out of your house of mourning. Because despite my inability to put together a coherent thought, my heart is in the right place. I would do anything if I felt it would lead to your comfort in this time of tragedy.

That’s what we all mean when we are sitting there, fidgeting, wanting the moment to just end. We simply want to give you the best possible chance of moving through this tragic point in your life, and we revert to cliche. Because we have nothing else to offer. It’s too far out of our control.

If someone writes me from America or France or Australia and asks me if I’m OK, I tell them my family and I are currently safe. Stressed. But safe.

Am I OK? No. I am really not OK. I recall thinking many times during the pandemic that one of the most challenging parts of the experience is with all this new misery, the remaining stressors of the world never ceased existing. In fact, they didn’t even slow down slightly.

So here I stand with health issues and professional issues and personal issues and an overflowing plate of responsibility, and then life throws at me a global pandemic.

Or in this case, a war.

Not OK

No, I’m not OK. None of us are. There are those pretending better than others. There are those with massive defense mechanisms that make them capable of enjoying themselves despite what’s going on around them.

But if you contemplate for just minutes that you are surrounded by violent, aggressive monsters who have proven they are more than willing to rape civilians, murder babies, and desecrate bodies, you’d never sleep again, let alone be able to thrown down a few beers with some friends.

So no, I’m not OK. My family’s not OK. My country’s not OK. Hell, the world’s not OK.

But I appreciate you checking in. I really do. I know what you mean when you ask, and you shouldn’t stop asking.

And as much as you’re here for me, I’m here for you.

Status Report

I’m here to let you know that where I am it’s relatively quiet. There’s a hint of depression and fury in the air. The world is a different place than it was just a matter of days ago. And everyone around me is contemplating feelings they shouldn’t need to contemplate. Everyone’s growing up a little faster than they ever wanted to. But being bombarded by terrible thoughts and feelings is worlds apart from getting your life overturned by death, rape, and kidnapping. It’s even worlds different than being displaced temporarily from your home.

But it’s not nothing.

In the world of complex emotions, there are many gradations. And everyone is more than entitled to their own. And fearing for those you care about from a distance is both understandable and welcome.

I’m not doing great. To be honest, it was hard beforehand. This is just pouring a lake into an already overflowing bucket.

Thank you for checking in.

I really do appreciate it.

The post I’m Not OK… But Pleased You Asked is featured at Jaffe World.

Redbubble: Justified or Anti-Israel?

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I am pissed and unsure how to deal with my concerns.

I have had an account with a website called Redbubble for several years now. It’s a print on demand platform, whereby you create original pieces of art, digital or otherwise, and upload them to the site. You then edit them on the site to fit a whole bunch of criteria, and anyone who likes the design can go ahead and order it in multiple ways, such as on a mug or a t-shirt. Redbubble makes a solid chunk of money off the deal, and the designer gets a small cut. Everyone’s a winner!

Since the beginning of this adventure, I have sold very few designs. It hasn’t bothered me in the slightest, because even though I’d love to make money off the endeavor, half the fun is learning a series of new skills, including design, marketing, and the intricacies of the print on demand business. The occasional few dollars is just a pleasant bonus.

But Redbubble recently deleted my account. Without explanation.

And I couldn’t be more furious.

My “Offensive” Designs

The background: Most of my items on the site up to this point are simple text-based designs. Whatever is on my mind when I sit down to create. But since the war began, I thought it would be in my best interest to make designs that are there to bolster Israel. To show my support. Nothing too complex. Things like this.

And whereas my message was clearly showing favoritism to one side of the debate, I kept things pretty mild. In my opinion. The core message was about victory.

A couple of designs were quickly flagged for review, but within a day or two were approved. Then I was informed that one design was removed, and when I checked, there were actually four missing! I was quite frustrated.

And then it happened. I received an email from Redbubble saying they’ve deleted my account for violations of their policies, with no explanation of what policy I violated or which design or designs they were upset about. I formally appealed the decision and was quickly told that the ruling remains and is permanent, still no explanation.

Redbubble’s Policies and Motivations

So, in preparation for this post, and for the sake of being extremely careful and thorough, I read through all their documentation to try and figure out if I was had blatantly violated anything. I tried to be very liberal interpreting the words, to try and give at least a small amount of benefit of the doubt with their decision-making process.

My speculative conclusion: They’ve shown their hand. They’re too chicken to outright say they have an anti-Israel bias, or that they’re even blatantly antisemitic, but where there’s smoke, there’s fire. They took the first opportunity to censor a loyal participant in their program, for the worst possible reasons.

So I call upon you, loyal friends and onlookers. Here is one design they first removed and here is another. Here are all the designs I’ve made to date. Ironically, this one and this one were never removed. The pattern is very unclear.

Oh, and just for some more information, pro-Palestine designs like this and this exist on the platform. And that’s OK! I have not reported them, and I don’t plan to. I believe firmly in freedom of speech and freedom of artistic expression. Unless a design is filled with outright hatred and bigotry or explicit calls to violence, I don’t think they should ever be censored. Even if I strongly disagree with their message. That’s what freedom is! It’s freedom to disagree. It’s freedom to express complex thoughts, even if they might step on someone’s toes. That’s OK. Toes are meant to be stepped on!

That's what freedom is! It's freedom to disagree. It's freedom to express complex thoughts, even if they might step on someone's toes. That's OK. Toes are meant to be stepped on!
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Researching Redbubble

Now obviously I would love it if you’d purchase any of my designs… but you should be fully and completely aware that my designs I’ve linked here are being hosted on a different platform called TeePublic, which thankfully hasn’t removed anything of mine (yet?). However, please note that TeePublic is owned by Redbubble, so a) your money would still be going to support the organization that banned my reasonable and inoffensive designs, and b) my guess is my days are numbered on this platform as well. No, they haven’t given any indication that they’re unhappy. But it’s in the family. We’ll see what happens next.

So I call upon you, the reader. Here is some of their documentation, if you get a free minute. The main reasons for account suspension are fraud (I’m not fake), plagiarism (all my designs are original), harassment (I’ve never bothered anyone on the platform), or going against Redbubble’s many policies of what you cannot sell on their site.

I’ve gathered some quotes from the documentation that, if stretched, could possibly apply to my designs. For example:

A. “Your content does not contain material that defames or vilifies any person, people, races, religion or religious group and is not obscene, pornographic, indecent, harassing, threatening, harmful, invasive of privacy or publicity rights, abusive, inflammatory or otherwise objectionable.”

B. “Reasons people might report a work: A reasonable person would find it offensive or consider it a personal attack.”

C. “Work that glorifies or trivializes violence or human suffering is not permitted… This includes the promotion of organizations, groups or people who have a history of violence and/or an agenda of hate.

Works that deal with catastrophic events such as genocides or holocausts or other atrocities need to be sensitively handled. Works that have the potential to cause the victims serious distress may be removed.”

D. “User uploads content that defames or vilifies a person, people, races, religion, or religious group.”

If You Don’t Like, Click Away

They also include these two very noteworthy gems:

a. “The things you see and read on Redbubble may include some content you do not like or agree with. You always have the choice to click away, enable the safe filter while browsing, or request that the work be reviewed.”

b. “Redbubble asks that you do not seek or engage with the content you don’t agree with (no need for troublemaking).”

So I would say that even if someone didn’t like my designs, Redbubble’s policies state they should ignore them and move along.

And here we are.

Looking at their policies, their hasty deletion of my account, their lack of transparency for why they closed it, and the severe lack of justification based on what I’ve read, I’m forced to conclude that Redbubble is either showing their anti-Israel bias, or this is just straight-up antisemitism.

But I defer. What do you think is happening here? With all the evidence you have at your disposal, why do you think my account was closed? Was it justified?

And if you agree with my assessment, what should we do about it?

The post Redbubble: Justified or Anti-Israel? is featured at Jaffe World.

Processing the Emotions of War

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We’re merely a week into a war, and I feel like my world will forever be a different place.

I wake up daily not knowing how to process what’s happening. In general, I think of myself as emotionally confused. For example, I never cry during Holocaust movies or at memorials. I appreciate them and I recognize their power and importance. And I feel tremendous empathy for those I see having these emotional reactions.

And I question myself every time.

Am I Normal?

Is this normal? The events are so unfathomably horrific, how could I not break down in tears after just a few moments of contemplation?

But I don’t.

Usually my thoughts are dominated by one emotion. Anger. Pure, unadulterated anger.

And I’m well read enough to know that this anger should be pointed in multiple directions. Of course it’s directed at Nazi Germany, and the grotesque behavior of the Polish people and tons of other countries that either participated or looked the other way. But there’s plenty of anger to go around.

Yes, I feel grateful toward the Allied Powers for liberating concentration camps and ending the war. But they are not without massive anger-inducing faults. The United States turned away the St. Louis and there were citizens who wouldn’t send supplies to Jews in Germany because it was a “war zone” in enemy territory. The British prevented post-Holocaust emigration to Israel and locked Jews into camps in Cyprus.

And Russia just found itself on the right side of history, but was just as bad as Germany otherwise. Plenty of Jewish blood was spilled at their hands, more than enough to never entertain the possibility of a free pass.

But I still don’t cry.

Rage, Nothing But Rage

I don’t want to sit back and contemplate the tragic loss of lives. The generations of families lost from this world forever. The pain and suffering and hardships my ancestors endured. I don’t sit in a corner with tears streaming down my face. I often want to. It feels right and appropriate.

But it just never happens.

All I feel is rage. Violent anger.

I want to go back in time, swoop into enemy territory, and take out every aggression I’ve ever felt on the enemies of my people. Mercilessly. Relentlessly.

And as much as I want to feel pure sympathy, all I’ve got is red-faced, painful rage.

And here we go again.

Feelings during the Current War

The actions of Hamas possessed levels of brutality we pretend no longer exist in this world.

I can watch TV shows day and night with violent depictions of mass murder. Torture. Rape. People’s lives being permanently destroyed by violence and aggression. At best I feel entertained. At worst, I feel nothing.

I’ve always been really good at differentiating between reality and fantasy. I don’t wince when they are hit in the face, because my mind knows completely that it’s an actor and he’s not suffering in the slightest.

And I falsely believe that what I’m witnessing on the screen are fake concepts. These things don’t happen. Societies aren’t facing existential crises. Jack Bauer isn’t really needed to save an entire nation from impending doom.

And then I wake up to a day like this.

And nothing will ever be the same again.

Woefully Unprepared

Every day during the Second Intifada was a small nightmare. Everyone was on edge. You never knew what the next day would bring.

I remember walking in Jerusalem the day after a terrorist attack. A tire on a bus burst, making an incredibly loud noise. And a street full of hundreds of people collectively thought there had been yet another attack.

For a brief moment we all thought we might need to run and take cover. We thought the street would soon be filled with police and soldiers. Fire and rescue teams. Others who’ve dedicated their lives to helping with the respectful cleanup of the remains of desecrated human bodies.

And later we’d be checking the news to find out details. To look for names. We’d feel joy when we didn’t know the victims, and a small hint of guilt for knowing that someone else out there will be wailing on the floor after their terrible loss.

This was what life felt like for me for years.

And yes, I was hardened. I would never want to live through another Intifada. But at the very least I think I have the tools to handle one. I’ve already built my defense mechanisms. I’ve already learned how to live in a world where terrorism is ever-present, and if something terrible didn’t happen today, we should be overjoyed.

Yet I’m cautiously awaiting tomorrow.

And despite what I’ve lived through, and all the emotions no one should ever feel permanently changing who I am and how I view the world around me, nothing I’ve experienced in the past 46 years has prepared me one iota for what happened last week.

As unprepared as it felt the country was for an attack like this, that’s how I felt I was mentally and emotionally.

Preparing for a Different Future

And to be honest, I still don’t know how to process this, or any of its long-term implications.

This war will come to an end. I have no doubt Israel will come out on top. But what will the country look like and who will we be by the time all the smoke clears? This I cannot tell you. I have no idea. I already feel changes happening within me. I see the personalities of my children changing before my eyes.

Massive change with minimal understanding.

Because despite the fact that a few seconds of contemplation should have me lying on the ground, a blubbering mess who cannot possibly be consoled, despite how I should be feeling, all I feel is anger.

Anger that a human being has it within their heart to murder babies.

Anger that in these times of global normalization, war, death, and destruction are still quite common, and are impacting our lives.

And instead of working toward peace and understanding, I just want to burn and destroy.

I want problems removed, not worked with.

I’m tired.

The cycle is exhausting. Life is exhausting.

Why are we still doing this garbage?

The post Processing the Emotions of War is featured at Jaffe World.

My World After 300

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I started writing this little blog world a little over six years ago.

I had no real vision for what it would be, besides me getting my thoughts and feelings off my chest. But I figured at some point along the way, I’d discover a niche. I’d find that one topic I’d wish to write about more than anything. But that never happened. And all these years later my blog is just the thoughts going through my head that week, whether they be on inane topics like the Barbie movie or the worst shows on Netflix, or serious topics like cluster munitions or my fear of Jews being mentioned in the media. Whether I’m complaining about Israel or talking about yet another discovery I’ve made about myself in the world of health and fitness.

Hopes and Breaks

I also hoped that one day some random rich person would see my writing, notice something about me, and before I knew it, I’d be writing for a living and raking in money doing so.

That didn’t happen either.

What did happen is I successfully emoted. I took whatever joy, whatever pain, whatever confusion was burning in my soul, and I put it into words. I wrote it down and it made my life better.

This is my 300th post. That’s a lot of writing and a lot of years doing so.

Every once in a while I take a break. I need to just stop for a minute to reflect… on my reflecting. Breathe for a moment. Not worry about making sure to have something to publish every single week.

And now seems like the perfect time to step away for a bit.

Turning Point

I’m a few months into a new job. It is just before the holidays, and yet another Jewish new year is looming before me. And my precious son is off to basic training. Yes, I have friends who are younger than I am with kids even getting married. And even though I don’t see that happening all that soon, there’s plenty going on to make me feel on the older side.

My son also just turned twenty.

When people meet me they often guess my age wrong by as much as a decade. Of course, once they find out I have a 20 year old child, they start redoing their evaluation.

There are not a lot of things in this world that can make you feel like the years are moving along. But having a kid pass the 20-year mark is possibly the most powerful one I’ve felt so far.

I don’t know what the future will hold. He’s got quite the road ahead of him. He’ll be nearly thirty when he completes his military service, which is wild. But he will be leaving that service with a degree in electrical engineering, six years of extremely high-level experience, connections galore, and, assuming the world doesn’t change too much or he doesn’t have a giant overhaul of interests, a really amazing and lucrative career ahead of him.

It’s so fun to think back about those twenty years together, whether it’s going shooting, jumping out of planes, giving blood, or growing out our hair for three years for donation, the ride has been bumpy but awesome.

At A Crossroads

But these crossroad moments insert themselves into your life like a quick artificial pause. They force you to ponder difficult and sometimes painful questions:

Am I where I want to be?

Am I on the right path, moving forward toward the destination I’m seeking?

Am I even clear on what that destination is?

Is there possibly more from this world I want but I’m simply not getting?

And when those questions start flooding in, I can’t help but need to stop. Need to reevaluate.

Why am I writing this blog? Is it to achieve some certain level of recognition? Is it to earn money?

Is it just to get thoughts off my chest? Is it because maybe those thoughts stand to benefit others who might stumble upon my words? Is it pure catharsis and nothing more? Or maybe just a cute little side hobby?

In many ways, you can find out why you’re doing something more when you take a break from it. When you step back and look at the world as if this is something you don’t have.

What if I didn’t have this outlet? What if six years ago a friend and couch surfer didn’t convince me to just do it? She asked what I’d do the next day if I had the nerve and nothing were standing in my way. I said I’d start this blog. She pushed me, saying that’s exactly what I should do.

And I did.

These crossroad moments insert themselves into your life like a quick artificial pause. They force you to ponder difficult and sometimes painful questions.
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Why Do What We Do?

And I had as little direction then as I do now.

Surely I’ve learned some things along the way. Things are more refined. I have a better idea of what people will pay attention to and what they won’t. And it certainly isn’t connected to what I want to write about the most.

It’s never been about the views and clicks.

But at the same time, they’re hard to ignore. And in an ideal world, I’d certainly want more of them.

Instead, at times it feels like I’m chasing a self-created obligation. Every day we brush our teeth, get dressed, and have breakfast. The list of obligatory acts is long, but most lack any level of pleasure. We don’t do them because they make us happy. We do them as rote mandatory pieces of our days.

And in many ways, I’ve added to my list of mandatory rote obligations.

Do I do Duolingo still because I love it and I’m learning languages? Or is it just something I have to do because it’s on the list?

Do I send birthday messages out to my friends and family because I want to celebrate their milestone? Or is it just something I’ve been doing so long, I can’t imagine starting my day otherwise?

My Next World

And is this blog still a part of my soul? Is it still something that causes me pleasure and makes my life infinitely better?

Or is it just a part of my routine that I’ve tricked myself into thinking must be there?

How could I know the answer to these questions?

I need to step away for a bit and watch from a distance.

Then I’ll either return with a newfound intensity and passion.

Or I’ll wander off into the sunset. Forever.

The post My World After 300 is featured at Jaffe World.

Iron Deficiency and Health Whac-A-Mole

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Good news and bad news.

The good news: Knowledge is power. And with every passing day I feel I’m a step closer to figuring out my health, figuring out what makes this wacky body tick so I can actually head out into the world feeling good, feeling like I can conquer everything in front of me.

The bad news: Health feels like playing some twisted version of Whac-A-Mole, where not only does something keep popping up every time you figure something out, but sometimes it’s two things. Three things. Ten things!

And before you know it, your down twenty rabbit holes reading anything and everything you can get your hands on for a specific topic, and it starts to take over a bit of your life.

Then There Was Iron…

Thank goodness, in the world of health we’ve made some major strides over the past few years. I got my deviated septum fixed, something I had wanted to do for decades. I lost a whole bunch of weight, something I had been trying to do for a while, but finally cracked the code by just learning to chew my food more. And most importantly, I conquered my crippling sciatica that made the simple act of sitting one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced.

But despite tremendous strides forward, there was always this educated suspicion that I was on the beginning of a long road, and had plenty more room to go.

That recently became very clear when I noticed a bit of a pattern after some bloodwork.

My iron was low, and getting lower. No, not dangerously so. If you just looked at one blood test, you’d see I was still in the normal range. And that’s the very simplistic way most people, and sadly, most doctors, look at things. There’s no problem… until there’s a problem.

But I took note.

What The Hell Is Ferritin?

Now, I’ve been exploring health and fitness for some time. One thing everyone tries on the path to optimum health is supplements. Some people swear by these little expensive pills. Others think they amount to extremely expensive urine. And as much as I’d like to trust the first group, after trying so many different things, none have ever made a noticeable difference. At least not a positive one, anyway.

But when my iron was on the brink of the red zone, and I started getting headaches and feeling cold in my hands and feet, I took some iron, and the problems went away very quickly. You’d think this is enough to be concerning. My iron levels were in the red, I was having clear symptoms that connect to iron deficiency, and iron helped the problem. What more evidence could I possibly need?

But my doctor was unperturbed.

He said that so long as my ferritin was not in the problem zone, there’s nothing to worry about.

I said to myself these utterly important words, “What the hell is ferritin!?”

But I let it go. I figured if I got another headache, I’d take some more iron. And if my ferritin ever went low, I’d contact the doctor once again.

And sure enough, shortly afterwards my ferritin went into the red zone too.

Waiting for a Problem

Big take home from this and so many other stories: Doctors tend to look at things as they are, not how they might be soon. If your blood sugar is progressively going up, they’ll ignore it until you’re pre-diabetic. If your TSH levels are off, they won’t start worrying about things until you have a thyroid disease.

And here in my case, I saw the writing on the wall. Something was wrong, but the system says we wait until there’s a real problem, not the likelihood of a problem.

So he had me do an experiment and then get tested again in two months. I wasn’t allowed to take iron or any other supplements for the duration.

Now, the strangest thing happened when I saw my results. For a moment, I got really excited. My ferritin was no longer in the red zone! My body was self correcting. My diet was doing the trick. Everything was back on track and…

Wait!

Something seemed odd about the number. Upon further investigation, my ferritin had actually gone down further! Really low, in fact. But it was no longer being labeled as red… because they shifted the numbers!

That’s right. Things were actually getting worse for me. But the system went from saying “This is a problem we need to address” to “You’re fine, don’t worry about it”.

Nevertheless, despite the fact that I was all better now… the doctor was willing to pursue things further.

But the process we started is going to take forever.

And The Process Moves On Forward

I need to visit two more specialists. We’ve learned our lesson in this wacky country. Sure, I can get an appointment in a week. But any doctor who’s worth anything will not be available quickly. No, if you want quality care, you’re going to need to be exceedingly patient. So I have to wait a couple of months before my appointments. And I’ll need to get my blood checked again.

In the meantime, I’ve been reading like crazy about iron, and it’s rather complex and discouraging.

I’m supplementing daily, but it’s an enormous mess. You see, getting iron to absorb into the body is like some wild puzzle to put together. You need to consume the iron with certain nutrients, while simultaneously avoiding others. So best to take it with other specific supplements on an empty stomach… however, iron without food often causes stomach upsets.

So I may or may not be slowly but surely solving the problem, and I won’t know for several months, and in the meantime I’m often sitting an entire workday with my stomach killing me.

I temporarily can’t donate blood. Arguably this is what caused the problem in the first place. But it’s a big bummer for me and my son.

No End In Sight

I would like to believe with the right supplementation my body is correcting everything and I’ll be back on a great path soon… but the headaches still pop in every once in a while. And I don’t know why.

I’d like to think I’m on a good path. A healthy path.

That with the right pushing and effort I’ll get where I want to be.

But every time one thing falls down and gives reason to be happy, something else pops up and gives me reason to panic.

And I worry every day that the pursuit of health is just a windy path with no end in sight.

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I Married the One Who Cares

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Ever walked past a sick or injured animal?

I assume most people have. And with the average person it invokes a momentary feeling of compassion. Of course if we could, we’d do something to help. But most of us can’t be bothered.

There’re too many reasons not to help. And in a brief moment they fill our conscious. I don’t have time to deal with this. I wish I could, but I need to get to work. And even if I helped it, I couldn’t risk getting my clothing dirty. What would I do? Bring it home? I don’t have the space. My spouse would probably hate that. I don’t think we could offer it long-term care. Maybe a day. Maximum. And what would I really be able to do for it anyway? I’m not a vet. I’ll probably just make things worse.

The list of thoughts dismissing our ability to help is endless.

But For Me, It’s Different

So we don’t. And we stop thinking about it almost immediately. We move on with our lives, never looking back to wonder what happened to the kitten with the thorn in its paw or the dog stuck in the fence. Our lives continue to move forward and we have no choice but to move forward with them.

The next minute is already a new day.

That’s how it is for most people.

But that’s not the person I married.

I married the girl who wants to take in every abandoned kitten, every confused wandering puppy, and every bird with a damaged wing. And I think I’m finally starting to realize how deep it goes, and to appreciate it for what it is.

I Move on with My Day

Naturally, I fall into the other category. Yeah, I’ve tried to get a seemingly homeless dog to follow us back to our apartment so we can take care of it. But it never seems to work, and once it walks away from me, I move on with my day. Hey, there’s a lot going on in life. It’s hard to put tons of time into some stray beast that is more than happy to rummage through garbage for a bite to eat. My mind instantly becomes preoccupied with everything from looking for a solutions to a work problem to where should we live to the subtleties of the plot of the Barbie Movie.

And the dog becomes a distant memory.

Maybe it’s an effective defense mechanism. It keeps me safe from complex and damaging feelings of guilt or even inadequacy, since I failed to lure a hungry creature to my home. And I’m far too busy to even consider being stressed about something else.

And I move on with my day. Fully and completely.

I Married the Girl Who Cares

But I come home everyday to a very different energy. An entirely different mindset.

The other day someone at work mentioned a kitten outside that was injured, abandoned, and doing very poorly. I went outside to check on it. The cute little thing was clearly fighting to survive, but wasn’t doing well at all.

Now I was faced with a dilemma.

I know I don’t have what it takes to save the little guy. Even if I could somehow summon the will and energy to help it out, I don’t have the knowledge. To be honest, I’m not really a cat person. Team dogs all the way!

So I really could have muttered to myself something about it being sad, and then walked back inside and immersed myself once again in my work.

I knew if Devorah knew about the kitten she’d panic. The drive and passion to find a solution would kick in, and she might even go so far as to drive out to where I was to pick it up and do what she could to make a difference.

I could have just not mentioned it. The thought crossed my mind.

But it would eat at me. It was a part of my day. And at some point it might slip out, and she’d wonder why I didn’t say anything. Which isn’t a great thing for any marriage.

Others Are Just Different

So we discussed the little thing and if there were anything in our power to help.

Ultimately someone stepped up to the plate, and as of this moment, the kitten’s alive. I can’t say for sure it’ll stay that way for much longer. Sadly, I think the odds are not in its favor.

But that’s not really what I’m writing about today.

There’s like a billion cats in this country. They’re born and die every single day. The world is filled with chaos, and I will not lose sleep over the fact that some cats have it pretty bad. I can’t. But that’s doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate what it means to have overwhelming compassion for them. All of them. Seriously, every single one of them.

I married the girl who cares.

When someone in my office reached out about the injured kitten, the response was… non existent.

Everyone kept on clicking away at their computers as if there weren’t a poor little creature dying right outside the walls.

And I don’t mean that as a criticism. The response is average. Reasonable.

I don’t know what’s going on in people’s hearts and minds. Some may have felt awful and a whole lot of compassion. And they could have just reasoned it away, because it’s not in their power, for whatever reason, to make a difference that day. And that’s OK. I’m certain every one of their explanations would have been extremely acceptable.

A Better Place

But I’m not here to criticize. I’m here to praise.

I sat there and looked around at a building of people who didn’t jump to save a kitten, and I smiled to myself and said, “I married the one who cares. I married the one who loves animals. I married the one who wants to save each and every one of them.”

We’ve mulled over the idea of getting a nice-sized home with a yard for the express purpose of being there for the animals of Israel who have no one. It’s a pipe dream at this time, but a dream nonetheless.

And we’re both on board.

Because I married the girl who cares. And I’m so happy I did.

And I’d love to watch her make Israel a better place, one kitten at a time.

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Not Cool, GoDaddy

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I’ve been out of my last job for about five months now, after collecting dust for over six years, helping rich people get richer while I continued to panic about high electricity bills.

I’m grateful for the experience. I really am. GoDaddy made it so I can move back to Israel. So that I could be with my children again. So that I could successfully make it back to this insane country, meet my amazing wife, find the perfect dog, and go skydiving a couple of times.

But one must wonder, especially after being let go and replaced with a handful of bargain Filipinos, when does my grace, patience, and gratefulness come to an end? When do I let out my frustrations at how everything unceremoniously finished?

Well… the real answer is in another seven months. There’s basically a clause in my severance agreement that says one cannot say cruddy things about the company for twelve months after being let go.

And I will respect that agreement… to an extent.

The Early Email Check

But I was recently doing some research about the company, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of a story from a couple of years ago, a story that’s been told. But not anywhere near enough. I was shocked to even find out it left the walls of the company. That anyone out there cared. And now that I know, I’m actually surprised people don’t mention it to me whenever I say I used to work for GoDaddy.

So there I was, cracking open my laptop to start yet another incredible day of work.

I checked my email, as one often does when they get their workday going.

Boy was I giddy to find a lovely email from the company. You see, GoDaddy has an annual company party. The classic type, where they spare no expense, get as many employees together, wine and dine everyone, and give out gifts galore. Since I lived thousands of miles away from this gathering, I never had the opportunity to attend, but I was aware they were a piece of the company’s culture.

But times were different.

The Gift

It was 2020. People weren’t partying. They were sitting in their living rooms hoping the Covid monsters weren’t going to come around and ruin their week.

It was a dark year. A year of misery and boredom. But thankfully, in all moments of darkness, there is something to shine a bright light onto your day. That something for me was an email, from out of nowhere, from my employers at GoDaddy.

I’m about to start work, so I did what I did every morning. I got the basics out of the way. Any updates? Important emails? Messages to me on Slack?

And there was the diamond of emails. GoDaddy sent a bulk message to all of its thousands of employees. The company feels terrible that it won’t be able to do its annual festivities this year, due to the global pile of crap we were all facing. But to make it up to all of us, we would be getting a $650 bonus to thank us for a great year.

Bait and Switch

All we had to do was click a link to verify something and boom, our holiday season would have a little more cheer than otherwise anticipated. I started my work that day with a giant smile on my face. Feeling so blessed that I worked for such an incredible and thoughtful company.

I worked when the vast majority of the company was fast asleep, so I was one of the first people who would even get to see this lovely gem of an electronic communication.

Or so it seemed to me.

Later on that day, it was revealed that the email was fake, created by the company to look genuine. The purpose of the email was not to brighten our lives, but to test us to see our discerning eyes. It was a work-generated phishing scam. There was no holiday bonus. My reward for enthusiastically checking my email at an ungodly hour? I would now need to take a class in social engineering, to study about my inability to detect that I was being manipulated by someone.

No money.

No bonus.

No lovely sentiment.

Just a test.

A stupid, manipulative, and cruel test.

The Problem

Now, it’s not unheard of for a company to be concerned with cyber security. They might offer or even require training. And yeah, some might occasionally do something harmless to test some employees.

But there are a number of problems very specific to this situation.

First and foremost, punishing some and ignoring the others is silly, shortsighted, and accomplishes very, very little.

Here’s what happened that day. Hundreds of employees excitedly opened their email and clicked the link. Why would we be getting a work email that looks like any other in a style we’re all familiar with promising something that made logical sense? (about 1000 times more sophisticated than most phishing attempts… yeah, I’m looking at you Nigerian prince)

Then, upon realizing the ruse, those hundreds of people went and told the other several thousand co-workers who had not yet checked their emails what had happened and warned them not to open the email or click the link.

So yes, a billion-dollar company with a sophisticated scam to figure out which employees are vulnerable to social engineering… yet no one in the committee that devised this winner thought it through enough to realize that 80% of their recipients would be warned in advance… nor did they care. They just continued as planned. And punished those who actually read their emails.

Dick Move, GoDaddy

But I think the salient point here is the financial promise is really what makes everything here come under the special category of ultra-dick move.

Life is hard.

It comes with new and bizarre challenges at every turn. And sometimes it feels borderline hopeless.

We now forget what the days of Corona were like. We were bored. We were stir crazy. We hoped and prayed that something–anything–would come along and pull the world from its terrible funk.

And anything that happened along the way with even a shred of positivity felt like it was bestowed upon us by God himself.

Promising a small break in a giant flood of financial woes, a small window to ease the burden of a difficult and painful existence, only to snatch it away and say, “Actually, your year just got a little worse”… well, I don’t envy the flames the person who made that decision will burn in.

Dick move, GoDaddy. Seriously, super dick move.

We now forget what the days of Corona were like. We were bored. We were stir crazy. We hoped and prayed that something--anything--would come along and pull the world from its terrible funk.
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Satisfied Barbie Customer

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I have a confession. I went to see the Barbie movie.

A second confession: I did so 100% of my own volition. No coercion. I didn’t do it because I wanted to see Mission Impossible but rather caved to my wife’s whims. Nope. It was a conscious choice.

Final confession: I liked it.

A lot.

Way more than I expected myself too. And I’m really glad I went.

A few things I’d like to discuss.

Maximum Entertainment

First, Barbie was a solid balance between the deeply meaningful and the utterly silly whimsical. The movie was goofy. There was so much about it that wasn’t serious and was just pure fun. Like watching Michael Cera suddenly become a ninja warrior fending off scores of attackers.

This isn’t deep. It’s just unadulterated visual stimulation designed for maximum entertainment, a goal the movie achieved plentifully.

However, underlying this intense onslaught of movement and copious pink was a powerful feminist message. Perhaps a bit too on the nose at times, but nevertheless consistently making important social commentary. And doing so in a way that could be digested by the widest audience possible.

No small accomplishment and one worthy of great praise.

I wanted to chat about a few other details today, as well.

The Barbie Age Limit Debate

First, one of the most hotly debated topics on my Facebook feed is whether or not this movie is kid-friendly.

Spoiler: My opinion is an unequivocal yes.

Now, I understand that in the States the movie is rated PG-13. And this in and of itself gives some people pause. Clearly our precious children will be exposed to something some members of society have deemed inappropriate.

Well, I say to that argument: So friggin’ what.

My guess is the average person who either steps foot out of their house or turns on a television will be exposed to less appropriate real life content than they would sitting at an AMC for two hours watching Ryan Gosling’s abs. The world is a crazy place. If you want to shelter your children, that is your choice. But good luck!

I remember being in Kansas and going to Hooters to watch some fights since it was the only place airing them. What was risqué when I was in college was basically no different than walking down the street in the 2020s. In fact, at Hooters everyone’s all covered up. Hooters is like a monastery compared to the world out there!

Everyone, do what you want. And educate your kiddos the way you choose. But don’t pretend like seeing some folk in bathing suits or the occasional innuendo is worse or even comparable to what kids are being exposed to on the daily.

Rather, if they go to Barbie, they’ll like have an enjoyable, wholesome experience. They’ll giggle and smirk, and any dumb joke meant for adults will go entirely over their heads. They’ll be entertained, and might even walk away having learned something meaningful.

As far as I’m concerned, I’d put no age limit on this movie.

Hooters is like a monastery compared to the world out there!
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Marketing Genius

The second thing I want to speak about is the marketing genius surrounding this film. I feel like ever few years someone cracks the code in the marketing world. They create a buzz around an event, a product, or a premiere. And it’s pretty much the only thing half the world is talking about.

Some that come to mind was the premiere of Michael Jackson’s Black or White video, the movie the Crying Game in which we were all implored to not tell anyone the secret, and the boxing match between Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao.

I love the Michael Jackson song, but the ten minutes of the video that they pretty much chopped off were an irritating abomination. The Crying Game was a ridiculous movie that’s been forgotten by most. And the boxing match was an absolute snoozefest, like most boxing matches I ever see.

The point isn’t that these things were great. They weren’t. The point was their advertising was ubiquitous, and it got to the point in which you felt like you weren’t part of the universe if you weren’t participating.

I hate boxing. I think boxing has been dull for thirty years. And nevertheless, I watched this silly fight. I was fooled into thinking I’d be the only one not there if I were doing anything else that evening. And that’s the power of exceptional advertising.

And whoever is behind the marketing campaign that is Barbie is an utter genius.

The movie is inescapable. Everyone from adults looking for nostalgia to women of all ages who seek a more empowered lifestyle to science geeks who just marveled at the cinematic excellence of Oppenheimer found themselves getting entertained by Ryan Gosling and Margot Robbie.

I’m honestly not sure if I can remember a more successful marketing campaign in my lifetime.

The Great Barbie Irony

Finally, one of the greatest ironies of this film is that the male lead absolutely stole the show.

Yes, Margot Robbie did a good job. In fact, all the actors did a vey good job. And the movie’s plot was very clearly centered around Barbie’s story, with a massive feminist undertone throughout the entire film.

But it is undeniable that the actor who stood out the most was Ryan Gosling. Not only was he the funniest and most entertaining part of the entire movie, but he was in many ways easier to resonate with than the lead female roles, and one of his songs is so catchy, it’s been stuck in my head since leaving the theater. And for fun, I even tossed it into my Spotify playlist.

I’m not sure what one does in this circumstance.

My wife was once in a play in which there was a fairly clear message, thus creating some characters who were supposed to be the closest thing the play had to villains. But one of these “villains” was so charming and likable, in many ways it interfered with the message. It’s a lot easier to sympathize with the perspective of someone you enjoy listening to.

But what do you do? Do you tell Ryan Gosling to do a worse job because someone out there might be bothered by the fact that a male is the highlight of a film about women’s empowerment?

I guess at that point, all you can do is remember the immortal words, “I’m just Ken, and I’m enough. And I’m great at doing stuff.”

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A Dog Walk Through Israel

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The other day I was walking my dog. To say I was minding my own business would be an understatement. I wasn’t looking to socialize. I was 100% minding in my own world. Probably leaving a message for a friend on my phone. Or reading the news. Or doing Duolingo. Certainly not interested in a confrontation of any kind.

But alas, I live in a world with other people. And our interests don’t always match up.

Some older Israeli man was also walking his dog, and appeared to be waiting for me at the end of a street. At first I just assumed he was hoping the dogs would play with one another, but the Gods of Awkward Interactions had different plans for me that fine day.

My Uncomfortable Dog Walk Confrontation

With intention and seriousness he said to me, “Listen, I often see your dog wandering around our neighborhood off leash.”

Great.

We were off to a fine start.

I stopped the man before he could continue his soliloquy. “That’s not my dog.”

He looked at me like I was a piece of lying trash and said, “It is your dog. Now…”

But I did not let him continue. I just said, “It’s probably a dog that looks like mine. There are a lot of dogs.” And I proceeded to attempt to walk away.

He actually said, “No, it’s this dog.”

I rolled my eyes (not common for me), and said somewhat exacerbated, “I don’t live in this neighborhood. And I don’t let my dog just wander around.”

He pressed, “Listen, you need to pay attention.”

He tried to say more and I just said, “Actually, in fact, I do not.”

And he took his pooch, and angrily trotted away from me.

The Privilege of Speaking

I walked away irritated. Somewhat amused. But mostly irritated.

But like anything else in life, I had some takeaways, a couple of which I’d like to speak about today.

First, people living in Israel like to mock Americans for their privilege. And to some extent, I get it. I don’t agree, but I get it.

Just about every week I’ll see a post on Facebook that sounds something like this:

I absolutely love Double Stuf Oreos, but I’ve looked in every grocery store I can think of, and I simply can’t find them. Does anyone have any leads? Do you know where I can find my magical treat I miss so much?

Inevitably there will be a slew of unhelpful responses. People will suggest specific stores. Not out of knowledge, but out of speculation. Some will suggest another product they think is equally good, but most certainly is not. Some might even try and sell you their cookies from their new homemade cookie business!

Get Out!

But the responses that drive me the craziest sound something like this:

If you wanted American cookies, you should have stayed in America. This is Israel. We don’t have the same products. Either get used to it, or get out.

This response brings useless to another level.

People don’t need a demeaning speech. There are two acceptable responses to a question like this: A name of a particular location that sells this specific type of cookie. Or silence. That’s it. Nothing else is helpful.

And your self-righteous speech about where a person should live is obnoxious, useless, lacks empathy and nuance, and is not based on psychology. People get used to things. Why shouldn’t someone crave access to the cookie they’ve learned to love?

But instead, they make it out about American privilege. As if all Americans living here are obsessed with turning Israel into the USA. We did it right where we came from, and expect the world to bow to our expectations and preferences.

And thus we need to be put into our place at every turn.

Israeli Privilege

But what I saw with this pushy dog owner was Israeli privilege. You think I feel entitled to get my American products and customer service everywhere I visit in the world. And you also think what you have to say matters and others are required to listen to your asinine babble. And in many ways, we’re both wrong.

But don’t accuse me of being the one who feels entitled when you think I am required to hear you criticize me for something completely irrelevant to me. I don’t. That is not a right you have. It is not something I’m obligated to subject myself to, no matter how much you think it is.

But I think there is another point here far more important.

I was very rude to this fella. I was dismissive. I rolled my eyes. I wouldn’t let him say his piece.

This is not how I behave regularly. I try my hardest to give the benefit of the doubt, and unless someone almost runs me over in a crosswalk, I am gentle and kind with the people in my life.

It doesn’t always work out in Israel.

The Right to be Rude

Patience is a virtue. Kill ’em with kindness. Kindness is contagious. All of these great concepts that often work like a charm elsewhere can end up getting you labeled as a friar here in Israel. And instead of getting what you want and need from the world, you will get walked all over.

Nevertheless, I find it important to try and balance things. I want to balance my yearning to get what I want and need out of this world, with my natural tendency to be a decent human being.

But sometimes my good will reaches an instantaneous border.

My first response to this gentleman was patient. I was pleasant. I gently explained the irrelevance of his line of questioning, and he should have said, “Ah, my mistake.” And moved on with his day.

But there is no one in the world who has earned the right to dominate my time in the street with irrelevant criticism. To force me to listen to his speech about what I am allowed and not allowed to do, a speech designed to critique someone else entirely.

There is no one in the world who has earned the right to dominate my time in the street with irrelevant criticism.
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So I shut it down.

That was my right. I had the right to be rude. I had the right to belittle his sentiment.

I feel no guilt.

And even the smallest sense of pride.

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