 by Sam Glaser
My 15-year-old Max woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Since he’s a busy teen I have to make an appointment to have a conversation. Today was our day to make up for lost time but he emerged from his bedroom with a chip on his shoulder and heaped insult on each family member. I had to draw the line when he slammed his brother Jesse’s laptop down on his fingers. The punishment? His lifeline to the world, his new cell phone, was promptly snatched away and hidden. How do you think that affected his mood for our outing? Jews believe in a loving, caring God Who is committed to every individual’s growth and pleasure. Our liturgy is filled with constant reminders of God’s love, and our prayers and blessings create constant opportunities for returning the favor with gratitude. Our texts are also rife with the cause and effect chain of slacking off. The flip side of real love, and by that I mean tough love, is the importance of consequences. But it all starts with love. Historically Jews are associated more with guilt than joy, as if we are inherently more in touch with the “fear” side of the love-fear continuum. Personally, I prefer the term “awe” to “fear.” God is AWE-SOME! Awe infers respect, power, wonder. I have heard many times that Christians are the people of love and we are the people of the book. I believe the point that’s lost on the world is that we’re infatuated with textual learning because it allows us to hear God’s “still, small voice.” In any relationship, the partners must establish the lines that must not be crossed. Awe implies an awareness of boundaries. We study so that we know God’s mind, God’s desires and expectations. With the ground rules set we can then dance in ecstatic joy with our Creator.
I’m currently reading a new Rabbi Arush bestseller, In Forest Fields, that urges us to feeling gratitude for our pain, for the setbacks and trials we face, because in the long run “tsuris” brings us closer to a God that only does things for our good. Part of God’s role as our Father in Heaven requires that God dispense love in the form of discipline or rebuke. Just like I must take away Max’s phone to make my point that his behavior is unacceptable, so too does God give us pause for thought when it’s necessary to re-orient our actions. The setback is a gift. By intervening, I show my son my love. The cruelest response would be to ignore the problem. Richard Bach put it well in his brilliant book Illusions: “To love someone unconditionally is not to care who they are or what they do. Unconditional love, on the surface, looks the same as indifference.” My parents are very involved in my life. How many parents show their love in the “garment” of screaming, paranoia and nagging? My mom still admonishes that I could break a finger while skiing or skateboarding. “And then what?” she adds accusingly. Even at 47 years old she still reminds me to take my jacket because it might get cold. I love it! Many friends only see the silver lining of their parent’s love after their parents have left the earth. I often refer to my song “He is Still My Daddy,” (coming out soon on my new CD!) when I feel like bucking the onslaught of paternal judgment. I consciously remind myself that my parent’s caveats represent the deepest love. It’s important to state the difficulty of appreciating a loving Universe when one is in the depths of despair. Overly helpful friends may remind you that God only tests those whom God loves, and that challenges are proof that God really needs you and is counting on you to grow. In the thick fog of despondency we are blind to the opportunities that impregnate every setback. Sometimes it takes an enlightened guide to coach you through the trough, to “lift your eyes” to a vision of healing, consolation and even victory.
A careful reading of our holy Torah shows that our biblical heroes do not have access to prophecy when in states of sadness. Sadness is compared with idol worship in our Talmud. After all, a negative spin on life is a slap in the face to our Creator who gives us our tests with love and hope for our eventual triumph. Yaakov spends twenty-two years without access to prophecy while mourning for his missing Yosef. And by extension we are shocked to see that Avraham must have been joyful at the chance to do the mitzvah of sacrificing his beloved Yitzchak or he wouldn’t have heard the angel calling to stay his hand. Our greatest moments are not spent in couch potato mode with the latest Netflix delivery. When we look back we are proudest of overcoming obstacles, the more profound the adversity the more powerful the feeling of accomplishment. Still, we don’t ask for tests. We don’t seek out problems. I never did get to spend the day with Max. He was reduced to a furious, frustrated adolescent festering in his room. Not to worry…we’ll get our chance…he’s a great kid with an award-winning smile. His brother Jesse was more than happy to have me to himself for the day. We took my first hike since my accident and boy did I smell the roses. We saw ducks, geese, doves, quail, lizards and turtles, ate wild grapes in a forest of eucalyptus and munched on a picnic of Jeff’s kosher chicken cilantro sausages smeared with hearts of romaine and pareve Caesar dressing with a side of seasoned fries. With every breath of fresh air I thanked God. With every bite of my gourmet hot dog I sang praises to the Almighty. My God is a God of love, thank you very much. Life is so good. |
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Love is My Religion
Friday, October 29th, 2010
Our kids go berserk when we reprimand them. Sometimes it’s fun to video their reactions. No, I don’t post the tantrums on Facebook. Thankfully they are usually considerate and know when they are crossing the line. They have also learned when to steer clear of their mother just by reading the look on her face. But when we have to lay down the law, we let them freak out for a while and find that afterwards they are usually more sweet and loving than ever. I think they intuit that structure in their lives is crucial for them to flourish. They also see their peers that are spoiled rotten usually turn out just that way: rotten. We emphasize to them that as Jews we connect the holiday of Pesach with Shavuot because we realize that celebrating freedom is great but it’s not just about escaping slavery. Our true goal is the freedom to receive Torah at Sinai and thereby bask within a powerful covenant with God. Rules + consequences = freedom.
Their involvement is welcome and cherished. My father has taken upon himself the job of worrying for me. It’s quite a relief that I don’t have to worry for myself since my dad does such a good job of it. Many of our conversations evolve from small talk about our day-to-day to an analysis of all the things that are wrong in my life. It took me years to understand that my father isn’t trying to wreck my good mood. He shows his love with his concern that I remain focused on what needs doing for my family’s well being. His broken record repetition of the state of my finances or the costs of sending my kids to private school is actually pure, unadulterated love, hidden in the “garment” of worry.
Today I braved the LA drizzle with my family to attend a book signing of a young woman who was diagnosed with ovarian cancer when she was twenty. As soon as she was able to get over the sense of victimhood, cancer gave her the incentive to take life seriously and the awareness that she had special gifts to counsel those in similar straits. The audience was overjoyed to hear that this year, eight years after her lifesaving surgery, she gave birth to healthy twins. Her sister donated the eggs and thanks the miracle of in vitro fertilization she and her husband are parents of darling daughters. At the nadir of her struggle it’s unlikely that she would have uttered the words she said today: “I’m grateful for my cancer.”
They do a perfectly good job finding us. Two months ago I broke my foot. I survived the ignominy of being pushed in a wheelchair on the Sabbath, barely mastered crutches, and had my low back go out due to the imbalance of walking around in a Frankenstein boot. Thank God I’m doing much better now but I have a brand new sense of appreciation for my mobility. I’m much more sympathetic to those in wheelchairs, to those who suffer with inadequate access, crumbling sidewalks and death star potholes. Only afterwards did I recognize God’s kindness in that my injury transpired in the only two-month window in my schedule when I didn’t have to get on an airplane and tour.Master of Return
Saturday, September 25th, 2010
This is the season of reckoning. Back to the drawing board. Press reset, clear the cache, reformat the hard drive. It’s time to step out of your busy life and figure out why you are living it. See where you are versus where you want to be and figure out what it’s going to take to get there. We call it t’shuva, or return. Jews don’t believe in original sin. We believe in original purity. Along the way we get covered in road grime and once a year we pause to get back to that candy apple red finish underneath.
One important component of t’shuva is ownership. You have to figure out where you are falling short with God and take responsibility. The other eleven months of the year you can pass the buck. Now we take the fall. Don’t blame your parents for not giving you the right education or for their verbal abuse. Don’t blame your rabbi for being too busy or for misleading you. The dog ate your tefillin? Folks, it’s Judgment Day. The judge knows your every secret. Why not anticipate the prosecuting attorney’s argument and face up to your shortcomings?
As my friend David Sacks said in his amazing weekly class that I frequent, God is the great sit-com writer in the sky that wants feedback from us, the actors. What do WE see as important for our characters? How is God doing in getting us to our goals, to realizing our potential? The dialog when you are in the synagogue during the holidays is about helping God understand what you need in your world. You have permission to be chutzpadik. Ask for the moon! Not just that you want a job or a raise or a spouse, but that you want to have a starring role in the saga of the perfection of the world, of tikkun olam.
I am part of the Ba’al T’shuva (BT) movement. That means “master of return.” A small trickle of young Jews started to become more interested in their heritage in the 70’s and it turned into a flood in the past two decades. Countless neighborhoods nationwide have been transformed by yuppies looking to create modern day shtetls with shuls, bakeries, restaurants and bookstores all within walking distance. I’d like to argue that this month we all become ba’alei t’shuva. It doesn’t matter where you are or where you came from. This is the time to buckle down. To find a single mitzvah to add to your life. To perform mitzvot you do already with even more dedication.
There are a few pitfalls to avoid in becoming a BT, even if it’s just for the month of Tishrei. The whole idea of connecting with God requires humility, creating a space for God to dwell inside. How ironic that some BTs feel that they themselves discovered God and Torah and now live in the smug triumph of their accomplishment. Anyone less observant is treif, anyone more observant is out of his or her mind. BTs can be infamous bridge burners. Some neophyte BTs are quick to quote Rashi’s comments on the biblical juxtaposition of honoring parents and the Sabbath as the source that they won’t honor parents who desecrate Shabbat. I’m confident that those who nurture filial bonds of love and reverence are far more likely to bring “wayward” parents close.
The antidote to this trap is gratitude, to look at gifts in your life with laser-sharp focus and to be thankful to God for the small details. To recognize that our upbringing may not have been perfect but it gave us the tools to get to where we are now. And that our present state is exactly where we need to be or we wouldn’t have traveled this perfectly orchestrated path. God wants our whole being. Our past and our present. God lovingly arranged for the circumstances of our lives and all of the challenges along the way to give us a feeling of empowerment for “choosing life.” And rather than perceiving a malicious Creator dolling out punishment during the High Holidays, we must be grateful for the divine system of cause and effect.
I had the gift of a potent revelation this week. I was out at a great LA jazz club hearing some absolute musical masters tearing it up. The volume was more intense with every song and I had to beseech the bartender for some earplugs. At one point I noticed that the keyboard player’s amp was on fire. No one was doing anything. A timeless minute went by where my shock at the lack of response turned into action. In spite of my broken foot and crutches I leapt to the stage to pull his flaming amp away from the thick red curtain that it was leaning on. I screamed to the waiter to get a fire extinguisher. The owner of the club ran down to the stage to tackle me…he assumed I was an overzealous fan. The fire was put out, the keyboards were patched through the PA system and the band never stopped playing. However, they did segue into Fire by Jimi Hendrix.
After the excitement I nursed my Corona and reflected: We cannot sit around and wait for someone else to help us. Yes, you have to pray, to make God part of your team, but you can’t sit around and wait for the big break, you can’t depend on anyone to make it happen for you. You can’t postpone the dream, the vacation, the change in lifestyle. There is no easy way out. No free lunch. This is it. Want to lose weight or quit smoking? Cold turkey, baby. Want to connect to God and live a holy life? Get to a class, a Torah website, a Shabbas table. I can’t just wait for the phone to ring for that next gig or album client. I have to figure out what I want and get busy. And make an exhaustive list of goals for myself and for the world when I meet the Master of the Universe on New Years Eve.
The other aspect of my revelation that night was in regard to gratitude, specifically to my parents. They may not have given their four boys a life of mitzvot, kashrut, Torah study and the like. But they did raise a family that was passionate about Israel, Jewish music and the Jewish people. The more I think about it, my parents were superheroes. They gave us the freedom and courage to explore the world and the discipline never to be “quitters.” They raised us colorblind: it was perfectly natural to love everyone, all races and religions. The highest-ranking executives in my father’s garment company were Black, Hispanic, Filipino, or Irish. This was totally normal for us brothers; we treated them like aunts and uncles. We also had no bias in terms of economic standing, sexual preference, age. Poor, rich, young, old, all were welcome in my household. They unleashed four adventurous, open-minded boys with a solid foundation of love, trust and common sense.
This is the season to act on your gratitude. To express
verbally your love for friends and relatives, to apologize sincerely for your shortcomings. When we clear the air of the pain and suffering we inflict on others, especially those closest to us, we are creating a more unified planet. Rosh Hashana is about making God king. God can’t be king unless God has loyal, content subjects. Subjects that are filled with strife, hatred and dis-ease cannot properly honor the King. Yom Kippur gives us a clean slate with our re-coronated King. Now that we’ve taken care of making amends with God’s subjects, we can focus on those places where we’ve fallen short in our observance of God’s decrees. We have 613 commandments, not 613 suggestions. Perhaps mitzvot are better understood as divine pathways or in the words of Shlomo Carlebach, God’s prayers for us. We’re like a kid coming back from a year abroad to a loving parent. It’s all love and forgiveness. Thank God.
This time of year we focus not only on God as loving parent but God as spouse. It’s not about crime and punishment. It’s about the power and beauty of our relationship, a relationship continually deepens and must be celebrated. A relationship that requires care, protection, fences. When we build a home with God, we avoid sin not because we are afraid of the whip but because we couldn’t imagine defacing our beautiful palace.
I’d like to finish this essay with a great story. An executive with very little Jewish education was learning with a rabbi. He had been pushed by one of his peers to give it a try and now it was a high point in his week. The weekly encounter with his heritage gave him fodder to try on his family now that he insisted they be together for Friday night dinner. One thing that bothered him was that the rabbi, who was clearly teaching him, kept referring to their sessions as “learning together.” The executive called the rabbi on this one day: “We’re not learning together, you are teaching me! Why not call a spade a spade?” “No, quite the opposite,” said the rabbi. “I learn from your world of experience and you learn from mine. I don’t know so much more than you do!” “What?” the executive replied, “don’t patronize me! I barely went to Hebrew school and you are trained rabbi!” The rabbi responded: “Imagine you are in an Olympic-sized swimming pool racing Michael Phelps. Who would win the race?” “Well, of course Phelps would destroy me!” said the executive. The rabbi responded, “Now picture the two of you in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Who would win in a race to Los Angeles? You see, we’re both in the middle of the Pacific, you and I. In the great world of Torah, the deepest ocean in the universe, we’re even!”
My dear readers, may you have a year of sustenance, health, love, wisdom and peace of mind. May the world be a place of peace, free from disease, disaster, cruelty and suffering. This is our time to tell the Director what we think of the script. God wants our input. We are not actors or puppets. We are God’s children, God’s chosen ones, partners for life. Don’t limit your vision to a denomination, a movement, a synagogue, an organization. This time of year we have the awesome opportunity to pray together. In different buildings, different countries but still together. On a lifeboat in a vast ocean. We are the Jewish people. We are one. Like different fingers on one hand. Connected, needing each other. Humbly walking with our loving Creator. Building a palace. Masters of return.
The Best Form of Birth Control
Friday, August 6th, 2010By Sam Glaser
August 2010
Jewish parents that care about bringing up a generation of Jewishly connected kids usually choose to send their offspring to day school. In fact, for many parents it’s not even optional. It is the ultimate weapon to fight ignorance and assimilation and create a powerful, informed Jewish identity. The schools ease you in: preschool is cheap, kindergarten a few grand more, and then you are on the ride of a lifetime. Tuition is like an additional mortgage payment every month, and that’s before the school trips, books, scrip, volunteer hours, banquets and registrations fees. The best form of birth control in the Jewish world? Why, it’s day school!
The Chicago community has the right idea. They have created a “Superfund” to supplement the budgets of struggling area day schools of all denominations, making the Jewish day school concept a no-brainer for parents. High net worth individuals and charitable corporations have jumped on the benefactor bandwagon, not wanting to be left out of the nachas. These Superfund kids become the Jewishly involved parents that send their children to day schools…entire generations of windy city Jews have been transformed by this remarkable undertaking.
Short of moving to Skokie, what’s an LA family supposed to do? The public school alternatives are not so bad if you don’t mind a growing percentage of the student body stoned, tatooed and pierced, or at worse, armed gangbangers. Significant financial aid is reserved for the destitute, leaving those above the poverty line with a $13-30,000 per kid millstone around one’s neck. Home schoolers abound, but the kids spend their learning hours in front of a computer, without healthy peer-to-peer interactions.
Our local situation is so dire that many parents opt out of the senior year. Their kids take a GED (General Education Test) to qualify for early graduation and the parents save 90% by sending the child to a local community college. Parents with healthy incomes laugh at the idea of savings accounts, retirement plans and family vacations. Those crucial years needed to compound investments into a viable nest egg disappear as tuition is automatically deducted from one’s bank account. Day school tuition is largely responsible for the uptick in North American aliyah to Israel…perhaps this debacle is God’s way of imposing aliyah on all but the most financially independent.
We live in a community blessed with fabulous wealth. The majority of homes west of Downtown LA are worth more than a million dollars. We have the Broads, Sterlings and Resnicks building art galleries and concert halls. Mega malls and new home communities built by Jewish developers line our freeways, Jewish hedge fund managers, doctors and lawyers dominate the professional scene. Who will be the one to light the fire of a nationwide Superfund? Who will go down in history as the savior of Diaspora Judaism?
Right now we are pondering which of our kids to take out of day school. Sophie’s Choice 2010. It’s a tough economy in general, the Jewish world is reeling, and the music business is bankrupt. Thank God the synagogues and JCCs around the country still value what I do. It’s just that they can’t pay for it and many of the gigs we get are significantly discounted. I’m fine with that. I just want to work and continue to bring light and spirit to the fifty or so cities I visit each year. But then there’s the bottom line. When our overall income is down, when the banks won’t offer credit and we get 25% tuition increases because the schools are in trouble, something has got to give.
I know we’re not alone. Jewish newspapers across the country frequently speak of parent’s struggles to give their kids Jewish lives. That day school education is out of reach of the middle class. We also see the reports of day school education as the best insurance of future support for Israel, raising moral and ethical kids, and nurturing a generation of Jewish leaders. A less discussed attribute is the “trickle up” effect. Parents denied a good Jewish education get the benefit of those words of Torah on the kids lips each Shabbat, they pick up Hebrew when assisting kids with homework and get drawn into text study to keep up with their older children. I’d like to argue that the best reason for day school education is that being Jewish is a full time, super cool celebration. It’s not an “add on” onto our busy lives like soccer practice and favorite TV shows. It IS “our lives and the length of our days.” Ki heym chayeynu! Relegating Jewish education to an afternoon or two a week emphasizes the “add on” aspect. It is certainly better than nothing and those programs deserve ample support but I speak from experience that many kids are turned off rather than turned on.
When I ask my kids how school was, the usual replay is “great!” My daughter is regularly awarded best davener and truly guides her class with heartfelt kavanah. My middle son has a tight knit chevra of considerate friends who patrol the ‘hood with kippot stapled to their hyperactive heads. My oldest has long surpassed me in his ability to take apart a text; he’s reading Homer’s Odessy AND tractate kiddushin. This is nachas that is priceless.
I write this essay with reluctance. I publish these monthly newsletters to uplift and inspire my readers. Expressing vulnerability and fear is not my strong point. The fact is that my wife and I are so distressed about this that WE need inspiration.
I am an eternal optimist. I truly believe that God will rally for us, that God loves the fact that our three kids love their Judaism and it’s as natural for them as the air they breathe. Call me crazy but I really do believe that those miracle gigs will materialize and everything’s going to be fine. But what about those parents with fixed salaries? What about my many friends out of work? What about the thousands of kids in my Pico-Robertson shtetl that are being pulled out because their parents can’t sign this year’s tuition contract?
I leave you with a selection of quotes about the efficacy of a day school education. For those parents on the fence about whether day school is worth it, IT IS!! For those forced to do the public or home school thing, join me in my quest to raise awareness of our plight by circulating this essay to your local paper and expressing your frustrations to your community leaders. If you’re a benefactor motivated to donate, operators are standing by at the Bureau for Jewish Education! Innovate, take on that extra job and pray for God’s help. As Whitney Houston says, “I believe the children are our future…teach them well and let them lead the way!”
“Education is the salvation of the American Jewry, even though it’s a slower salvation than all the other salvations we’re used to.” -Rabbi David Wolpe,
Sinai Temple, Los Angeles
“The day school is the best place for a young Jewish person to gain Jewish cultural literacy. There are lots of places where you can gain a Jewish identity, but in terms of cultural literacy – reading, writing, developing a comfort with Jewish texts – Jewish day schools are the best places.” – Carol Ingall, Forward
“Day school education is still the most effective way to create serious, committed Jews. There is a categorical difference between a child who has been educated through twelfth grade in a Jewish day school and one who has not. Every Jewish educator and honest layperson sees this immediately. The leaders of the future American Jewish community will emerge from those who have been blessed with this schooling.” -Eugene Korn, adjunct professor of Jewish thought at Seton Hall University
“With more Jewish kids being left behind, that’s the greatest scandal I know of in Jewish life. The question is, what are we prepared to do about it?” -Jonathan S. Tobin, executive editor of the Connecticut Jewish Ledger
“80% of adults with 6 or more years of day school training are married within the faith to another Jewish adult” -Kohelet Foundation
“These extra hours of Jewish studies means that students in Jewish day schools receive extra mental stimulation, including using one’s brain in a variety of additional ways such as analyzing texts, discussing ethics, studying a second or third language, and developing organizational skills.” -Joel Hoffman
“Being Jewish Very Important? A ‘yes’ response: Day School (7-12 years) 64%, no Jewish education 36%.” -UJC Report Series on the National Jewish Population Survey 2000-2001
“70% of participants at Hillel events at Northwestern University were graduates of Jewish day schools”-PEJE Website
“Communal funding of education is an obligation based on Jewish law. Furthermore, it is moral responsibility of the greatest urgency. In Talmudic times, the great sage, Yehoshua Ben Gamla instituted a system of communal funding for Jewish day schools, and every Jewish community since that time has sustained a communal education system. It is only today, in the most prosperous Jewish community of all time, that Jewish families lack the communal support to education their children.” -Chicago Superfund Website
Dead Rock Stars
Friday, July 2nd, 2010by Sam Glaser
July 2010
One thing we share as human beings is a deep, unspoken connection to our past. Intense events that stick to our psyches like a thistle in a ball of cotton. Some of those moments create potholes in our lives that we vow to avoid in the future at all costs. Others create cravings that we still try to satisfy. Single frames of the movie of our lives create our personality, our predilections, our phobias.
I recently saw the movie KPAX where Kevin Spacey’s character is tormented by a terrible episode in his past and convincingly adopts the character of an alien to cope with the trauma. I have friends who have been raped and even decades later must deal with the resulting anger and lack of feelings of security. Kids who suffer abuse must work overtime as adults to prevent the destructive chain from continuing into their own children’s lives. There’s a window of time when we are so vulnerable. It’s that same timeframe when we are more open and available to learning core modalities like taking on a new languages and musical instruments. I have six cousins who lost their father when they were kids. The destruction that this event wreaked upon their lives was commensurate with how old they were when it occurred. Those too young or old enough to wrap their heads around the tragedy escaped the degree of damage that their other siblings had to endure.
At a seminar I attended I was challenged to recall an incident during my teen years that scarred me and created a force that would inform my lifelong choices. An incident where perhaps I realized I was not “good enough.” A few came to mind. As an insecure tenth grader, my first year in high school, I nervously approached the door to the music room where the madrigal audition callbacks were posted. My name was not on the list. After three years as the star of the choir in Jr. High, the winner of the best vocalist in the LA City School district, this outcome was not acceptable. Singers were my chevra. My homies. My only reference group. As I endured a lonely tenth grade year I silently vowed that this would never happen again, that I would never rest on my laurels and my musical abilities would always be in peak form.
During my freshman year at CU Boulder I played keyboards in a Heavy Metal band called Castlerock. We played college parties and prided ourselves in our long hair and intense volume. One night, our guitarist Muno Wahab informed me that the song we had just perfected, Tommy Bolin’s “Post Toastee,” in all it’s nine minute glory, was written just before Tommy died at 25 of a drug overdose. I had just been exposed to his two albums and was hoping to see him play live. Add Tommy to The List: that dead rock star list that already boasted Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison and Jim Croce, Janis and Mama, Buddy and Bonham. Bolin had only begun his solo career. He played with Deep Purple, Billy Cobham and Jeff Beck, a crazy talented, innovative guitarist and songwriter. He was a Boulder, CO local. And now he was gone, all that talent and passion now six feet under.
That night I think I appreciated the vulnerability of my creative output for the first time. I had already written hundreds of songs, knowing that someday I’d have a chance to record them for the world to hear. As an overworked double major and cash starved college kid, it wasn’t in the cards for a while, especially given that back then there was no such thing as Apple’s Garage Band. You either had the money for a 24 track pro studio or you kept your music to yourself. But what if I died in the meantime? All those musical ideas gone with the wind! Thus was born the drive to record at all costs, even if it meant plunging all my money into building my own studio and learning the craft.
By the time I finished college I accumulated a respectable pile of recording gear. My best acquisitions were made helping starving musician friends get quick cash when all they had to sell was their instruments. I built a studio in my dad’s downtown LA fabric warehouse and purchased a Mac. That’s the original 512k Mac and the first version of MOTU Performer, the same hardware and software companies that keep my music playin’ till this day. I got good enough recording my own music and started producing others, creating a business that allows me to make people’s musical dreams come true and to sneak in an album of my own every year. Yes, I love touring and performing, touching my audiences with spiritual, uplifting music. But I must confess that my global galavanting is primarily a vehicle for me to find a home for these songs that I exorcise from my dream state every few days.
We are so busy climbing our personal mountains that we forget how they got built in the first place. My Letter in the Torah song comes to mind: “Who am I anyway, where am I going to, how did I get here and what do I need to know?” Our biblical heroes shared a common profession. They were all shepherds! I can just imagine sending around a resume with “shepherd” in the work experience section. But shepherds have time to think. Abraham used the time to intuit the existence of an ethical, loving God. Moses learned to care for a flock and wasn’t too busy to investigate a certain burning bush.
Taking time to think can be frightening. Is this the best job choice, relationship, use of my time? What if the answer is no? What if some negative experience in your past thrust you into action and only now you stop to realize that your present reality was dictated by some bully who called you a name in grade school? Making changes is hard work. But not making changes is either pathetic or tortuous. What were you born to do? Where would you be if that “seismic event” hadn’t happened to set you on your current trajectory? Who convinced you that you must have an MBA or law degree? Why do you live where you do? How will you meet your predestined one if you are dating someone just to have company?
“What you are is God’s gift to you. What you make of yourself is your gift to God.” -Kelly Jeppesen
I was recently in a Starbucks taking a moment to breathe. I had finished multiple errands and I gave myself permission to think. As I sipped my mocha I engaged in a Breslov ritual of dwelling on all the things I was grateful for. My life, my health, my family, my home, my music, this delicious cup of coffee. I started up a conversation with a guy next to me who turns out to be the same age from the same neighborhood. He’s a healthcare executive who just got laid off. It’s a lousy time to get laid off. He shared that he used his newly found free time to build homes in Alabama for Habitat For Humanity and had a great experience. His newly realized goal is to use his business skills to create a similar company in the non-profit sector where he can make a difference.
Thanks to dead rock stars I now have more albums out than The Beatles. Thanks to NOT getting into madrigals my freshman year in high school I learned to take my craft more seriously. I also became more humble and able to roll with the changes. God gives us tests to make us stronger, and only offers us challenges that we can handle. Sometimes God sends events that force us to awaken to new opportunities. The Jewish calendar gives us periods like these Three Weeksof decreased joy (but still joy nonetheless) so that we introspect, appreciate our gifts and perceive what we’re missing. Consider taking this season to tap into those formative moments in your life that shaped the person you are today. If the shoe fits, wear it. And if not…
Just Do It!
Thursday, June 3rd, 2010by Sam Glaser
June 2010
When my first child was two years old I cut off our TV. He was more interested in Pokemon than playing with me. The decision was rash and spontaneous but I’m confident it was the right move. We never turned it back on although we do have a nice projector system for the occasional family movie night. Whenever I mention this to anyone they often say, “Wow…I wish we could do that!” And I respond, “Well, you can. You just have to stop paying your cable bill.” They usually respond with resignation, “Boy, I wish we could do that.”
My song Hineni (Here I am) was my first hit in the Jewish world. I deeply resonate with the idea that just like our biblical heroes we are waiting to be called upon to make a difference, either by God, a community leader or a friend in need. I believe that we are hard wired to say, “YES! I’m ready and willing to do something meaningful, something great.” Rashi, the master commentator states that Hineni implies z’rizut, or intense readiness to perform the commandments. Hineni is our code word to get off the couch, to maximize our limited time on this planet.
Nike nailed this concept with their Just Do It campaign. There’s no such thing as “maybe next week” when it comes time for your workout. You can’t delegate going to a yoga or kickboxing class. We either carve out time in our busy schedule to make it to the gym or it’s never going to happen. We may intuit this truth in terms of our physical fitness but fall short in our spiritual fitness. The problem is that we don’t keep our life goals in our day-to-day consciousness. As Stephen Covey reminds, we have to spend time in the important/not urgent quadrant. In other words, if we are always running short on time, living in a state of panic, we never do get to those crucial items on our Bucket List.
I feel blessed that I had the opportunity to work for my father in the garment business for five years. We had factories in over a dozen countries making merchandise for chain stores and department stores across the US; that meant managing hundreds of purchase orders at any given time. We all had computers on our desks to oversee the flow of production…all of us except my dad who had everything in his head! Our company was compelled to branch out into overseas manufacturing when imports started flowing into the US during the Reagan years. That was also the time when the business started to unravel. There were too many details to manage, too many poor quality and late delivery emergencies and our traditional business model for over thirty years turned into “management by crisis.” The problem with this situation is that one loses the ability to execute plans for the future when mired in present chaos.
I think I understood the importance of crisis avoidance as a freshman at the University of Colorado. I figured out that I could schedule my classes only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I was a double major in business and music so that meant two very intense days each week given my load of over twenty units each semester. But this binge allowed me to have 4-day weekends over the next three years of my college career, essential to maximizing my ski/wilderness time. My secret was getting ahead and staying ahead. I would study in my special spot in the Norlin Library periodicals room where no one could find me. Anywhere else inevitably resulted in social hour. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I was the most boring, focused overachiever you would ever meet. At the end of my Thursday night study session, all hell broke loose.
I still apply this method to my life. My wife still questions why I must work such crazy hours on my CDs, at the peril of my sleep requirements and overall health. But I set goals with deadlines that are very real for me, even though to an outsider they seem imaginary. If I get to Shabbat without reaching my self-imposed quota, I feel a bit unfulfilled whereas those weeks when I nail the workload I feel like a rock star. I try to jump into the hardest recording or bookkeeping work before the fun stuff like checking social emails or Facebook. I make the scariest phone calls first, those where in all likelihood I’ll get NO as the answer. I have a theory in life that if you don’t ask, you don’t get. This can be as simple as asking someone, when the lighting is just right, if they mind if you take their picture. Or as challenging as calling that benefactor for a grant for a new music project. I’m sure I’m not the only one who perceives that the web can be our greatest ally or waste hours of our precious time. I guess the key is retaining surfing, both virtual and oceanic, as the reward to a good session of focused achievement.
Another obstacle to the Just Do It theory of fulfillment is “waiting for that big break.” Fill in the blanks: I’ll feel good about myself when _________, or I’ll take that great vacation when _________, or I’m saving this outfit for ____________. I’m writing this essay in the High Sierras, in Mammoth Lakes, CA, one of the most beautiful spots on the planet. Outside my window I see snow capped peaks, horses grazing on an endless meadow, the deepest blue skies punctuated by dirigible-shaped lenticular clouds on the horizon. The only reason I’m here is because I know that I need these regular wilderness moments in my life to survive and I therefore schedule them like I would anything in my calendar. I don’t have “time” to do this, but I feel so clearly that THIS is why God gave me the gift of “time” in the first place. Also, we had an epic winter that is still actively pressing into June. The third biggest annual snowfall of all-time and counting! But the skiing won’t last forever. One great way to prioritize is to make an accounting of which of your needs is the most perishable. Can’t afford a vacation? Don’t postpone…go camping! Have a favorite suit or dress that you are saving? An expensive bottle of wine? Uncork it tonight, put on that outfit, crank up the stereo and DANCE around the house!
Our sages give us a simple list of those spiritual goals that are ignored at our peril. According to the prophet Micha, “What does God demand from you? Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God.” I elaborated on acts of loving kindness and ego nullification in my Where is God essay, but suffice it to say that time must taken in our daily rat race to do for someone other than yourself or your own family, which is really just an extension of yourself. As I write this I realize that I am so guilty of this MY-opia. Another essential spiritual pleasure is learning Torah everyday. We float in a transcendent conversation with the Almighty by speaking our innermost thoughts in our prayers. But we hear God respond to us in our learning. We are reminded in the siddur that the study of Torah is equal to the performance of ALL the other 612 commandments. Just opening a Chumash and keeping up with the portion of the week is step one. Attending a weekly class is step two. Having a learning partner who forces you to show up and struggle with text is next. Bottom line is that none of the above will happen without conscious programming into a busy week.
We don’t own our time. We are all here on loan from the Creator of the Universe. I know it’s tacky but “The present is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.” Obsessed with your past? Get over it! What do you need to do in this life? Just imagine you are leaving this world tomorrow…what are the immediate regrets in your heart? Another method is to write your own obituary. Do you focus on the great restaurants you’ve visited or the people whose lives you’ve enhanced? God keeps us guessing regarding our lifespan. Our sages admonish us to make sure we repent (better translated as “to come close to God”) one day before we die. Since we don’t know when that will be, make this the day to thank God, love God, talk to God. God created the universe for our pleasure. What is your pleasure? Yes, a good movie, New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream and surfing the web are all pleasurable. But deep pleasure, true “nachas” is what we’re after. Make that list, prioritize and Just Do It!
Where is God?
Friday, May 21st, 2010By Sam Glaser May 2010 I often refer to the Kotzker Rebbe’s famous quote: “Where is God? Wherever you let God in.” When we make space in our busy lives, open our hearts and limit the expanse of our egos, Godliness fills our being. It’s an automatic response to creating a vacuum; God’s omnipresence inevitably fills every available space. I have a corollary to the “where is God” question. God is wherever people are in need. The Torah is replete with countless reiterations of God looking out for the orphan and widow, God showing concern for the poor, the stranger, the desperate. The gates of heaven are never closed to tears. Need a breakthrough in your connection? First make the space in your own life for God to fill the void, then share the love with those who are needy, less fortunate, on the fringes. Last month I was asked to lead the davening at L.A.’s famous Happy Minyan. After the spirited prayers the packed house waited for Kiddush and since this was Shabbat M’varchim, when we bless the imminent new month, a full lunch was being placed on the tables. I stayed until the end, schmoozing with friends, eating my fill and singing with the group. I noticed a certain phenomenon: those with other places to go Think of the holiest things you have ever done. I would bet that the list doesn’t include banquets and High Holiday services. It’s more likely that your divine connection was maximized while helping a special needs kid with homework, working in a soup kitchen, visiting the sick. I can think of a few instances where I stayed up all night with friends in the emergency room. Or when I prayed for my wife when she was having a difficult labor with our firstborn. One moment that stands out is the time when I was filling up my gas tank on a cold Los Angeles night. Yes, we get a few of them a year. A tall, black woman in a threadbare dress asked to wash my windows. They didn’t need washing but I gladly gave her a few bucks to do her thing. After all, giving someone the chance to work for income is a higher form of charity. When I returned home I told my wife about what had happened and how sad I felt that she was out there on such a cold night. My wife’s response was unflinching: “then bring her a jacket!” D’oh! Such a revelation! I grabbed a down trench coat and drove back to the gas station. Seeing the smile on this lovely woman’s face when I gave her my jacket was a holy moment I will never forget. In my twenties I didn’t have much connection with organized Judaism. I showed up at my parent’s house for an occasional Friday night dinner but that was the extent of my commitment and I must admit I was drawn home by my mom’s delicious meals. Perhaps because I am a songwriter and cannot In concert I introduce my Unbreakable Soul song by stating that the same God that redeemed us from slavery in Egypt arranged the circumstances for us to become slaves in the first place. I give two primary reasons: In order to become God’s chosen people, the Jews needed to experience personally what it means to be persecuted so that we empathize with the plight of others. Often when the Torah advises us to look out for the strangers among us it’s within the framework of the Egypt experience, “because you were strangers in the Land of Egypt.” In Egypt we connected deeply to the lesson that in life one must choose between servitude to human beings and servitude to the Creator of the Universe. Take your pick…there’s no gray area. We already had experienced the humiliation of serving the Pharaoh, so serving our Creator who loves us with an infinite love was the natural choice. The other reason that I mention in the introduction to Unbreakable Soul is the fact that surviving Egypt gave us a certain resilient streak in our spiritual DNA. We learned never to give up, never to lose faith, to cling to our connection with God and the Torah at all costs. God established from time immemorial that we use that stubborn quality to broadcast God’s presence and jump to the aid of our fellow man regardless of the consequences. I’d like to offer a few biblical “proofs” for the importance of serving God through caring for God’s less fortunate. One is with Avraham sitting at the entrance of his tent just after his circumcision. A brit milah is hard on an eight-day-old infant. Imagine a self-induced bris on a ninety year old! And yet we learn that Avraham was out there in the heat of the hottest day of the year waiting earnestly for guests whom he could serve. While he waited, God appeared to him in order to “visit the sick” and Avraham was enraptured in divine communication. Suddenly the angels, disguised as travelers, appeared. Amazingly, Avraham interrupted his blissful Godly revelation to greet them. One might think it was a tremendous chutzpah to put God on “hold.” According to my friend David Sacks, Avraham was DEEPENING the conversation with God by serving the guests. This story clarifies that the deepest connection with God is when we act as God’s hands, doing holy work to make this world a kinder, more peaceful place. Another clear-cut example of this precept is the jarring juxtaposition of the Torah portions Yitro and Mishpatim. Yitro is perhaps the most cinematic, pyrotechnic parsha in the book. Smoke, fire, earthquakes, shofar blasts and the single most remarkable milestone in human history: the gift of the Torah to the several million Jews assembled at Mt. Sinai. Jews are unanimous about few things. One of them is Yom Kippur. Sandy Koufax wouldn’t pitch and Kirk Douglas wouldn’t eat. We are guaranteed that spending the day fasting with a contrite heart results in a complete spiritual whitewashing of our tarnished soul. But our sages also assure us that there is no penance on this day for sins committed towards our fellow man. The only way out of the guilt is to make an accounting of whomever you may have wronged and to actively apologize for the misdeed. It’s as if God is saying: “Just take care of each other…I can handle myself just fine.” One caveat before I conclude: our sages require that we keep our lives in balance. We can’t seek all our holy moments wandering the streets looking for those in need. Concern for the environment, working in soup kitchens and giving blood is only half the story. Yes, tikkun olam (healing the world) is a primary goal for our people. But there is a formula to achieve it that is crucial. Ethics of the Fathers reminds us that the world stands on three things, Torah study, service/prayer to God and acts of loving-kindness. Without service to God you have a learned, kind-hearted individual who knows the insights of Torah but doesn’t apply them in his or her life, much like an ivory tower academic. Without Torah, you have a great connection with God and God’s people but no idea how to live on the divine pathway, no concept of the transcendent power of the exacting performance of mitzvot. And finally, without loving-kindness you have a learned individual who shows up regularly to the synagogue but is too preoccupied with lofty thoughts to say hello or smile to passersby.
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for lunch leave within the first half hour. Then the cool cats and well-to-do trickle out soon thereafter. The people that are left are the simple folk, the holy brothers and sisters that comprise the minyan’s core. Pico-Robertson is blessed with over forty shuls in the ‘hood. The Happy Minyan is the place of refuge for Jews of all stripes who don’t quite fit the mold in the other places, including those who can’t contribute financially, have been through a recent divorce, are handicapped or psychologically challenged, or even homeless. And that is why the Happy Minyan is the holiest minyan in town.
Then the text takes a seeming left turn into the Mishpatim chapters, which outline an array of no less than fifty-three laws pertaining to the maintenance of a just society. In other words, in Judaism there is no distinction between one’s “religious” life and how one conducts business. Awe and wonder sit side by side with day-to-day details. Don’t think for a second that you can work hard, study Torah, get honored at your synagogue and also mistreat your employees, fudge your taxes and ignore the pain and suffering of the homeless in your community. In fact, true service of God lies in the details of our everyday life.
The Making of a Musician
Thursday, April 15th, 2010| By Sam Glaser April 2010 I still wonder if I deserve to be called a musician. Call it the imposter complex or fear of success. I Being a musician is like running a marathon. Every mile your body tells you to stop. Quitting is the reasonable thing to do. Every month that we struggle to make ends meet is a month that I ask, “What am I thinking trying to do this for a living?” Every conversation with a relative yields, “but Sammy, how long can you do this?” Every amazing local jazz band I see starts the mental recording, “And you call yourself a musician?” For 47 years I have been fighting that internal and external dialog and somehow, miraculously, I can still say that I am a bonafide full-time, happy working musician. I want to dedicate this month’s article to my parents for creating a space where I could pursue my dreams. Perhaps the most important rule we had in our household growing up was that Sam could sing. I sang all the time. Still do. It drove my brothers crazy. I put myself to sleep every night bouncing my head on my pillow and gnashing my teeth to the groove in my head. It freaked my parents out and they sought medical help. I sang through meal times, on car rides, in the bathtub. I sang along with my classical pieces that I played on the piano. My folks defended my musical quirk and would not allow anyone to silence it. By age seven I was writing songs. My third grade teacher assigned a poetry assignment where we had to scribe an ode to a color. My poems always had music attached to them. I thought that was normal. I started with Black, moved onto Yellow and then wrote a song about how disappointed I was each time I saw pollution. Then came other themes: loneliness, the love of the ocean and a song about the joyful chaos of living with three little brothers. My mom, a talented singer and pianist, marveled at my first poem Black and must have intuited its lyrical rhythm. As she sat at the piano attempting to put it to music I scampered up next to her exclaiming “Mom, that’s not how it goes!” My dad plays the trumpet. He comes from a musical family where everyone played something and was expected to excel. His father didn’t like his choice of instrument and my father was forced to practice in the closet. All that pent up passion for that brassy sound still explodes anytime we have a family occasion. My dad, even though his lip isn’t quite what it was, sends everyone in the room ducking for cover as he plays My Yiddeshe Mama or a Louis Armstrong favorite. It’s thanks to my dad that I have this unyielding tenacity to reach for the stars and the ability to sell ice to Eskimos. Friday Night in my household meant Shabbat. Even though we rarely went to the synagogue and The song books were, of course, what became the influences that still resonate in every note I compose. Great Songs of the 60’s by Milt Okun. Everything from Rogers and Hammerstein and Rogers and Hart. Fiddler, Hair, The Me Nobody Knows, A Chorus Line. Cole Porter, George Gershwin, Carole King, Simon and Garfunkel. The Fireside Book of Folk Songs. My new Songs We Sing CD got its title from the classic Jewish songbook of the same name. Back then I didn’t even realize that I was harmonizing. I hadn’t heard of counterpoint or dynamics. I just did it, and I simply hadto master the piano and sight reading so that I could keep up with my mom. The summer after third grade we moved to Brentwood. For my dad it was a big statement to move to a big house in a fancy neighborhood. For my mom it meant more space to keep clean. For me it meant my own room and interesting new neighbors. Just across the backyard fence lived John Densmore, drummer for the Doors. I can’t describe the feeling I had when I first heard Stevie Wonder’s Superstition coming through the bushes, loud. My knees went weak. That groove, that horn section! How did he get the piano to do that? I ran inside and filled the Steinway with paper and paper clips to simulate a Clavinet. Can you imagine my mom’s shock when she next sat down to play? When I was ten years old, after a month Camp Ramah my dad sent me to Tony Trabert’s Tennis Camp. Dad’s ultimate goal was to make tennis players out of his four boys. Any self-respecting Jewish boy had to know how to handle a racquet and as an A-rated player dad wanted us to give him a good game. I was placed in the lame group and only once did Tony stoop to teach us personally. But a few nights each week we had disco night. Wow. That was cool. That was the summer of Crocodile Rock, The Doobies “Listen to the Music” and “Take it Easy” by the Eagles. The white music was cool but I was totally destroyed by Tower of Power’s “You Got to Funkifize.” I think it’s because of my dad’s decision to make a tennis player out of me that I discovered funk. Our experience with slavery gives Jews a natural kinship with our African-American brothers. I feel it in my jeans (genes.) Speaking of tennis, my dad was enamored of all things sports. He worked hard, came home late and took long trips. I was often frustrated when he couldn’t concentrate on our conversations due to Any tribute to my parents would be incomplete without mention of my Auntie Lynnie. Lynn Berman, now Bar-lev, never had kids of her own. She’s my mom’s cousin but she’s still an aunt, if you know what I mean. Lynnie turned me on to the world of art. She worked with some of the most brilliant artists and graphic designers on the planet and they became my buddies. Lynn gave me my first taste of being published; she took one of my early songs called This World and turned it into a holiday card for her design firm. The silver gloss panel featured the lyrics in my own hand and said at the bottom: “Sammy Glaser, age 7. May this child’s dreams be realized by all mankind.” When I was eleven she took me into a recording studio, hired a professional guitarist and helped me record my first fourteen-song album. I can still see the walls of that studio in my mind…I had found nirvana. Then for my Bar Mitzvah she had all of those songs beautifully transcribed and bound in a book. Take note: the best gifts are thought out, unique and clarify that you really know the recipient. I could go on and on raving about the support and love my parents have showered on me. I’ll finish up for now at my Bar Mitzvah year. My mom pushed me hard. She took me to lessons in Torah trope with the Sinai Temple organist, Aryell Cohen and made me practice daily. My dad used his garment industry cache to arrange for the printing of my “Wilderness” song on all the tablecloths for the party. Cantor Joseph Gole soon took interest in my budding ability to interpret liturgy and invited me into his Shachrit Choir every Saturday morning. Aryell suggested a more aggressive tack with my progress on the piano and my mom shlepped me to lessons with his strict German teacher all the way in the Hollywood Hills. I learned to chant the entire Shabbat service and had to master two Torah portions…one for LA and one for Israel where I had a second celebration a few weeks later. I remember my mom saying, “Sam, if you work this hard at everything in your life, there is NOTHING you can’t do.” That year, the concert choir at Paul Revere Jr. High held auditions to find the best male and female delegate to a citywide vocal competition. My folks nudged me to go for it and exalted when I was chosen to represent the school. My mom helped me go through my repertoire for the finals and we opted for Every Valley Shall Be Exalted from Handel’s Messiah. I had no problem with the range or long runs: I was still a boy soprano and had great breath control thanks to my love of surfing and bodyboarding. My mom rehearsed with me, shlepped me to practice with my piano teacher and then the final voice juries. I won the first prize male vocalist in the LA City Schools and had my award presented by Zubin Mehta at the LA Music Center. Best $100 of my life. So I’m a musician. I think, eat and breathe music. I produce albums for wonderful clients that become a part of my family. I get to see the world performing in over fifty cities a year. What a gift. Best of all, those new songs that still haunt me almost nightly get to find an audience with you, my friends and fans and readers of this monthly diatribe. It’s thanks to you that I keep the balls in the air, keep my kids in Jewish day school and release an annual CD. I have a new one that will be mastered next week. Wow…this is hard work! Hundreds of studio hours later and I’m so excited to say that it’s almost shrink-wrapped and available, 28 of the greatest hits of the Jewish People, fully arranged with my ten-piece band and squeezed onto one CD. You don’t have to buy my new CD. I made it for my friends, family, peers and for the entire Jewish people. But most importantly, I made it for me. Just like the twenty CDs that I recorded before it. Thank God each of my albums is “in the black.” That said, if they didn’t make a dime it would be OK. I still would have the satisfaction of knowing that I made the very best art I was capable of at that time in history and that I had yet another opportunity to give my parents nachas. I’d like to conclude this essay with a challenge. What can you do to spur creativity in your own household? What are those things that you love to do that you never have time for? Wish you took piano lessons? Sang in a choir? Knew how to paint? Well, start today. Join a choir, find a teacher, take an art class! These days the arts aren’t as supported in schools as they used to be. What can you do to make a difference? Are your kids going straight for the TV or Facebook when they come home? Require a two hour homework/creative session minimum before the screen goes on. Was there a time in your life you were told that your creation was lame or stupid or worthless? And you never tried again? Well, get over it. As Warren Miller says, “If you don’t do it this year, you will be one year older when you do.” Create something today! You too can make a musician. |
didn’t keep kosher, Shabbat dinner was non-negotiable. It consisted of candlelighting, “ayshet chayil” translated into English and Kiddush. My dad would give us a blessing, the same words that I say to my children and hope that they will say to their children. My mom, an incredible cook, would break out amazing, predictable food for her family and the myriad guests that we almost always invited. Then, like clockwork, we’d move en masse to the Steinway grand in the music room and sing every song in the book.
the incessant “big game” on TV. Two of my brothers were into watching sports whereas Johnny (Yom Tov) and I preferred to be outdoors hiking and biking and making music. I did however find a meeting place with my pop. That was at Laker, Dodger, Rams and later Raider games. He had season tickets to everything. There we could shmooze in between plays and he was happy to be spoiling us. My mom, on the other hand, retaliated by purchasing tickets to every symphonic, chamber music and opera event available. This was a veritable gold mine for me since my brothers had very little interest in such culture. My appearances with the LA Jewish Symphony have been a fulfillment of the dream of that little kid in the suit sitting in row E holding his mom’s hand while sucking in every note of the LA Philharmonic.Skullcandy
Wednesday, March 10th, 2010By Sam Glaser
March 2010
Someone once asked me how my skullcap stayed put on my head. I replied: “peer pressure.” Wearing a yarmulkah 24/7 was something I said I would never do. Even though I sent him to yeshiva in the first place, my brother Yom Tov started wearing a kippah full time before I did. I remember the conversation clearly: we were riding mountain bikes in Joshua Tree National Park. As we flew down the sandy trail we narrowly avoided the cacti that lurked around every bend ready to sabotage our ride. Somehow we managed to have a conversation on the way and I shouted, “I will NEVER wear that thing all the time!”
I should have learned from my month with Dennis Prager at Brandeis Collegiate Institute. Quoting Franz Rosensweig, Dennis taught us “never say never.” Better to say “not yet.” I repeat this every time I hear a fellow Jew say “I will never ______!” (Fill in the blank with keep Shabbat, keep kosher, set foot in that synagogue, etc.) At that point in my life I had no interest in being identified as a Jew wherever I went. The fact is that I readily divulged I was Jewish to any stranger I would meet. But to be singled out before someone even knew my name? No way!
All that changed when I discovered a community in LA where I could celebrate being Jewish on a full-time basis. It’s like the Dr. Seuss’s Sneetches who had stars upon thars. Moving to Pico-Robertson, our beloved shtetl in the middle of urban LA, I was surrounded by kippah-festooned men of all stripes. Not that I took on the custom to fit in…it’s that I now had living examples of young men just like me who were proud of their heritage and ready to take on whatever challenges the rabbis sent their way. I was starting to perceive the world through spiritual lenses and for the first time I felt the “yids with the lids” were the real players.
I soon found that wearing this black six-inch circle on my head has fringe benefits. It serves as a unique conversation starter. In fact, I found that I couldn’t go long without someone approaching me and telling me about every Jewish experience he had since his Bar Mitzvah. I have patiently fielded endless rounds of twenty questions by Jew loving gentiles. I get grabbed for a minyan in places like the airport, Disneyland and movie theaters. Most importantly, a yarmulkah forces one to behave like a mensch wherever he goes. God forbid someone see a member of the tribe cut in line, utter a curse word or order treif food. I even drive more nicely now. Can’t flip someone off and risk desecrating God’s name when they can see you’re a Jew.
My oldest son’s Bar Mitzvah portion was Tetzaveh, about the clothing of the priests. It was a perfect match for my young Max who is obsessed about what he wears and has been since he was two years old. This portion coincided with my scholar in residence weekend last week in New Jersey where I quoted the concept that the priests’ clothes were supposed to represent honor and glory, both on the inside and outside. Similarly, wearing a kippah (and tzitzit for that matter) serves as a constant reminder that we are in a battle to make good choices and to try to have our internal qualities match our outside appearances. You have to maintain your “balance” to keep it on your head, literally and figuratively. Just like you put on a good suit for an interview and feel like a million bucks, so too can a kippah make you feel like you are walking with God.
Allow me to share a few “stories from the road” that only happened because I wore my kippah. The first happened when a flight to Youngstown, Ohio was forced to land in Pittsburgh due to freezing rain. We sat at the gate for over an hour as the storm grew worse. Eventually I saw the pilot pick up and leave. I approached the attendant and stated that I was a Sabbath-observant Jew and had to get to Youngstown immediately to lead a Sabbath program….would she consider putting all of us on a bus? She didn’t have the seniority to make such a decision but you’d better believe that I found someone who did. The plan was that we were to form groups of three or four and take cabs paid for by the airline. I noticed that there was an elderly couple on our flight that was moving very slowly. I opted to avoid them so that I wouldn’t be slowed down on the long walk back to the curb. Sure enough, they waddled over next to me so that they would wind up in my cab. I later learned that they saw my kippah and felt confident that I would look after them.
Next thing you know I was pushing their Smarte Carte through the airport at .5 miles per hour. I remember trying to deal with my stress level by reframing: I thought to myself, “perhaps the whole reason God put me in this mess was so I could help out these nice people.” As soon as we boarded the cab I introduced myself. “Oh, I used to be a Glaser, I was in the glass business,” the man replied. Then his diminutive wife added, “I was a Glaser too!” “Oh really,” I said, “you were in the glass business?” “No,” she stated, “that was my maiden name.” I then learned that she was from Glod, the hamlet in Transylvania from which my ancestors hail. That’s right. We’re cousins. And my Uncle Max, for whom my son is named, helped them emigrate from Cuba to the States after the war.
The next tale occurred at the America West ticket counter at LAX. I was on my way to do a Christmas day Chanukah party for Chabad of Scottsdale. The youthful Hispanic guy checking in my luggage saw my kippah and asked if I had seen the movie Ushpizin. (If you haven’t seen it, rent it!) He was confused by a few scenes and asked if I minded clarifying things. Like, why was the protagonist screaming at God in the forest, and why was the old man carefully doing an accounting and then giving away his money. I explained to the best of my ability and I remarked that this guy, Raul, seemed to know a lot about Judaism. He remarked that he was very curious and had learned much from Aish.com. I asked him which
columnists he liked best and he said, “Well, I bought the mp3 player.” I then asked how many of the lectures he had listened to (the Aish mp3 player comes stocked with 40 hours of lectures) and he replied, “all of them!” I then responded that he has learned more Torah than just about every Jew alive.
By now the line had grown behind me and I realized we needed to end this conversation (remember that I’m the guy with the kippah and want people to get the impression that Jews are courteous.) But Raul was in no hurry. He had many more questions and wasn’t going to let a live Jew out of his grasp so easily. At that point I was teaching my weekly Seasons of Joy conversion class for the LA Beit Din. I suggested that Raul sit on a class and to get more questions answered. I handed him my card and my Kol Bamidbar CD. His eyes brimmed with tears as he said “You are Sam Glaser!? I listen to your music all the time with my daughter! You are the reason I started this search!” No, he never showed up to my class.
A final tale just happened a few weeks ago. My boys and I played hooky for the day to do some local skiing. I felt a twinge of pain in my back when I was getting on my ski suit upon arrival. Sure enough, on my second turn my back went into spasm. I haven’t been through this since my twenties but I know the feeling and I knew that my ski day had just ended. I limped down the slopes and spent the day on a gurney in the ski patrol office, barely able to move. Now I had a dilemma. I was two hours away from home and couldn’t drive us back. I waited until lunchtime when I knew there would be a crowd in the lodge. After a Cup-of-Soup with my concerned kids I limped around the lodge with a handmade sign that said “need a driver to take me to LA.” People looked at me like an alien and Max sneered, “Dad, you look homeless. This is never going to work!” I said, “Watch kid, we’re going to find an angel.”
I then decided to abandon the sign and query the tables where there were several adults. I asked each group if they were from LA, a simple yes or no question that would at least get a conversation started. I had a good feeling with one particular table. Yes, they were going back to LA. I told them my story, that I was a nice guy and had a nice car for them to drive…no monkey business. They seemed unmoved by my story and dismissed me by saying, “We’ll think about it.” Well, I was hurting and couldn’t stand anymore. I gave them my cell phone number and sat on a nearby bench. Just as my kids walked over to commiserate, one of these people approached us and said, “I’ll drive you home. I noticed your kippah. How could I turn down a fellow member of the tribe?” To make our angel story even sweeter, this unaffiliated Russian Jew moved to the States when he was two and is presently in the business of helping people who have back injuries find ergonomic solutions for their offices.
Passover is around the corner and we are focusing once again on the saga of the Exodus from Egypt. We are supposed to read the Haggadah as if it’s actually happening to us now; it’s not just a recounting of an ancient tale. Therefore this period is prime time to be asking those important questions about present state of the Jewish People: do we merit redemption from the Diaspora, from worldwide terrorism, from the renewed threat to the Jewish people coming again from the Persian Empire. According to the Midrash, the Jewish people were redeemed from Egypt for four reasons. Evidently we didn’t completely assimilate into their hedonistic culture and maintained our Hebrew names, language and clothing. With this in mind I have appointed a few friends to call me Shmuel to keep my soul name alive. I work on my Hebrew, both biblical and conversational so that I can navigate our texts in the original tongue and attempt conversations with my Israeli friends. FInally, I may love my t-shirts and blue jeans but I fly my freak flag kippah and tzitzit for all to see.
The Closest Thing to Judaism
Tuesday, February 23rd, 2010| by Sam Glaser February 2010 I have heard a resounding theme during my travels over the past several months: that Chabad is a wretched institution. That Chabad favors the rich, steals members from other  congregations and is steeped in misguided messianism. I have the opportunity on my annual fifty city tours to divide my time between Reform, Conservative and Orthodox synagogues and a highlight is the heart to heart chats I have with the members of clergy. Let me state for the record that these conversations are usually enlightening and stimulating and these rabbis and cantors are some of my dearest friends. As a rule they are entirely dedicated to their holy work and wear their love for Judaism on their sleeve.
Nevertheless, comments slip out like, “Oh, Chabad – the closest religion to Judaism!” Or, “those *&^s just opened down the street so they could siphon off our membership!” First the dig and then “but they do great work.” After enough of these ripostes I was concerned that this diatribe was a universal mantra. That was until a recent Chanukah Shabbaton in Orlando, FL where I met Rabbi Gary Perras. He is a veteran Conservative rabbi and hanging proudly in his office is a 3×4′ portrait of the Lubavitcher Rebbe. As we lit candles together in his home on one of those ubiquitous Chabad supplied menorahs he explained his perspective. He was one of the only rabbis to welcome Chabad to Orlando when the other rabbis were protesting. He argues that one can’t “steal” members…they vote with their feet and many crave the spiritual nourishment that Chabad provides. When Rabbi Gary’s congregants opt for Chabad he considers it a success story: they will be more likely to keep kosher and marry a Jew. He stated “my job isn’t to retain members, it’s to get people into Judaism.” I am not trying to bite the hand that feeds me or get Rabbi Perras in trouble. It’s that I deeply want Jewish people to love one another, as lofty and far-fetched as that may seem. I feel this yearning in my bones. I am a unifier and peacemaker. Maybe it’s an oldest child thing. My folks raised their f I was recently nominated as a Jewish Community Hero in the national Jewish Federation-sponsored online campaign. I didn’t know this until friends who had read the announcement wished me a “mazeltov” as I walked the streets of my neighborhood one Shabbat. When I checked the website to see who else was nominated I was surprised to find that the majority chosen were Chabadniks. When a rabbi friend called to encourage me to get out the vote (a $25,000 prize was in the offing,) I mentioned the skewed presence of Lubavitchers in the running. He responded, “well, that’s because they have the time to be out in the streets with the people: they run to visit the sick, they counsel addicts, they kasher kitchens, while I’m stuck behind a desk with budgets, board meetings and membership drives.” How many times has Chabad come to my rescue? With a kosher meal, a place to stay for Shabbat, a minyan. Thanks to Chabad I have otherwise secular friends who can quote chassidut. Just after my parents started to keep kosher, a miracle I thought might never transpire, they moved to Pacific Palisades, a decidedly kosher-free zone. I feared they’d never make it without a community to support their new lifestyle. Lo and behold, that very year a new Chabad rabbi set up shop in their neighborhood. They were welcomed as founding members of the fledgling chapter that is now a full-blown shul filled with Jewish life. My positive experiences are too numerous to mention but I’ll offer one anecdote. Every year I ski, sing and study at a rabbinic convention, which is cleverly scheduled each January rotating between world-class ski resorts. I have grown to love this bunch of learned ski addicts. We study Torah for an hour in the morning, ski all day and then meet for mincha and more learning when the lifts close. What better way to celebrate my I suddenly remembered where to go for help: a concert in Aspen that I had performed the previous year was sponsored by the local Reform community in conjunction with Chabad. And that Chabad rabbi had a brother who had just set up shop in the town where I was. I looked up this rabbi whom I had never met in my life. When I called to beg for the immediate delivery of wine, sodas and snacks his response was simple: “I’ll be right over!” A smorgasbord of munchies appeared within twenty minutes just before the group of rabbis arrived. This well-meaning Chabadnik wouldn’t accept any money from me – he didn’t want to diminish his mitzvah of kindness to strangers. When my guests arrived we sang and made toasts and I could tell that my new rabbi friend wasn’t quite ready to leave. He felt compelled to give offer a word of Torah. I realized it might be a bit awkward but I figured “what could be the harm?” He spoke about the portion of the week for about ten minutes and then said goodbye. A furious convention leader then escorted me into a bedroom. “How dare you invite a Chabad rabbi to speak to us! This whole kumzitz was a setup so that you could get that man here!” I tried to explain myself but I’m not sure if she believes me to this day. Dearest fellow Jews, we’re all in this together. When we stand united, our collective light shines and the glory of G-d is apparent to all. “How lovely are your tents, Jacob!” All of our denominations make crucial contributions to the whole. We are all on the same team, fighting ignorance, assimilation and intermarriage. There is far more that we have in common than that which divides us. I beg my readers to please think twice before offhandedly disparaging anyone or any other movement. The world judges G-d by watching the Jews. “Jews are news.” We are held to a higher standard, whether we like it or not. Even if the term makes us uneasy, we are widely regarded as G-d’s Chosen People. Chosen to take a stand, to act as G-d’s witnesses throughout human history. Tevya would argue “once in a while, can’t You choose someone else?” I’d like to believe we are chosen for greatness. That we have the power to bless each other and all of humanity. We can glorify G-d’s name by loving each other and judging “to the side of merit.” Let us focus on each other’s attributes and not the faults. G-d knows we have plenty of faults. While I was davening the day before my son Jesse’s bar mitzvah in November, I was hit by a revelation that I’d like to share: At the end of the Aleynu prayer that conclud My epiphany that morning was that when we say the Sh’ma we can take a moment to live in a perfected world where tikkun olam (healing the world) has been realized. Not just to picture this reality but to actually live in the reality. To enter a G-dly space beyond time and taste true unity. Don’t rush into the “V’ahavta” paragraph! Nurture the Sh’ma. Relish the moment and make it real. Isn’t it interesting that the Sh’ma and Aleynu are prayers that are essentially intact in the prayer books of all denominations of Judaism? Let us make this the generation where the unity of the Jewish people creates a world where G-d’s name is one. |
love of Judaism with my favorite sport! During a recent conference I was lucky enough to stay at a relative’s beautiful condominium (equipped with a piano!) I figured I’d share the good fortune with some of my rabbi friends so I invited a group to gather for songs and snacks one of the nights. I scrambled back to the condo after a very intense day of shredding the back bowls (
Get Unplugged!
Friday, January 22nd, 2010| by Sam Glaser January 2010 2010 marks the 20th anniversary of MTV Unplugged. It was supposed to last thirteen episodes when it debuted in As much as I love playing with my band there is something to be said for those piano/vocal only shows where intense intimacy can be established. Without the wall of sound the crowd relaxes like they are in a living room, focused on the message, with open hearts. Instead of playing to the listeners the unplugged realm creates a playing with the audience, more like a concerto with the artist as soloist and the audience as orchestra. Check out this rare moment of audience connection as they provide the rhythm on Eric Clapton’s unplugged version of Before You Accuse Me. All-time great unplugged shows are now easily found thanks to mtv.com and youtube. Some of my favorites are those where the familiar arrangement is anything but unplugged and then you get the fly-on-the-wall view of how the song might have been written. Here are some essentials: Here’s Sir Paul McCartney’s first time out with MTV proving We Can Work it Out. Seriously pared down Nirvana/Come As You Are. The late Hawaiian star IZ singing the coolest Over the Rainbow ever. Stellar guitar work on Hotel California by all time greats The Eagles. Some of the most sublime evenings of music that I’ve performed have been after the concert. When the crowd has cleared out and several gather on the stage to jam without the house PA system on. Or back at someone’s house where everyone is surrounding a grand piano with multiple guitars strumming and hand drums pounding. At CAJE, the annual Going unplugged is not a new concept to the Jewish people. We have been “unplugging” once a week for millennia. It’s been said that more than the Jews have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jews. Without the help of our phones, computers and other “personality amplifiers” we reconnect with who we are and our place in the universe. It’s as if G-d is saying: “hey, get your mitts out of my creation!” The rest of the week G-d gives us the illusion that we are making a living so that we feel like partners in shaping the world. But one day a week, the illusion stops and we see the world through godly eyes. We leave behind the great symphony of our lives and are left with a simple song. Unplugging is such an integral aspect of the Sabbath that it seems ironic how so many synagogues are striving to increase membership by offering monthly rock concert-style worship on Friday nights. Yes, it’s true that churches have long raised the spiritual bar by having masterful ensembles propelling the prayers. But for the Jewish people there is something to be said for sweet, acoustic simplicity. At least on Shabbat. Davening in blissful a cappella so you can hear yourself think and sing and delve deeply into your hopes and aspirations, singing G-d’s praises surrounded by a loving community of fellow worshippers. Concerts, jam sessions and kumzitzes have their place on the weekdays. But when candlelighting hits on Friday afternoon, I’ll take my Shabbat with Shalom. I live in a neighborhood in LA where “Shabbat Shalom” is the operative greeting for the thousands of Jews walking the Shabbat is a habit that takes some effort to get used to. Initially one is consumed by all the things you cannot do. But after a while it is as natural as breathing. G-d is described by the prophets as being heard in a “still, small voice.” Without unplugging it’s impossible to hear it. G-d speaks to us in so many ways and we are masters of methods to ignore it. These days we have more ways than ever to banish that precious commodity of silence. On Shabbat we can re-enter the quiet conversation and restore our relationship. The word for belief in G-d is “emunah.” It comes from the word “uman” or craftsman. In other words, we have to make an effort to shape it, to consciously enter the relationship. By unplugging on Shabbat we have the opportunity to bring faith into the world of action, making our trust in G-d tangible. My kids have been trained that on Shabbat they are not to even touch anything with an on/off switch. When Friday night hits, there are no ipods, phones or laptops. No Netflix or |
conference of Jewish educators where I perform each year, I typically lead a singalong on the last night. About a third of the attendees pack into a sweaty room and sing for three hours straight. One piano, one mic and six hundred lead vocalists. I don’t take breaks and have an assistant on hand to mop my brow and pour water down my throat. We segue from Israeli and camp songs to the best of Motown, Disco, Elton John, Carol King and a healthy smattering of Beatles. 
streets. When you think about it, those words mean more than “have a peaceful Sabbath.” It’s more a wish that your friends share your blissful Shabbat state of mind. John Lennon would have us imagine a world living in peace between all peoples and nations. On Shabbat we LIVE in that world. No imagination necessary. It’s more than lip service or lofty dreams. It’s living in a state of peace with creation and when it’s time to plug back in on Saturday night, we are grounded, connected and ready for the onslaught of our day-to-day.
Xbox. We get our kids back, for one precious day a week. As a parent I can relate to our supernal parent in heaven who must eagerly anticipate the weekly lovefest that is the Jewish Sabbath. Our media gets perpetually louder, bolder, racier and ubiquitous. It’s easy to be absorbed into the Matrix without even knowing it, to crave the world of Avatar more than our earth-bound reality. MTV has it right: a rockin’ concert or state-of-the-art movie is great but when you want a classic, you’ve got to unplug.