Inside a Maximum-Security Prison

Racism has been the latest hot topic in the media.  During the Trayvon Martin incident (made public in the Zimmerman trial), there was a fair amount of coverage of similar episodes, i.e. other instances in which white law enforcement officers shot young unarmed black men.  Questions arose regarding the treatment of race and racism in the U.S., and how it plays out both as an institutional phenomenon-- in terms of criminal justice and law enforcement -- and as a social phenomenon.  The popularity of the movie "Fruitvale Station" is, I think, related to this interest.  The whole incident, and resulting controversy is reminiscent of Amadou Diallo shooting in 1999, in which the four officers were also acquitted.

The purpose of this post is not to make further accusations of Zimmerman's guilt, or to blame any particular person or institution for the events that occurred, or even to decry racism.  Rather, it's to publicly share some of my own experiences and knowledge that happen to be relevant to the larger conversation of race in the United States.

As part of this growing public debate, one of the programs on Ithaca Community Radio 88.1 happened to broadcast an interview with Michelle Alexander.  Her book's title, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness, explains her thesis: the prison system in the U.S. places a disproportionately large segment of the black population, and hold them there as an inferior caste.  The initiation of the "War on Drugs" (and the coining of this term) is associated with the Nixon administration, part of the "Southern Strategy," although it was under the Reagan administration that the "War" became more aggressive, seen by the passing of the Anti-Drug Abuse Act in 1986.  Since then, incarceration rates have been steadily rising, to the point that the United States now has the highest incarceration rate in the world (more than .8%): around 2.2 million Americans are in jail (for reference, there are 313.9 million Americans in 2012), accounting for around a quarter of the world's prison population.  According to a PEW Center study conducted in 2008 (apologies for the dated data), the United States led the world in proportion of the population imprisoned, with 750 inmates per hundred thousand residents.  For reference, per hundred thousand residents, Russia had 628 in prison, Belarus had 426, Poland had 236, England and Wales had 148, Turkey had 112, France had 85, and Denmark had 67 (statistics for China and North Korea, unfortunately, were not available).  Most of the people imprisoned in the United States are black men; in 2010, the incarceration rate among men was about 6.7 times higher for blacks than for whites, while among women, the incarceration rate for blacks was about 2.8 times higher than that for whites.  Also in 2008, whereas 1 per 106 white men eighteen or older were imprisoned, the the statistic is 1 per 36 among Hispanic men, and 1 per 15 among black men.  About half of the people currently in prison are serving terms for nonviolent crimes, primarily drug offenses, and non-whites make up two-thirds of those imprisoned for drug offenses.  Even though arrest rates for drug crimes are ten times higher among black youth than white youth, one study in 2011 found that white kids are actually more likely to use drugs, and 80% more likely to develop an addiction.  The point of all of these statistics is this: a lot of people are in prison in the U.S, a large proportion for drug offense, and most of them are black men.

I'm feeding you all of these facts to make the rest of this post relevant.  Four years ago, during my last semester in High School, my government class visited Five-Point Correctional Facility in Romulus, New York.  As many of you know, I keep a journal, and I made certain to take detailed notes the evening after my return.  The following is a copy, almost verbatim, of what I wrote.  I have simplified the writing for clarity, broken the narrative into paragraphs, and removed the names of all of the inmates.  Other than that, following is my journal entry from Wednesday, December 17, 2008.

                Went to prison today. Got up and ate without making lunch, listened to the radio and read a little of E.B. White's One Man's Meat.  At school, Senior breakfast: I had forgotten.  I stored my backpack in my locker, met in Student Activities.  Peter Slothower, Mark Thompson, and Will Troy were all on the bus trip to Ovid, lasting about one hour.

                Ran into facility in rain.  Gave up coats, shirts tucked in, hands stamped, given directions: double file on the right side of yellow line drawn on the floor.  Two officers with us.  One was short with a crew cut, and gruff; the other was tall, mean, and authoritarian.  Mostly, the former spoke.  They had batons and keys; no officers carried guns, for fear that the prisoners would be able to wrestle them away.  Batons were optional, and if a correctional officer felt safer without one, he did not carry one.  The first officer showed us the arsenal, near the entrance.  All the keys were kept there, near a board indicating the positions of all 180 correctional officers.  The arsenal also controls all the gates in the prison (no keys).  The prison was built in 2000.  There are 1500 inmates, 1200 cameras, 500 microphones.  Walked next to Mark, and was glad he was there: he's a big guy.  Prisoners are allowed to receive two packages per year, or one television.  They buy items from the Commissar with their 3¢/hour wages.  Visitors are allowed, but it's a Class D Felony to give any object to the prisoners.  Often, drugs are placed in easily-concealed balloons, that are furtively swallowed.  If the swallower is unlucky, the balloon bursts while still in the stomach, and the inmate can die from overdose.  The officer mentioned a case in which a balloon of heroin "cooked" an inmate's insides, killing him instantly one month before his release date.

                Shown big case of confiscated weapons manufactured secretly by inmates.  They from pens, pencils, toothbrushes, razors, electric tape, pipes, anything inmates can get.  "Buck-fifty" = 150-stitch gouge across the cheek from one of these weapons.  The smallest one was maybe an inch long.  It had been used against a bunkmate; when the officers had come to the scene, there was blood all over the floor.  We heard about the razor-wire fence.  Microwave-like beam picks up anything approaching, even birds.  Some unfortunate birds get shredded mid-flight.

                We were showed the mess hall.  They feed all 180 men in 45 minutes.  Go down cafeteria line, sit in next open place, 10 minutes to eat.  Given prison chow at 11:00 served by inmates who were being paid 37¢/hour.  The chow consisted of noodles in meat(?) sauce, corn in mysterious brown sauce, applesauce, a cup of grape juice, and two slices of white bread.  The state spends $1.50 per prisoner per day on meals, and will leap at any opportunity to reduce this figure by ever so small a portion of a penny.  The servers, all black, yelled at us: girls first.  Peter was called an angel face, and Clifton a pretty boy.  One guy asked me what I was studying.  I was speechless.  Grade?  12th.  Graduating?  Definitely.  Good.  Apparently, diabetics would get served first, as would those with allergies.  None of us students finished eating within the time limit.  Threw compost in the yellow bin, and foam and plastic in the grey.  If inmate placed their waste in the wrong bins, they would need to reach into the bin, and throw it in the other.  We were shown the tear gas riot control system installed in the ceiling of the mess hall.

                After the mess hall, the housing block.  Four blocks (A-D), all identical.  Central glass "bubble" in the center of each a surveillance mechanism.  Two bunks per room.  The roommate system is hated by the inmates.  The inmates leered at us, especially at the girls, but couldn't bite us through the glass windows of their thick cell doors, although some had pressed their faces right up against the glass, and snarled at us as we passed.  One guy wailed about one of the student's shoe size, then started to yell about help.  Many heckled us.  One guy told me stay in school, work hard, don't do drugs.  Shown a room.  About the size of mine, but designated for two, and includes toilet, sink, and shower with clear curtain.  Row of cassettes, 2 TVs.  Little cage outside to smoke, etc.  Highly heckled there, too.  After dark, the prisoners would be checked on every hour by having flashlights shined in their faces. 

                Education section.  Normal-looking classroom with motivational posters.  Dickens film running in one, no classes in session at that time.  People who we passed in halls wore olive green trousers, usually green top, but not all (gang affiliation).  Met six inmates in the classroom.  Not friendly at first: yelled at us.  They can't touch us.  Yelled at to place our money, watches, etc. in a box, declare how much, and name.  We were put in a circle and given name tags; stand feet together, hands at sides, looking at feet.  Suddenly: Get down!  Hands behind heads.  Like riot conditions, minus screaming, tear gas, pools of HIV-infected blood on floor, pain of batons, gunfire.  At least a couple of the girls were crying.  Get up.  Then, the inmates softened.  Gathered us in groups of 4-6, each with a couple inmates (each group pulled up chairs).  My classmates were Mark, Will, and Clifton.  The inmates were friendly.  Asked to tell age, grade, family, aspirations, problems, sports, drugs and alcohol use.  Nametags: 1st name only, surname initial if more than one person with the same first name.  Then, inmates introduced all of us to the everyone else by our vices and virtues, and themselves by their crime and time.  Confidentiality for everyone.  Shown tools: Communication, Education, Family, Responsibility, Religion, Environmental Change, Recreation.  Real believe among inmates in toolbox to keep people out of prison.

                The youngest of the group told his story, starting from birth, moving one year at a time (his first time presenting in front of visiting students).  Born a heroin addict because his mother took heroin while pregnant.  Mother abandoned him, put in a foster, adopted.  Beaten.  In 1st grade, told "was brilliant" by teacher, but abused even more by his adopted mother, who changed his name, and hated Puerto Ricans (like him).  Drugs, gangs, fights, changes of school.  This was his 4th time in prison; he had been sentenced for robbery.  (Many girls were crying by this point.)  One of the other inmates, who wants to be a youth preacher, told two of the confused girls in the group, going through identity crises, that they were special.

                There was a bathroom break (I followed close behind Mark).  Guard snapped at me: did you piss on my seat?  ...no.  What did you hesitate?  I think you did!  No go back to the officer.  There was a strange jumping inmate.

                Next, in the classroom, there were demonstrations on inmates and roommates, "prison justice," group phone use.  25 guys share 2 phones for 2 hours.  One "click" is 30 minutes.  Next, another inmate told story about his "mask."  Began with father beating him.  Had to be perfect, mother couldn't protect, hated his father.  One girl meant everything to him, she became pregnant in a motel, scared her, did everything to keep parents from finding out.  One day, she was bleeding badly, he drove her to far-off hospital, but the girl lived.  A few years later, still fighting and smoking drugs, and angry.  Fight with a hotel manager.  In brawl, friend got hit in throat with ashtray.  Arrested later for murder.

                Another story: beaten by drunk parents.  Smoked, fought, killed girlfriend, eventually.  Chains of shame, pain guilt.  Married: prison hard on a relationship.  Parents seemed to age so much.  Brother died, godfather died.  Couldn't hug them, because in "chains."  Again, lots of girls weeping at this point.  Always emphasized by other inmates: don't feel sorry for him, feel sorry for the victims and their families.  That was the end of the educational section: received belongings back that we had deposited at the beginning.  Officer, rhetorically: why did you give belongings, and accept nametags, even though we had been told to give nothing and take nothing.  Inmates told us again about tools to use.  Main theme: make the right choices.

That is the end of the journal entry.  There are a few other details I'll add, based entirely on my memory.  One of the inmates' narratives, that of the man planning to become a preacher, I heard secondhand: he was imprisoned for murdering the man that had raped his wife.  Among the prisoners allowed to speak to us, all were convicted of murder or robbery; rapists, pedophiles, and other sex-offenders, as well as arsonists, were not permitted to meet school groups.  Although the seclusion of sex-offenders is fairly obvious, there was no explanation for why arsonists need to be kept away from school groups.  Another anecdote concerns the mental state of some of the prisoners: one inmate had been sentenced there because he had chopped his parents up, and thrown the pieces in a sack.  There was also purportedly someone there who had eaten his victims.  The next concerns gender: maximum-security prisons are all-male or all-female.  Prisons for men are far more numerous; however, compared even to the worst maximum-security prisons, maximum-security prisons for women are hell.  The last is about race: based on my estimate, I'd say that 90-95% of the inmates in this prison were black.

To return to topic which which I began this post, racial prejudice is a very real problem in this country.  Some voices on the far left, most notably those of historian Howard Zinn and his followers, argue that the race problem is nothing more than a distraction from the real problem, which is the class system.  I do not know whether this is correct or not.  I do know for certain that there are a filters in my mind, as well as in the minds of many other Americans, that discriminate based on race, sex, age, physical attractiveness, body weight, and many other irrelevant factors.  Try as I can, I cannot be "colorblind."  I am ashamed of this, and try very consciously to overcome this, but find that prejudice, and the disposition to be judgmental, are embedded deeply in my psyche, and lack a simple on/off switch.  Fast judgment can sometimes be very useful; for those of you interested in the topic of the human capacity to make wise split-second decisions, I highly recommend Malcolm Gladwell's Blink.  Blink, however, also discusses the downfalls of "thin-slicing" as the author calls this technique of the human mind's passing judgments based on relatively little information:.  Sometimes, such low-information judgments can lead the American public to elect to national office the candidate who "looks" most fit for the job: the result is President Warren G. Harding.  At other times, such judgments can lead to police officers shooting an unarmed and defenseless man to death for no other reason that the fact that he "looked" threatening, i.e. had black skin.

The only philosopher I know who ever stood up and argued on behalf of prejudice wrote at the end of the 18th century, and had the following to say in defense of the ancient institution: "Prejudice is of ready application in the emergency; it previously engages the mind in a steady course of wisdom and virtue, and does not leave the man hesitating in the moment of decision, sceptical, puzzled, and unresolved" (Edmund Burke, "Reflections on the Revolution in France," The Works of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke, vol. 3).  

(Burke, in this same essay, also, incredibly argues on behalf of superstition.)

This passage fills me with disgust.  W.E.B. Dubois believed that the problem of 20th-century America would be the problem of the color-line, and the line is still marked and uneffaced in 2013.  It will take more than a black president to rub it out; it will take a new way of thinking, a new mindset.  A mindset that I know that I do not at this moment have.  It's a weltenschauung, a worldview, that needs to be constructed, though, and it's not enough to start with our children: we need to start with ourselves.

I know I don't ordinarily ask this, but if you've read this post from a link on Facebook, I'd appreciate it if you could share this link.  I'm hoping to further the widen the debate on our prison system, and would accept criticism if it meant spreading knowledge about as important a topic as this one.

~JD

Lazar and the Great White Whale

No, this post has nothing to do with Moby-Dick, except in my own imagination.  However, I enjoyed the title, and thought that it would attract attention.

What really happened was that Sam Moss invited me to spend Sunday on Lake George with him and Lazar.  I'd never been to Lake George before, or, for that matter, visited Sam in Guilderland, so of course I happily accepted.  Because I needed to already be in Albany on Sunday morning, and the earliest Sunday bus from Ithaca to Albany didn't arrive until early afternoon, I took Sarah's advice, and asked to spend Shabbat at the SUNY Albany Chabad House.  The Rabbinic couple responded very positively, so I hopped on the Shortline bus on Friday afternoon, arriving in Albany at around 6:00 pm, the trip including a 50-minute layover and transfer in Binghamton.  I kept up with William James on the way (it's a long book), but nothing else exceptional happened.  Sam picked me up from the bus station, and drove me to 320 Fuller Road, right at the edge of the SUNY Campus.  There were a lot of other guests that weekend, and there was only one small crevice still available for me in the house.  Based on the description that I had received by e-mail, I really thought that I would be staying in a cupboard under the stairs.  In fact, I had both privacy and plenty of room, and was entirely satisfied.  Around this time last year, I was staying in a European youth hostel with four or five other men in my room, and had to be concerned about sleeping with my wallet and passport under my pillow, lest they be stolen.  This continues to be my standard for living spaces, and the bed in the Chabad house was very comfortable!  I gave Rabbi Mendel and his wife Raizy the two boxes of strawberries that I had brought with me from Ithaca, although I didn't really have enough time to explain the gift before Kabbalat Shabbat began.  Many of the people who were at minyan were visitors, like me: from Australia, South Africa, Canada, and Oswego, but some also from Albany (note: the Australian cantor pronounced the word "yeshiva" with an "r").  Ordinary, the House is filled with undergrads -- around 200 on Friday nights, according to Rabbi Mendel -- but, as with Cornell, there are far fewer under-thirties during the summer break.  However, there were a few.  After Ma'ariv, Sam introduced me to a few of his friends, and we sat together for dinner.  I stayed up later than anyone else in the house that night, reading.

I woke up on Saturday morning at around 7:00 am to the sound of young children playing and running around.  This sounds like a complaint, i.e. that the kids woke me up, but really, I kind of miss being around young children (especially if I'm not personally responsible for their entertainment).  The kids belonged to the family from Oswego staying in the main room in the basement, adjacent to my room.  I was up early, so I helped Raizy and Rabbi Mendel set up the chairs and tables in the sanctuary, then sat and studied with the Rabbi until Shacharit.  The Rabbi also asked me a lot of questions about the Jewish community at Cornell, particularly interested in the logistics and leadership, and how it was largely student-run.  I tried to do my best to explain why I think that the CJL works so well.  There were about three times as many women as men present: there was a Jewish girls' camp nearby, and all of the campers and counselors attended.  During lunch, Rabbi Mendel gave a really excellent devar Torah about intellectual history, explaining how a single Biblical verse (Chavakuk 2:4) had encouraged the formation of three different social movements within Judaism, and explained each of the three through a different Dr. Seuss book.  My strawberries were served at this time.  Unfortunately, what I had meant to tell the couple was that one of the two boxes that I had brought was for them, and that the other was for the boating trip on Sunday.  They set them all out, and at that point, I realized that it would just be better to let everyone enjoy all of the strawberries, without making a fuss.  (Really, the strawberries had been for one specific individual on the boating trip, who is exceedingly fond of fresh fruit.)  In the afternoon, I mostly read, but also took a long walk around SUNY Albany campus.  It made me realize how spoiled I am to have Cornell's beautiful campus.  I spent Saturday night in the same place.

On Sunday morning, after I thanked the Rabbinic couple for allowing me to stay with them, Sam and Sarah picked me up.  The three of us drove together to Lake George, while receiving a constant flow of information from Lazar and Aaron, reminding us that they were going to arrive at the lake before us.  It was incredibly good to see Sarah again; she was on the list of people to whom I thought I had said goodbye for more than a year.  It was a lot of fun just to be around her, and she and Sam provided ample entertainment on our drive from Albany to Lake George, commenting, for instance, on the towns we passed through, and the driving etiquette of the vehicles ahead of us.  When we arrived at the lake, I practically jumped on Lazar, I was so happy to see him; I was glad to see Aaron, too.  These guys live together in New York City, and it must be hilarious to be around them. 

The boat rented, the paperwork signed, and the gas tank full, we boarded the motorboat just a few minutes before noon.  Lazar actually knows how to pilot a boat remarkably well, and gave us a great ride.  The motorboat was surprisingly fast; I clung to the bow for most of the time, and, constantly in the spray, removed my shirt for most of our journey.  Throughout, I thought and made numerous jokes about various books involving sea voyages and islands -- Moby-Dick, Homer's Odyssey, The Lord of the Flies, Robinson Crusoe, etc.  The view was fantastic: Lake George is surrounded by wooded mountains, the Adirondacks, on all sides, and the water was both clean and (as far as I could tell) free of zebra mussels.  Lazar brought us far out into the lake, to a rocky island, and everyone but Lazar jumped into the lake to swim.  Aaron had the courage to leap in first, but the lake water turned out to be surprisingly warm -- much warmer than Cayuga Lake at the height of summer.  Sarah and I followed, and, with a little bit of coaxing, Sam joined us too in the water.  After taking a few cute photos of the four of us sitting on a rocky ledge of the island. Lazar promptly turned the boat around, and sped off in the opposite direction.  This was to be expected.  Aaron mentioned swimming the perimeter of the island, and this sounded like a great idea to me.  I swam off, alternating between the Australian crawl (my fastest stroke) and the breaststroke (my favorite stroke).  I didn't see anyone else for maybe 15 or 20 minutes, and eventually made it nearly back to where we had started, when I encountered the other four back in the boat, motoring in my direction.  I clambered back in, glad that I had gotten to paddle around as much as I did.  Lazar whisked us off to another island, where I tied up the boat at a little wooden dock (the sure sign that the water was deep enough), and we all disembarked to eat lunch.  Sarah had made a seven-grain peanut butter and jelly sandwich for me (♥), for which I was very grateful.  I didn't mention the lack of strawberries, thinking that it was better not to disappoint, but luckily for the rest of us, Sarah and Sam had brought plenty of food to share.  At this time, Lazar remembered that he had me at close quarters, and he, Sam, and Aaron teamed up to keex me.  The fun over (also, we were not far from someone's campsite), we boarded again for more zooming around the lake.  Everyone at some point took a turn at the helm: Sam is not bad at all, but when Aaron took the wheel, I wondered at why the lake had suddenly become so turbulent -- until I turned around, and saw that he was piloting.  I didn't really trust myself, but wanted to give piloting a chance.  At least, I didn't dump everyone overboard, although I think that I nearly pulled a muscle in Sarah's side, thanks to my poor steering ability.  Sarah was also a beginner, but, let's face it, gave a smoother ride than Aaron or I did.  We returned the boat just before the 3:15 pm deadline.  I should mention here that I did the fourth of fifth really stupid thing I've done since returning from New York City -- although I brought sunscreen, I forgot to apply it, and didn't think to ask anyone else on the boat.  The burn wasn't particularly painful, but I'm legitimately concerned about skin cancer, and would hate to have cut my life short however many years because of this one stupid decision.

At this point, even if we returned immediately to Albany, I would probably have just barely missed the 4:30 pm bus, the last one of the day to leave for Ithaca.  So Sam offered to let me stay the night at his house, so that the five of us could continue to spend the rest of the day together -- this was a great offer, and it prevented my schedule from putting an early end to the party.  So I gratefully accepted, changed into a dry shirt, and then Sam, Sarah, and I in Sam's car, and Aaron and Lazar in Lazar's drove to Saratoga, right on the route back to Guilderland, where Sam and Sarah both live.  I think that I fell asleep in the car (this is a motif of these blog posts), and awakened in downtown Saratoga, which doesn't look much different from a somewhat classier and drug-free version of the Ithaca Commons.  We went to Ben and Jerry's together, then walked about a mile and a half to the "Racino," where we hoped to watch some horses race.  On the way, we passed through a park where a local theater troupe had just finished putting on a production of Shakespeare's Merry Wives of Windsor.  The races apparently ended earlier in the morning, but we decided to enter the building, nonetheless.  Lazar spent a little while at a number of machines, eventually walking away with about $50.00 from the roulette table, after having put in around $40.00.  Aaron also turned what I think was $1.00 into $9.00.  Sam and I both benefited from the cold water available (there was a surprisingly good drinking fountain), but didn't put money into any of the machines.  There were a lot of jokes about Lazar's gambling problem, that made me think back to the NPR report last week about addicted gamblers, and what casinos do and don't do to discourage these gamers from continuing.

The roulette table left me with two questions.  The first was economic: why have such an expensive-looking installation, complete with a screen with a virtual roulette host (dealer? spinner?) rather than simply pay an employee to manage the machine?  You'd think that, especially with the cost of maintenance, a human person would be both cheaper, and preferred by customers.  The second was social: why did all of the screens depict 30-something-year-old white women in black cocktail dresses as running the roulette wheels?  They also all had American accents, even though the machines were made in the U.K.

We walked back to Saratoga, then drove from there to Sam's house in Guilderland.  I've never been to Guilderland, and had expected more Hobbit holes, based on the descriptions that I had heard.  Sam's parents were very welcoming.  I had no appetite, perhaps a side-effect of my sunburn, but everyone else, tired from our long day, devoured the fruit and nuts that the Moss family put out for them.  We also were introduced to several of Sam's cats.  Sam, Lazar, and Sarah are all cat people, and I was a little bit out of it, physically.  Then, Lazar mentioned something about a "museum" to Sam, and Sam asked his father to give us a tour of the museum in the basement, whatever that was.  Sam's father needed a few minutes to "turn the lights on," which sounded even curiouser.  A few minutes later, Sam's father led us down to the basement.

Sam's father's museum is incredible: it's a collection of all of the curiosities that he's picked up, both abroad and in the United States.  He works in state government, and has had many opportunities to pick up these relics.  They consisted of Chinese screens, paintings from Haiti and Ecuador, wood-carvings from Singapore, bronze Hindu sculptures, a luscious opium bed, a pair of ornamental clocks, a chess set, and so much more.  He could remember where and when (and for how much) he had acquired each and every one.  Some of the items had interesting stories -- indicating a pair of brightly-colored paintings of animals in a thick forest setting, Sam's father told me that he had purchased them in Haiti, where, on his stay, he had been invited to attend a vodun party by his cab driver, but had been warned at the last minute by someone else not to accept the invitation, lest he become a human sacrifice.  There was also some spillover into the other rooms.  The collection is very tasteful, and illuminated by lamps with colored shades that resembled Chinese lanterns.  Surprisingly, everything had been acquired relatively cheaply, most of the items for a little over thirty dollars, nothing far above one hundred (the bed was the most costly item).  The ensemble makes a wonderful display.

It was quite late in the evening now, and Lazar and Aaron needed to drive back to New York City, so that Nathan Cohen won't be lonely without them.  Sarah hitched a ride with them, and I went to sleep after taking a shower.  The next morning, Sam drove me back to the Albany bus station, where I took the 10:45 back to Ithaca.  My Mother picked me up from the station, in the middle of a rainstorm.  Welcome back to Ithaca!

Very many thanks to all of my friends who made this journey as fun as it was.  It's really great to get out of Ithaca!  For those of you still wondering, there is increasing delay in my plans to leave early for Israel, and I may end up not leaving before the end of August, just in time for my program with Oranim in Ramle-Lod to begin.  Also, if anyone who happens to read this know of any kibbutz, yeshiva, or any other program that is open and welcoming to Americans in the month of August, please let me know: I really would like an opportunity to immerse myself in Hebrew, and improve my speaking abilities, before my job officially begins.

~JD

Andrew and Allison's Wedding

After a returning home from my term at Drisha, and spending the weekend back in Ithaca, I flew to Cincinnati, Ohio on Tuesday, June 2nd.  For those of you (i.e. Harry) interested in what I read in public transportation, in the past few weeks at Drisha, I finally put Locke to rest, read John Stuart Mill's Utilitarianism in a few days (it was great), and since tried working my way through William James's Varieties of Religious Experience -- a somewhat dated classic.  I kept on reading James on the plane rides from Ithaca to Philadelphia, and then from Philadelphia to Cincinnati.  I also had the wonderful experience of texting Judy while in the Philadelphia airport, in order to let her know that I was in the vicinity of her family.

I've never been to Cincinnati before.  Andrew and Allison picked me up at the airport, along with Allison's bridesmaid and friend from Westchester, Amanda.  The drive from the airport gives a good view of the city, at a point aptly referred to as the cut-in-the-hill.  The last time I saw Andrew and Allison was during my graduation   Andrew dropped me off at the hotel where my family planned to stay.  I realized that my parents wouldn't arrive for a few hours, and made a somewhat silly error in asking the hotel clerk where I could find a grocery store.  Apparently, downtown Cincinnati is something of a food desert, a region where it's difficult to find fresh produce, and the directions I received sent me on a wild goose chase across the Ohio River that the clerk claimed would only last 20 minutes; I turned around after forty.  Although it was stupid to walk around Cincinnati at dusk (I didn't know this, the safer neighborhoods of New York City, Boston, and Paris being the extent of my Metropolitan experience), I got a good view of the city.  My walk took my right past the baseball stadium where the Cincinnati Reds play, and fireworks were launched as I passed by -- apparently the sign of a home run.  I made it back to the corner of Vine and Sixth without being mugged or assaulted, thank goodness.

Wednesday morning, Andrew and Allison, members of Allison's nuclear family (she has three older brothers: Craig, Eric, and Brian), my parents and I all met for coffee together.  The cafe felt like Gimme!, only transported to downtown Cincinnati.  While my Father brought the Volvo to be repaired, my Mother and I returned to our hotel, where I wrote a few postcards and a letter.  As I was walking to the post office around the corner to purchase stamps, my brother Sam arrived from the airport.  Sam and I played chess without finishing the game (he was ahead in position, though, with no pieces captured).  We got lunch together, and while we were discussing certain brotherly issues, I missed out on a run around the neighborhood with Andrew and Allison.  Later that afternoon, we visited Andrew and Allison's apartment (note well: clean, well-lighted place) for a rehearsal of the wedding ceremony the next day, including the recitation of the seven blessings that we recited to and for them at the ceremony.  Each of the groomsmen was paired up with one of the bridesmaids.  I was paired with Allison's longtime friend -- Allison Davis.  No, that is not a typo; the bridesmaid with whom I walked has the same maiden name as my now-sister-in-law.  Allison Davis is a lot of fun -- very non-intimidating -- and we did our best to keep step with each other.  After that, Andrew and Allison took the whole wedding party out to dinner at an Italian restaurant.  I got to know the other groomsmen -- Andrew's Cincinnati friends Dan and Mike -- better, as well as Allison's two cousins.  Andrew and Allison were working hard to speak with and sit down with absolutely everyone present, probably numbering in the twenties.  They did a great job.  Andrew and I shared (Harry, I hope you read this) an oatmeal stout with chocolate flavor, of all things.  The whole party was quite happy, but a little tipsy.  After dinner, the whole party went next-door to a low-key bar (got in with my NY driver's license), where we met many of the rest of the relatives attending the wedding, who hadn't been at the restaurant with us!  I was incredibly excited to see my maternal and paternal aunts and uncles and cousins, whom I hadn't seen literally in a few years; my time in Israel and France has kept me away from any real opportunity to see the rest of my family.  I'm fairly certain that April, 2011 was the last time I was with my Father's side of the family, for instance, and it has been even longer since I've seen my Mother's family.

Thursday morning, the day of the wedding, began -- with rain.  It was just a light sprinkling, so it didn't cancel the morning 5k Fun Run that Andrew and Allison had planned.  All four of our Silver Spring cousins participated.  I was in Paris during Eli's Bar Mitzvah, and it was wonderful to see them all.  All of them have grown (of course), although Hannah still uses the same sentence structure.  As we were leaving from the starting line, the hotel where most of the wedding party was staying, my Aunt Debbie, my father's sister, arrived; I waved to her, and she pointed to me, saying "he's going to win!"  The landmarks on the run included a well-known Cincinnati steakhouse, the Reds' baseball stadium, the Purple People Bridge, a very unusual-looking building on the south bank of the Ohio River, and the Cincinnati Smale Park.  The first time I got lost was when I climbed up a stairway that I though would lead onto the Purple People Bridge, but only lead to an outlook -- a fancy name for a dead end.  I wasn't the only one getting turned around, though: on the southern bank of the river, I found the other runners ahead of me actually running back towards me!  With a map, and by staying close together, we somehow managed to avoid being separated.  I was incredibly impressed with how good a runner Eli is becoming, seeing as he's not yet fifteen, and hadn't run for a few weeks prior to the Fun Run.  I'm not much faster than I am; I look forward to being trounced by him at the next race, or the next, or the next.  Speaking of trouncing, I'm not entirely certain who won -- I charged ahead as I thought we were approaching our goal, and so someone else presumably made it to the finish line before I did.  Oh, well -- it was a Fun Run, after all.  After the run, I changed into my suit, so that I wouldn't be caught off-guard and unprepared.  Given the amount of time that it took me to tie my tie properly, I'm glad that I did, and although I ended up needing to re-tie it at the last moment, I wouldn't have been able to properly if I hadn't already had the thing tied.  Soon after, someone lost a bow tie, and the Super Davis Bros. needed to find it.  Luckily, Sam had the bright idea of asking at the front desk if such a bow tie had been lost, and, sure enough, that's where I found it.  It was my job to distribute neckties to the groomsmen, and corsages to everyone who needed them.  I found myself running around on various errands, re-shaving to make certain that all of the stubble was removed from my cheeks, and generally wearing myself out.  We ended up delaying the wedding photoshoot until after we arrived at the wedding site, due to rain.  In the midst of the craziness, I sat down, and fell sound asleep for around an hour.  Soon after, it was time for the wedding bus to leave.  We rounded everyone up from the hotels, also dropping by Allison and Andrew's apartment to pick up the flowers.  Sam did a great job ferrying people to and from the bus with an umbrella.  On the bus, I handed Amanda, Allison's maid of honor, some notes on visiting Paris; recommended sites, etc., taken mostly from my memories recorded back in the earliest months of this blog.

The wedding site was just across the border, in Kentucky.  It was raining hard, reminding me of the flash floods that occurred the first time that I was in Israel, near the Dead Sea.  We took the wedding photos as quickly as possible.  I realize that this was probably the first time that I've played such an active role in a wedding -- ordinarily, I'm just a second cousin, or the son of a first cousin, or something like this.  The photographer was not Sarah, nor was she Marissa, but, hey, she did her job quite well and efficiently.  Andrew and Allison successively signed their Kentucky marriage license and their Ketubah.  Andrew's Hebrew name is אָדָם, of course, and Allison had chosen אֲבִיָּה as her Hebrew name, for personal reasons.  In Tanakh, interestingly enough, the name Aviyah is both a man's and woman's name, and is the name of the mother of Chizkiyahu (see II Chronicles 29:1; cf. II Kings 18:2, where her name is given as "Avi"), one of the most sympathetic kings of Judea in Biblical history, and the king responsible for repelling the Assyrians who destroyed the northern kingdom of Israel.  The Ketubah and marriage license signed and witnessed, everyone drank champagne, and we realized that the other guests were beginning to arrive.  Furthermore -- the fog was beginning to lift.  Before long, we could see the skyscape of Cincinnati.  For those of you keeping track of the date -- yes, there were going to be fireworks later, as it was the Fourth of July.

Soon after, the wedding ceremony itself was performed.  That meant everyone walking down the aisle, and my not tripping, or making Allison Davis trip.  Somehow I pulled that off.  My brother Sam was Andrew's best man, and Allison's brother Craig escorted her down the aisle.  Unfortunately, because I'm me, whenever I hear the wedding march music, I think about conjugating the verb aller in French, because that tune was the mnemonic device my Madame Bowman chose -- seven years ago.  My Mother had made Allison's veil, and (no need for Beit Hillel's teaching from Ketubot 16b-17a) Allison really is gorgeous.  Absolutely.  Since then, I've looked back at photographs, and, yes, wow was the appropriate response.  That aside, Andrew recited the formula "harei, at mekudeshet li b'tabat zu k'dat Moshe v'Yisrael," and Allison responded "harei, atah mekudash li b'tabat zu k'dat Moshe v'Yisrael."  We all recited the seven blessings; I spoke sixth, and Sam, seventh.  Allison's mother Marge also spoke -- she's an English teacher, and therefore got to quote poetry.  We, the groomsmen and bridesmaids, got back in line, and receded out; Andrew and Allison got their privacy, and I ran off to see my family members.

I spoke to a lot of members of my extended family.  On my Mother's side, I saw my Aunt Annie and Uncle John, my Aunt Susie, and my cousin Mary, and on my Father's side, I saw my Uncle Bobby and Aunt Lisa and their children Rachel, Eli, Sara, and Hannah, my Aunt Debbie and cousins Donna and Jessica (whom I haven't seen in an incredibly long time), Buddy and Dina, Jay and Karen, Ira and Gina, and Peter.  I also found that I could get all the tonic water I wanted, gin included, at the open bar, and used it as an opportunity to expound upon the salubrious effects of quinine to my younger cousins.  I was really excited to hear about all of the sports and other activities that my younger cousins are interested in.  Rachel is leaning towards medicine, it looks like, which is exciting.  Sara enjoys science and is playing field hockey, and Eli is running Track, and will soon join Cross-Country.  Hannah loves talking and telling stories, and was incredibly excited to dance with me.  Sam and I then jointly delivered the first of a series of seven speeches.  Sam did a great job writing; I've never seen anyone write a speech on an excel document before, but he used it to organize themes and ideas to great effect.  We talked about Andrew's readiness in giving advice and informed opinions, the extent that he will go to help people out, give them all the information that he can offer, because he really loves helping people.  He also understands political and social issues much better than most people, and has a very particular way of speaking -- here Sam brought in the business-speak jokes: "If this bagel were our client, what would it have to say about our cream cheese service?"  However, for all of his sophistication and knowledge of good food and good food etiquette, at home, Andrew really just enjoys eating Cheerios, while instructing Sam or me how to play The Legend of Zelda better.  After our speech, quite a few people congratulated us both, telling us that we were a riot.  Sam came up with the best lines, organized everything, and delivered all of the difficult lines; I'm really glad that I had him to rely on.

Amanda, Allison Davis, Allison's three brothers Brian, Eric, and Craig, and, finally, my parents, gave their speeches after ours.  My parents had a great act where my Dad explained all of the things that he had wanted to use as analogies for the wedding experience -- baseball, Alfred Hitchcock movies, etc. -- and explained that my mother would not allow him to include them, as he did so tearing up the paper that purportedly contained the speech.  Then my Mother gave a few words of encouragement, we all danced the Hora.  Although the live band did a fine job, I think that the wedding guests need to practice their Havah Negilah a little bit.  I danced next to Sam's friend Sara, whom I met for the first time at this wedding, and whom I think my entire family likes very much.  The dance floor remained open.  I tried to dance with as many of my relatives as I could -- when you're around your extended family as little as I am on account of being overseas (I'm going to miss the next Bat Mitzvah, too), you really try to participate as much as you can.  Later in the evening, fireworks were fired from the city, of which we had a brilliant view: the fog had entirely cleared, although the evening remained cool.

Everyone still in town the next morning, Friday, had brunch together the next morning.  I sat with my Aunt Annie, and talked about teaching with her.  She is a science teacher in Massachusetts, and offered me advice, because she know that I'm interested in becoming a teacher.  It was at this point that Sam pointed out how, for the first time, both sides of our family -- the Davis side and the Seaton side -- were intermingling, because, after all of the B'nei Mitzvot, they all know each other more or less, but they don't really know Allison's family.  Likewise, when Andrew and Allison have a child who gets married, I guess that my parents and Sam and I will by that point know Allison's family well enough to socialize with them easily, but not know the "other" side of the family as well.  Soy milk and fruit for breakfast -- it felt good after the wedding food.  I also received my graduation present from the Silver Spring branch of my family: The Hare with Amber Eyes, by Edmund de Waal.  It's a family history, and really a history of Europe starting in the belle epoque, told through the take of a collection of netsuki, small Japanese wooden sculptures.  For a good chunk of the afternoon, I took a walk along the Ohio with my Mother, her two twin sisters Annie and Susie, and my Uncle John.  We had a plan to take short boat tour down the river, but changed our minds.  We took a very similar route to that of the Fun Run, including a passage over the Purple People Bridge.  I ended up in a Barnes and Noble, reading Chekhov -- it's funny how these things work out, isn't it?  We had a leisurely walk back along the river, and I talked a lot about my international experiences.  Back at the hotel, I learned that, no, I could not light candles anywhere inside, according to the management.  Oh, well.  I the first 20 pages or so of The Hare with Amber Eyes, then left for the Reds game.

If you're a sports fan, you're going to be very disappointed with my reporting of the game.  In my defense, though, this was my first Major League game ever, and I wasn't really in a position to score the game, as some of my family members were.  During the national anthem, I expected everyone else to scream "red" like I did, but, no, it seems that this is only a Big Red tradition, not a Reds tradition.  The Reds were playing the Seattle Mariners: for those of you not super-attuned, the Reds are a National League team, and the Mariners are an American League team; this is an example of interleague play, but because it was played at a National League stadium, the pitchers of both teams needed to bat.  As expected, the Mariners pitchers always struck out (as my Dad said, they probably hadn't been at bat since college).  I was not expecting two triples in one game, by #5 on the Mariners.  The crowd favorite seems to be outfielder Shin-Soo Choo; the in-field camera flashed a lot of shots of people at the stadium holding up signs supporting him, some in English, some in Korean.  When he got a double to drive in the first run for Cincinnati, the crowd went nuts. The nine innings passed relatively quickly, in under three hours.  Something I never realized from the fragments of baseball that I see on television is how many non-baseball-related events are taking place in the stadium.  In addition to the concessions, and the poor people lugging them through the stadium, between every inning, there is some trivia game or on-site interview flashed on the large screen in the stadium.  Branding is all over the place; I think that I saw more logos and advertisements live at the game than I would have if I had only watched the game on television.  In spite of all of the commercialism, the game was exciting (the Mariners won), and a fireworks show followed soon afterwards.  Leaving the game was also a memorable event: the stoplights near the stadium hold on red for long periods of time, so that pedestrians leaving the game can safely cross -- for traffic, this effect must be worse than that on CU campus when students are changing classes.  My family tried to think of everything we could remember about ancient Persia for Sam's friend Sara, who is Iranian.  There was an after-party at Andrew's apartment, on his roof, including all of the drinks that had survived the wedding celebration.  I think Andrew's friend Dan is forever going to remember me for climbing go the top of the building without using the elevator (it was Friday night).

Saturday was rainy and uneventful.  Sunday morning, the remnants met for coffee and breakfast again, and, afterwards, Donna drove Sam and me back to the Cincinnati airport, and I flew back to Ithaca by way of Philadelphia, reading the next hundred and fifty or so pages of The Hare with Amber Eyes.

Bottom line: it was an awesome wedding, and I'm extremely happy to have Allison in my family now.  I hope that everyone else at Andrew and Allison's wedding enjoyed themselves as much as I did.


~JD

Final Week at Drisha

            Hey cool people!  Sorry about being so late to complete and publish this post!  It's somewhat lacking in detail, due to the fact that I'm trying to recall events from several weeks ago, missing most of my notes.  Josh Mitrani, thank you for cheering me on in this effort, and motivating me to finish (eventually).

            On Monday, I was up at 5:45 am to catch the 6:57 am train, and I met Raymond and Hannah on my walk from Penn Station to Drisha.  Aaron was not present in class that day, but had left the class with several recordings of himself explaining the lesson (for the last time).  For Kavod Hamet afternoon seder, Jon had arranged to have a visiting speaker, who discussed his work as a hospital chaplain. Class was out at 5:00, although I ended up staying a little bit longer than usual to discuss the end-of-term celebration with the planners, Ariel, Fiona, and Shoshana.  It was also Raphi's last day, and I heard him play guitar for the last time.  He's quite good, as I've mentioned before.  Rachel and I had our regular chevruta in the evening, beginning Sefer Malachi.

            On Tuesday, I was up at 4:50 am, caught the 5:40 am train to New York Penn Station, and had a very pleasant walk to Drisha Institute.  It was the fast day of the 17th of Tammuz, so I spent the day slightly mentally disconnected from my surroundings, struggling to stay in touch.  Yaffe taught the early morning shiur on keriat shema, focusing on the berachot before the evening shema.  Aaron was with us for the full length of the morning lesson that morning, but not before I had taken the opportunity to write dinosaur jokes all over the white board (Sarah Cohen became sworn to be my mortal enemy in the process, because she had drawn the Tyrannosaurus on the board in the first place, that had instigated all of my jokes).  In the morning seder, we continued to read 47b and 48a, in the middle of a sugya.  There was a debate revolving around an Amoraic dispute between Rava and Abayye, which began with a simple disagreement over the following question: if one weaves a garments, and designates them as shrouds for a corpse, can one change one's mind and benefit from them?  The Gemara turned this specific debate into a much greater disagreement, regarding whether or not designating items for a particular purpose is capable of changing their legal status.  The sentence structure was repetitive, and the vocabulary was fairly simple (it was mostly in Hebrew, without any obscure Aramaic words).  We also explored the Rif on this same passage, which was my first time encountering this work.  Yitzchak al-Fasi essentially re-wrote the Gemara, eliminating the sections that lacking legal relevance, and omitting the sections that were no longer relevant after the diaspora.  He was part of the school of Sepharadi simplifiers, including Maimonides, who tried to make the material of the Talmud more concise as a straightforward legal document.  I now know why Eli thinks that he's so amazing -- he really does cut out so much of the debate in the Talmud!  Talmud class ended fairly early, because we had another speaker who does social work in New York City address Drisha as a whole.  During Mishnah class, Talia needed to leave early to attend a wedding (there seem to have been an awful lot of weddings, recently), but we completed chapters 8 and 9 of Sanhedrin together, albeit fairly quickly.  Mostly words we'd seen before, so nothing too difficult or new.  Eli stopped by in the evening, and we got in a fierce debate over something, and found ourselves arguing over the Guide for the Perplexed; very typical, really (someone took a photo of us, which is actually the only online photo of me at Drisha).  Afterwards, Devorah gave her last Yavneh aggada class, describing the death of Rabbi Eliezer, which is found in the mishnah about Rabbi Akiva's opinions on cucumber-gathering (Sanhedrin 7:11, for those interested)  Again, Devorah just has a way of reading and analyzing tropes and themes in aggadah that I wouldn't recognize, even if I could read these stories without help.

            Wednesday was the last full day of class at Drisha.  In the morning, with Aaron, we began to wind down, reading the Talmud's discussion of the Yo'av narrative.  In the afternoon, we had our last Kavod Hamet class, and discussed the speaker from Monday, as well as the themes we had touched upon from the beginning of the class.  As I've said before, this class was really an excellent experience for me, not least because my chevruta Ranana is awesome (and I finally get to see her brother Elliot, who is back in rainy Ithaca).  Speaking of Elliot, his Rosh Yeshiva, who is also Mati's Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Bigman, visited Drisha.  Before giving a general talk in Drisha's weekly series on meta-Halakhah, he had a one-hour question-and-answer session with the students and instructors.  Raymond asked him some intelligent questions on the subject of agunot – women whose husbands refuse to issue them divorce documents – the hot topic of this Drisha term.  Ranana and I also asked about a question that had come up in Talmud class about halakhic methodology, namely why some codifiers decide that a certain Talmudic passage has legal implications, while others do not.  Rav Bigman is smart, socially aware, and very Israeli. 

            Thursday was my last class at Drisha.  With Aaron, my Talmud class read straight to the end of the chapter, finishing the discussion of the death of Yo'av, and its connection to the very beginning of the chapter, discussing the topic of where the court carries out death penalties.  Aaron brought an incredibly interesting argument among the Rishonim, between Maimonides and the Ran, about the source of authority of the court in Jewish law.  Spending so much time with people like Eli, Isaac, and Aaron Levy, it never occurred to me that the court was anything but the source of legitimate authority established by the Torah; this, anyway is the Maimonidean reading.  In the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides goes on and on about how the beit din can, in exceptional circumstances, go beyond its stated limits of power and do almost anything, even sentencing people without trial.  According to the Ran (14th-century Spain), however, the authority that the beit din has to carry out criminal sentences (cases other than family cases and dinei mammonot, monetary cases, in other words) is only granted by the permission of the king, what we would now call the secular state.  I don't know about you, but I think that this debate is fascinating.  In the afternoon, I was unfortunately detained while picking up my suit for Andrew's wedding, and, quite typically of me, missed the group picture taken at the end of term (I asked later to have it retaken, but many people had already left Drisha by that point).  I joined a sex-bura (six-person learning circle; don't question Latin roots mixed with partial Hebrew roots) for the discussion of Mishnah Sanhedrin chapters 10 and 11.  When we came together afterwards to discuss the reading, we debated the correct ordering of these two chapters within tractate Sanhedrin.  The order of these chapters within the mishnah is reversed as the order in the Babylonian Talmud (at least the Vilna edition; the order in the Jerusalem Talmud is the same as that in the mishnah).  Yaffa made a very good argument for the correct, original order being that found in the mishnah.  Afterwards, while everyone else was beginning dinner, Aaron led his students who were interested through the remaining sections of our chapter of Sanhedrin.  In other words, we finished the chapter, which is really exciting!  I'm not certain if I could explain the ins and outs of every sugya, but, hey, I felt great!  Now I understand how happy my friends are whenever they finish a whole tractate together (♥ Ezra & Ben).  So the Drisha students had dinner together, for the last time (I went after the Greek salad, as usual).  Afterwards, spiel and awards.  The students wrote skits for the classes of all of the instructors except Rabbi Silber's.  Ariel, Fiona, Shoshana, and I had put together the spiel for Aaron's class, and, yes, I played Aaron.  Due to a shortage of males, Ariel and Isaac played each other, while Julie played Danielle, and Shoshana played Amy (Ariel brought the house down).   For those of you interested, I've posted below the videos made of the various spiels.  Full credit goes to the superb Fion♥ Gued♥li♥.  Everyone did a really fantastic job in the other spiels especially Aviva and Scott, and, although you there wasn't a video made of it, Lani, Meir, and Avi put on a great version of our   Afterwards, everyone received awards.  I was present for the decision-making process, which was almost as funny as the awards themselves.  Ariel and Fiona did not assign themselves awards, so Shoshana and I assigned Fiona the Pink Energizer Bunny Award for Most Energy, and Ariel the Qoheleth Award for Happiest Approach to Life.  They both totally deserved their awards; Ezra the award for Best Kugel-maker – somewhat less so.  (Does anyone have a full list of awards?  If so, I'd be more than happy to post them on my blog, so that everyone can be remembered for why they are special to the rest of us.)

            After the fun was over, I left from Drisha at around 9:30 pm, and boarded the 11:00 pm Shortline bus from Port Authority to Ithaca.  After the weekend, on Tuesday, I flew out to Andrew and Allison's wedding; read about that next post (if I ever manage to write it).

            Hey cool Drisha people, if you've read this, know that because of you, this June was one of the best months of my life.  I mean you as a group, but also you as an individual, reading this blog post.  Keep in touch, please.

~JD

Esther's Shiur: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VnHzWqprceA

Aaron's Shiur Part 1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GypoMGeJ_Ds&feature=youtu.be

Aaron's Shiur Part 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-xGN9dykGs

Jon's Shiur: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W2LCAWaqOJ4&feature=youtu.be

Ben-Zion's Shiur: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VVUmwN5JzQ&feature=youtu.be

Devora's Shiur: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8W7w5nwYPTk&feature=youtu.be

Interview Shpiel Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6TGK2UJeZ0&feature=youtu.be

Slideshow: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oMn39dDrpc8