“When Moses came down from Mount Sinai about 3,300 years ago, he couldn’t have seen these Jews coming,” charges Ms. Ravitz.

The article chronicles the unbridled and unfettered manner in which many young Jews today are observing and celebrating their faith and heritage, and it generally doesn’t have anything to do with shul, Israel, continuity concerns or paralyzing fears about anti-Semitism.

A few unconventional examples – Gen-X and Gen-Y Jews with tattoos featuring Stars of David and other Jewish icons and themes; women exchanging vows in a Jewish wedding ceremony; guys guzzling bottles of HE’BREW, The Chosen Beer; a PhD candidate who writes a letter condemning Israeli policies against Palestinians; a punk rock Jew who incorporates his religion into his music; and Roseanne Barr (who’s even older than me!) dressing up as Hitler, standing by an oven and serving burnt-Jew cookies in a Heeb magazine layout.

These “New Jews” tend to be sick and tired of the shuls and schools and the organizational alphabet games and the Holocaust/everything-Israel-does-is-great shtick, and all of the trappings of institutional Jewish life. They prefer an alternative, irreverent, sometimes even offensive take on their Jewishness, one that eschews the albatrosses of affiliation, tradition and rootedness.

I must admit, I certainly admire their impulse and desire for innovation and free-spiritedness. I, too, get tired of the vapid formality, endless rigidity and pervasive myopia of American Jewish life. I especially like the alternatives sprouting up – particularly in New York – where independent prayer groups for the spiritually hungry and adventurous are giving the mega-shuls a good run for their money (and yes, those mega-shuls sure like their money).

But with all due respect to Ms. Ravitz, I must also take it all in with a great big yawn. Because frankly, there’s not much “new” here, despite some catchy, newly-minted phrases like “Emergent Jews” and “the New Jews.”

Obviously, the old model isn’t working very well. There’s no argument about that. Young folks are bored, and so are most of the rest of us. We all seem to be going through the motions, and that’s across the denominational board. The stats back this up.

OK, yes, Hebrew school was dreadfully tedious. But let’s stop whining about it and try to make it better for our kids. Did our Jewish lives basically stop at 13 or 14?

I’m all for making Jewish life accessible, fun, creative and meaningful. I think we have to, simply for survival. And I don’t think that historical miscarriages of justice and continuity fears are going to inspire the troops. In addition, as important as it is, I don’t think a Judaism inspired and executed solely by social justice programming will do the trick (the Reform movement learned that lesson years ago).

Obviously, we need to employ the wonders of technology (the Internet, Facebook, Twitter and such) to reach out and really connect with the new and upcoming generations.

But I don’t think joking around about the horrors of the Holocaust, castigating Israel on a frequent basis or wearing T-shirts with amusing, caustic messages (“Kiss me, I’m A Christ Killer”) will make anyone feel more Jewish. It’s just something to laugh about, not anything with a profound meaning to help anyone figure out what being Jewish is all about.

Granted, all this stuff might make you feel hip. Tattoos do look cool, and seeing Roseanne with a Hitler mustache might be comical or cutting edge in some people’s eyes. But in the long run, it won’t make you really feel Jewish or understand Judaism. There needs to be some substance involved, too, and I strongly suspect that the “New Jews” will learn that eventually as well.

I must admit, I didn’t see too many “black hats” in the crowd—not a shocker since Rabbi Loeb always wore his liberal views on his sleeve, thus becoming the embodiment of everything that’s wrong with left-of-center Judaism to some frum folks.

But I did see people there from across the denominational and congregational divides, demonstrating how well-respected Rabbi Loeb was among his fellow Jews (and non-Jews, since I noticed a number of Christian clergy there as well).

Among those in attendance was Rabbi Jacob A. Max, the former rabbi emeritus of Moses Montefiore Anshe Emunah (MMAE) Hebrew Congregation, a shul still known fondly in some circles as Liberty Jewish Center. As you likely know, Rabbi Max, 85, was convicted last April of molesting an employee at the Sol Levinson & Bros. funeral home. In subsequent BALTIMORE JEWISH TIMES articles, other women came forward with their stories of inappropriate and indecent behavior toward them allegedly exhibited by Rabbi Max over the years. (No need to go into the gory details again.)

Since then, Rabbi Max has resigned from the Baltimore Board of Rabbis, shortly before they voted to discontinue his membership, and MMAE decided to suspend his title as rabbi emeritus and remove a polished stone bearing his name and proclaiming their campus in his honor.

All in all, it’s quite a fall from grace.

But there he was, at Rabbi Loeb’s funeral, looking well and smiling broadly. It’s a smile I know well. Rabbi Max officiated at my wedding and the wedding of parents in 1961, back when Liberty Jewish Center was located on Marmon Avenue in Howard Park. He was there for all of our family life-cycle events (save for my bar mitzvah), and he was always a source of great comfort and warmth to us.

Now, of course, I view this cordial, gregarious man with admittedly mixed feelings. At Beth El, to my surprise, Rabbi Max was greeted quite warmly by others in the audience. He was sitting only a few rows ahead of me, so I watched closely. (Couldn’t help it.)

At one point during the funeral, Rabbi Max got up and walked out of the sanctuary for a few minutes. While he walked up the aisle, one man arose, offered a handshake and hugged the rabbi. Others smiled, nodded and waved at him.

Is all forgiven? Has the community moved on and granted teshuvah for this man who, according to the American legal system, did something wrongful to a woman, something I think most of us would agree is not terribly rabbinical?

I couldn’t help but notice that most of those people who were pleasant to Rabbi Max at the funeral were older. Maybe it’s a generational thing. Maybe senior citizens don’t get all the fuss about sexual molestation, or are a little more forgiving and understanding than the younger set.

Maybe we just don’t want to deal with the whole odious matter anymore, so we say, “Let’s go forward, he made a mistake.” Or maybe people wanted to just let him mourn his friend, Rabbi Loeb, without bringing anything ugly into the equation – “It’s not the proper place.”

A day after the funeral, I chatted with a friend who works at a local synagogue about this subject. My main feeling was that I felt a sense of shock and maybe a grudging admiration for Rabbi Max’s (there’s no other word for it) chutzpah about showing his face in public, no less at a mega-shul holding a major communal event.

Me, I’d be in Nome, Alaska, where no one knows me. (Seals don’t know from molestation convictions.)

My friend explained that Rabbi Max ain’t the type to run off to Nome and hide. After all, he does come from the generation that kicked Hitler’s and Mussolini’s butts.

“He’s got a point to make,” said my pal. “He wants to show his face and be out there. He feels he has nothing to hide, did nothing wrong, and wants the world to see him smiling. He’s in denial about his problem, so he goes out there and does his thing. That’s just the way guys like him are, that’s how they’re built.”

I’m not sure whether that’s true or not, but when you see such stubborn chutzpah in action, it does take your breath away. And I couldn’t help but think of those women who say their lives have been greatly marred by Rabbi Max’s alleged behavior over the past decades and the community leaders and members who turned their eyes away and made excuses for him. I wonder how these women would feel about seeing him there, smiling and laughing and schmoozing.

But then again, he has been punished, in a court of law and, worse yet, in the public eye. And my guess is that in his most private of moments, he beats himself up pretty good as well.

Everyone has a favorite Rabbi Loeb story or two. Let me share two of mine.

When I first came to the Jewish Times, my old boss, Gary Rosenblatt, suggested that I make appointments with local rabbis and learn about their congregations. One of the first rabbis I touched base with was Mark Loeb. I remember meeting him at his office at Beth El. We schmoozed for a little while, and then I asked him if I could take him to lunch. He said sure.

We got into his big, shiny car – which had a car phone, the first time I’d ever seen one of those – and started driving. “Where do you want to go?” he asked me. I suggested a couple of kosher establishments, since I figured he was a rabbi and kept kashrut.

Rabbi Loeb studied me for a moment and asked if I keep kosher. “No sir,” I replied. In not terribly gentle language, he chided me for assuming that he kept kosher and insisted that we would dine that afternoon at Linwood’s, and that “it’s on me.” We proceeded to have a great meal, and all of the staff at one point or another dropped by to say hello to the rabbi.

That was my initiation.

My other story: my mother had an old friend who passed away suddenly about a dozen years ago. The woman had a fleeting, peripheral relationship with Beth El.

While sitting with my mother at Sol Levinson & Bros. shortly before the funeral service, I heard someone going, “Psssst, psssst!” Looking around, I spotted a frantic Rabbi Loeb, who was gesturing for me to come over to the doorway where he was standing. I said hello to him, shook his hand and asked how he was doing, but he simply waved off all pleasantries.

“Look,” he said, staring hard into my eyes, “did you know this woman – the deceased—at all?!” I responded that I did know her a little bit, that she was a family friend, and he explained that getting the woman’s family to give him biographical and personal information about her for the eulogy was like extracting molars. He didn’t know her at all, and they didn’t seem to either, he said, exasperated.

I offered a few pieces of general, seemingly worthless information – that she liked to shop, she loved her grandkids, she was a bit of an eccentric, she enjoyed playing the slots in Atlantic City – and then the good rabbi said, “OK, OK,” and basically told me to beat it. I couldn’t imagine what kind of eulogy he could proffer from my scant tidbits.

Of course, he gave an absolutely stunning eulogy in which you felt that he knew the deceased quite well and made you feel the loss of this unique human being. It was a mesmerizing performance, one that made my jaw drop, and you felt you were in the presence of a master rabbi, one who could always rise to the occasion and comfort those in need. That’s a gift.

Rabbi Loeb was a no-nonsense guy who didn’t suffer fools or foolish behavior and thinking well, but he always had a smile and a kind word for me (unless I was being foolish, of course). He said what he thought, in his own inimitable style, and didn’t worry about how he would be judged by others.

There aren’t many like Mark Loeb, and I know there will be many of us who will miss him a great deal. As my friend Gilbert Sandler said to me today, after learning of Rabbi Loeb’s passing, “He was a commanding presence.”

I think we can all say Amen to that.

Since the late night talk show host made his dramatic confession on TV last week that he was being blackmailed for $2 million for having numerous affairs with female employees, I’ve been talking to different people about Letterman. It seems like everyone basically wants to give Dave a free pass because a) well, he’s Dave, and just about everyone likes Dave, b) we all hate extortionists, and c) we’re all pretty sick of these silly sex scandals.

Blackmail is wrong, no doubt about it. And it certainly sounds like Robert “Joe” Halderman, the Emmy Award-winning “48 Hours Mystery” producer who was arrested for the alleged extortion plot, is a real piece of work.

But that doesn’t mean Dave should completely get off the hook. After all, this is a guy who has been more than comfortable taking potshots at peccadillo-prone politicians and actors in his monologues and Top Ten lists for decades. And then he’s fooling around with his female employees? The people for whom he signs their checks? The folks who would likely give their eyeteeth to work for a major celebrity like David Letterman? (Dave reportedly even kept a secret bedroom at his studio for his trysts.)

One friend said to me over the weekend, “Can you blame him? It’s good to be king. Why not? Who cares if he was their boss? He wasn’t married at the time, and he’s David Letterman. More power to him. Anyone would do what he did. They’d be crazy not to.”

Another person said to me, “Why was it unprofessional or unethical? Lots of people sleep with their bosses. It’s nothing new, older than the hills. David Letterman is a very powerful man, a celebrity. He didn’t do anything wrong. No one has ever filed a sexual assault or harassment complaint against him. These women knew what they were doing. It was consensual. He was just being a guy.”

This was the reaction (believe it or not) from Kim Gandy, former president of the National Organization for Women: “I don’t really care who someone sleeps with, as long as it’s not coerced and as long as there’s not some explicit or implicit promise of favors or the like. It’s another adult—it’s not a minor. If that’s all it is, he’s a single guy and he had a fling.”

Meanwhile, one CBS insider praised Letterman’s attitude toward women on the set. “I’ve worked in a lot of places, and [`Late Show’] is one of the better places for a woman,” the insider told Fox News. “Dave’s not a groper.” (How noble.)

In general, the reaction from the public has been muted and uncharacteristically forgiving. The comic geniuses at “Saturday Night Live” barely touched the Letterman mess last weekend, and it appears that Dave’s advertisers and viewers are sticking by him.

I don’t want to sound like a choirboy here, but something’s not kosher. I know that employers have flings with their employees from time to time. But this certainly sounds like more than simply a little misguided moment due to an affair of the heart. It sounds like someone having a real pattern of taking advantage of a situation because of his celebrity, influence and prestige. In some circles, that’s known as an abuse of power.

Certainly, it wasn’t illegal. And Dave admitted that what he did was “creepy” and “terrible.” But still, something feels wrong here. I guess I just expected more of Dave. And maybe of the rest of us.

Of course, if I was indeed a Luddite, you wouldn’t be reading this since I wouldn’t be using a computer and writing a blog. Nor would I have a cell phone, TV, washing machine, electric shaver or telephone answering machine.

I’d actually make a lousy Luddite. My old Royal typewriter no longer works and is only for decoration, and there are no clotheslines flapping in the breeze in my backyard.

Technology often improves our lives greatly when used well, and one of the places I’ve seen that take place is in the synagogue. For instance, where I go to shul, there’s a TV monitor that greets visitors, informing us of the day’s scheduled activities (Torah study gatherings, service times, committee meetings, etc.). We also receive frequent helpful email blasts from synagogue and religious school staffers.

But on holidays and Shabbat—times when I believe all of the denominations agree that we need to escape the hustle and bustle of modern life (translation: all of those pesky cell phones, computers, voice-mails and TVs)—that Luddite component of my personality tends to surface.

During Rosh Hashanah this year, I occasionally noticed clusters of teenagers hanging in the synagogue hallways. I have no problem with it – been there, done that. I’ve heard some people call it “Hormone Alley.” Fine. At least they’re in shul.

But when I see some of these young people standing around and using their cell phones to call and text their pals, I know something’s broken here. And it’s not necessarily their fault. Who’s to blame? Perhaps their parents, rabbis and teachers who are simply not making it clear that using modern apparatus in shul on one of the holiest days of the year is just plain wrongheaded.

After all, they’re already with their friends, enjoying themselves and chatting up Katie Perry’s new CD or whatever. No one’s shoving their butts into services. Can’t they drop the cell phones and texting for just a day, or at least until they get home? Is national security really threatened if they leave their cell phones at home?

My wife reminded me of one time when we attended a friend’s adult bat mitzvah ceremony a few years ago. It was a very moving event, but one of the worshippers was talking on his cell phone during most of the service. Even when the times came in the service to stand up and recite the Amidah and other prayers, he simply stood up, with the phone seemingly congealed to his ear, and kept chatting away. Finally, at some point, a few congregants shushed him enough that he walked out of the sanctuary, to finish his phone conversation (which I’m willing to bet was pretty unnecessary and inane) in the hallway.

It all comes down to that one precious resource so woefully lacking in our world—sechel (common sense). But if you want to call me a Luddite, so be it.

You know these words. You’ve heard them more than a billion times. They’re seared into your brain at this point, like a mantra.

Today is Bruce Springsteen’s 60th birthday.

Yes, you read that right.

Sixty.

How can that be possible?

For nearly as long as I can remember, this man has provided so many of us with the guidelines and narratives of our lives – stories about those who get stepped on and beaten up by society (“Born In The USA,” “Atlantic City”), lessons about how to get through it all with grit and determination (“Badlands”), lamentations about life and loss (“The Rising”), the pain of love gone bad (“I’m Goin’ Down”), the perils of temptation (“I’m On Fire,” “Brilliant Disguise”), the price of familial dilemmas and moral responsibility (“Highway Patrolman,” The River,” “Independence Day”), the revelry of youth (“Spirit In The Night”) and the crippling fear of death (“Cadillac Ranch”), and the fading promise of America (“The Promised Land,” “City Of Ruins, “My Hometown”).

He might be just a rocker, a pop star, a media cultural image, but in so many ways, his ideas, thoughts, poetry and philosophies have impacted the way many of us look at life. For many, he’s been there every step of the way on our own journeys, as maudlin as that might sound, like a good rebbe. Even if we’re not all working-class kids from Jersey, he provided the soundtrack of our lives.

I remember years ago writing about my old high school classmate, Steven Oken, who was eventually executed by the State of Maryland for murdering three women. I must’ve played “Nebraska” a thousand times while putting that one together.

I doubt there’s any occasion for which a Springsteen song wouldn’t work. Even when you know someone on Death Row.

I also recall a friend who was going through some tough times with his marriage and his job. “You know,” he said, “sometimes when I get home from work, at 2 or 3 in the morning, feeling wiped out and lonely and really frustrated, I go over to the VCR and pop in Bruce’s `Live In New York’ video, and I always feel better.”

I knew exactly what he meant.

With all due respect to Mr. Dylan, Mr. Lennon and others, no one else has ever written songs like Springsteen with that kind of empathy and conscience, songs that touched people of my generation so profoundly and directly. And no one has ever performed with that kind of commitment, energy, intensity and dedication, before or since.

So I say to all of my fellow Springsteen fans out there, let’s raise a beer and say, “Happy birthday, Bruce, yom huledet samayach, and thanks for everything.”

Sixty. How did that happen?

Show a little faith.

When my wife replied that she liked Obama, the guy went into full-attack mode and started kvetching up a storm, “joking” that they’d be “serving chitlins in the White House” if he won and warning of the Democratic candidate’s wicked, wicked “socialist” ways. (And this was well before all of the boisterous health care town hall meetings.)

My wife tends to be laid back and has a capacity to grin and bear these kinds of older guys (she’s from the Midwest, after all), but the man’s son-in-law was having none of it. “Oh, come on!” the son-in-law said, interrupting his father-in-law’s harangue. “You just don’t like him because he’s black, plain and simple.”

When my quasi-relative appeared stunned, protested vehemently and said he didn’t have a racist bone in his body – something quite hard to stomach for anyone who’s heard the man use the term “schvartze” on countless occasions and say other things that would fall under the category of bigoted “thought” – the son-in-law couldn’t stop himself from countering, “Oh, come on! Please!!”

Of course, at that moment, the son-in-law became my hero.

And that brings me to Jimmy Carter, who is definitely not my hero. But ol’ Jimmy says much of the criticism directed toward President Obama these days is based on – you’ve got it—race. (By the way, that’s an assessment that the White House says Obama does not agree with.)

“I think that an overwhelming proportion of the intensely demonstrated animosity toward President Barack Obama is based on the fact that he is a black man, he’s African-American,” Carter told NBC television on Tuesday.

I hate to admit it, but Jimmy might be right.

I think we always have to be careful when using the race card when talking about, well, everything. It can be a very slippery slope. Not every time that President Obama is criticized is the result of racism, and there’s an inverted racism for liberals and others in coming to that conclusion automatically.

But I do think that Jimmy Carter – who has been so wrong in his analyses about the Middle East and other matters in recent years – is correct when he says that the specter of racism has permeated the recent overly harsh criticisms of Obama (i.e., Sen. Joe “You Lie” Wilson, the town hall meetings, the corporate bail-out condemnations, the controversy over merely telling students to work hard and stay in school).

How else do you explain this kind of rampant, white-hot vitriol and alarmism, the over-the-top hatred of this man (who by the way is a pretty likable guy) in such a short period of time? In only nine months, he’s been compared to Hitler, Che Guevera and Uncle Joe Stalin. We’re told he’s a commie, a liar, a dictator, a Nazi, an autocrat, a slick huckster – where does it end? Even presidents who got our boys and girls killed in wars that we still don’t comprehend never got treated with this kind of scorn and disrespect.

Maybe the other side of the political aisle just has a bad case of sour grapes, as has been suggested. No one likes to lose, and Sen. John McCain is undoubtedly an upstanding human being and a great patriot (but a lousy candidate). But sorry, there’s more going on here than simply sore losers or political differences.

Look at this country’s racial legacy. And then look at the overwhelming bulk of the people clamoring for Obama’s hide.

And then tell me Jimmy might not be right.

OK, now on a completely different note ...

Like many people weaned on the folk music of the ‘60s and ‘70s, I was greatly saddened to hear about Mary Travers’ passing this week, at age 72. Her group, Peter, Paul and Mary, were an inspiration to a lot of people for getting involved in social and political activism, and that will always be her legacy.

Mary’s death reminded me of two things. One of them had nothing to do with her, but I recalled once interviewing her Jewish bandmate, Peter Yarrow, as a cub reporter in the parking lot of the old Memorial Stadium.

Yarrow was one of the organizers of a “traveling rally” of activist tent-dwellers who were going from town to town for several months, to raise awareness and call on the powers of the world to ban nuclear weapons. In hindsight, the whole affair might sound a bit kooky, mawkish and crunchy-granola, but I was inspired by Yarrow and the hundreds of other activists there who were so committed to that cause (and to our children’s future) that they gave a chunk of their lives to it. That kind of activism, passion and selflessness just doesn’t seem to exist or resonate today.

The other thing I recall is how Mary Travers was so unceremoniously dumped from the performing lineup for the historic December 1987 rally in Washington for Soviet Jewry. The reason: organizers were warned that with Travers being a female, many traditional Jewish rally-goers wouldn’t show up because of restrictions against hearing women sing. The wind-up was the rally was a major success and helped usher in a new era, but Mary wasn’t there singing. (And I was there, looking for her.)

I understand the organizers’ sensitivities in this matter, but this was Mary Travers we’re talking about here, a person who among her many other human rights and social justice causes was a vocal and ardent supporter for the freedom of Soviet Jews. As I recall, Mary was reportedly pretty understanding about the whole thing, but it still bothers me to this day.

Mary Travers deserved better. May her memory (and legacy) always be a blessing.

The speech, which is to be live-streamed from the White House Web site, is President Obama’s manipulative attempt to push his legislative agenda, according to conservative commentators and “thinkers.”

(Boy, they were right all along! This guy really is a commie! He wants kids to stay in school!!)

Some conservatives have even called for parents to keep their kids at home that day – a “national truancy day” of sorts—so they won’t be “indoctrinated” by Obama’s nefarious message. And some schools have announced that they will not show the speech at all.

Obama’s opponents – who obviously taste blood after those health care town hall meetings created such a buzz out there and sent his poll numbers nose-diving – say the president’s education message is all propaganda.

“It’s historic in the sense that it’s unprecedented. They do this type of thing in North Korea and the former Soviet Union,” said Republican strategist and commentator Andrea Tantaros.

(North Korea?! The former Soviet Union!! The man’s just saying, “Stay in school and work hard.” Does that sound like the gulag to you?)

Florida GOP chairman Jim Greer wrote a letter to the White House, saying that students are being forced to watch Obama’s speech, and that it’s an abuse of power. (Just how boring does he think the speech will be?)

I’m sorry but there’s only word for all of this: lame. I can’t imagine if former President Bush wanted to speak to students about the value of education that it would have generated this kind of outcry from liberals and moderate Democrats.

Politics is one thing, but this is entering the Theatre of the Absurd. Conservatives need a better hook to hang their hats on.

That happened to me last weekend while intermittently watching on television the funeral service, procession and burial of Sen. Edward Moore Kennedy. As the commentators spoke about Senator Kennedy’s distinguished service to his country for nearly a half-century – and even touched on his ability to transform himself into a vessel of great compassion and high purpose, with a feeling for those not as fortunate as himself—I thought to myself, “Man, I would’ve loved to have met this guy, or at least to have been in his presence.”

And then, it dawned on me: I once was in his presence.

Cue up the flashback music. Back in ‘86, I was a young reporter covering the contentious congressional race in the Second District between Kathleen Kennedy Townsend, Maryland’s future lieutenant governor and Senator Kennedy’s niece, and Rep. Helen Delich Bentley. Ms. Bentley wound up shocking many of us, you may recall, by soundly defeating Ms. Townsend. (After all, beating a Kennedy doesn’t happen too often.)

As I remember, it was toward the end of Election Night at Townsend campaign headquarters, the votes had been tallied, and I leaned against a wall at the Towson Armory and put away my notepad. It was a long, tiring evening, and I still needed to come into the office that night (or maybe it was morning) to finish writing my share of the Election Night reporting. The speeches had all been delivered, and the crowd was thinning out. The Townsend supporters were fairly somber and broken-hearted.

But out of the corner of my eye, I happened to spot Senator Kennedy, standing alone (as I recall it), only a few footsteps away from me. He was smiling, calm and looked pretty much like he always did on TV – Uncle Teddy. He seemed lost in thought.

I tried to catch his eye, and even thought I’d pose a question or two. What the heck. I didn’t particularly relish the thought of asking him about his niece’s defeat, but how many chances do you get to interview the patriarch of political royalty, someone whose brother was a U.S. president and whose other brother served as attorney general and is an icon in his own right? Not to mention, Teddy Kennedy was the first politician for whom I ever cast a ballot, way, way back in the ’80 Democratic primary.

Alas, it wasn’t mean to be, as someone suddenly came over, grabbed Senator Kennedy’s arm and whisked him away.

Nonetheless, I can always say that I was in Ted Kennedy’s presence. And hopefully I won’t forget it this time. And even though he was always a lightning rod for conservatives out to crucify “bleeding-heart liberals,” I’ll always be proud that I cast my lot with him on the occasion of my first vote in the American democratic process.

I have to admit, my first impulse after seeing this bumper sticker was to drive around to the truck’s driver, roll down my window and yell, “Hey, moron, the South lost. It’s time to move on already, Einstein!” And in my younger years, I might’ve done so. (With youth comes a great deal of chutzpah and stupidity.) But I decided I wasn’t interested in endangering my life, so I just kept my mouth shut. When I drove by the guy a few minutes later, I did look at him rather dismissively, shook my head and sped by. I might’ve cut him off, too. (Old habits die hard.)

It’s been nearly 150 years since the start of the Civil War. It’s a fascinating part of our history. (Just ask Ken Burns.) But why won’t this thing go away?

To a degree, I understand Southerners’ need for preserving their legacy and heritage. I think I have a good understanding about why many people feel the war was not so much about slavery but about states’ rights and economic subjugation and such.

But how long can you hold onto something? Even I can’t hold a grudge that long! Especially because when all is said and done, we’re talking about owning human beings in a country that is supposedly founded on freedom and equality?

When I was in Louisiana a few years ago, a Baton Rouge native tried to explain it all to me. (Down there, they talk about the war like it was last month.) “We Southerners just never got over the war,” she said. “There was so much pain and anguish there. The cruelty and barbarism of the North is something we’ll never, ever forget. We just can’t. It’s in our DNA now.”

In your DNA? Secession? Maybe it’s just something a boy living in a Mid-Atlantic state and born to New York-bred parents can’t get. But to me, in an age when our president is African-American and our newest is Supreme Court justice is a Latina, talking about seceding from the Union seems about as archaic as gathering up rocks to toss in defense of stampeding dinosaurs.