Far from my field expertise for me to be talking about presidential politics.
But I find the current uproar over Democratic candidate Barak Obama and his (now former) spiritual leader, Pastor Wright to be very compelling.
If I may suggest, I think it is a good thing for the Barak campaign.
First, be it in sports, business, politics or most forms of life, the people who are on top are always the ones in the center of the target for their opponents. Sometimes those opponents turn out to be the one’s who know them the longest or the best.
How many crimes are committed against people by people who know them.
If your name is Barak Obama or the New York Yankees, get used to it, everyone’s going to be slinging negative your way.
The Obama camp, to its credit, disavowed its connection to Pastor Wright. But for the Obama camp, this should be looked at as a blessing.
If Obama was some last-place also ran like Al Sharpton,  nobody would care what his pastor said or for that matter what anyone else said. But the point is, he’s on top right now, and his campaign should maturely expect this sort of stuff. They should be surprised that it didn’t surface sooner. And who knows what could be next as we move closer to the Democratic convention.
Secondly, how Obama handles the Wright situation could tell us a great deal about what sort of president he might be. In a matter of months, he could be dealing with powerful people who have their finger on the trigger of nuclear weapons. If he can’t handle his pastor, how is he going to stand toe-to-toe with Putin and Achmadinijad and all of those wonderful stand-up guys the world has to offer?
Meanwhile, we’ve got gasoline prices that are threatening the core of a family’s income. We’ve got grocery prices that are escalating.
It’s not just about the gap between the rich and the poor rising, it’s the gap between the poor and those who can barely subsist that is now at issue.
Social workers would often say that if a poor person’s car broke down, the repair costs could financially disable a family. Now, we’re entering a time when the cost of filling a gas tank could disable that family.
And it’s not just some stereotypic version of a family you might have in mind. It could be you. It could be me. It could be your neighbor in zipcodes that read 21208 or 21117.
I’m sure the Associated, Ahavas Yisroel, JFS and other organizations dealing with the poor are taking a hard, long look at what is going on here.
So, let’s work on figuring out the strategies of our political candidates on how they will handle this economy, the future of fuel and food in this country and world.
There is not a black price for gasoline and a white price for gasoline that I know of. And there’s not a black price for a loaf of bread at the store and a white price for a loaf of bread. We’re paying the same prices, and Obama, no matter who officiated his marriage, if elected represents all Americans.
So while Pastor Wright gets his 15 minutes of fame, let him have it even though his timing was pretty suspect. If Barak Obama was running for president of the black United States like Al Sharpton seems to have done, then that one be one thing. And it would be the same “thing” that we experienced when the late Alabama governor and reknown racist George Wallace was running for president ostensibly of white America.
We’ve got to elect a president who is going to lead blacks, whites, Hispanics, Asians and all sorts of Americans in a world that is seems to be getting more and more hostile.
Pastor Wright will in the long-term be nothing more than a paragraph in a history book someday, if that.
That is if Barak can pass this test, this challenge and move forward in his debate with his opponents. And if he’s everything he’s said he is, than Pastor Wright just tossed him up a softball.

April 25, 2008 –

So here we are, approaching the final days of Pesach.
I can’t help but think of how it reminds me of the Ne’elah service of Yom Kippur.
Then, as the gates of heaven begin to close and the book of life is sealed, we have our final opportunity to ask for deep, heartfelt forgiveness.
On the final days of Pesach, we have spent these days contemplating the issues that enslave us. In two days many of us we’ll be running over to Tov Pizza or Dunkin Donuts to “break” the Passover.
But the truth is, we’ll hopefully have just left behind our own personal “Egypt” and we’ll be on the “other side” heading to a worthwhile summer of growth and good choices prior to Rosh Hashanah.
We’ll pray, we’ll eat our matzah, we’ll enjoy these final days.
And hopefully we’ll emerge as better, more compassionate people ready to change and overcome our challenges.
Have a Chag Sameach.
And really work at growth as we count the Omer leading into Shavuos.

All of us have demons that are difficult to shake.
One of mine happens to be a fear of heights, no let’s make that a fear of driving over water on bridges.
So, here it was that I had committed to give a speech at the Ed Hoffman, Josh Lewis Passover retreat at the Hyatt resort in Cambridge.
I wasn’t worried about the speech.
Was looking forward to meeting new people and old friends.
And, I couldn’t wait to eat one of the caterer’s meals. After all, these were the same people who had done such an incredible job catering my daughter’s wedding.
There was one obstacle, however, the Bay Bridge.
Yes, I’ve drive the bridge before.  No, I don’t love it.
Almost always, I have my wife or my daughters in the car with me to cheer me on.
And I have these rituals.
1. I need to have a discussion of complete substance to delve into. For example, what are the next five projects we want to do around the house?
2. What’s the next big cover story to work on.
3. Where should we vacation this summer?
This can’t be taken lightly. Knowing the date of my trip over the bridge, I start planning my mind games weeks in advance. And yes, the easy solution would be to have my wife drive over the bridge. Then I co into this whole defeatist discussion in my mind.
And driving over the Bay Bridge in the past, I’ve had the windows open, the windows shut, the sun visors pushed to the side. There are times when I hit the brake on the road, and say “I can’t do this.” But what am I going to do, get out of the car and walk back.
You think I’m joking, but this is what happens.
So here it was Tuesday, and I was totally psyched through my personal mind games to drive over the Bay Bridge. This time, it would be solo.
My wife offered to call me and help talk me through the trip. I said no, I didn’t want to be on the phone and on the bridge.
Important for me, I need constants, no surprises.
On Tuesday, there was congestion at the tool booths, not a good sign. There was one lane on the west bound side going east bound., I didn’t plan for that, so I waded into the gridlock of the right lanes. But then I found myself in an EZ Pass only lane. I didn’t have an EZ Pass. Finally, I got through to the booth, and raced into the right lane.
Then came the demons. They go something like this: “Do you realize how small you and your are on this huge bridge? Do you realize how high in the air you are? What is separating you from the water below? You’re committed now boy, there’s no way to turn it around.
Yes, I do have these crazy thoughts. Yes, I do think about stopping on the side of the bridge and cowering on the car floor. Why didn’t I just wait for an escort to drive me over the bridge?
Then, the traffic picks up an I get over the top. Then like layers, the anxieties decrease, and I find myself on the road to the bottom and the Eastern Shore itself.
Typically, on a week’s summer vacation, I won’t start worrying about the trip back on the three-lane west bound bridge til mid-week.
After speaking at the Passover celebration at the Hyatt, I had an amazing dinner thanks to my friends Eddie and Josh. Then I headed back.
I started my psyche out. I’d think about upcoming JT cover stories on the bridge. Then the bridge psyched me out. The westbound bridge was closed for maintenance and repair. The east bound bridge was divided into a lane for east and a lane for west. Great, why didn’t anyone call?
So, I white knuckled it across the span, playing mind volleyball and somehow getting over to the other side.
When I got to 97 North, I started thinking about our annual family vacation in Rehoboth Beach.
I can’t wait. It’s my favorite trip of the year.
And now I’ve got two months to start preparing…
For the ride over the Bridge.
My ancestors in escaping the Egyptians had to cross the Red Sea and the desert, I just have to get across a bridge.
I’ll start collecting stuff to think about for the summer.
Hmm, I wonder if I can name the starting lineup for the Orioles.

“It’s all reward and no risk,” – Murray Levin, survivor of sexual molestation.
I’ve quoted Murray many times through this year on his very astute description of child molesters.
Locally last month Israel Shapiro was slapped on the wrist with five years probation after taking an Alford plea in Baltimore City Circuit Court. The plea enables the defendant to accept the penalties of guilt without pleading guilty.
Shapiro is not on any molesters’ register. He has to serve 300 hours of community service and can’t be with anyone under the age of 18 unsupervised. He also had to pay restitution to one of his victims.
This week we learn that “Rabbi” Yehuda Kolko formerly of Yeshiva Torah Temimah in Brooklyn, N.Y. copped a guilty plea to lesser counts of child endangerment resulting in three years probation and no listing on the sex offenders register. He molested little boys in his trust.
When I got to work today, one of my first emails asked me “What is going on here?”
The band is just playing on.
Here we are on the eve of Pesach, and there is still so much chometz that needs to be cleaned out of Judaism. That someone such as Israel Shapiro or Yehuda Kolko can even sit at a Passover table this year and talk about freedom and affliction and the four sons seems such as a contradiction to the very message of the Haggadah.
Yet, they are protected, let off.
If they had taken a gun and shot these children, they’d be behind bars.
They molest them, they’re free to go.
If you are a molester, and you heard about Kolko’s plea bargain, you probably went out and had a celebration.
A year ago, the Baltimore Vaad released its letter condemning child molestation. And in the year since, precious little leadership has been shown by those who are called “leaders.”
Shame on you.
You can clean your homes, your cars, your clothing all you want. Until you finally have the strength to unshackle yourselves from your arrogance, you can open the door to Elijah all you want. I promise you, he’s not coming in your house. Instead, just add another plague to your seder. It’s the plague of cowardice. And in the end, when combined with arrogance, it keeps you from experiencing the freedom of Passover.

Sderot, Israel

Thanking G-d for saving us from a dangerous situation.
This is what we refer to as “benching gomel,” and it is done at shul typically when one returns from Israel.
I’ve often wondered about it, because we are thanking HaShem for getting to and from Israel safely on the plane.
Leaving Sderot and Ashkelon, however, I don’t want to bench gomel for a safe flight. The flight was wonderful on Israir, it was perhaps the best I’ve ever flown.
I keep thinking, though, that I want to bench gomel now every day for the children I’ve met in Sderot. Why? Because walking to school successfully is a risk. Playing on a playground is a dangerous situation. All we’re doing is flying on a plane, an advance aerodynamic miracle of science.
But walking to school. Playing on a playground. How about sleeping soundly through the night. How about getting through a class period without the code red alarm going off.
I want to bench gomel every day.
Because I didn’t feel it very risky when the flight attendant served me the seltzer water. If you could have seen the look on the faces of these children that I saw, not just benching gomel, I prayed that HaShem would make the Israeli government more responsive to their needs.
I sometimes feel leaving Sderot that if 20,000 Jews were in trouble like this anywhere on this earth, the IDF, the U.S. Jewish organizations and others would stage some sort of miraculous rescue of these people.
Yet, here they are in Israel, and there seems like little or no rescue is happening.
Benching gomel for walking to school, for playing soccer in the park?
Should flying on the plane be safer than walking to school?

ASHKELON, ISRAEL, April 9

Spend some time last evening with Sigal Ariely, the Ashelon-Baltimore New Parternship Coordinator, an effort of the Associated: Jewish Community Federation of Baltimore.
I told Sigal while we were walking to Baltimore’s Lyn Stacie Getz Playground at the Michael Lapides park build project near the hotel that almost everyone I talked to Sderot warned that Ashkelon “could be next.”
Sigal knows Sderot all too well.  Her husband owns a steak house there and must put up with the rocket threat to his life and to the lifeblood of his business.
Sigal also remembers being in Baltimore when rockets started falling on Sderot. One fell near the community center where her young child was taking a ballet class.
We walked around the park. There was a breeze coming off of the nearby sea. The sun was setting and all was well.
I later learned that maybe not everything is so well. One local hotel reported to the Ashkelon city government that over 100 reservations have been cancelled for Pesach.
There’s a feeling that our hotel is somewhat empty.
Today we go from Ashkelon to Jerusalem. It feels almost like everyone there was oblivious to what was going on in Sderot. But then a young woman told me that her friends were purposelly going grocery shopping for Pesach at the stores in Sderot.
We get in the car to drive back after our short time in this holy city and the news reports tell us in an ominous voice that terrorists attack a fuel terminal today. The two terrorists were killed by the IDF, bujt not before they took the lives of two Israelis.
The fuel terminal’s location?
Ashkelon.

Sderot, Israel—
I’ve got this struggle after seeing this a little closer.
Mostly, I see that the Israelis gave away Gaza, and are now getting bombed for it.
I’ve now met little children who are literally losing sleep over this, and who risk their lives by going out to play.
My sense of what is important in the world tipped again.
I’m told there is no middle class in Sderot, that most people are very poor, and can’t afford to get out.
I remember the Israeli leadership saying after the Gaza giveaway that there would be hell to pay if Gaza turned into a launching pad against Israel.
Well?
And, in the meantime, the poor and unemployed are bearing the brunt of the rocket attacks.
I’m told by a man from Tel Aviv that Sderot is otherworldly to him, that it’s not part of his universe or radar screen.
But Sderot is very much apart of the terrorism radar screen.
And the worry said by some is that first it was Gaza, then it will be Sderot then Ashkelon.
And I wasn’t heartened to learn today that some 150 reservations for Pesach have already been cancelled in Ashkelon.
Oh, and by the way, Israel is providing electricity to Gaza? Huh?
This madness must stop. But the people in charge aren’t putting themselves in harm’s way. They don’t live in Sderot. And many in Sderot we talked to today feel like a political afterhought.
I just wish you could have seen these children. I just wish you could have seen the pieces of a rocket that the yeshiva high school principal keeps in his office. I just wish you could see the video I saw of the completion of the writing of a new Torah in Sderot. During the celebrations, which were outdoor, code red sounded and a missile struck all too close. Nobody was injured, not one person.
You can’t tell me it was the blimp that protected these Jews.
Tonight when you tuck your child in, think of the children of Sderot. Pray for them.
Tuck them in in your heart, your dreams and your checkbook or any way you can.
But as sure as I’m writing this, Sderot is our universal issue. It demands universal solutions to save these Jewish people.

Even in a war zone, one is likely to run into someone from Baltimore.
Neely Grobani and Maya Goldberg, two Beth Tfiloh graduates were in Sderot as part of their Shevet program.
They’ve spent three months in Jerusalem learning, three months as volunteers and now are learning Ulpan.
“It’s intense here,” said Neely.
“I’m proud of the people here in Sderot,” said Maya. “The fact that they still live here. I don’t know if I could be that strong. They show such a tie to the land.
Maya is coming back to the States to attend Tulane. But she said she’s thinking about coming back to be with Neely, who is staying.
“I have Israel fever,” she said proudly

Sderot, Israel—
One can get from Ashkelon to Sderot by simply looking at the sky.
Dark, billowy clouds add contrast to a Carolina Blue sky. Birds fly by. And then comes the white blimps.
No, these blimps aren’t advertising a product or aren’t there for the big game.
These blimps provide the “early” warning for the code red alerts that the citizens of Sderot and Ashkelon experience.
People have about 15 seconds after hearing the alert to find a safe place. Think about making a life or death decision in 15 ticks of the clock.
As our small group of American journalists drove closer to the town square of Sderot, the joking stopped, the conversation came to an end. We passed by cows crazing next to a gas station. We showed up at our 9 a.m. elementary school appointment.
What we noticed immediately was how quiet the school was. Almost too quiet.
Then our first really striking moment. There in a classroom, a third grade was holding a model seder. Children read from the Haggadah, sang songs. Nobody had to discuss what the meaning of this holiday was all about to these children.
But in case you need a vivid picture, more than one told us that they don’t sleep in their own bedrooms at night. They are too afraid to be alone. Others told us that they live on upper floors of apartment buildings, exposed to anything that could be fired their way.
“Kids are different here,” said principal Dina Houri. “Kids know how to help one another if they are hurting. These kids need a ton of love, a ton of understanding. And we don’t compromise their education, and we don’t teach them to strive for anything less than to be the best they can be.”
“May we never know another code red,” said one student. “May we live here in happiness and peace>”
Ms. Houri explained that the children put a great deal of stock in their school experience, because they feel good around one another. They typically don’t go to birthday parties or go out in the evening too often.
“It’s surreal,” she continued. “You have to turn down the radio in the car so that you are sure to hear the code red. And there are some days when all you can do is put your head down and pray to the Lord above.”
Every teacher in this school is trained in trauma management. Yet, the principal explained that there are days when teachers are also afraid to travel to school if there’s been a flurry of rockets.
If you ask the girls, they’ll tell you that want to do everything any other kid might want to do in Baltimore. One child says she wants to grow up and become a lawyer, another a designer, another a teacher.
“The power of prayer will help us through this,” said their principal. “It helps ease the scale of fear.”
Still, as one child would say later in the morning, “the first thing we are thinking when we come into a room, is where are we going to hide.”
“It’s our reality,” said the principal.
“It’s a lunatic reality,” added another adult with the group.

Sderot—
Yael, a whisp of a fifth grader, points to the cardboard rocket in her school’s “room for peace.”
Only this room isn’t about doves or political negotiations. It is basically a quiet room filled with pretty paintings and stuffed animals, a place where children can unwind and tell their teachers and classmates what is going on inside.
The cardboard rocket has 10 stages on it, and Yael is asked by her principal, Dina Houri, to tell the class where she’s feeling on this deadly scale.
Today Yael is feeling “chamash,” five.
This is a good day.
About an hour later, she and her class will be attending a music assembly when the lights in the already dimly lit auditorium flicker. The children know. An alarm can be heard in between the music blasts amplified on stage. Happy faces become instantly frightened. Children hug one another. Teachers close the doors, shutting us in.
It passes.
The music continues from stage.
I look for Yael.
She’s not looking like a five right about now.
How could she?
Across the street from the school, a piece of someone’s house is blown away. There is a hole in the middle of the street outside of the school. It just missed the arrival of two school busses unloading kids.
Five?
I think everyone in the room added up collectively didn’t come to five.
We’ve just started our day.

Israir delivered a small contingent of Jewish journalists to Israel on Monday evening.
It is “THIS WILL ONLY BE A DRILL.” We wish you an enjoyable and plesant say in Israel.
Tomorrow we will spend the day visiting the people of Sderot. It is a place that has absorbed over 5,0000 rocket attacks from the people we handed Gaza back to.
I look forward to meeting these men and women and children and letting them know that the Jewish community of Baltimore cares about them and has them in their thoughts. I will try to communicate as best as I can what I see on this blog and in next week’s Jewish Times.
Also, I feel at home here in Ashkelon, out sister city.
Hopefully we won’t here any unexpected alarms on Tuesday. But if we do, we know that this what the people who live here experience on an all-too-routine basis. We’re just visitors. We get to leave.
They are here, they need our strength as they hearten and strengthen us.

This is the best Italian food in town. We have tried many others and nothing can top Fazzini’s. Everything is fresh, homemade and delicious.

The pizza here was undercooked and really doughy.
entrees on other tables looked good though.

we like fazzini italian kitchen because of good wait staff and consistently good italian food. everything there is homemade; pasta, sauce,bread,pizza dough,etc.  large portions and reasonable prices and no ambiance!