Easily one of the nicest ways to literally “build” community will take place April 22-26 at the Fallstaff Elementary Middle School, 3801 Fallstaff Road.
For some of us Fallstaff alums, this is the playground of stickball, Greek Dodge, kickball, fire drills and so much more.
I remember listening to World Series games on my transistor radio during recess. It was the first place we all saw when we were dismissed the day of JFK’s assassination. On weekend’s we’d get chased off the baseball field by a neighbor complaining of our noise.
We’d draw square boxes on the school walls incorporating metal grates for our games of stickball. As a pitcher, there was nothing sweeter than hearing the sound of the Pennsy Pinky hit that grate and watching the batter swing and miss.
So here we are many generations later, and the schoolyard and community park is to get a facelift. Only, we’re going to be the ones doing it.
In my experience of now of some 27 years writing for Jewish community, I can pinpoint two of the most galvanizing of events. Both involved building playgrounds.
One occurred in our sister city of Ashkelon when a group of about 250 Baltimore area Jews went to Israel through the efforts of the Associated: Jewish Community Federation of Baltimore, rolled up their sleeves and with help from an equal number of Ashkelon residents, built what today is a gem of a playground in the beautiful seaside city.
It wasn’t just the result of a playground, however. It was the lasting friendships and creativity among the builders that turned the playground into a real life lesson. With the the threat of missiles interrupting the childhood innocence of many, Baltimore put together a playground to ease that pain.
Years prior, I had seen it happen in Detroit when the Weinberg Foundation helped the Jewish community purchase materials. There, Jews of every denomination got busy.
Women in long skirts and hair covered with scarves hammered away next to other women in shorts and t-shirts.
People who knew only how to use duct tape instead of a circular saw found they were needed and productive.
The current project is jointly coordinated by the Fallstaff Improvement Association, the Fallstaff Elementary School, CHAI and the Associated.
What is needed now are volunteers.
Don’t worry about your construction skill level. The project will find for you a comfortable way to participate.
To register simply visit chaibaltimore.org or call 410-466-1990.
You will have the time of your life. You will give back to the community and do something beautiful.

It’s not a big deal for the Orioles.
Certainly, the concerns are to get a competitive team on the field and more so to bring in as much cash as possible.
So the little kosher stand in left field while important to the kosher consumers doesn’t seem to be a priority for the Orioles.
That’s a shame.
I’ve been a suffering Orioles fan my entire life. You probably have been also. The disposition of my day was predicated at one time by whether or not the little cartoon bird on the front page of the Morning Sun was smiling or frowning. Again, you know the drill.
My bar mitzvah was held on the third game of the 66 World Series. Yes I remember my parsha, and the pride my parents had. But I also remember worrying more about what was going on at 33rd Street.
I was proud when the Orioles made a kosher food concession stand available. It made me feel as if they really wanted me there, that they really cared about my needs. I didn’t have to bring in a peanut butter sandwich or be tortured by the smells of the treif foods cooking all around the ballpark. It made me wish that Boog would discover Judaism and turn his barbecue stand into Glatt Kosher.
So now it appears if, barring some late rally, that now those who keep kosher won’t even have a hot dog to look forward to at Camden Yards.
It appears to be that the O’s seem indifferent to the kosher food needs of some of its clientele. The buzz in the local kosher food world is that the profit margin is just too small to operate there. The O’s could change that if they really wanted to.
They’d think nothing of throwing around monies for high priced journeymen ball players who couldn’t hold Brooks Robinson’s batting glove. That’s what really hurts. Many of us have been following this team for generations. The players and executives come from other parts of the country, the world, and then they go. We’re still here. The Orioles still want our allegiance. We give it to them.
Now, though, you keep kosher, you can go to the Washington Nationals stadium and get what you need.
Getting a kosher dog at the stadium is almost a rite of passage that we give to our children.
I just don’t think the O’s tried hard enough here.
Kosher doesn’t mean much it seems.
So it’s back to bringing in sandwiches again. It’s just one more “thing” that tips the scales either way for some families when it comes to going to the ballpark.

I have a friend who was sexually molested as a child by an adult in the man’s home, on his boat, and in the nearby synagogue.
The perp, a physician, decked out his basement with a wet bar, wood paneling, pool table, the whole nine yards. Cool eye candy to an adolescent boy.
When the perp, who is an “Orthodox” Jew, was hosting my friend’s family for Shabbat lunches, he’d have this 12-year-old in his basement and have his way with him. Think of that for a moment, a child is being molested in the basement while his parents are upstairs in the dining room singing the Birchat HaMazon (grace over meals).
So my friend is now a young man in his early 20s. He no longer lives in the same area as the perp. He and his parents have pressed charges against the perp. Yet, something keeps the perp from going through the justice system. That “something” is cancer. The man who molested my friend is sick with cancer. He’s lost his medical license, because of the molestation charges, and the last time I checked, he wasn’t even compliant on his state’s sexual registry.
This man may avoid going to jail. He’s the father of six children. Yes, he’s sick. But he also impacted the life of my friend in such a detrimental way that it led to years of substance abuse, recovery, clinics, and therapy. A few minutes of non-consensual fondling, the doctor gets satisfied, and my friend’s life is in ruins.
This same man used to send emails to my wife and to my oldest child when she was a teen. I never felt comfortable with this, and I asked him to stop, and I asked my wife and daughter to not answer him.
So I went recently online and surfed the net and found his photo in a split second. It sickened me to look at his face, knowing what I know.
There was something else upstairs in his comfortable suburban home. There was a full-sized Torah standing in a glass case in the man’s dining room. On the floor below, he was ruining souls. On the floor above, he displayed a Torah.
What a metaphor.
This man is still not in jail. There is always a loophole, there is always a reason, a note, a plea that keeps him out.
It’s been suggested that he could die in jail because of his cancer.
He could die in jail, and it wouldn’t be the cancer’s fault.
I wish I could get that Torah out of his house.
More importantly, I wish I could reclaim my friend’s soul. It’s still down there in that horrific basement.
Thanks Doc.
You might survive the cancer.
You’ll never, however, outlive the stain on your life and on the lives of your victims.
Death won’t save you.
The Torah in your dining room won’t save you.
You are the cancer in this young man’s life.
It makes me so sick.

I have what I call frozen moments.
They are times when I know I watch something happening, and I do nothing.
An example.
I was in line at the grocery store late Saturday night. The line was kind of long, and there weren’t many cashiers open.
A customer at the line’s front was having trouble with her credit card processing. It seemed it was declined two or three times. She didn’t have any other way of paying for what looked like $50—$100 of groceries, which these days amounts to a bag or two.
The cashier handled the customer I believe with care, empathizing with her. Still, the customer understandably looked to be embarrassed. None of her fellow customers did anything, including me. I so wanted to walk to the front of the line and say “how much of this is essential?” I wanted to pay her bill. She left the store. When I got through and into the parking lot, I looked for, but it was too late.
I think I missed the opportunity to help another person.
I wonder in this time of economic crisis how many others in that line were thinking about the credit limits on their cards or how much they could really afford.
I didn’t ask him, but I’m sure that the cashier has seen his share of people come through that line lately with only a balance of hope on their credit card accounts.
The store manager had to come over with a key to reset the register. Another employee came over to “shop back” the bagged items, or put them back on shelves.
I felt unprepared for this in a way. I wish the store had some sort of program that would have allowed the manager to pull the lady aside in a confidential place and offer her a bag of essential groceries, milk or bread. And I also know that it’s probably not reasonable or the grocery store would be pulled into a bottomless quarry of need.
But I will try not to freeze again. At the very least, I will offer whatever tzedakah I can. At the very least, I am going to keep the phone numbers of Ahavas Yisroel (410-358-7579), Jewish Community Services (410-466-9200) and the Maryland Food Bank 410-737-8282) available in my wallet just in case I run into this situation again.