Power of Blood

In this age of political correctness and vigilance, it is risky and almost taboo to revel in the magnificence of blood and its fruits.

An acute observer like you, will upon occasion, see this phenomenon. A mother walking down the street or sitting in a cafe with her children.

Being aware and discerning, you know that the children are hers. Not only by the contact and interaction but, also by the absence of it at times. The natural and complex human ability to focus completely on the self, even within the closest proximity of the very loved.

So it’s mother and her children, that you are sure. Looking closer at the children you notice that they don’t resemble her in the slightest. They are Caucasian with a pale complexion, light blonde hair and deep grey blue eyes in contrast to their mother who appears to have oriental roots with her complexion, her narrow cut jet black eyes and the straight flat black hair.

By this stage, you the reader, are outraged by this stereotypical portrayal as experienced by you the observer and my potentially racist descriptions.

Let me appease you, dear reader. You are drawn to these conclusions not by the mothers’ features but, by her mothers’ presence. There, I hope you can now relax the shoulders, gently turn your neck and let go of the angst and indignation which you may have a felt moment ago. Much better.

The grandmother is there and there can be no doubt that she is her mother, because of the love you see in her eyes for her child and grandchildren. Her features are not subject to debate or speculation, she is Asian.

But I digress, I believe we were talking about blood.

I want you to understand that I’m not talking about some pure-blood doctrine, which is abhorrent to you and I and all we stand for. I’m talking about God. His magnificence in everything He does.

Each child is born to the right parents no matter what they look like, expressly because only God sees the greater picture. The picture vastly obscured by, some much irrelevant observations of our acute observer or the author herein. #markbaranov

Thank GOD, I saved a life last night

Last night was a glimpse into GOD’s world that we stumble around in, usually without realising any nuance.

After spending a relaxing Shabbat with friends we attended a birthday party where we were introduced to a recent arrival, we proceeded to find intersection from various places. A particular name was mentioned, whom I did not know but for some reason stuck in my head.

Afterwards, as is our custom on a Saturday night, we jumped in the car and started driving. I turned around to my wife and said, “Where to?” Only to be told about cafe Paris which is a 5min walk from home. Since we were already in the car and there is never any parking near this place we decide to drive into town for my favourite haunt, Kadosh cafe.

As per usual we couldn’t find any parking around there and decided we would park at Mamilla and walk back up.

Walking through Mamilla we stopped at Roladin (certainly not my favourite cafe) and agreed to get online to wait for a table having somehow forgotten why we came to Mamilla in the first place.

Whilst waiting outside I spotted a dear friend, whom unfortunately we could not host this Shabbat walking towards us and instantly I understood that this is why I was here at this moment, to embrace him and apologize personally. He was with friends and during the introductions, one of the names was the very one which registered earlier in the night. I recalibrated my observation about the reason for why I was there to include needing to meet this person.

As we had been shmoozing outside for a while, I asked the girl managing the list, “How long?” She told me she had no idea as they were very busy. I turned to my wife to say maybe this is not meant to be and we should just get takeaway coffees, at that moment the girl calls our name and we are ushered into the cafe.

We sit down and my wife proceeds to tell me an interesting observation. As I’m leaning in to hear better, above the din of noise around us, a mobile phone is literally shoved in my face. I look up to see the lady next to us indicating for me to take a picture of her and her elderly mother, naturally, I agree.

They get into their pose and I’m focusing the camera when I see through the screen that the lady’s head is in flames from the candle on their table. I throw down the phone and proceed to pat out the flames on her head with my hands.

After I made sure that the flames were out I removed my hands from her head and made eye contact. The lady said to me “What are you doing?” She hadn’t even realized what transpired.

At this point, after I settled down and washed my hands from the smell of burnt chicken feathers, I recalibrated the events of the evening and this now became the focal point for why I was there last night to save her disfigurement or perhaps her life even.

I said to the lady, “you should say Grace”, she agreed and instantly took out a prayer book and was saying many prayers of thanks.

So after an eventful evening, I had to further reflect and recalibrate. Perhaps I was chosen to be there at that time to bring this lady closer to GOD and perhaps that was the nuance whilst everything else was just the stimulus required for me to be the vehicle of GOD’s will.

I’m in awe of the minutiae of events which culminated in the revelation of a divine plan, and being a part of it. I simply felt I had to share. #markbaranov

A night at the…

Ding ding, the tiny counter bell rings as the German backpackers step in from the chill of the mountain air. They overheard a conversation about this place in the lobby of their hostel and not having time or desire to wander in the cold they thought, this is us for the night.

The setting is a basement restaurant where the toilets are outside and upstairs, the decor grimy, tacky and positively lacking in any sense of expectation.

The maitre’d approaches from the kitchen upon hearing the high pitched sound. She looks positively annoyed.Yes, can I help you, she says impatiently.
We would like a table for two please, says the elegant looking German girl in perfect English.

Do you have a reservation?
Uh, no sorry.
Well, how do you expect us to know you are coming, seriously…
Really sorry we didn’t know.
Ok, fine.
So can we have the table?
As you can see, we are fully booked, says Leanne pointing to the near empty restaurant, If I could seat you, I could only offer you pizzas as all of our mains are spoken for!

Helga turns to Martin to see what he thinks and before she has had time to notice his facial expression, Leanne says, well I don’t have all day, what’s it going to be?

At this point, Martin who is quite amused by this power trippers demeanour and the angst that his sensible girlfriend is experiencing says, that would be fine.

Leanne says I need 15 minutes to reset the table, so come back then.
Ok. Can you tell me where the bathroom is? It’s outside and upstairs, says Leanne as she moves away from the reception counter and towards the kitchen.

Martin lays a reassuring hand on Helga’s shoulder and smiles, his smiles always make her feel like it’s going to be ok, so she smiles in turn.

As our gentle and accepting couple awaits Leanne’s pleasure, who is doing anything other than resetting an unused table, two burly gentlemen in what can only be, local dress, enter the XXXXXXX.

Hey Roger, says Cheryl, who has just entered the main foyer area, haven’t seen you for a while.

Hi Cheryl, answers Roger, this is Pete and we’ve been working on the lifts for the last week, the blanketing has been very interesting to work in… 106mm just yesterday.
I didn’t realise there was that much, says Leanne who also joins the conversation from across the room, where she is finally placing a bottle of water on the table for the very patient German couple.

How many are you tonight? Asks Cheryl smiling at Pete, whom she is clearly taken a fancy to.
Just us Cheryl, says Roger, what do you have left tonight, Leanne?
You can have the pick of the skewers, the ragu or the shanks, I suggest the shanks they are literally falling off the bone.

Wonderful, let us ponder over a pint of Paul’s special brew. Speaking of him, is he back from the….rest?
Yeah, he is in the kitchen now, we are taking it easy on him because of some people, she looks poignantly at the German couple, where Martin has an outraged expression on his usually calm and self-assured face, aren’t happy with the meals as they are and request variances. You know how anal he is, it’s taken him years to perfect his menu and any variation requires contemplation, so ultimately we won’t give him any variations because they only stress him out.

As Cheryl walks the locals to the table which up until that moment Martin and Helga thought was being prepared for them, Martin clears his throat and says, excuse me, in the direction of Leanne.

Leanne, although perceives his levelled annoyance, specifically ignores him by not turning to meet his eyes, instead, she calls out from the dimly lit corner of the restaurant, I’ll be with you in a minute.

She calls out to Cheryl, please sit the couple at table 17 and offer them a drink, they look like they can use one.

Benny from behind the bar walks over to the couple and says ‘ Hi I’m Benny can I get you a drink. He is very pleasant and exudes warmth and empathy for their situation, clearly, he is not a local.

That would be great, says Helga. I’ll have an espresso martini. Leanne overhearing the order says to Benny, “you can charge them for that because I don’t know what that is…”
Benny responds ” it’s a cocktail so it’s under cocktails…” and what about you sir?

What beer do you have, I like a Belgian if you have. Sure thing replies Benny and walks them over to table 17 by the front door.

My name is Martin and this is Helga, where are you from? He says warmly to Benny.

I’m from Tassie, just here for the season. I love to board but, who can afford to stay in this village.

All for the eyes

Walking on the footpath and feeling your steps being swallowed by the gooey, rubbery surface, is reminiscent of days of anxiety and impotence of old. Those days where you awake not knowing whom you would have to be, to make it through and feeling want of the energy and desire to do it.

The only reason or motivation, were the eyes. Those eyes that could not speak, even if they could, they wouldn’t ask and yet the obligation with, even desire was there to sate those eyes and protect that, which was not yours to.

In life we must struggle, that is our lot and has been from time man decided that wisdom was his to be had. We know this and yet we constantly wonder why is it so hard.
Why we cant just sip the joys that life has to offer and savour the pleasantness of guilt free time, when it’s not being balanced against other pressing and acute dilemmas in our lives.

We see and read about some lucky few, who engage in what we, sincerely believe, is that kind of freedom. Some even envy them, God forbid. If we accept that man’s lot is to suffer, as we must, then their apparent freedom is yet another guise of either self or mass deception.

That in itself, is of little help in making them feel better. The masses enjoy pulling down those that have dared to venture into the light, as allusive as it is. They take an irrational stance, such that, because those tall poppies were shorn so their meagre, secure lot is of substance, pure even. They climb upon the moral perch and bleat that their , ‘honest’ and simple undertakings stand the test of time escaping moral and ethical intrigue. The poor misguided fools.

Their core is rotten and the foundation of any enterprise they aspire to, will ultimately leave them feeling hollow, empty and devoid of success or fulfilment. Their momentary pleasure in seeing or worse still, participating in the demise of another being is soon replaced with the green bile of their jealousy which slithers into their perfect lives and chokes the breath of life from them.

We are all Gods creatures and as such deserve His patience, because we regularly fail, but, we also deserve each others. Its difficult to be magnanimous, generous of spirit and of time. It takes effort with usually little to show for it. On the other hand, a harsh word issued from a forked tongue which darts quickly from the mouth gives an instantaneous result. That feeling of self importance, of superiority and even of godliness. Stop fools, how dare you to pass judgement on a peer or even a stranger.

At a point in ancient history, most of us have heard or read the maxims of life; ‘Don’t judge lest you be judged’ , ‘the tongue is mightier than the sword’ , ‘hold thy tongue and embrace wisdom’ and many more. We even randomly remember these sparks of prior teachings, the problem is that, we don’t allow them in. We don’t embrace the words, allowing them to wash through and out as we walk upon this gooey, rubbery surface whilst wondering why is it so hard…