The rain poured down as we decided what to do next. It was 3 in the morning and we had just been turned away from the biggest club in Berlin. A tragic, if not totally unexpected, ending.
Earlier in the evening, Ana and I had braved the July showers to go out to dinner at a well known Vietnamese restaurant, Monsieur Vuong. As we waited for our table, we struck up a conversation with six Americans--three guys, three gals--who were also on a trans Europe tour. They invited us to eat with them as we swapped travel stories and I explained how I had come to meet Ana.
We were both staying with a mutual German friend, Elina, who I had met two years prior in Israel. Ana, who's from Costa Rica, and Elina were exchange students in the States together about ten years ago. Ironically, our plans to visit Elina in Berlin coincided with a trip that she had to take to Krakow, Poland. (Elina manages a band called Yemen Blues that was headlining at the Jewish Culture Festival, which my parents were attending. Small world, huh?) So, unintentional travel buddies Ana and I had become.
After dinner, I suggested that we head to this club in Friedrichshain East Berlin called Berghain/Panorama Bar. I had heard that if you wanted to see the best DJs in Berlin, this was the place to go. The crew was on board, but the girls said that they needed to go to the hotel to change. I think what you're wearing is fine for this club, I said. But they thoroughly disagreed.
So Ana and I headed to Panorama Bar to stand in line while our new friends freshened up. We took the U Bahn farther East than I had been, entering an area that didn't feel entirely safe. The graffiti, which is present on almost every Berlin building, intensified and covered all visible wall space. The club was a dark warehouse about five stories high in an industrial area with no houses or shops in sight. We stood in line in the cold taking a few steps forward through the rain soaked mud every few minutes. Occasionally, people would walk past us away from the club looking dejected. None of them were speaking German.
Behind us stood a young, eager Swiss boy who was probably about 19 or 20 years old. He told us that he had already gotten to the front of the line but had been turned away. This was his second attempt and he hoped that the bouncer wouldn't recognize him. Should I offer the bouncer a bribe? I asked. It's not that kind of club, said the Swiss boy.
As we got closer, I saw them. I'll admit, I've always been afraid of bouncers. But these guys terrified me. They looked exactly how I would imagine KGB agents to look. It probably had been years since they last smiled. I imagined how desperately they wanted someone to argue with their arbitrary rulings of who could stay and who could not. I will crush you, I could hear in my mind's ear.
With about four people ahead of us, the three girls from dinner came prancing to the front of the line in low cut cocktail dresses and 4 inch stilettos that keep getting stuck in the mud. They leaned over the railing toward the bouncers, showing off their goods, and asked innocently, Do we need tickets? The KGB agents didn't respond, but I did see the hint of a smirk cross one of their faces. Ah, now I understood their mirth: It was their job to say no to people who don't hear the word often enough. A few extra cover charges aren't necessary to keep this place in business, and high profit margins weren't the ultimate goal. No wonder these bouncers had so much power.
Clearly not getting the response they wanted, the girls (and guys who were standing a few feet behind them) spotted us practically at the front of the line and jumped in to join us. Great. When it was our turn for judgement day, the KGB agent didn't take more than two seconds to decide. Without a word, he motioned for us to step aside. We had been waiting in line for almost an hour and a half. Ana and I crossed our fingers, hoping that the young Swiss boy would have more luck. But as he was walked away, rejected a second time, I could see tears welling up in his eyes. For the KGB agents, it was a very successful night.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Amsterdam: Imran the Pakistani
Hotel Janson on the outer edge of Amsterdam is one of the dirtier and more run down establishments at which I've ever stayed. When I entered my two person shared dorm room (so excited that my €14 got me this luxury rather than the 8-10 person shared dorm rooms I'd been staying at in London and Paris), I thought that the pungent odor was emanating from my new Pakistani roommate, Imran. Turns out, it was just Hotel Janson.
Imran is a PhD mathematician who, though he lives in Lahore, Pakistan with his wife and two kids, spends much of his time in Italy and at the University of Minnesota on collaborative research projects. He has a large research grant, I believe funded by the Saudis, and therefore has traveled far more extensively than most of his fellow countrymen. When he's in Pakistan, he told me that he has a continuous stream of guests at his house. Distant relatives show up on his doorstep everyday expected to be taken in, given a place to sleep, given food to eat, and driven around town. They come without any advance warning for anywhere from one to seven nights, and may bring with them their entire family of four. When I asked what they do to show their gratitude for Imram's hospitality, he said, They don't do anything! And blamed their lack of education on their rude manners.
Despite his extensive travel, Imran has been bound by the cultural norms of his upbringing and hasn't experienced the world the way you and I have. His extremely inquisitive mind is often masked by his timid and shy nature, but it was not long before he felt comfortable enough to begin asking questions about my culture, such as Where do the old people live in your country? Or better yet, What is marijuana? (We were in Amsterdam.)
We started our evening together by going to one of the many coffee shops in Amsterdam. Coffee shops, where you can buy and smoke (or eat) many different types of marijuana, are distinct from the more commonplace cafes, where you cannot. I bought a pre rolled joint for €4 and struck up a conversation with two attractive British girls. Imran sat next to me smoking cigarettes. After a while, I asked Imran if I seemed any different to him. Barely audible, he said, Yes, you are funnier.
I suggested that we leave the coffee shop and head to a club that we had passed on the walk over. As we walked in the direction of the club, Imran kept making fun of me, telling the girls that I had no idea where we were going. I was so proud to be witness to his first official act of flirting. (Did I mention that his marriage was arranged to a second cousin? Shannon and Ariel, now don't be getting any ideas...)
After standing in line for about twenty minutes, right when we're about to get in, the two British girls bounce. Why did they leave, Imran asked. I donno, I said. They could be tired, bored, not want to dance, not like us... Who knows? Imran wasn't satisfied with any of my answers. At the front of the line, Imran paid the €8 entrance fee for me, saying how grateful he was that I was showing him this new experience. He had never been inside a dance club before.
The club Paradiso can hold about 1400 people between the ground floor and two balconies. This Wednesday night was on the slower side with probably 700-800 people all on the ground floor. When we arrived, there were two guys on stage trying really hard to get the audience into their not-so-great songs. The lead singer would actually teach the hook to the audience and then try to get everyone to sing the anthem together. This probably worked really well in a smaller venue, but not at Paradiso, where the strength of the music in addition to the strength of the singer's personality needs to capture the audience's attention. Not wanting Imran to think that the club was lame (which was impossible considering that he had nothing to compare it to), I decided that I was going to help the singer out.
I pushed my way to the front, jumped on stage, and starting pulling more and more people on to the stage with me. Suddenly, the entire stage is packed with people all struggling to sing that unmemorable hook that the singer had just taught us. The stage had effectively become the smaller venue that was the right size for this band.
Imran was in disbelief. I bought two beers, but drank both of them because Imran is Muslim and doesn't drink alcohol. He then leaned over to me and said--and this is a direct quote--"I want to see how you trap a girl." I know it's what he said because I wrote it down and showed it to him to make sure I had understood him correctly. Oh, Imran, you have so much left to learn....
After that, I never saw Imran again. I hit the dance floor Chien Fou style and ended up closing down the club at 4am. A group of super friendly Dutch kids invited me to go with them to the park to watch the sunrise. As we sat on the grass under a tree, watching mist roll off the pond and the ducks take their early morning bath, feeling the first rays of sunshine, and (I'm not joking) hearing Hotel California playing off in the distance, I felt so happy to be alive and have the opportunity to be on this trip. When I got back to Hotel Janson, Imran had already check out in order to catch his flight back to Italy for his research. I didn't get to hear his impressions of the evening, but I'm hoping it was as memorable for him as it was for me.
Imran is a PhD mathematician who, though he lives in Lahore, Pakistan with his wife and two kids, spends much of his time in Italy and at the University of Minnesota on collaborative research projects. He has a large research grant, I believe funded by the Saudis, and therefore has traveled far more extensively than most of his fellow countrymen. When he's in Pakistan, he told me that he has a continuous stream of guests at his house. Distant relatives show up on his doorstep everyday expected to be taken in, given a place to sleep, given food to eat, and driven around town. They come without any advance warning for anywhere from one to seven nights, and may bring with them their entire family of four. When I asked what they do to show their gratitude for Imram's hospitality, he said, They don't do anything! And blamed their lack of education on their rude manners.
Despite his extensive travel, Imran has been bound by the cultural norms of his upbringing and hasn't experienced the world the way you and I have. His extremely inquisitive mind is often masked by his timid and shy nature, but it was not long before he felt comfortable enough to begin asking questions about my culture, such as Where do the old people live in your country? Or better yet, What is marijuana? (We were in Amsterdam.)
We started our evening together by going to one of the many coffee shops in Amsterdam. Coffee shops, where you can buy and smoke (or eat) many different types of marijuana, are distinct from the more commonplace cafes, where you cannot. I bought a pre rolled joint for €4 and struck up a conversation with two attractive British girls. Imran sat next to me smoking cigarettes. After a while, I asked Imran if I seemed any different to him. Barely audible, he said, Yes, you are funnier.
I suggested that we leave the coffee shop and head to a club that we had passed on the walk over. As we walked in the direction of the club, Imran kept making fun of me, telling the girls that I had no idea where we were going. I was so proud to be witness to his first official act of flirting. (Did I mention that his marriage was arranged to a second cousin? Shannon and Ariel, now don't be getting any ideas...)
After standing in line for about twenty minutes, right when we're about to get in, the two British girls bounce. Why did they leave, Imran asked. I donno, I said. They could be tired, bored, not want to dance, not like us... Who knows? Imran wasn't satisfied with any of my answers. At the front of the line, Imran paid the €8 entrance fee for me, saying how grateful he was that I was showing him this new experience. He had never been inside a dance club before.
The club Paradiso can hold about 1400 people between the ground floor and two balconies. This Wednesday night was on the slower side with probably 700-800 people all on the ground floor. When we arrived, there were two guys on stage trying really hard to get the audience into their not-so-great songs. The lead singer would actually teach the hook to the audience and then try to get everyone to sing the anthem together. This probably worked really well in a smaller venue, but not at Paradiso, where the strength of the music in addition to the strength of the singer's personality needs to capture the audience's attention. Not wanting Imran to think that the club was lame (which was impossible considering that he had nothing to compare it to), I decided that I was going to help the singer out.
I pushed my way to the front, jumped on stage, and starting pulling more and more people on to the stage with me. Suddenly, the entire stage is packed with people all struggling to sing that unmemorable hook that the singer had just taught us. The stage had effectively become the smaller venue that was the right size for this band.
Imran was in disbelief. I bought two beers, but drank both of them because Imran is Muslim and doesn't drink alcohol. He then leaned over to me and said--and this is a direct quote--"I want to see how you trap a girl." I know it's what he said because I wrote it down and showed it to him to make sure I had understood him correctly. Oh, Imran, you have so much left to learn....
After that, I never saw Imran again. I hit the dance floor Chien Fou style and ended up closing down the club at 4am. A group of super friendly Dutch kids invited me to go with them to the park to watch the sunrise. As we sat on the grass under a tree, watching mist roll off the pond and the ducks take their early morning bath, feeling the first rays of sunshine, and (I'm not joking) hearing Hotel California playing off in the distance, I felt so happy to be alive and have the opportunity to be on this trip. When I got back to Hotel Janson, Imran had already check out in order to catch his flight back to Italy for his research. I didn't get to hear his impressions of the evening, but I'm hoping it was as memorable for him as it was for me.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
London & Paris: The Adventures of Chien Fou
The elderly couple sitting in front of me weren't even going to try to make the connection. There was no chance that they would be able to cross LAX in the 15 minutes that we had before the Air New Zealand flight took off for London Heathrow. The three hour delay leaving San Francisco was proving to be the first adventure of my 7 week journey across Europe and Morocco.
I sprinted out of the plane wearing my camping backpack behind me and daypack in front. Had I checked in my bag, I would have gone at least a week without it. I left terminal 2, crossed the central parking lot, and made my way back through security in terminal 7 stopping every few minutes to catch my breath and readjust my bags. I pulled up to the gate five minutes after our departure time and raised my arms in victory realizing that the flight was still boarding. Success.
Now, it's nine days later and I've concluded the London and Paris portions of my trip. I write this on my first of many train rides. Outside my window I see the Brussels skyline as we make our way to Amsterdam. Then it's off to Berlin, Prague, Budapest, Croatia, Barcelona (via Italy), Madrid, Morocco, Cordoba, and Sevilla. I don't know how often I'm going to be able to write. At least I hope to capture a few of the stories, thoughts, feelings, impressions, challenges, and transcendent moments for you.
London was tough. In my patently naive and optimistic way, I did very little advance planning prior to the trip. I had a pretty good idea of where I wanted to go but hadn't booked any hostels or trains. I'll figure it out when I get there, I thought. Easier said then done when you're traveling at the absolute busiest time of year. Even the crappy hostels, let alone the really great ones (and believe me, there is a HUGE variance), were totally booked. Each morning in London I woke up hoping that someone who made a reservation wasn't going to show up. Luckily, it worked out, and my worst fear of having to sleep on a bench in Hyde Park never realized. Tip for all you future backpackers: At the very least, book yourself a bed for your first week on the road. It will save you a lot of anxiety.
Maybe it was this stress of not knowing where I was going to sleep or maybe just the transitionary shock of being on the road, but London didn't really do it for me. I know that a lot of you have lived there and swear by it. Who am I to criticize? I was only there for three days, hardly enough time to make an educated opinion. Don't expect those from this travel log.
A funny moment which may or may not represent my disconnection was during a stand up comedy show when a Brit admitted that he was 3 months sober. When the audience didn't react he said, "If I were to say that in the States I would have gotten a round of applause. Here you all are thinking, QUITER!" In fact, I was going to applaud him prior to witnessing the audience's silence. I'm not saying that the Brits are wrong, just that I had a hard time relating.
I admit, I did have an awesome time hanging out on Brick Lane in Shoreditch, which is kinda like the Mission District in San Francisco. At least from a bohemian hipster perspective. We went to a number of open art galleries that were serving free bear to entice potential buyers. I didn't buy anything, but I did appreciate their beer. This area also has some of the greatest street art (artistic graffiti) in the world. If you haven't seen the Oscar nominated documentary Exit Through the Gift Shop, immediately put it on your Netflix queue. It profiles the most famous street artists, many of which have their roots in London and Paris. Seeing the urban environment as their canvas, these artists go to great risk (doing dangerous and illegal things) to provide us with their inspiration. I plan to continue to explore this artistic medium throughout the trip. Expect a lot of photos.
Of course there is more that I could say about London (e.g. It was great to see an old friend from high school, Jon Kluger, and a new friend from the AIDS Lifecycle, Grahaeme Hesp), but let's move on to Paris!
Upon arrival, I absolutely fell in love with this city. It's odd: the streets smell like piss, the pretentious Parisians correct you when you ask them a question without saying bonjour, and I happened to be there during a heat wave that had temperatures soaring in the 90s with severe humidity. And yet, the people are so unbelievably friendly, the city is stunning, the women are beautiful, and the culture and language are imbued with a rich passion. I climbed the Eiffel Tour, explored the Pantheon, went to mass at Notre Dame, and each experience brought tears to my eyes. (The hostel lifestyle must be catching up with me; I get emotional when I don't sleep.)
The most important takeaway from my time in Paris, however, is the generous hospitality shown by some of my future UCLA Anderson classmates who gave me a place to stay and took me out at night. I had only connected with Clement and Annabelle through the admitted students' online forum, and yet Clement hooked me up with his sister's apartment while she was out of town and Annabelle offered to sleep at a friend's place if I needed to crash in her studio. I don't know if their good nature and general coolness is more a reflection on them as Parisians or as Anderson students, but suffice to say I am so excited to spend the next few years with them!
On my first night in Paris, we went to a club called Wagg in Odeon. This underground club looks like you're in Roman catacombs with chiseled brick walls. Despite the fact I couldn't speak any French, I felt totally in my element talking and dancing with everyone who was willing. By the end of the night Clement had bestowed upon me a new nickname: Chien Fou, meaning Crazy Dog. It's a French expression for that person at the party who is really enthusiastic and energetic. Yeah, I think it fits.
Shall I continue or leave you wanting more? (I'm hoping that if you've actually read this far, you might be enjoying yourself.) This was just the first week and already I'm starting to get into a groove. Traveling is a skill that takes practice. It's more about what you do than what you see, and I know I have not yet fully achieved the balance that I'm looking for yet. At least I've used the past week to chart out most of the rest of my trip so that early anxiety won't cripple me in the future. Please write comments, tell your own stories, or ask questions. Thank you for joining me on this adventure!
Love,
Danny
I sprinted out of the plane wearing my camping backpack behind me and daypack in front. Had I checked in my bag, I would have gone at least a week without it. I left terminal 2, crossed the central parking lot, and made my way back through security in terminal 7 stopping every few minutes to catch my breath and readjust my bags. I pulled up to the gate five minutes after our departure time and raised my arms in victory realizing that the flight was still boarding. Success.
Now, it's nine days later and I've concluded the London and Paris portions of my trip. I write this on my first of many train rides. Outside my window I see the Brussels skyline as we make our way to Amsterdam. Then it's off to Berlin, Prague, Budapest, Croatia, Barcelona (via Italy), Madrid, Morocco, Cordoba, and Sevilla. I don't know how often I'm going to be able to write. At least I hope to capture a few of the stories, thoughts, feelings, impressions, challenges, and transcendent moments for you.
London was tough. In my patently naive and optimistic way, I did very little advance planning prior to the trip. I had a pretty good idea of where I wanted to go but hadn't booked any hostels or trains. I'll figure it out when I get there, I thought. Easier said then done when you're traveling at the absolute busiest time of year. Even the crappy hostels, let alone the really great ones (and believe me, there is a HUGE variance), were totally booked. Each morning in London I woke up hoping that someone who made a reservation wasn't going to show up. Luckily, it worked out, and my worst fear of having to sleep on a bench in Hyde Park never realized. Tip for all you future backpackers: At the very least, book yourself a bed for your first week on the road. It will save you a lot of anxiety.
Maybe it was this stress of not knowing where I was going to sleep or maybe just the transitionary shock of being on the road, but London didn't really do it for me. I know that a lot of you have lived there and swear by it. Who am I to criticize? I was only there for three days, hardly enough time to make an educated opinion. Don't expect those from this travel log.
A funny moment which may or may not represent my disconnection was during a stand up comedy show when a Brit admitted that he was 3 months sober. When the audience didn't react he said, "If I were to say that in the States I would have gotten a round of applause. Here you all are thinking, QUITER!" In fact, I was going to applaud him prior to witnessing the audience's silence. I'm not saying that the Brits are wrong, just that I had a hard time relating.
I admit, I did have an awesome time hanging out on Brick Lane in Shoreditch, which is kinda like the Mission District in San Francisco. At least from a bohemian hipster perspective. We went to a number of open art galleries that were serving free bear to entice potential buyers. I didn't buy anything, but I did appreciate their beer. This area also has some of the greatest street art (artistic graffiti) in the world. If you haven't seen the Oscar nominated documentary Exit Through the Gift Shop, immediately put it on your Netflix queue. It profiles the most famous street artists, many of which have their roots in London and Paris. Seeing the urban environment as their canvas, these artists go to great risk (doing dangerous and illegal things) to provide us with their inspiration. I plan to continue to explore this artistic medium throughout the trip. Expect a lot of photos.
Of course there is more that I could say about London (e.g. It was great to see an old friend from high school, Jon Kluger, and a new friend from the AIDS Lifecycle, Grahaeme Hesp), but let's move on to Paris!
Upon arrival, I absolutely fell in love with this city. It's odd: the streets smell like piss, the pretentious Parisians correct you when you ask them a question without saying bonjour, and I happened to be there during a heat wave that had temperatures soaring in the 90s with severe humidity. And yet, the people are so unbelievably friendly, the city is stunning, the women are beautiful, and the culture and language are imbued with a rich passion. I climbed the Eiffel Tour, explored the Pantheon, went to mass at Notre Dame, and each experience brought tears to my eyes. (The hostel lifestyle must be catching up with me; I get emotional when I don't sleep.)
The most important takeaway from my time in Paris, however, is the generous hospitality shown by some of my future UCLA Anderson classmates who gave me a place to stay and took me out at night. I had only connected with Clement and Annabelle through the admitted students' online forum, and yet Clement hooked me up with his sister's apartment while she was out of town and Annabelle offered to sleep at a friend's place if I needed to crash in her studio. I don't know if their good nature and general coolness is more a reflection on them as Parisians or as Anderson students, but suffice to say I am so excited to spend the next few years with them!
On my first night in Paris, we went to a club called Wagg in Odeon. This underground club looks like you're in Roman catacombs with chiseled brick walls. Despite the fact I couldn't speak any French, I felt totally in my element talking and dancing with everyone who was willing. By the end of the night Clement had bestowed upon me a new nickname: Chien Fou, meaning Crazy Dog. It's a French expression for that person at the party who is really enthusiastic and energetic. Yeah, I think it fits.
Shall I continue or leave you wanting more? (I'm hoping that if you've actually read this far, you might be enjoying yourself.) This was just the first week and already I'm starting to get into a groove. Traveling is a skill that takes practice. It's more about what you do than what you see, and I know I have not yet fully achieved the balance that I'm looking for yet. At least I've used the past week to chart out most of the rest of my trip so that early anxiety won't cripple me in the future. Please write comments, tell your own stories, or ask questions. Thank you for joining me on this adventure!
Love,
Danny
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
AIDS Lifecycle Thank You Letter
Hi friends and supporters!
We did it! I am now back in the San Francisco Bay Area, having completed the 7-day, 545 mile bike ride to Los Angeles. What an amazing week!! I’ll do my best to capture the majesty of the California coast line, the sense of community among the riders and roadies, the challenge and accomplishment of camping each night and jumping back on your bike each morning, and the serious impact that this week had on my understanding of HIV/AIDS and, in some ways more profoundly, on the fight for full acceptance and integration of the LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender) community in broader society.
But first, I want to thank you again for all of the support that you provided to make this adventure possible for me. Your donations totaled more than $4000 for the San Francisco AIDS Foundation, an important part of the $13 million that was raised through the AIDS Lifecycle. This is not only the most money ever raised in the history of this event, but also represents the single greatest fundraiser for HIV/AIDS throughout the world since the disease first appeared thirty years ago. Thank you for being part of the fight to eradicate this disease, help find a cure, and support those who are living with it today.
The AIDS Lifecycle is so much more than a really long bike ride. The week provided a chance for the creation of a mini-utopian society where everyone was fully accepted, supported, and loved for who they are. Traditionally, the majority of the participants are from the LGBT community, reflecting the demographics of those who have been affected by HIV/AIDS. In the last decade, as the disease has spread to straight and minority (primary Black and Latino) communities, the ride itself has become more diverse. This year, about 40-45% of the riders were straight. However, having never participated in an activity that was primarily comprised of those from the LGBT community, in many ways I felt like I was entering into a “foreign” culture with its own rites, rituals, expressions, salutations, history, humor, music, etc. For example, in many Latin American and European countries, friends kiss each other once or twice on the cheek as a form of greeting; gay men give each other a peck on the lips.
Each day and night of the ride, I learned a little more of the history of this culture, which is intimately tied to the devastating effects of HIV/AIDS. I was too young to remember the mid 80s, when the epidemic was the worst and many friends that I met on the ride (who have been living with HIV/AIDS for twenty to thirty years now) lost friend after friend after friend after friend, ultimately knowing dozens if not more than one hundred people who died within only a few years. The legacy of this deadly epidemic lives on in the minds and psyche of this community, and the fact that there are new cases of HIV/AIDS every day (2 people in San Francisco today alone, statistically speaking) prevents those who live with these memories to fully recover from the trauma. Rather, we’re compelled with a greater sense of urgency to make a difference and find a cure.
The true meaning and purpose of this ride goes beyond the fight against HIV/AIDS. This disease has always disproportionally affected homosexuals and therefore continues to be stigmatized as a gay disease. I now understand these issues as inexorably linked: the fight for a cure and the fight for full civil rights, full acceptance, and full integration of LGBT into the greater hetero-normative society. On the ride, we achieved this utopian vision of acceptance, friendship, and community. More than anything else, this is the memory that I will carry with me from AIDS Lifecycle and the frame by which I hope you understand the experience.
Now that I’ve gotten my preacher moment out of the way, I might as well tell you a bit about the ride itself! Here is a rundown of key highlights from each day:
Day 1 (June 5, 2011): San Francisco to Santa Cruz, 85.6 miles
At 5:00 am, 2,300 riders, 600 roadies (volunteers), and hundreds of family and friends gathered at the Cow Palace in Daly City for the opening ceremonies. This day commemorated the thirtieth anniversary of the first reported case of HIV/AIDS, adding special significance to the world record we had set for our fundraising. I felt excited and enthusiastic to begin the adventure as I scaled the first hills and made our way through Pacifica and Half Moon Bay down the coast. Unfortunately, the clear morning skies turned grey, cold, and windy in the afternoon. After lunch, we had a twenty-mile stretch with some serious headwinds blowing in our face. By the time I hit the rest stop at mile 65, I was shivering, achy, and exhausted. “How am I going to complete this ride?” I thought. “This is only Day 1!” Now as I look back on the week, that twenty-mile stretch was the worst it got. Even when we experienced crappy weather later in the week (it was cold and gloomy most days), I wasn’t as miserable as I was on that first day.
Day 2 (June 6, 2011): Santa Cruz to King City, 106.1 miles
After spending our first night in our transient tent city where large pop-up tents house a mess hall for 3000, medical services, chiropractors, physical therapists, massage therapists, bike repair services, administration, huge mobile shower trucks, and probably about 100 Porta-Potties, we inched our way through the Santa Cruz morning rush hour. (Throughout the Lifecycle, we are required to ride single file and without headphones for safety reasons.) Once we hit the open road, strong tailwinds pushed us along allowing me to keep a 20-25 mph pace. On one downhill, I hit 42.9 mph, my max speed to date. Completing my first century ride (albeit with a number of rest stops along the way) felt great.
Day 3 (June 7, 2011): King City to Paso Robles, 65.7 miles
This day, the weather was perfect with strong sunshine and good tailwinds. We hit the most difficult climb of the ride, appropriately titled Quadbuster. Then after a great downhill descent, we pulled into a small town in central California called Bradley. With only a few hundred people, this community has embraced the ride with open arms. Each year, they host a huge barbeque and bake sale, raising enough money from the riders to support all of the extra curricular activities for their K-8 elementary school. This year, they even tied red ribbons to each pillar on the bridge as you enter town to show their commitment to the cause and support of the riders. The AIDS Lifecycle strives to spread awareness in addition to raising money for HIV/AIDS. Seeing the flamboyance of the riders, we’re convinced that not one of the children in that town would feel ashamed to embrace their own sexuality.
Day 4 (June 8, 2011): Paso Robles to Santa Maria, 98.5 miles
Another long ride with great tailwinds. After a great climb, we reached the top of a mountain and the halfway point to Los Angeles, an accomplishment in and of itself that provided a great photo opportunity. For the past three and a half days, my feet had been feeling incredibly numb, which I attributed to the cold and gloomy weather. At last, someone suggested that I loosen my shoes… what a brilliant idea! I literally had been cutting off the circulation to my toes. The rest of the ride would prove to be much more comfortable. Toward the end of the day, we encountered my favorite rest stop. Each day, there were four rest stops (in addition to lunch) staffed by “roadie” volunteers. The team that staffed Rest Stop Four spent months in preparation, planning out the themes, costumes, and sets. This day, they re-created a life size version of the mobile game Angry Birds with elaborate costumes, a trampoline and slingshot, and a wall of cardboard boxes and green pig cutouts. It was hilarious.
Day 5 (June 9, 2011): Santa Maria to Lompoc, 40.2 miles
On day 5, the 2,300 riders symbolically created a giant red ribbon by all dressing in red… dresses. Yes, this entire day is a giant drag queen show. From flight attendants to Japanese schoolgirls, the effort and attention put into the costumes and outfits were unbelievable or, on the other hand, entirely expected. I also participated and wore a red dress provided by a friend but, unfortunately, no photos were taken. ;)
Day 6 (June 10, 2011): Lompoc to Ventura, 88.1 miles
By this point of the ride, I was in pain. Both of my knees were feeling the strain of the heavy riding and twisting to clip in and out of my pedals hundreds of times per day. That being said, the finish line was in sight and a little pain wasn’t going to slow me down. Back in camp that night, all of the riders and roadies participated in a candlelight vigil on the beach. In silence, we made a massive circle, each holding our own candle. In the darkness, the pinpoints of light represented all of those people who were no longer with us. We then walked toward the ocean and extinguished each flame. It was a powerful conclusion on our final night together.
Day 7 (June 11, 2011): Ventura to Los Angeles, 63.3 miles
With excitement running high, knowing that my parents had driven down from San Francisco to meet me at the finish line, I awoke on Saturday at 3:30 in the morning eager to get on my bike. After trying and failing to fall back asleep, packing up my tent, braving the chilly moisture in the air, and eating breakfast, I headed back out to the beach where we conducted the vigil the night before. From 6:00-7:00am, I participated in yoga stretching and mediation with Chokae, a fantastic instructor, whose sign read: “Yoga here! Namaste bitches!” About fifteen minutes into our stretching, wild dolphins started jumping out of the water about 200 yards off the beach right behind Chokae. If you know my history and spiritual connection with these amazing animals, you won’t find it at all surprising that I burst into tears feeling the full weight of the significance of the week. I fully felt the exhaustion that comes with waking up before 5:00am each morning after sleeping on the ground; the daily challenge of the bike ride; the meaningful connections that I had made with so many new friends; and the weight of the stories that they told me of loss, rejection, isolation, and yet the incredible feeling of hope and progress that we have gradually been achieving in terms of HIV/AIDS and LGBT civil rights over the past thirty years. On the final morning of the ride, the dancing dolphins brought this all home for me.
Thank you so much for joining me in this journey. I know that I have been incredibly enriched by the experience, and all the more so because it was something that I did with your help. Where do we go from here? Join the fight for civil rights for the LGBT community. Participate in the AIDS Lifecycle as a rider or roadie in the future, or simply continue to donate to this cause. Support the San Francisco AIDS Foundation and Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Center. Continue to listen, do your best to understand those who are different than yourself, and love everyone who strives to be the truest version of him or her self. Together we will continue to make progress and create a far more just world. Maybe thirty years from now, will have achieved our goal and the AIDS Lifecycle won’t be necessary anymore.
With love,
Danny
We did it! I am now back in the San Francisco Bay Area, having completed the 7-day, 545 mile bike ride to Los Angeles. What an amazing week!! I’ll do my best to capture the majesty of the California coast line, the sense of community among the riders and roadies, the challenge and accomplishment of camping each night and jumping back on your bike each morning, and the serious impact that this week had on my understanding of HIV/AIDS and, in some ways more profoundly, on the fight for full acceptance and integration of the LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender) community in broader society.
But first, I want to thank you again for all of the support that you provided to make this adventure possible for me. Your donations totaled more than $4000 for the San Francisco AIDS Foundation, an important part of the $13 million that was raised through the AIDS Lifecycle. This is not only the most money ever raised in the history of this event, but also represents the single greatest fundraiser for HIV/AIDS throughout the world since the disease first appeared thirty years ago. Thank you for being part of the fight to eradicate this disease, help find a cure, and support those who are living with it today.
The AIDS Lifecycle is so much more than a really long bike ride. The week provided a chance for the creation of a mini-utopian society where everyone was fully accepted, supported, and loved for who they are. Traditionally, the majority of the participants are from the LGBT community, reflecting the demographics of those who have been affected by HIV/AIDS. In the last decade, as the disease has spread to straight and minority (primary Black and Latino) communities, the ride itself has become more diverse. This year, about 40-45% of the riders were straight. However, having never participated in an activity that was primarily comprised of those from the LGBT community, in many ways I felt like I was entering into a “foreign” culture with its own rites, rituals, expressions, salutations, history, humor, music, etc. For example, in many Latin American and European countries, friends kiss each other once or twice on the cheek as a form of greeting; gay men give each other a peck on the lips.
Each day and night of the ride, I learned a little more of the history of this culture, which is intimately tied to the devastating effects of HIV/AIDS. I was too young to remember the mid 80s, when the epidemic was the worst and many friends that I met on the ride (who have been living with HIV/AIDS for twenty to thirty years now) lost friend after friend after friend after friend, ultimately knowing dozens if not more than one hundred people who died within only a few years. The legacy of this deadly epidemic lives on in the minds and psyche of this community, and the fact that there are new cases of HIV/AIDS every day (2 people in San Francisco today alone, statistically speaking) prevents those who live with these memories to fully recover from the trauma. Rather, we’re compelled with a greater sense of urgency to make a difference and find a cure.
The true meaning and purpose of this ride goes beyond the fight against HIV/AIDS. This disease has always disproportionally affected homosexuals and therefore continues to be stigmatized as a gay disease. I now understand these issues as inexorably linked: the fight for a cure and the fight for full civil rights, full acceptance, and full integration of LGBT into the greater hetero-normative society. On the ride, we achieved this utopian vision of acceptance, friendship, and community. More than anything else, this is the memory that I will carry with me from AIDS Lifecycle and the frame by which I hope you understand the experience.
Now that I’ve gotten my preacher moment out of the way, I might as well tell you a bit about the ride itself! Here is a rundown of key highlights from each day:
Day 1 (June 5, 2011): San Francisco to Santa Cruz, 85.6 miles
At 5:00 am, 2,300 riders, 600 roadies (volunteers), and hundreds of family and friends gathered at the Cow Palace in Daly City for the opening ceremonies. This day commemorated the thirtieth anniversary of the first reported case of HIV/AIDS, adding special significance to the world record we had set for our fundraising. I felt excited and enthusiastic to begin the adventure as I scaled the first hills and made our way through Pacifica and Half Moon Bay down the coast. Unfortunately, the clear morning skies turned grey, cold, and windy in the afternoon. After lunch, we had a twenty-mile stretch with some serious headwinds blowing in our face. By the time I hit the rest stop at mile 65, I was shivering, achy, and exhausted. “How am I going to complete this ride?” I thought. “This is only Day 1!” Now as I look back on the week, that twenty-mile stretch was the worst it got. Even when we experienced crappy weather later in the week (it was cold and gloomy most days), I wasn’t as miserable as I was on that first day.
Day 2 (June 6, 2011): Santa Cruz to King City, 106.1 miles
After spending our first night in our transient tent city where large pop-up tents house a mess hall for 3000, medical services, chiropractors, physical therapists, massage therapists, bike repair services, administration, huge mobile shower trucks, and probably about 100 Porta-Potties, we inched our way through the Santa Cruz morning rush hour. (Throughout the Lifecycle, we are required to ride single file and without headphones for safety reasons.) Once we hit the open road, strong tailwinds pushed us along allowing me to keep a 20-25 mph pace. On one downhill, I hit 42.9 mph, my max speed to date. Completing my first century ride (albeit with a number of rest stops along the way) felt great.
Day 3 (June 7, 2011): King City to Paso Robles, 65.7 miles
This day, the weather was perfect with strong sunshine and good tailwinds. We hit the most difficult climb of the ride, appropriately titled Quadbuster. Then after a great downhill descent, we pulled into a small town in central California called Bradley. With only a few hundred people, this community has embraced the ride with open arms. Each year, they host a huge barbeque and bake sale, raising enough money from the riders to support all of the extra curricular activities for their K-8 elementary school. This year, they even tied red ribbons to each pillar on the bridge as you enter town to show their commitment to the cause and support of the riders. The AIDS Lifecycle strives to spread awareness in addition to raising money for HIV/AIDS. Seeing the flamboyance of the riders, we’re convinced that not one of the children in that town would feel ashamed to embrace their own sexuality.
Day 4 (June 8, 2011): Paso Robles to Santa Maria, 98.5 miles
Another long ride with great tailwinds. After a great climb, we reached the top of a mountain and the halfway point to Los Angeles, an accomplishment in and of itself that provided a great photo opportunity. For the past three and a half days, my feet had been feeling incredibly numb, which I attributed to the cold and gloomy weather. At last, someone suggested that I loosen my shoes… what a brilliant idea! I literally had been cutting off the circulation to my toes. The rest of the ride would prove to be much more comfortable. Toward the end of the day, we encountered my favorite rest stop. Each day, there were four rest stops (in addition to lunch) staffed by “roadie” volunteers. The team that staffed Rest Stop Four spent months in preparation, planning out the themes, costumes, and sets. This day, they re-created a life size version of the mobile game Angry Birds with elaborate costumes, a trampoline and slingshot, and a wall of cardboard boxes and green pig cutouts. It was hilarious.
Day 5 (June 9, 2011): Santa Maria to Lompoc, 40.2 miles
On day 5, the 2,300 riders symbolically created a giant red ribbon by all dressing in red… dresses. Yes, this entire day is a giant drag queen show. From flight attendants to Japanese schoolgirls, the effort and attention put into the costumes and outfits were unbelievable or, on the other hand, entirely expected. I also participated and wore a red dress provided by a friend but, unfortunately, no photos were taken. ;)
Day 6 (June 10, 2011): Lompoc to Ventura, 88.1 miles
By this point of the ride, I was in pain. Both of my knees were feeling the strain of the heavy riding and twisting to clip in and out of my pedals hundreds of times per day. That being said, the finish line was in sight and a little pain wasn’t going to slow me down. Back in camp that night, all of the riders and roadies participated in a candlelight vigil on the beach. In silence, we made a massive circle, each holding our own candle. In the darkness, the pinpoints of light represented all of those people who were no longer with us. We then walked toward the ocean and extinguished each flame. It was a powerful conclusion on our final night together.
Day 7 (June 11, 2011): Ventura to Los Angeles, 63.3 miles
With excitement running high, knowing that my parents had driven down from San Francisco to meet me at the finish line, I awoke on Saturday at 3:30 in the morning eager to get on my bike. After trying and failing to fall back asleep, packing up my tent, braving the chilly moisture in the air, and eating breakfast, I headed back out to the beach where we conducted the vigil the night before. From 6:00-7:00am, I participated in yoga stretching and mediation with Chokae, a fantastic instructor, whose sign read: “Yoga here! Namaste bitches!” About fifteen minutes into our stretching, wild dolphins started jumping out of the water about 200 yards off the beach right behind Chokae. If you know my history and spiritual connection with these amazing animals, you won’t find it at all surprising that I burst into tears feeling the full weight of the significance of the week. I fully felt the exhaustion that comes with waking up before 5:00am each morning after sleeping on the ground; the daily challenge of the bike ride; the meaningful connections that I had made with so many new friends; and the weight of the stories that they told me of loss, rejection, isolation, and yet the incredible feeling of hope and progress that we have gradually been achieving in terms of HIV/AIDS and LGBT civil rights over the past thirty years. On the final morning of the ride, the dancing dolphins brought this all home for me.
Thank you so much for joining me in this journey. I know that I have been incredibly enriched by the experience, and all the more so because it was something that I did with your help. Where do we go from here? Join the fight for civil rights for the LGBT community. Participate in the AIDS Lifecycle as a rider or roadie in the future, or simply continue to donate to this cause. Support the San Francisco AIDS Foundation and Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Center. Continue to listen, do your best to understand those who are different than yourself, and love everyone who strives to be the truest version of him or her self. Together we will continue to make progress and create a far more just world. Maybe thirty years from now, will have achieved our goal and the AIDS Lifecycle won’t be necessary anymore.
With love,
Danny
Monday, June 7, 2010
San Diego Marathon
Dear friends,
Yesterday, I reached my goal of running 26.2 miles in the San Diego Rock n' Roll Marathon! I want to thank you for your support; without it, this experience would have been far less meaningful. Your contributions added up to over $7,600, shattering my minimum fundraising requirement by over $5000 and making me one of the top 5 contributers to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society from the greater San Francisco Bay Area. I can't thank you enough.
The race itself was probably the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life, and also one of most rewarding. I set a very ambitious goal for myself -- to run the race in 3 hours and 30 minutes. For the first half of the marathon, I was having a great time running, talking with people, cheering along with the spectators; but by Mile 14, it started to get really hard and I realized that I probably should have paced myself better.
Over the next 10 miles, it got more and more challenging and I become more and more miserable. "Just keep running," I told myself, as I threw my 3:30 goal out the window. By Mile 20, the sun had come out, it was getting humid (in addition to being hot) and I realized I had about an hour more of running before reaching the finish line. Ugh. On Mile 22, my lowest point of the race, I caught eyes with a Team In Training (TNT) coach who started running along side me. "Are you okay?" he asked. "I'm gonna make it," was all I could say.
About 20 minutes later, I passed another TNT coach who saw me shuffling along and yelled, "THIS IS WHY WE TRAIN!" I wouldn't be surprised if most people in my state--unable to feel the bottom half of my body, parched beyond belief from the heat, wishing with all the world to give up--would have turned to him and said, "SCREW YOU!" But instead, it was the exact motivation I needed. I picked up my feet and started to increase my pace. In the last half mile, I focused on the path in front of me, blocked out the cheering spectators, the rock bands, the pain, the thirst, and the heat, and sprinted as fast as I could.
After 4 hours, 1 minute, and 27 seconds, I crossed the finish line. (Check out http://tinyurl.com/dannygreene to see the picture.) I had done it. I had run 26.2 miles, farther than I ever had in my entire life. I had reached my goal and was proud of my accomplishment.
Now, a day later, I'm still having trouble walking. People have asked me, do I have plans to run another marathon? Ehhhh, probably not. As I said, the first half was great fun. I think that half-marathons may be more my cup up of tea.
Again, thank you so much for your support. The past 5 months have been an incredible experience from raising awareness and funds for the fight against blood cancers to training for the big day. I thank you for joining me on this journey.
All my love,
Danny
Yesterday, I reached my goal of running 26.2 miles in the San Diego Rock n' Roll Marathon! I want to thank you for your support; without it, this experience would have been far less meaningful. Your contributions added up to over $7,600, shattering my minimum fundraising requirement by over $5000 and making me one of the top 5 contributers to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society from the greater San Francisco Bay Area. I can't thank you enough.
The race itself was probably the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life, and also one of most rewarding. I set a very ambitious goal for myself -- to run the race in 3 hours and 30 minutes. For the first half of the marathon, I was having a great time running, talking with people, cheering along with the spectators; but by Mile 14, it started to get really hard and I realized that I probably should have paced myself better.
Over the next 10 miles, it got more and more challenging and I become more and more miserable. "Just keep running," I told myself, as I threw my 3:30 goal out the window. By Mile 20, the sun had come out, it was getting humid (in addition to being hot) and I realized I had about an hour more of running before reaching the finish line. Ugh. On Mile 22, my lowest point of the race, I caught eyes with a Team In Training (TNT) coach who started running along side me. "Are you okay?" he asked. "I'm gonna make it," was all I could say.
About 20 minutes later, I passed another TNT coach who saw me shuffling along and yelled, "THIS IS WHY WE TRAIN!" I wouldn't be surprised if most people in my state--unable to feel the bottom half of my body, parched beyond belief from the heat, wishing with all the world to give up--would have turned to him and said, "SCREW YOU!" But instead, it was the exact motivation I needed. I picked up my feet and started to increase my pace. In the last half mile, I focused on the path in front of me, blocked out the cheering spectators, the rock bands, the pain, the thirst, and the heat, and sprinted as fast as I could.
After 4 hours, 1 minute, and 27 seconds, I crossed the finish line. (Check out http://tinyurl.com/dannygreene to see the picture.) I had done it. I had run 26.2 miles, farther than I ever had in my entire life. I had reached my goal and was proud of my accomplishment.
Now, a day later, I'm still having trouble walking. People have asked me, do I have plans to run another marathon? Ehhhh, probably not. As I said, the first half was great fun. I think that half-marathons may be more my cup up of tea.
Again, thank you so much for your support. The past 5 months have been an incredible experience from raising awareness and funds for the fight against blood cancers to training for the big day. I thank you for joining me on this journey.
All my love,
Danny
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Rosh Hashanah 2009
Last month, I had the distinct honor of serving as co-officiant for my best friend Mitch’s wedding in Los Angeles. There were three of us who helped conduct the ceremony: Carla and I led the Jewish elements, while the uncle of Mitch’s bride, Lauren, led the Christian parts.
Mitch had been very active in Jewish life through high school and college. He served as President of the Pacific Southwest region of USY, the Conservative Movement’s national youth group, and joined AEPi, the Jewish fraternity, in college. When his relationship with Lauren became serious, he knew that their religious differences presented a challenge. They even broke up for a period of time, but ultimately decided to get back together, and eventually got engaged.
As someone who cares deeply about the Jewish future, it’s a challenge for me when an active and committed Jew marries someone who is not Jewish. I greatly appreciate all of the interfaith couples that are here today, but also recognize that there are many more that are not spending this Saturday in synagogue.
The Jewish future depends on families raising their children Jewish, and I’m not sure if this is something that Mitch and Lauren are committed to. This very fact alone would prevent some Reform Rabbis from helping to officiate Mitch’s wedding.
However, as someone who cares deeply about the Jewish future, I think that not fully embracing a loving union such as Mitch and Lauren’s is the exact wrong approach. Every opportunity to inspire someone—especially someone who is marrying a Jew—with the meaning, purpose and significance of Jewish life is an opportunity not to be wasted. In being asked to help conduct the ceremony, Mitch was giving me the greatest opportunity to bring Jewish significance into his wedding day.
Specifically, my role was to explain the meaning of the breaking of the glass, the final act of the wedding ceremony. This is what I said:
The Kabbalists, the Jewish mystics, tell a story that in order to create the world, God gathered God’s light into a number of vessels. The vessels couldn’t withstand the power of God and shattered into a million pieces, spreading the divine spark into every element of creation. It is our responsibility to see the divine spark in every living thing, and to gather together God's light in the act of repairing the world.
The shattered pieces of this glass, I said to Mitch and Lauren, represent the commencement of a life-long commitment to repair the brokenness of the world and to bring God’s light into your home. Relationships take work, but with sustained effort, love, and a consistent acknowledgment of the divine spark in one another, your life and union will emanate with God’s light.
And with that, the most divine moment of the wedding happened. As Mitch stepped down and shattered the glass, and as family and friends, Jews and non-Jews, shouted Mazel tov, Lauren leapt into Mitch’s arms and gave him biggest, most passionate kiss I have ever seen at any wedding. There was such kedushah—such holiness—in that moment. Nothing else mattered but the divine light of their union.
As I enter the new year, this is the moment that will remind me that regardless of differences, we must embrace love, for only then can we truly see all of creation as b’tzelem elohim, as made in God’s image.
Delivered on Rosh Hashana 2009 (5770)
Rodef Sholom, San Rafael, CA
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Rosh Hashana 2008
On Rosh Hashana, we are commanded to acknowledge that we each still have work to do to become the person that we want to be. Much easier said than done. In fact, the Jewish calendar helps us to prepare for this daunting challenge by designating the entire month of Elul, the Jewish month prior to Rosh Hashana, as a time for self-reflection. Recognizing that we missed the mark is really difficult and often hard to admit to ourselves. More than time alone, it takes courage to admit that we have fallen short of our own expectations; so much so that Judaism even recognizing that we may not be able to admit this by ourselves.
The Al Chet prayer, which we will soon recite, is a communal expression of our shortcomings. “For the sin we have committed against you…” we will say. We as a community—as a group of people who share similar values and care for each other in times of sadness and joy, loss and celebration—recognize that we need to help each other to acknowledge where we’ve missed the mark and hold each other accountable to being better in the coming year.
Have you done anything that you felt was not a true reflection of who you are? Have you consistently demonstrated to the people that you care about that they are important to you? Have you cultivated patience, empathy, compassion, and understanding? Have you prioritized that which is important over that which feels urgent?
There were envelopes on the seats when you entered today containing pencils and index cards. In a moment, I will invite you to write down something that you’ve done, or failed to do, that is inauthentic to the person you want to be. How have you been unsuccessful in demonstrating your full capacity as a loving friend, sister, brother, co-worker, parent, or child? For what are you sorry?
However, I invite you to use the word “we” instead of “I”. For example, I’ll share with you something from my own life. At work, I too often think of people in terms of how they are going to be useful or an obstacle in accomplishing what I want and need to get done, instead of thinking about what makes them a unique, special, and holy individual. However, when I write this on my index card, I’ll write down, “At work, we too often think of people in terms of how they are going to be useful…”
If you’ve done something this year that you’re not proud of, we, as a community, share the burden with you. It is now our shortcoming, and we as a community need to support each other to acknowledge, forgive, and try better next time.
There is one more thing I want to share with you and invite you to try. I have to admit that at times, I’m too self-critical. Maybe you feel the same way – that you could be kinder to yourself, judge yourself less harshly, forgive yourself more quickly and completely, and love yourself as much as you aspire to love others. If this rings true, you may also feel—as I sometimes do—that the emphasis of the High Holidays on what I’ve done wrong isn’t always helpful. This religious obligation to analyze how I wasn’t good enough can feel like added pressure.
If you feel this way, I encourage you to write what you’ve been doing well. How have you hit or gotten closer to the mark instead of missed it? How have you successfully cultivated in yourself the ability to live authentically, to love completely, to learn consistently, and most important to leave an enduring legacy? It’s totally kosher to admit, yeah, I was pretty good this year! I’ve made a lot of progress!
Don’t feel like you are only allowed one index card; write as many admissions as you like. If you want your Al Chet to remain private, seal the envelope and it will not be opened. We will collect these index cards, our communal Al Chet’s, and read a selection of them at Yom Kippur, 10 days from now. There’s no need to write your name on the card, just the ways in which you’ve missed or hit the mark. We as a community will admit our shortcomings and also acknowledge our personal successes.
Over the next 10 days, we all have the opportunity to summon the courage, to work to forgive, to make peace with ourselves and others, so that by the conclusion of Yom Kippur we are clean, unobstructed, and free to be the people that we want to be and have a community of people to help us get there.
Delivered on Rosh Hashana 2008 (5769)
Rodef Sholom, San Rafael, CA
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