PREVENTING SPOUSAL ABUSE; HONORING THOSE WHO HELP

Nat_aliza_officeSometimes a common event can remind you of the wonderful ways that others find to live their lives and help others.  Tonight we went to a benefit for a group that helps Jewish women trapped in abusive relationships; it’s call the Jewish Coalition Against Domestic Abuse.  We went because a good friend chairs the group, but also because they were honoring a remarkable pair of lawyers: Nathaniel "Nat" Lewin  and his daughter Alyza Lewin .  Together they are the law firm of Lewin & Lewin LLP . This article in Jewish Week Magazine describes them beautifully.

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Nat has an impressive history; it was kind of thrilling to see him honored and hear him speak so beautifully and lovingly of his lawyer daughter, his photographer daughter, his wife and grandkids, then to hear Alyza thank her parents, her husband, her sister, her kids and her nanny, all of whom were there. 

She described her memory of having "the talk" with her mom early in her adolescence — not "the talk" talk – but one at least as important.  Her mother, she said, told her to be economically self-sufficient, AND to never let her work keep her from getting married and having children, Then, she continued, half joking, her mother said "These two things, they conflict.  So now maybe it will be easier because I told you."  Everyone laughed, mostly with recognition.  We all know that clash and live with it.   

Most moms have a connection with their kids, begun physically of course, before birth that continues in a way that makes leaving them to go to work tough.  We were probably hard-wired that way.  When I saw this mother of four describing her mother’s warning and her subsequent efforts to be mother and powerhouse attorney, I thought about so many women — those law school pioneers terrorized in class and shut out of study groups, med students thrown out of operating rooms because they were too germy to be there without pantyhose (true story), women reporters shut out of the Radio TV Correspondent’s dinner unless they came as "hostesses."  We’ve all come a long way, and clearly Alyza Lewin, through her work, with her dad, on Jewish issues, is using the progress we made to help others.  As Jewish Week wrote:  "That’s meant
everything from representing apartment tenants whose landlords won’t
allow them to hang a mezuzah, to assisting government employees having
trouble getting their security clearances renewed because of family
ties to Israel, to helping rabbis ensure menorot can be displayed on
public property during Chanukah." 

She comes by it naturally.  Her dad, when he spoke, didn’t say much about his track record as an attorney – he didn’t need to.  Again, the profile;

Combining his time as an assistant to the
solicitor general and private practice, he’s argued 27 cases in front of the
Supreme Court. And his daughter notes that there is no legal issue relating to
the Jewish community that doesn’t have his "fingerprints" on it. ..
he drafted the provision of the Civil Rights Act that protects one’s religious
observance or practice. Later in the decade, he wrote legislation that allowed
federal workers to work "compensatory time" if they wanted to get
time off to observe religious holidays. … Lewin is still trying to create further protection for religious liberty.  The firm has taken up the case, on appeal,  of a Jewish parole officer in New York whose employer pressured him not to observe religious holidays by scheduling
mandatory meetings and training sessions on those dates. They are arguing that
the plaintiff faced a "hostile work environment"
similar to the kind of environment considered actionable for sexual harassment and
that the courts should recognize such a standard for religious practice.

Before forming Lewin and Lewin, Nathan Lewin was
a founding partner at Miller, Cassidy, Larocca & Lewin. Among his most
well-known clients was Ed Meese, when the Reagan administration attorney
general was the subject of an independent counsel investigation over charges of
influence peddling. …

U.S.dLewin also was actress Jodie Foster’s lawyer
when she testified during the trial of John Hinckley for the shooting of
President Ronald Reagan. In 1975, Lewin represented John Lennon on an appeal of
a US   decision to deport
him because of his previous conviction on drug possession charges in Great Britain.
Lewin said he never met the Beatle, having been recruited to handle the appeal
through Lennon’s lawyer. And he joked that he probably shouldn’t have cashed
the check Lennon sent him to pay for his services because the
autograph on it probably ended up being more valuable.

The Lewins currently …are working on a number of
other Jewish-related cases, such as the Boim case, in which, on behalf of a
victim of a Hamas terrorist attack in Israel, they successfully sued the Holy Land Foundation and two other U.S. charities for providing funding to the terrorist organization.  They are waiting for the results of an appeal but the legal theory they devleloped has been adopted by a number of other terror victims since.

So.  They deserved the honor.  The issue is horrifying – the "Jews don’t do that sort of thing" myth decimated – like the lives of so many of the women JACADA works to help.  The biggest reward for me though was to listen to this accomplished, unassuming and loving daughter tell her story and speak with such colleagial regard for her father.  It’s how things should be.  And so seldom are.
 

 

SNOW — TOTO WE AREN’T IN LA ANY MORE!

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Last week I took you to see this tree outside my office.  It was just lovely.  Then I went to LA and, as this storm was preparing to arrive, worked outside by the pool all afternoon.  Never have I been so aware of the good side of the left coast – where I lived so unhappily but have come to appreciate.

 
Snow_1107_road_2Back home tonight, which is Wednesday, it looks like this.  I seem to be on a real tear about seasons and changes.  I left a fiery display of falling leaves and returned just in time to welcome the magical silence that is my favorite part of an all-day snowfall.

I’m posting this on Friday, just before Shabbat.  Ending the week.
Thanking God.  Wishing I knew an angel named Earl. Remembering snowy
night time walks down Broadway with my kids.  And snow days.  And ski
lifts.

And back again to that old circle thing.  There isn’t much in life that doesn’t come in cycles, and if you observe the Sabbath, it begins at 4:30 in the depth of winter and 9:30 at the height of summer.  Jewish holidays too are built around harvest and planting, the moon and its cycles; it’s far more connected to the earth and its processes than I ever understood until we began living this observant life.  I wonder sometimes if, given my pleasure in the cycles and their passage, that pleasure isn’t yet another reason we ended up here.

Shabbat Shalom.

I LOVE LA — NO, REALLY

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I’m sitting right here – next to the pool, at the Mosaic Hotel  in Beverly Hills, where we’ve been coming for years.  What a treat to be writing outside in December.  The whole time I lived here I complained – about the lack of "intellectual rigor", about the meanness of Hollywood (which, by the way, makes Washington politicians look like amateurs), about the lack of autumn foliage, about the spoiled kids and on and on.  I guess I still think a lot of those things, but when we drive in from the airport, passing all the pastel buildings, the sun shining, the air balmy and gentle – I remember the good things.  Maybe our East Coast weather builds character and a grounding in reality but this really is lovely.  At least for visiting.

It’s also different to come to LA as an observant Jew.   Orthodox Jews are a parallel universe – something like Harry Potter compared to the Muggles.  It’s a culture with, by necessity, many of its own institutions, the strengths of which are  determined largely by the size of the community.  LA has lots of observant and formally Orthodox Jews so there’s a spectrum of services — and standards.  Yeshiva girls in sweatshirts and leggings, every kind of kosher restaurant, schools, and of course, shuls.  Here’s little bit of what we’ve seen in the couple of hours we’ve been here on this trip.

Bnai_david This is B’nai David Judea, a modern Orthodox congregation on Pico near Robertson, in the heart of the Orthodox community.  We’ve been to services there a couple of times on Shabbat – it’s a lovely community and a beautiful sanctuary – and the congregation is young, hip, and in many cases, Hollywood.

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Just a block away there are several kosher groceries and delis.  Here’s one.

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And these guys – they’re the backbone of Jeff’s Gourmet Kosher sausage.  We’re taking lots home to our friends – there’s nothing like it near us.

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And this — this is a real, live, kosher Subway!  Not too shabby.

There’s more to LA than the stereotypes that were our reality when we lived here.  Lots that’s nice.  Sadly, the  ugliness and banality  conceals much of it;  only after a long absence (and  perhaps the added perspective of a religious community) that I, at least, have been able to see both sides.  So bring it on Randy Newman — it’s a great song.

 

BEST FRIENDS FOREVER

CindyandjanesmallThere we are** – Jane and me on her porch one summer during college.  Friends since Brownies, we’ve always had a warm, respectful and sturdy relationship, interrupted by years at a time but never diminished.  Recently she sent photos of a family reunion – her four kids and their spouses and all their kids. And some things she had written.  Beautiful things. Especially about her parents.  I knew them well; I spent so many Saturday nights at their house, even going to church with them in the morning.  They never ate breakfast before Communion but Jane’s mom always insisted that I eat something even though I was going with them  After all, I wasn’t taking Communion so why not?.

Cindy_and_jane_yearbook
A "nice Jewish girl" in a milltown suburb (here I"m on the right and Jane on the left, I had no Jewish friends; Jane, Catholic, was my dearest.  What might have been a huge cultural gap was just a curiousity; differences in our lives but not in how we felt about one another.  We’d always sworn to be at one another’s weddings; I’ll never forget her beautiful one in the cathedral at Notre Dame.  Years later, when it was my turn, Jane was living in Dallas and already a mother; she just couldn’t make it.
Then, just days before our wedding, she called.  "Do you still have room on that boat of yours?" (We got married on a boat.)  "I have to keep our promise- I’m coming!"  It was so great and meant so much.  Just as she knew it would.
That was 36 years ago; almost twice the age we were when the top photo was taken.  But it doesn’t matter.  The blessing of shared memories — of remembering each other’s parents and the Girl Scout trip to New York and her first love, who died in Vietnam — and mine, who ran off, perpetually stoned, to Santa Barbara —  those memories make her part of so much of who I was and who I’ve become.  What a gift to me that the one whose friendship blessed me was so blessed herself – generous and fine — helping me to be what she knew I had to be when I wasn’t sure myself what that was…not at all.

***NOTE: In order to observe the Sabbath, this post was written in late October and set to post on Saturday morning November 17th.

JERUSALEM DIARY 2.0 DAY EIGHT: WEDDING SONGS, ARTISTS, MUSIC AND MEMORIES — THE BEST ARE THE THINGS YOU WEREN’T LOOKING FOR

Kol_nishmaYou know it’s true: we never know the best things are coming until they’re there. I can read this! It’s Kol Nishma, a song I really wanted to learn. I’ve twice heard it sung as a groom makes his way to his bride surrounded by friends — all singing (hollering) with energy and joy. A friend found the title for me, our Hebrew teacher typed out the lyrics in nice, big, first-grader font – and I can read it – even sing it in the limited tune-carrying that passes for me singing. Wasn’t expecting that one…

Malla_croppedLater we visited the studio of a designer whose work we thought we might like. He shares his gallery with his 80 year old mother, whose extraordinary art hangs over tables where his is displayed. It’s quite a scene. That artist, Malla Carl, whose work was enchanting, grew up in Switzerland after her family fled the Nazis and landed in Lucerne.

Her father, she told us, had been a Chasidic rabbi. Even so, he gave her permission to go to art school – quite revolutionary at the time for an Orthodox Jewish girl. When I asked how this was possible in such a traditional environment, she explained, a bit tongue-in-cheek, that the chief Rabbi of Lucerne had come “from Berlin” – dramatic pause – and been influenced by Rabbi Samson Rafael Hirsch. The father of Modern Orthodoxy, Hirsch apparently believed even then that women should be educated and gladly gave his permission for her to continue her studies.

I wish I could describe the animation, the humor and charm, the sheer joy of our time with this spectacular woman. She told us great stories; some, involving others, I’m not able to relay. Suffice it to say she’s a pistol. She took us through folders of her work – not as customers but fascinated visitors – and her content and execution are memorable and evocative. They are not the work of an “old” person but of one always alive and aware.

We just went on and on — asking questions and receiving remarkable responses. Somehow our conversation moved to facts surrounding our move toward Orthodox Judaism. She was pretty shocked. As we prepared to leave, our newly purchased print rolled up safely in a tube, the story of our gradual move from no affiliation to such a commanding observance fascinated her. Finally, we left. From the top of the stairs, after giving us farewell greetings (a kiss for Rick, a motherly caress for me because I have a cold and she couldn’t hug me) Mrs. Carl continued our conversation. Upon learning, from one flight down, that Rick and I have a Kosher home, she saluted! I don’t know if I have the skills to describe it: A small, grey haired woman in glasses, standing in the dim light of the stair well, saluting us for embarking on this stage of life with such a radically different reality. The whole scene represents an idea dear to Baby Boomers like me — and the basis for the title of this blog. Whatever you do, DON’T stand still. Grow and change and explore and wonder and respond. Not so dramatic; just be alive while you’re living. The drama was reserved for a tiny woman, learning of our journey of discovery — (sometimes so so hard) — and saluting. It took about a block to be able to speak; both of us were enormously moved. Honored, too, not only by her gesture, but by the opportunity, however brief, to share the reality of such a gigantic life. They say Jerusalem is full of history – and it isn’t all built into the stones and walls. Every person leaving the old country and coming here to build a new life — every one of them is a figure of history. Today we met one of the best. You’d know it, too, if you’d been with us, seeing her grand salute from the shadows at the top of the stairs. I never expected that, either.

JERUSALEM DIARY 2.0 DAY SEVEN

Soldiers_lunch_with_guns_2We had four hours of class this morning and two of Hebrew this afternoon so I’m making this short.  Just know that the Pardes classes were once again remarkable.  It’s hard to explain spending two hours over a Torah concept but today our great teacher, Rabbi Reuben Grodner, brought us a eulogy that a revered rabbi and teacher Joseph B. Soloveitchik gave for the wife of the Talne Rabbi, another major force in his community.  The purpose for reading it, Rabbi Grodner said, was to demonstrate this pioneering rabbi’s understanding of the value of the moral and intellectual leadership of women, as well as men.  He also founded Maimonides School, the first school where girls and boys could learn Talmud together  – and for women, learn it at all.

Anyway it was very exciting as was the rest of the day.   I took the photo you see here on a tony Jerusalem street called Emek Rafaim -a combination of Soho and Columbus Avenue.  These young soldiers were doing security patrols and stopped for lunch – so their ever-present semi-automatics were in their laps (look just below the table edge.) 

What I’m trying to demonstrate with these daily security photos is NOT that Israel is dangerous because it really isn’t, unless you go to disputed areas, but that this is what life is like here – that people make their way and raise their kids and go to the movies and jog along the Old City walls, and these folks protect them as they do.  When I think about what we complain about at home — well — ever since 911 people have complained that the president never asked us to make sacrifices and we subsequently don’t have the same investment in the outcome.  If you want to see the kinds of quiet courage that emerge from shared responsibility, this is one place to look.

A NEW YEAR, A 36th WEDDING ANNIVERSARY, A LOT TO THINK ABOUT

Wedding_familyTonight begins Rosh Hashanah – the New Year celebration that launches the holy season of the Days of Awe that continues until Yom Kippur – the Day of Atonement.  It’s also a huge day for me – in more than one way.  Rick and I were married 36 years ago today.  On a boat on the Monongahela River.   We’ve been through a lot – maybe more than most couples – but we’ve hung on and we’re reaping the rewards of a shared history.  So to have this remarkable landmark fall on the eve of a holy day of renewal is really something.

This is another anniversary, too.  Our third living an observant life.  We first came here for Rosh Hashanah services 4 years ago, met our remarkable rabbi and began the journey that has led us to a new, moving, inspiring, frustrating, challenging, occasionally painful, sometimes completely uplifting life.  We share new feelings, new friends, new aspirations to goodness and a sense of God, new challenges and inspirations.  AND we’re still sharing them with each other.  That too is remarkable.

Now as we move toward observance of these days, toward prayers and meals and friends and — especially joyful – a visit from one of our sons and his girl friend, I am both grateful and anxious.  We are supposed to think about debts and obligations, sins and redemption.  I still carry a painful family resentment – toward someone I love but who has hurt me deeply and , I suspect, believes that I hurt her.  I need to deal with this but am still struggling to figure out how.  But I know I will – that I must.  That’s the other gift of this season – a confrontation with the personal flaws that impede our prayers and our happiness.  My dear one, if you read this, know how much I love you and that we will find our way past this – I promise.

To those who have offered us so much guidance and support, with whom we’ve had such fun and such meaningful prayers (and meals – and visits) I wish you the gift of as much goodness as you’ve brought us – an enormous deluge of joy.  To our dear rabbi and his family a special thanks for being our gateway to this new life and all that it has meant. 

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And to Rick, my partner, love and best friend, eternal gratitude to you for your courage and determination, love and generosity, talents and humor and incredible incredible soul.  Happy anniversary.  Thanks for the memories, the adventures, our amazing children,  and this astonishing, still emerging journey.  L’shana tova.

WEDDINGS, WITCHES AND JEWISH LIFE

Cropped_chuppa_bride_and_groomWeddings are life markers – milestones on a singular journey.  Every time, just like today, the two whose lives are joined know that their wedding is the most meaningful, the most special, of all.  Every time, just like today, their family and friends smile and sigh, nod knowingly or watch in wonder.  Most times, just like today, there is feasting and dancing, laughing and crying,  present and past.

The couple in this picture are grownups with jobs, a just-completed dissertation and a real sense of wonder that they found one another and managed to make their way to this day.  They planned the wedding, designed the exquisite chuppah (wedding canopy) that has been part of Jewish marriage for centuries, and worked to make the day special in every way (they succeeded.) 

This is the third wedding I’ve attended this year and the third traditional observant Jewish wedding ever.  That’s very unusual for someone my age but we’re blessed with friends who have made us part of their extended family and asked us to share these blessed days with them.  Today, for the third time in a year I watched a groom led to his bride by a swarm of singing, dancing men; I’ve watched him lower the veil over the face of the woman he now knew for sure was his beloved.  (Jacob was duped and married the wrong sister; at least 600 years old, this tradition evokes that story and acknowledges its power.)  When I first learned of it it sounded barbaric to me.  Men taking possession of property, I thought.  Check out the goods.

Somehow though, in the years I’ve spent moving toward an observant life, it’s come to mean something quite different: a reverent bow to the centrality of a sound life partnership – not for everyone but certainly  for those who choose to marry.  Marriage is not just the economic and legal partnership so often described in political conversation, it’s an ancient entity with real resonance and a gigantic role in the preservation of a humane, loving and sometimes sacred society. It requires tradition carried on; it requires the presence of ceremony and ritual to link it to the couples of past generations. 

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On my favorite guilty pleasure, Charmed, rituals of birth and marriage are attended not only by those who share the lives and loves of the Halliwell sisters (yeah they’re witches and their story spent 8 TV seasons enchanting us all) but also by those who came before.  They summon, "through space and time"  all members of "the Halliwell line."  Surrounded by these transluscent figures of past generations, today’s Halliwells celebrate marriages and new arrivals.  Those fully and those ephemerally present conclude together "blessed be."

What does this have to do with Jewish weddings — or any other terrestrial weddings for that matter?  A lot.  Eight years on the air, the longest running show with female leads, it dealt often with travel through time and space and dominions never imagined.  But when really important events arose, all the magic was supplanted by a single, simple spell that basically –well — brought the family together.  For them it was across ghostly generations…it was a show about witches after all.  But that really is what weddings do, and in my limited experience, the weddings of observant Jews are events with special power because they consider a wedding the "creation of a home" where Jewish life will be lived and celebrated.  "Home" is represented by the wedding canopy, or "chuppah" under which the bride and groom marry, surrounded by loved ones of prior and subsequent generation:  grandparents and parents, aunts and brothers, sisters and nephews. 

This particular chuppah was built from branches rescued from a clearing near Boston and covered by a tablecloth that had belonged to the bride’s grandmother, who had died the year before.   My husband’s and mine was covered by the prayer shawls of our grandfathers – mine near death and too frail to attend, his gone just a couple of years before.  Again, instinctively, we, like this bride, sought connections over time. 

I"m not saying this well but what I think is that we’re hardwired to want to be part of something "larger than ourselves" and faith and family are that something.  For observant Jews, these connections are manifested throughout the ceremony and the traditions surrounding it.  That timeless ritual and all that surrounds it bring the gift of place and meaning – the reminder that as we celebrate a marriage we join the circle once more, honoring all that has been given us and accepting the responsibility to pass it on.

SHARING HAPPY DAYS

Wedding_graphic For the past month I’ve been working almost all the time.  Between all the blogger work I do and the benefit I co-chaired it’s been madness.  Still is, a bit.  But we’re rolling up to two summer weddings and a weekend at the beach so I will recover I’m sure.  We spent a good deal of this past weekend celebrating with our friends in the last official activity before their wedding – it’s called an aufruf and it’s part of the Saturday morning service.  The groom reads from the Haftorah and then – I know it’s goofy — everyone throws soft candy at him.  It’s kind of a welcome into the almost-married state. 

I was surprised at how moved I was; seeing a young couple of whom we are so fond pass another milestone on the way to their wedding in July.  I am always struck at the value of ritual — something I suspect I’ve spent much too much time avoiding.  Because we have been part of this relationship for some time, and because my husband was part of the service and all those called to bless the Torah were close both to the groom and to us, every moment was rich with meaning.  The more I learn about the value of these moments the more I see the value behind religious observance.  There are many days when I just get angry – don’t want the restrictions and rules and dos and donts.  Days like Saturday though, I understand the connection between the lovely and the difficult.  Just like the rest of life in some ways I guess.. only more so.   

A REBIRTH OF WONDER — DEATH AND LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI

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In A Coney Island of the Mind, San Francisco poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti wrote of a search for a rebirth of wonder.* It’s out there – that wonder — sometimes in the strangest places.

Here is what I know: Some things in life surprise us — not with shock but with wonder. Today we flew to Boston for Rick’s dad’s funeral. It was a beautiful day – sunny and almost as warm as spring. With Rick and me traveled not only our remarkable rabbi, but also two of Rick’s dearest friends. Despite the mid-week madness of Washington, they had chosen to leave their work and fly north to support us. In addition, the sisters of two friends unable to come arrived as their surrogates. That was the first wondrous thing.

An Orthodox funeral is deceptively simple. The coffin is a plain pine box held together with pegs. As it leaves the hearse it is borne by the mourners to its place over the grave. On the way, Psalm 91 is recited and the procession stops seven times. Once the coffin – reverently referred to as the “aron” is in place, the service proceeds.

Cemetery_1_1With our rabbi leading the service, each step along the way was accompanied by warm and loving exposition: Why do we do this? — How should we participate? — What is the blessing of bearing the aron and seeing to its burial? As he led the prayers and answered these questions, it was with such love and individuality that participation became a privilege and a comfort. That is the second wondrous thing.

As the service moved toward conclusion the rabbi explained the final act. We, not the cemetery employees, would bury the coffin – my husband’s father. One by one, we took up the shovels and poured earth into the grave. Not until the grave was full and the coffin covered did we leave… and then, all those in attendance formed a double line so that Rick and his brother could pass through, moving from the funeral to the initial mourning period, or Shiva.

This last, loving duty is perhaps the most remarkable of what an Orthodox Jewish funeral offers mourners. At the funerals of each of my parents, way before we moved into this new life, the cemetery distributed little envelopes of “dirt from Israel” which attendees dropped on the coffin. We all left then, and the cemetery employees finished the job.

I told my sister about the custom that mourners fill the grave, thinking that she, who is not thrilled with our decision to live a more observant life, would be appalled. Instead, she said “That’s so great – leaving them covered and at peace. I felt so badly leaving Daddy there so exposed….” That’s probably the most critical. Imagine the difference, at the close of such a painful day, filled with loss and grief, if you knew you’d bid a farewell that leaves your loved one cared for and at peace. Imagine, too, that those you love – beloved friends and family members – have all left a part of themselves there in the grave; that the final resting place includes their loving labor. That’s the final wondrous thing.

We’re nowhere near the Age of Wonder, that’s for sure. But we are occasionally given a peek. Today the window opened and a bit emerged — not quite a rebirth but present nonetheless — just enough to help us see what’s possible. If that’s not wonder, I don’t know what is.

*I Am Waiting
I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder