yom kippur meanderings

I haven't been feeling too well. A twist on my usual digestion problems - acid reflux and a sensation of a lump in my throat. My doctor diagnosed esophagus inflammation, most likely caused by large doses of Vitamin C. Strange but not impossible. I stopped with the C (though taken along with the magic COLD-FX * and riding atop my annual flu shot, it has shielded me against the common cold for two years). The symptoms have improved somewhat, though the lump remains. It feels as if there's a pencil stuck in my throat, going right down, along the length of the gullet...

It was Yom Kippur yesterday. Although I don't fast (cannot fast because of my stomach condition) it is the one day on the Jewish calendar that I take seriously: no TV, no radio, no computer, memorial candle burning and 24 hours spent basically reading and seeking just a little bit of spirituality. Indeed, towards the end of the day, I whipped out the prayer book given to me by my uncle in 1963 and I read the Hebrew liturgy for the end of Yom Kippur. Never realized Hebrew had so many synonyms for "sin" and for the verb "repent". I didn't go to the synagogue - I don't like mixing with crowds and I certainly don't like any club that would have me as a member (hat-tip: Groucho Marx) I prefer my spirituality in the confines of my living room.

I also went for a walk along Eglinton Avenue and was filled with pride about living in this country and this city in particular. The stretch of Eglinton close to my house is a very Jewish area. It was grand to see many Jewish families strolling to and from the numerous synagogues on the strip. It was equally great to see the non-Jewish majority going about its business, enjoying the mild - though overcast - fall day, shopping, sitting in cafes. And it was tremendous to see a couple of bakeries open - for Bagel Jews such as myself: those of us who belong to the tribe but are not averse to a bagel on Yom Kippur or even Passover. There is a deep rooted tolerance here that I love and cherish. It is so deep rooted, in fact, that hardly anyone notices or calls it tolerance. They just call it Toronto day-to-day.

Because of my illness, and to a smaller degree because of some technical problems that might have come up, I had to cancel my appearance as the opening act for Jaromir Nohavica, the Czech folk star. I regret the cancellation which might have opened doors for me but ultimately I feel it was the right thing to do. Not only because of the illness but also because of Yom Kippur. It is possible to sanctify the day even when one is a Bagel Jew...
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* I am not now, nor have I ever been, an employee of or an agent for ColdFX. ( I just think it's a bloody good product)

bobby

Bobby - that's what all of his friends, contemporaries and - it seems - all the hangers-on, called him. Robert Zimmerman from Hibbins, Minnesota is a fascinating and in many ways infuriating character. Infuriating because he refuses to be pinned down, characterised, defined. He has always defined himself in any way that pleased him or served him.

Martin Scorsese's documentary, "No Direction Home" is a fantastic piece of film making. Apart from some mind boggling archival footage, there is a long face-to-face interview intercut throughout the movie, in which Dylan speaks bluntly and yet never reveals anything substantial. He doesn't speak about his parents. He speaks a little bit about his home town and about the music he listened to as a kid. He never smiles. His assertivness and his measured speech are striking. He never really explains anything beyond saying: "That's how I wanted it to be". A truly mesmerizing guy. I thought that it was Scorsese himself who interviewed Dylan for the movie but it turns out that the two actually never met. The interviewer is never shown in the film.

In the archival clips Dylan performs night after night with his electric band to boos and abuse from the crowd that wants to hear him strum his acoustic guitar and sing "protest" songs. There's Dylan mercilessly shredding hapless reporters who ask the most inane questions and have the most bizzare requests (one asks him to suck on his sunglasses) Always elusive, his performances always riveting. In his review, Roger Ebert likened Dylan's singing to a preacher's sermon - absolutely right on the money!

In the 60's Dylan was cast into the role of a spokesman for a generation but he never wanted to be one. He refused to follow the rules of accepted societal behaviour (becoming a "protest" singer) but then he refused to follow the rules of the radical left that had so eagerly adopted him. Dylan never followed anyone's rules. He remains an enigmatic genius till this day. And, at the age of 64, he still looks and sounds as cool and as hip as he did in the early 60's. No one boos him now!

No Direction Home is a truly outstanding document