My Uber driver this morning was a 78-year-old Baptist preacher. We spent the ride comparing near-death car wreck experiences, led there by a conversation about Smokey Robinson.
My story involved a flood, his a fire. Mine took place after a day of revenue cycle management, his after a bout of drinking. My wreck put me in a hotel for the night, his in the hospital. My wreck ultimately led to a life on mass transit, his to a life with Jesus Christ.
Continue readingI was aimlessly surfing online when I happened on that now-famous clip of the New York City mayoral candidates being asked what foreign country they would visit first on being elected to office. It’s amusing to me that, put in that situation, I would truthfully have answered Israel. It’s even more amusing how uninformative that answer turns out to be. Funnier still is the number of people who, on hearing it, would confabulate their way to an explanation and get it wrong. But I would not have prefaced or explained what I said. Ask a stupid question? Get a cryptic answer. Under the circumstances, they should be grateful to get an answer at all. Continue reading
Facebook does this thing where they exhume something you posted on this day, x years ago, just to remind you that you did: “You have memories on this day,” it helpfully intones. Sometimes you want to be reminded, sometimes not, and sometimes you can’t be sure. This one, I guess, falls into the third category. It was the midpoint of a long walk I took on June 10, 2016, which fell during Ramadan, when I was fasting. I was living at the time in Abu Dis in the West Bank, just east of Jerusalem. It was either a day off from teaching, or I was just done teaching, so I started walking, on a whim, from Abu Dis to the neighboring town of Eizariya. Continue reading
Years ago, I went on a long road trip with a Palestinian friend, first to Nablus, then to Nazareth, and eventually to Haifa. Nablus wasn’t officially part of our itinerary; we just stopped there en route to Nazareth to take a bathroom break. We parked the car by the Nasr Mosque in the middle of town, and went in to use the restroom, at which point the call to prayer sounded–for dhuhr, or high noon.
“Do you want to pray?” my friend asked. “Well,” I said half-apologetically, “I’m not really a believer.” “Neither am I,” he retorted. “What I mean is, do you want to go in there and fake it?” He said it so matter-of-factly that I started laughing out loud. “No, seriously,” he insisted. “I think you’ll like it. I fake-pray all the time. It’ll be fun.” So we did. Continue reading
I was at a Christmas Eve service last night where the Confession and Lament Sequence said: “Forgive us for following the logics of Empire and the violence of Herod. Lord have mercy.”
It’s an admirable sentiment, but I had to wonder: if mercy is to be sought, is this the proper addressee? Is mercy in fact the thing to be sought at all?
EVS Journal 8: More Scenes from Life on Call in the OR
Up to this point, what I have accepted as very true I have derived either from the senses or through the senses. However, sometimes I have discovered that these are mistaken, and it is prudent never to place one’s entire trust in things which have deceived us even once.
Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, Meditation 1
I’m on call in the OR for New Year’s Day, 8 am to midnight–an irritation after a long sleep-deprived week of work, including all of New Year’s Eve spent in the OR. I wake up on New Year’s Day, and decide, on a mere hunch or whim, to drive to the hospital mid-morning, pre-empting the phone call that calls me in to the hospital, operating instead (so to speak) on the premonition that if I go to the OR unbidden, there’ll inevitably be a case waiting for me to do, which I’ll then be in a position to “head off at the pass,” whatever that’s supposed to mean in this non-cowboy context. Continue reading
ICE showed up at my workplace today–or rather, ICE in the guise of DHS, “The Department of Homeland Security.” The agent flashed a badge and started asking about some people with Spanish names. Did I know anything about them? I had nothing to say.
The only thing I have for ICE or DHS–the only product I can promise–is wholehearted, undying hostility. I doubt they want to hear me talk about that. So there’s nothing to say. In any case, the Homeland they’re securing isn’t mine to worry about, and the land that I live in isn’t theirs to secure. Not a promising basis for a meeting of minds–the only kind that interests me.
I opened the door this time because I didn’t know who was ringing. Next time, as far as I’m concerned, they can stand there for as long as it takes to induce someone else to open the door. I’m not the doorman. So it won’t be me.
EVS Journal 6
December 16, 2020
“Out of the crooked timber of humanity, nothing straight was ever made.”
–Rabbi Immanuel Kant, Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose
Another Hava Nagila incident in the OR today. Was playing it pretty loud on repeat, twirling my rag as they used to do back in my shtetl. Nineteen year old co-worker Ron goes, “Oh man, turn that Arabic shit off!” Arabic! 😂
Ron keeps ordering Alexa to stop, but she won’t listen. Once it starts, there’s no stopping Hava Nagila. And if Alexa is on shuffle-repeat? We’re talking eternal musical recurrence. Either you love your fate, or you don’t. I do. Ron doesn’t.
I’m celebrating the vicissitudes of fate when the Director of the OR walks in unannounced. She seems flustered, startled, even annoyed. I don’t know what she expected out of a cystoscopy turnaround in OR 1 by her crack EVS unit, but Employee #1027742 twirling a rag to Hava Nagila and pretending to be Tevye the Fiddler was perhaps not it. Continue reading
I started an “EVS Journal” back in 2020, when I worked in environmental services in the operating room of a small community hospital in west-central New Jersey. I’ve decided to start posting edited versions of them here, for whatever interest they might still have.
EVS Journal #5
December 15, 2020
Seth, Bilal, and I are doing a late turnover in OR 2. Alexa is playing Christmas carols. I get annoyed.
“Two Muslims and a Jew in here, and we’re listening to Christmas carols. Why?”
Without a word or reaction, Seth commands Alexa to play “Hava Nagila.”
“That’s better,” I say.
“I hate this fucking song,” Seth rejoins. Hava Nagila continues. Continue reading
Despite the snark, I sometimes miss it. Teaching, I mean, not grading.
Policy of Truth 