Monday, February 27, 2017

Artistic License and The Master Story Teller

Sometimes I try to fight what I am going to write and this is such a time.

God has commanded me in no uncertain terms to describe without inhibition, censorship or embellishment, what goes through my mind as I sit here and write of my own experiences. To give a faithful rendition of the events I experienced with the feelings and thoughts that are wrapped around them in my memories. The God of Art tells me to say that I write, all in my own name, that His Creative Will flows and is filtered through my own being as such is represented in the name Jonathan Michael Robbins, and the significance of that name will be magnified and glorified for as long as God's ART manifests in the mind of mankind. Of the consequences of me being who I am it can be said "I Will Be What I Will be!"

I am utterly and completely an effect of God's Will, nothing moves in me or about me that is not the manifestation of Divine Intent and that doesn't serve Divine Purpose. The great irony of this, is that it is as true for anyone else as it is true for me, though it is far more evident and obvious in my narrative than it has ever been or will ever be for anyone else.

God is creating with my narrative, a point of "REFERENCE", what is called Zion ציון in Hebrew. I am the LIVING "measuring stone" spoken of by Isaiah in chapter 28, verse 15.

טז לָכֵן, כֹּה אָמַר אֲדֹנָי יְהוִה, הִנְנִי יִסַּד בְּצִיּוֹן, אָבֶן; אֶבֶן בֹּחַן פִּנַּת יִקְרַת, מוּסָד מוּסָּד--הַמַּאֲמִין, לֹא יָחִישׁ

"Therefore so spoke My Master, God, "Here I am establishing "REFERENCE", a STONE (of understanding), a Stone of Measurement, A Corner Of A Cherished Establishment, An Establishment of The Believer Who Does Not Quicken To Make Things Happen."

My life story will become a point of reference that will put to rest forever the doubt that exists whether creation is the consequence of Divine Design or not. This will happen over the course of a great expanse of time, centuries, and not just in my life time. But it will become ever more evident in every following generation that what I say here is true.

There will be enemies of this message, enemies of great power and influence. The war over people's hearts will rage across the coming centuries. There will arise like great waves in a tempest over the sea, men and women of great Faith, leaders who will be guided through tremendous hardship and difficulties by only their Faith, in that in The Purity of Their Hearts, The God of Israel will lead them with a whisper through the darkness of chaos and unpredictable events.

My story will shine in their mind because of the loyalty I have to its truthful rendition, without any regard for my own reputation or the consequences truth telling has had on my relationships. It will shine because the story is intended to serve as a light in the darkness, so that the Great Beauty of God's Creation can finally be appreciated by all mankind in gratitude and commonwealth.

My father's fifth wife, Malkah called me.

I missed her first voice message, which was curt. She called me again today and I was asleep. When I am not writing I am tired and sleepy. When I write I can go on and on for hours without a break. Malkah left me another less brunt sounding message where she said I must be very busy as she can't reach me despite her attempts. She said I am loved and not abandoned and that I need to accept that they can't understand what I am trying to tell them. I think she spoke in the plural as if as a representative for her children and perhaps grandchildren, too. All of with whom I have had no real familial relationship at all since Malkah sent me away when I was 12, except as we met at the few weddings I attended or when I visited my brother Daniel who did reach out to me a couple of times and invited me insistently for a weekend or holiday. I didn't attend my father's funeral, nor was any effort I am aware of, made to have me join the meeting with my biological mother when she came to Israel. I am at peace with this, just saying.

My brother Daniel has since unfriended me on Facebook and he told me he can't invite me for a while as his wife is too upset that I shat on his Lawyer's sign when I was crazy, 9 years ago.

As soon as I saw Malkah's message I called her back. She didn't recognize my voice. I expressed my appreciation for her call. She brought up again that they can't accept my saying I am The Messiah. I told her I don't expect them to and haven't in the past. All I ask is for recognition that I exist and I would appreciate some kind of attempt to listen to me, but by no means demand it as a right. I reminded her that I visited her once and didn't try to convince her of anything and the same with Daniel. I told her that accepting I am The Messiah merely based on my saying so, would be crazy. She laughed nervously and told me I hadn't lost my sense of humor. I told her again that I think she completely failed me as a mother, that she had demanded I be sent away or she would leave my father. She first denied this and said I am crazy to say such a thing, but I told her I have that exact memory and accepted my sacrifice as I saw it as helping the family to stay together, which caused her to stutter. She said they did it for my own good because I was such a mess. I think that is a conscious lie and I am about to tell why. I told her that God had put a surprising love in my heart for her because it is still there, despite all the pain she has caused me (with her incessant slander of me to my father and siblings). I told her of the gratitude I still have for our short honeymoon when she came into our lives, when she introduced me to art and music and literature. She said I am a very good writer. She didn't invite me to visit, just said with what was to me a very unconvincing and disingenuous voice, that I am loved and not abandoned.

I consider her gesture to have been disingenuous and intended to appease her own guilt. I don't believe it worked. Such empty gestures awaken in me a deep frustration and protest.They only add insult to injury.

Malkah came to live with us when I was ten years old. We lived in Canarsie, Brooklyn on 107th Street, in a duplex my father had bought with a fat serendipitous tax return from the short time he had been a millionaire. Our family consisted of my father, a live in maid from South America, my sister Suzannah who is three years older then me, myself, my younger brother Daniel who is three years younger than me, and my younger sister Debbie who is two years younger than Danny. I was in the fourth grade and had great struggles of misunderstanding with my teacher, Miss Jacobs, who for some reason used to humiliate me in front of the class for having dirty finger nails, not doing homework and the fact that pages dropped out of my notebook because they weren't secured with those little sticky paper circles, called reinforcements. My work wasn't reinforced. She would hold my notebook upside down so the pages would fall out in front of the whole class after she would see that I hadn't done my homework assignments.

On the other hand she seemed impressed by the fact that I was doing book reports on works like "At the Earth's Core", a 1914 fantasy novel by Edgar Rice Burroughs. A trunk full of Burroughs' works had been given to my father as collateral for a loan and as the couple given the loan disappeared without a trace, I and my sister Suzie got to feast on the books. They were a God send for me. I got completely lost in them and they filled my mind with imaginations of pictures of scenes from long twisting narratives.

My mother Joan had taught me how to read by the time I was 3. I read better than anyone in my class and regularly got gold stars for my reading proficiency in the first years of grade school. Once I purposely stuttered while reading in order to have variation in the colors of the stars I got, like everyone else in the class. In the second grade I was put into a class for the gifted. As encouragement, my mother Joan bought me a record player. I only remember being very confused by everything around me.

My father met Malkah at an event meant to sell Hebrew Teaching books to Hebrew Teachers. He was the marketing manager of The Soncino Hebrew Book Publishing Company. I have copied and pasted a version of those events.  I something I wrote 12 years ago on the internet. I can't now say how accurate the events I wrote here were. I wrote honestly for sure, but I had a discussion with my brother Daniel and there were considerable discrepancies between what I remembered and what he believed to be true. I like the stories I wrote 12 years ago, even if they aren't completely accurate for Malkah or Daniel or someone else. These are the stories I told myself and they comforted me and gave me the strength to trust the God of my father. That is the power of a story, and better a story that gives courage and hope than the story someone else tells, someone's version of events that is undermining of my faith in my father's God, like Daniel's recollections. The truth is what one honestly tells one's self to the best of one's ability. That is the only truth that really matters. The following is the story God put into my heart and that I grew up believing.

My father met Malkah at a convention for Hebrew teachers where he had gone on business as the manager of marketing for a Hebrew Publication House. They sat at the same table. When my father asked Malkah where she was from, she answered something she had never in her life done before, usually saying she was from Montreal, where her parents had a second home. But for some reason, she said Saint Sophie and my father became very alert.

When my father was six years old, his father, The Ultra Orthodox Chassidic Mystic, sixth generation from the Baal Shem Tov, moved his small congregation of followers and students to Saint Sophie, back in 1921. There was a very small community there of Jewish farmers and my grandfather decided for reasons no one else ever heard, to move there and start a Shull, a Jewish Prayer house.

My father went to Cheder, Hebrew studies, under the tutelage of who was already called Old Man Rabinovitch, when he was but 40 years old, this for the long white beard that fell from his thin and large eyed face.

These were the happiest years of my father's youth. His strongest memory of that time was the following incident.

In my family, it is forbidden for us to read out of the Torah scroll on Saturdays, ever since the Baal Shem Tov laid down this rule for my family, his descendants. This except for the Saturday of one's Bar Mitsvah itself.
He said, if any of our family read from the Bible, fires will break out. This prohibitory tradition was kept, until one day my grandfather found himself without a reader for the Saturday reading of the Torah.

Convincing himself that the tradition was a superstition, having no other option, he read the passage himself. On their way home from Shull that evening, in the early dark, my father felt a need to run ahead and home, leaving his Father and sisters and brother behind, slowly walking the long walk home through the fields.

From a distance he could see smoke coming out of the top room, the Library of his father, my grandfather's study. He raced there and ran up the stairs, discovering that the wind had forced open a window, knocking a kerosene lamp on a couch which had caught fire. The fire had enveloped the cushions, which my father succeeded in throwing out the window into the snow. He was just nine, and this made a very strong impression on him, as his father had shared his apprehension of breaking a tradition which had been in the family for four generations.

Malkah was born in Saint Sophie almost twenty years after my father left it. She also studied Hebrew with The Old Man Rabinovitch and her name was Rabinovitch too. Ours was Rabinowitz, which is basically the same name and means " the son of a Rabbi". We and Malkah are distantly related as cousins. One day the Old Man Rabinovitch came to bring her father a couple of prayer books, telling him to keep them safe, and some day he would know what to do with them.

When we first visited Saint Sophie, it was for my father a very exciting turn of events, as he never expected to be there again. Marlene's parents, my father's age, couldn't understand why their attractive, educated, strong willed and very artistically inclined daughter, but 27 years old, would want to marry a man twice her age, with four small children. A man who was practically broke, as he lost his job the week after he met Marlene through it.

They received us....some what with reserve. Marlene's father, Peter, threatened to disown her, but his wife convinced him to give their daughter an opportunity to present the man she declared was her destiny.

It was only after twenty minutes there, after my father asked about the Old Man Rabinovitch who had passed away shortly after bringing those prayer books, that Peter got up and climbed a litter ladder, reaching for a pile of prayer books covered in a prayer cloth.

He handed them to my father, who recognized them immediately as belonging to his father, who had inscribed in them the following.

"For You, Baruch, when the time comes".

After this, Marlene's parents and siblings treated us all as if we were their own flesh and blood. Their financial help kept food on the table until my father realized he must return to his calling as a Rabbi, which he did shortly after marrying Marlene.

What I like about this story is that it is reminiscent of those in The Bible. It is written in a way that makes clear its true author knew the end of the story already at its beginning. It intimates Divine Design of personal experience and that sometimes people say or do things based on an intuitive knowledge of the future.

There is something miraculous about it.

Now many of the stories in the Bible have blatant examples of miraculous happenings. Fire falling from heaven precisely on an alter and burning the offering is one of them. Another is fire falling from heaven and not only burning the offering, but burning the two Priests, Aaron's sons, who got so excited by the first miracle, that they tried to do it again of their own volition and paid with their lives.

On several occasions, Elijah's prayers brought fire down from the heavens too, and once, when the Children of Israel saw this, they repented of their idolatry and joined forces with Elijah in the slaughter of the Priests of Baal, the pagan god. The whole story of the Exodus is resplendent with glorious examples of God's mastery over the forces of nature. In modern times we are taught to doubt that such things could have really happened. We are told by so called authorities on matters of the behaviors of nature that there are invariable Laws which cannot be broken to prove a moral point. There have been many attempts to explain Bible stories with natural events that happened to coincide with the Exodus and it's plagues.

Now let me say this. I don' know what happened during the Exodus or even if there was one. What matters to me is that there could have been an Exodus precisely as told in The Hebrew Bible. I say this definitely and without a shadow of a doubt. But I don't know what really happened there because I have no personal recollection of the events. I believe there was a man named Moses and he wrote the stories in the books called by his name. I believe that the stories he told were accurate descriptions of The Truth of God's Nature and God's Artistic License to cause anything He Wills to happen regardless of any ideas we might have about the intractability of nature's laws. God's Creative Will is the ultimate Law and he can do anything He Wills with matter and energy in space and in time, on any scale whatsoever.

I know this because I have experienced many complete breaches of natural order, relentlessly and sometimes with complete disregard for my sanity. I have had things disappear in the blink of an eye and appear as if out of no where. It was the recent inexplicable disappearance of a pack of cigarettes followed by a dream about my lungs turning black and approaching a point of diseased no return that prompted me to quit smoking and I have succeeded to break the addiction, cold turkey, because God's will is manifest in this. Some of these miracles happened in the company of others, particularly Itay and on a few occasions Izaak. It is important for people to understand that The God of Art is not a slave to his own mechanisms. A Corporeal King is usually held subject to the laws he himself enacts. Not so, The King of Kings, The God Over All Lords, The One and Only True Master of The Universe.

He is ever Free to Do as He Wills and nothing is beyond His Capacity to Enact. Cool

We all need One God,
with One Name,
and One Torah.

The God of Art
And His Torah
as taught
by jmr a light. Cool

Art for Art's Sake!

Rotating 11:11 is becoming 11 square 11 square Love heart Angel Love heart

A Catastrophic Tragedy. Maybe Not!


Jonathan Michael Robbins

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יונתן מיכאל רבינס

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