13 June

Faith And The Refugees: Hypocrisy, The Sickness And The Sin

by Jon Katz
Hypocrisy And Faith

You hypocrite,” says Matthew In The Bible, ” first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.

Life is full of crisis and mystery, I often say, and I learn almost every day that this is true.

Here I am, born Jewish, turned Quaker, and now, in 2017, I find that my true spiritual leader is Pope Francis, the head of the Roman Catholic Church, which practically invented anti-semitism and for centuries embraced intolerance religious conflict.

This week Pope Francis called upon his followers to follow the teachings of Christianity, and embrace the neediest and most vulnerable people. “It is hypocrisy,” he said in a speech in Rome, “to call yourself a Christian and chase away a refugee or someone seeking help, someone who is hungry or thirsty, to toss out someone who is in need of help.”

The moral philosopher Hannah Arendt wrote that “only the crime and the criminal, it is true, confront us with the perplexity of radical evil; but only the hypocrite is really rotten to the core. In politics, love is a stranger…”

Addressing an audience of German Catholics and Lutherans, the Pope seemed to be singling out the United States when he spoke of the contradiction of those who say they want to defend Christianity in the West, and on the other hand, are against refugees and other religions.

Francis said the sickness or the sin that Jesus condemns most is hypocrisy, which is precisely what is happening, he says, when someone claims to be a Christian but does  not live according to Christ. You cannot be a Christian without living like a Christian.

The greatest hypocrisy I have witnessed in my lifetime is committed by people who claim to be devoutly religious who turn the backs on those in need, and in the name of virtue. I have many things to be ashamed of, but I do not believe I am a hypocrite.

I am not a Christian, but I strive to live like one in so many ways. I have  read a lot about Jesus Christ, and I have no doubt where he would be in the world today. He would not be banning the needy he would be helping refugees and immigrants escape torment and tragedy and find safety and comfort.

How curious that Pope Francis is not my Father, my spiritual leader, even though I would not last long as a Catholic, I don’t think, nor would they want me.

In a sense Francis has called me to work to aid the refugees and immigrants struggling to make a new life for themselves in America, a nation that has, in many ways, turned its back on them whole incessantly  claiming to be protecting Christian values.

I’m with Francis and Jesus, that is pretty good company for  Jewish kid from Providence seeking some faith. I thank the Army Of Good for standing with me.

We have focused some of our good on the residents of the Mansion Assisted Care Facility and some on the 100 refugee children in the love and care of RISSE, the refugee and immigrant center based in Albany, N.Y. We have focused on the soccer team and the other children getting help there. They are new to America, and have seen too much. It is my goal to show their humanity and commonality, they are very American, they are no danger or threat to us.

So far, we have purchased a trip for the refugee children to the Great Adventure Park in Lake George in July. We  have purchased a weekend retreat at the Pompanuck Farm Institute for the soccer team. We have bought the RISSE adult and children’s school a $1,000 screen and projector for their classes. We brought them 90 art and creativity kits.

We are buying new soccer uniforms, helping them to go on Saturday excursions to parks and lakes this summer. We have just launched a new scholarship program to give individual students special instruction for their passions and interests – art, computing, music, tutoring. This is, of course, open to boys and girls.

We presented some of the musicians in the program with a digital piano last Saturday, so they can begin to form a band or choir. All of the money for these programs and activities has been donated in full.

If you share Pope Francis’s caring view of the world, you can contribute to your own idea of faith right here.

I am opening a special bank account to place all donations for the children, so there will be a separate and clear record of the money and the work we are doing. I don’t want it getting mixed up in mine, and I need to separate it for tax  reasons as well. This doesn’t seem to be a one-week thing.

If you wish to contribute,  you can send a check to the Refugee Children’s Fund, P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816. Or you can send a contribution to me through the Paypal Friends And Family Program, I am [email protected].

My focus at the moment is the scholarship program, I think it is a powerful way to alter lives and promote creativity and skills. There is $700 in this account, as soon as I open it, a generous person of faith donated that money. I am hoping to get it to $1,000 and beginning searching for tutors and programs that meet the children’s interests and needs. Ali (Amjad Abdullah Mohammed), their teacher, and the RISSE staff will choose the recipients.

I will be taking photos of the scholarship children and writing about them, you will be able to see what you have done. As we identify their needs, we can explore ways to help them.

So thanks much for considering this. We do not need a large amount of money to do good, embrace our values, and change some lives. Small amounts from many people bring miracles. We do not choose to argue about what is good, we choose to do good.

13 June

Countdown: Ten Days To Leroy

by Jon Katz
Ten Days To Leroy

A week from Friday, Leroy comes home, the end of his eighth week of life. We went to see  him again this morning, Robin Gibbons, his very conscientious breeder, is always gracious about letting us see him. She says we can get him next Friday if we’re ready. We will be ready.

Maria and I had a puppy planning meeting tonight, we are both excited about Leroy. He is a bit of an old soul, loving, curious, but also fairly calm, especially in relationship to his hellion sisters, both remind me of Fate. Leroy is a bit Lab like, he is in no great hurry and seems quite secure. Both of his sisters beat up on him almost continuously while we were there, he will be ready for Fate.

He came up to us both this morning, he licked me on the neck a few times and nuzzled happily with Maria. He fended off his sisters and then took a nap for a few minutes. I like his style.

His face and body are filling out, but he is still quite small. This is the time for us to get ready for him. I’ve done this many times, fortunately, so I think I know what we need.

We have two crates for Leroy, one for the bedroom, one for downstairs near the door – very handy for housebreaking. He will eventually get upstairs, as all of our dogs do at night, but not for months. The first night or two, he will be yowling when left alone in his crate in the dining room (Fate still has  a crate there, she is in it whenever we leave the house.) No separation anxiety, no chewed up furniture, no garbage on the floor when we come home.

For me, crates are a battle that must be won.

They are essential to housebreaking, calming training and grounding. Dogs are pack animals, they appreciate confinement as well as freedom.  Dogs must learn how to be still within themselves, how to be quiet and alone, how to do nothing. We have lots of stuff for Leroy to do, on the farm and off.

Usually, it takes me two days to housebreak a dog, Leroy might be longer, he is young and with a very small bladder. Whatever it takes, we will do it.

Leroy will rarely be alone. We have two other dogs and both of us work at  home, but he must be at ease in the crate. We will feed him there, put toys and treats inside, block off half of it until he grows. We will make it a welcoming and safe place. There, he can escape the big people and big dogs and have his own secure space. He can listen to himself, something all the great dogs learn how to do.

I am always sad to hear people tell me they can’t bear the thought of crates, that they are cruel. This is much like saying it is cruel for carriage horses to pull carriages in Central Park, or for border collies to herd sheep.

There can be no greater favor I can give a dog that showing him to be comfortable within him or herself, and not be a loud and intrusive and needy animal. For his sake and ours.

We will get him some appropriate hard chew bones and soft toys, I don’t permit balls and throwing in the house, but I want him to have some toys always available wherever he goes. That way, he will focus on chewing on his stuff, not mine or Maria’s. I will feed him in the crate, wait 10 minutes and take him out on a leash. When he eliminates, praise and a treat. He will not run loose in the house until he is housebroken.

He will not move freely in the pasture for months, until we know all the animals recognize him and know he is a part of our lives.

As soon as he gets his shots, he’ll start his therapy work training, and also meet the donkeys and sheep and barn cats in a safe and controlled way. I wish for him to be a therapy dog, but also a farm dog.

We have the crates and some puppy chow. Today I ordered a steel pen for outdoors, we’ll put it in the back kennel area. Maria and I will go shopping together for some more toys and training treats this weekend.

We are very drawn to this puppy, he is a gentleman with a big heart. I think we need him here in odd ways that have not revealed themselves. I am eager to share this trip, my first venture into the world of the Small Dog.

13 June

The Pink Rescue Chair. Tattered Beauty.

by Jon Katz
The Pink Rescue Chair

Last year, Maria and I were taking our garbage to the town dump, and we saw this tattered beauty of a chair in a pile, headed for the crusher. We couldn’t quite bear to see it destroyed, so we shocked the dump staff by removing it from the garbage pile and putting it into our car.

We brought it home and put it in the barn. I think it was used by one of the barn cats as a resting place in nasty weather. Sunday, at the Open House, Gordon McQuerry, a local musician who also stacked our firewood for us, pulled it out of the barn and sat on it while he and his brother accompanied the RISSE soccer team as they sang “We Are The World” and had scores of people crying.

We pondered it today. Should we throw it out? I told Maria I imagined that she would one day make some artful thing out of it, like she has the old chairs in in the barn attic. So we found a new home for it, in the space between the stacked wood in the woodshed. It looks at home there.

We are not ready to let it go. We have rescued many things in our time together, a good number from the dump. I think the Pink Rescue Chair will stay with us. One day, Maria will seize on some idea for it.

I love this about our lives. At no point in my former life would I ever have considered taking a tattered old beauty l like this home. Not it seems quite natural.

13 June

Cabinet Meeting, Bedlam Farm: I Am The Best Writer Ever Except For Hemmingstein!

by Jon Katz
I Am The Best

Confete. I am the absolutely greatest writer on the planet. Any questions?

I decided to call a cabinet meeting at Bedlam Farm this morning, I invited the sheep, Red and Fate, Lulu and Fanny, the barn cats, the chickens and the Tin Man. Maria took a video.

I won’t be coy, the purpose of the meeting was clear from the first. I wanted to celebrate and acknowledge my extreme wonderfulness. I have known for some time how great I am, but the fake people lie about me all the time, and say I am just another crazy old man with bad feet and no hair.

Just after the sunrise, the animals gather around me for the first Bedlam Farm Cabinet Meeting. Crows, songbirds, snakes and mice – the fake news media of the country – were clustered around.

“Confete!,” I said, opening the meeting with some force. “Confete” said all the animals on the farm.  This was our secret code.  Nobody knew what it means, including me, which make it a good secret code.

When everybody was gathered around (Maria was asked to do a video), I shared my own insights with them.”I am the greatest writer that ever lived,” I said, ” and the most productive! Since no one else has said that in a few hours.  I thought I should say it” – here, I looked at the sheep, who seemed distracted.

Maria raised her hand. “You said it five times this morning.” Maria seemed to be rolling her eyes and looking at her Iphone messages.

“Are you sheep hungry?,” I asked. “Are you loyal to me? Because if you are not loyal to me, you will be very hungry and for a very long time. That is not a threat, it’s just us guys chatting. It’s the way we talk in New York, what a great place it would be to live there…”

Maria spoke up. “You do live there.”

“Yes, I know that,” I said, “if you can’t take a joke, go take pictures of something else.”

She turned to Rosemary, one of the imperious Romney’s. “I’m the only one who sees him in his underwear,  tells him where his shirts are and listens to his stories 50 times a week.” I glowered at her. This was not wonderful.

Zelda The Fearless looked uneasy. “What about Hemingway?,” she asked, “didn’t he write twice as many books, and didn’t they sell a lot, and didn’t he win a Nobel Prize and have houses in the Florida Keys and Cuba and somewhere out west, like Montana?”

I saw the donkeys edging backwards quietly and slyly, heading for the Pole Barn, where they could drift out of sight.

I called Red over. “Red,” I said, “can you take Zelda out of the meeting and put her on the other side of the Pole Barn by herself. Teach a sheep a lesson in being very, very alone. She is offering up fake information about a writer named Hemmingstein,  he is doing great work these days a I hear, he’s some Jewish guy from who-knows-where and who-cares-where. We don’t need her here.”

Red moved forcefully around to the side, did his wolf thing,  and Zelda took off, hoping the donkeys would shield her in the Pole Barn.

As he left, he turned to me and said: “Sir, I thank you for the opportunity and blessing to serve your agenda.

I beamed. I thank you Red, I said: “I am happy to  be your agenda. And I am perhaps the greatest writer who ever lived. My books are best sellers all over the world,  they can’t print enough of them. Everybody who ever read a book just loves me and they all tell me my writing gets better by the day, by the hour. They love me so much I can’t even tell you how great my  books are. Everybody says it.”

I heard Maria cough and raise her hand. “You mean the author of the book who couldn’t get five people to show up at his own hometown reading two weeks ago?  I listen to you snore at night.  And drool when you eat. And don’t try to send Red over here to herd me away, he’ll just cuddle up with me.”

I ignored her.

Then I called Red over to me. I whispered Sotto Voce: “Red, get over to the pole barn and tell Zelda she’s fired, she’s no longer welcome at the farm..”

“But she’s been  here from the beginning,” said Red, empathetic as always.

“I know, I’d tell her myself, but I’m in this meeting. Go take care of it, that’s a good boy. I’ll be honest and brave.” I scribbled a note, and Red took it in his teeth.  The note said “goobye, you’re fired.” Red nodded and headed to the barn.

I saw Fate’s  head pop up. “This is the longest I’ve ever been still,” she said. “Can I go to work? Can I go to work? Can I go to work?” I snapped at her. “I hear you. Sit down.”

Griselle came forward, waiting for me to call on  her. I did.

“On behalf of sheep everywhere,” Griselle said, “I want to say that the greatest privilege of my life is to serve as a wool sheep for you and Maria, to serve a man who has kept his promises to all of the animals here and to all of the people of the world, all of whom love and revere him and buy and read his books. No one  has ever kept so many promises as you have…”

“Not even Jesus, the shepherd?,” I asked. Griselle started chewing her cud ferociously, she seemed tongue-tied. “Red,” I shouted, “take her to Zelda. They are loyal or they are gone.”

I called Pumpkin over and I asked the other animals to move away, so that we would be alone. “Listen,” I said, we are having some people over to watch us herd sheep. I want you to pretend that Fate is pushing you around so I don’t look bad. I want  you to be herded. I hope you will do right by me and let her herd you…”

Pumpkin seemed to bristle. “Is that a request or an order?” I smiled and leaned forward to kiss him on the nose. “I hope you will be loyal to me. Red!” And we called the other animals back.

Minnie the barn cat hopped up on the birdbath. “Sir, I want to say that you are not only the best writer in the world, but one of the most amazing humans. You are handsome, charismatic, powerful and brave. I thank Bastet the cat goddess for allowing me to serve you and honor your greatness. That is better than mice.”

I smiled broadly, that’s it, right there, that’s what we are talking about. Don’t listen to the fake news reports, they lie and say I’m still waiting for a second printing on my new book. Lies, lies, lies..they can’t print the book fast enough!”

A crow hopped down to a lower branch of the Apple Tree. “I’ve just come back from Ohio,” she said. “They love you there, too. But there seem to be no copies of your new book in the stores there.”

“Can I go to work?,” said Fate. “Can I go to work now.” I told her to sit down again.

Liam spoke up. “Greatness, I know I speak for the entire flock when I say how grateful we are to be herded by Red and…er, Fate, too. It is the privilege of a lifetime to be chased around the pasture in this 90 degree heat, to be nipped on the nose, forced to run, herded into a tight circle, and scared witless. Thank you.”

I saw Lulu creep tentatively out of the barn. “I am privileged – honored – to be a donkey on Bedlam Farm,” she said. “Thank you for honoring your commitment to the donkeys of the world, as you promised. You did it, I know, you have banned tractors from America, chopped up all of them for scrap so we could get our jobs back and make donkeys great again. Thank you.”

I beamed. “Thank you, Lulu. I’m so surprised. I had no idea how much everyone loves me. We are doing so great, soon the people who love me – everyone loves me – will love me even more. Every single tractor is gone, we sent them all to Mexico, they can chase all the bad hombres down there before they get up here. And they tell me bullets bounce right off of them.”

There was much baaahing and braying. They loved me these animals, and I loved them back.

I looked up to see the Tin Man, standing out in the yard in the sun. He hadn’t said a word. Tin Man loves me, we tweet all the time to each other. “Tin Man!,” I shouted. “It’s your turn.”

He doesn’t speak much, he’s all heart. I did hear his squeaky, rusty voice. “Tin Man,” I said, “is there any other spontaneous thing you want to say about my greatness.

Kim, our shy ewe, came forward first. “Yes?,” I asked. “Sir, your hair is standing straight up in the wind. There are two barn swallow babies sleeping on the top of your head.”

I pulled my hair down over to the site and used a paper clip to attach it to one of my ears.

The sun glinted off of his tin head. “I’d like to sing a song,” he said, “it’s not my song, it’s the one by Miranda Lambert.

Sure, I said.I love music.

He cleared his throat, nervously, he was a shy thing.

His squeaky voice wafted over the farm.

Hey there, Mr. Tin man,

You don’t know how lucky you are,

I’ve been on the road that you’re on,

It didn’t get me very far

You ain’t missing nothing

‘Cause love is so damn hard

Take it from me darling,

You don’t want a heart.”

I thought it was a bit strange, but I smiled, and thanked him.

Then it was my turn.

Every eye on the farm was on me.

“I will say,” I said, looking around for the cameras (there weren’t any), “That there has never been a writer, with few exceptions – Jesus, Jeb Clampett, Perry Como – who’s written more wonderful books, who’s done more things than what we’ve done. I’ve been about as active as you can possibly be, and at a just about record-setting pace.”

Flo the barn cat turned to Minnie, the other barn cat and whispered “how long do we have to listen to this? Will he feed us now?” Minnie shushed her.

“Confete,” I shouted.

“Confete,” they replied. The meeting was over.

13 June

Clean Dog, Dirty Dog

by Jon Katz
Clean Dog, Dirt Dog

We took two dogs out to move the sheep this morning. If you look at them both, (Red off to the left, Fate up close) you can see the quite dramatic difference between these two wonderful border collies. Red moved the sheep, did some outruns, ran through the grass and meadow.

Fate did her now famous runs around the sheep and managed to look like she had been rolled in a mud bath. Here tongue was hanging out, her Pirate Eye was glowing, she was covered in much and swamp dirt. Red looked calm, rested, as if he just came from the groomer.

Red never loses his dignity, Fate has no interest in it.

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