Seidemann: Mishap, what mishap? The show must go on

From the other side of the bench

by David Seidemann

Issue of February 19, 2010/ 6 Adar 5770

I can’t even count the amount of times in my life I have committed to follow a news story to its conclusion, only to have life get in the way. A horrific crime occurs? I make a mental note to follow the story three years down the road to see how the criminal trial turns out. It rarely happens. G-d forbid, a plane crash? I vow to follow up a year later to see what the National Transportation Safety Board concluded was the cause of the crash. Perhaps a year or two later I promise to see what modifications airlines have made to ensure the prevention of future mishaps.

Most serious investigations take time, so I was shocked that hours after the Georgian luge Olympian lost his life in a crash the investigating body had already concluded that the track itself was not a factor in the occurrence. Never mind that this was the fastest track ever. Never mind that there were numerous other crashes in practice runs. Never mind that apparently competitors from outside of Canada were not given the same amount of practice time as the Canadians were. Never mind that there was no padding on the pole that the Olympian hit at some 95 mph.

The conclusion just hours after the tragedy was that the track and its designers bore no blame. Why one might ask? Well in my humble opinion it’s because “the show must go on,” in the name of all the money to be made and the commercialism to be had. The show must go on just like it did in the Munich Olympics after the brutal murder of the Israeli athletes Olympiads ago.

Yes, life must go on after tragedy ensues with proper and appropriate time to mourn, proper honor and recognition of victims and a thorough investigation into the circumstances. At very least, that is what is deserved, but it is often difficult to do in this fast paced high-speed track that we find ourselves on.

Then there are times in life when deliberation is faked and the results of any investigation are a foregone conclusion. Certain bodies, operating under the guise of monitoring human rights around the world, no matter what the facts might be, will inevitably conclude that Israel is guilty of defending herself. The investigation, if it can be called that, can span five minutes or five years. The result will be the same. Why? Because the show, and we know what show they are interested in producing, must go on.

The “show going on” is not always negative. In fact if one has the time to place events in perspective and move on, not to be crippled by adverse events, the show going on is an admirable thing. Sometimes only a brief postponement of the show is in order as was the case this past Wednesday night. Dear friends of ours were in from California for a family wedding. Due to last week’s blizzard, the wedding was postponed until the morning of Sunday, February 14. The side benefit of the delay, was that we spent a lovely shabbos with our friends, their kids and ours.

As we sat around the Shabbos table this past week, I recalled with great fondness some 42 years ago this same week, when despite a few mishaps, our family’s show going on. It was the weekend of my eldest brother’s bar mitzvah. Along with a record guest list, came record snow. Along with good spirits, came bad health as a number of us kids, there are eight of us, came down with the mumps. We had just moved into a new home and let’s just say my parents did their very best to make the home inviting.

The local kosher food store and bakery could not accommodate our food needs for the weekend. We were quite a large crowd. My father therefore made the three-hour drive to Cleveland and a three hour return trip home to Columbus after picking up cold cuts, chopped liver, baked goods and all the other delicacies that were to be on display. The highlight was the bar mitzvah cake complete with the obligatory plastic bar mitzvah boy perched atop the cake, surrounded by the mold of the Ten Commandments made of blue and white frosting. Driving as slow as one is permitted to drive by law, my father navigated Interstate 71 South and arrived home without incident.

In his words, not one piece of salami, not one morsel of chopped liver, not one speck of icing moved from its original position occupied as it was placed into the car in Cleveland.

The Ford Falcon pulled into our driveway on that Thursday night and the items were unloaded with the precision of a heart surgeon. The last item to be removed was the bar mitzvah cake which was larger than the bar mitzvah boy. Five steps out of the car my father slipped on a patch of ice. The plastic bar mitzvah boy landed on our neighbor’s lawn and the 10 Commandments were reduced to five. My siblings gasped, the bar mitzvah boy cried, and my father hid. My mother calmly called an elderly woman from the neighborhood who is retired bakery worker

Within 10 minutes Moses ascended on high and just like in times of old ,the broken tablets were restored to their original splendor and glory. The Jewish people had been redeemed once again. The show went on that weekend, mumps, snow, and-all. And what a show it turned out to be. Our family is now celebrating the bar mitzvahs of the next generation. And we don’t even need to speak. A quick glance at the bar mitzvah boy and at the cake and the laughter begins.