A Box of French Fries and Admitting a Mistake

My barber in Queens is from Japan. Jun is about forty years old, razor thin, and he has a marked accent as he came over from Japan only a few years ago. While Jun cuts my hair, we have the most interesting conversations about fishing, a passion that we both share, and about religion. This past week as I sat in the barber's chair he told me a story.

Jun was standing in the shop as a woman walked by outside with her young daughter. The girl was eating french fries from a box. She accidentally dropped the fries on the ground. They made a big mess, french fries and ketchup everywhere, right in the middle of the sidewalk. The girl reached down to pick up the fries, but then the mom scolded her, saying: “Those fries are dirty, don’t touch them. There are other people whose job it is to clean this up.” The girl stood up, and the mother and daughter kept walking, leaving the mess for somebody else.

My barber was a bit shocked by the actions of the mother. He wanted to go outside and confront her, but he kept his objections to himself. Later, Jun told this story to a friend of his, who responded this way: “Well, sure the mother should have picked up the fries. But by leaving the mess, she created a job for the person who is cleaning it up.” Perhaps we have found the solution to the country’s economic problems: we all act unethically and hire other people to have the job of cleaning up our messes.

As my barber told me the story of the mother, daughter and the french fries, he made the following comment: “Maybe I am just too strict. Maybe I expect too much from people. But I still do not understand how that mother could set such a poor example for her daughter.”

Even though it was a small act, leaving those french fries on the ground for someone else to pick up was a way of evading responsibility. When we accidentally drop a box of french fries, or purposely harm others at work or at home, we are all very good at finding ways to deny, blame or otherwise evade responsibility for our errors. My barber described himself as strict in expecting the mother and daughter to do better. Judaism sides with my barber on this one, saying that we should be strict in taking responsibility for our mistakes.

I got into a fender-bender a few weeks ago. This is my confession. I am a rabbi. I have given sermons about the importance of being safe drivers and the dangers caused by aggression on the roads. Yet recently, I was impatient behind the wheel. I cut off a small truck trying to make a right turn. The metal bars on his bumper did some damage to my Honda. Since the truck was only going five miles per hour, no one was hurt and the truck was not harmed.

The driver of the truck was in his 20s, and by his accent, sounded like an immigrant from the Caribbean. I was embarrassed and I apologized. He was kind and gracious, as we waited together for the police. The next day I brought my car to the body shop. As the mechanic looked over my Civic, I said: “I was the jerk here. I cut off a truck.” He then replied: “Most people would not say that. At least you were honest.” As bad as I felt about my accident, that simple comment by the mechanic made me feel a little better. When I took responsibility for my mistake, it helped me to cope with it. As I left the auto body shop, I did wonder how many people a week admit their driving sins to the mechanic. I hoped there were more confessions than stories about what the other person did wrong.

One of the most important lessons of the Jewish High Holidays is that we must take responsibility for our mistakes. During the confessional prayers spoken on Yom Kippur, we offer up an alphabet of sins in the ashamnu prayer, from arrogance and bigotry to zeal for bad causes. We confess mistake after mistake. Surely none of us have made all of these errors, but the point of the prayer is that we have made some of them. When we see our own lives in the words of the prayer book, and see our mistakes listed among the confessional, then we have taken the first step in the process of repairing our wrongs.

There is another point that is important in taking responsibility for our mistakes. When someone confesses a wrong to us, we are obligated to treat them with kindness. The Rabbis taught that if a person asks for forgiveness three times, and we rebuff them on each occasion, now we are the one who has sinned. To take responsibility in front of another person requires courage, and makes us feel vulnerable and embarrassed. I am not saying that we have to forgive and forget. But we must hear and acknowledge when a person offers us a confession, and remember that it is not easy to admit a mistake.

Taking responsibility for our wrongs is ultimately liberating. When we think about owning up to something we did, we may initially feel guilty or embarrassed. But the act of confessing a mistake to someone else can be deeply satisfying. When I told the auto mechanic that I was the idiot who hit the truck, I felt better. I felt lighter. I could move on with my life, and try to learn a lesson from my mistake. Blame and denial may be great ways to save face. But Judaism teaches us that by confessing our mistakes, we begin to liberate ourselves from the errors, and move on towards wholeness and repair.

To read another story about Jun, my Japanese Barber: CLICK HERE

The Fly Fishing Rabbi meets The Fly Fishing Professor

I was thrilled when Professor Ken Lokensgard invited me to present a guest lecture in his class on fly fishing and religion. Ken teaches in the religion department at Gettysburg College in Gettysburg, PA. Once every other spring, he offers a class on fly fishing and religion entitled “Fly-fishing in Spirit, Language and Practice.” I quickly wrote back the Fly Fishing Professor, and we chose a late April date for my visit to Gettysburg.

After an impossibly long drive from New York City to Gettysburg in the rain, I met Ken for lunch. Ken is from Missoula, Montana, which instantly gave him fly fishing credibility in my eyes. He does his research on the religion of the Blackfoot Native American tribe. I also discovered that like me, Ken is a fly fishing fanatic, taking trips in Pennsylvania and Montana as often as he can. Ken even had a small dry fly prominently mounted on the dashboard of his car. As we got to know each other during my three day visit, I was amazed how much we had in common. Ken and I study and teach about religion and we are both obsessed with fly fishing. We had many great discussions about Native American religion, Judaism, the midge fly fishermen of Central Pennsylvania and fly fishing trips to Montana, Colorado and Argentina.

Picture: The Fly Fishing Professor (left) and The Fly Fishing Rabbi

I joined Ken’s class on a Tuesday morning at 8:30 am to offer my presentation on Judaism and fly fishing. Ken told me that he invited many guests to speak over the semester, including a member of the local Trout Unlimited branch and a devout Christian who loves to fly fish. However, I was the first rabbi to lecture in his class, and perhaps the first rabbi that many of his students had ever met.

The twenty five or so students listened attentively as I spoke about the basics of Judaism, how I discovered my love of fly fishing, and the connections that I see between fly fishing and Judaism. We had a great discussion about the ethics of fly fishing and if fly fishing for sport is humane. We even debated if it is morally acceptable to mount a fish that you catch on the wall. (I practice catch and release fly fishing most of the time, but I do keep the occasional trout for food. Since you cannot eat a fish that you mount, I argued that it is not a good idea.) When the class ended, I felt that I had made connections with the students and that we benefited from the time that we spent together.

When I was not in the classroom, or visiting the Gettysburg Hillel where the Jewish college students gather for prayer and programs, I was fly fishing. Ken and John, a local guide, took me fly fishing on the famous central Pennsylvania streams. We fished the Yellow Breeches River, Letort Spring Run and the Conewago Creek multiple times. The fishing was hard. John, who works at the local fly shop, is an excellent fly fisher; he caught and released many trout on small rainbow midges. I was not so fortunate, hooking only one small trout on the Yellow Breeches that broke the line before I could get him into the net.

The afternoon we spent on the Letort Spring Run was memorable more for its connection to fly fishing history than catching any fish. The Letort is an extremely difficult stream to fish, filled with wild brown trout who will not rise easily to a fly. Two central PA fly fishers, Vince Marinaro and Charlie Fox, unlocked the secrets of this stream, fishing long leaders and small tippets. Vince one said: “The Letort is a hard taskmaster and does not treat lightly any violation of dry fly technique.” The only mark I could make on the Letort was leaving my Fly Fishing Rabbi card there. About ten feet off of the stream, there was a black mailbox with a small binder in it. I added my card to the collection of others from fly fishing guides and stores and I felt like I was a small part of the long history of this place.

Picture: Walking up to the Letort Spring Run




On the last morning of my trip, I had a decision to make. I had told myself that I would take some time during the three days to visit the Gettysburg site and learn more about the famous Civil War battle. On the other hand, it was shaping up to be a fine fly fishing day, slightly overcast, and I had not caught any trout on this trip. So I returned to the Conewago Creek, and tried not to chide myself too much for missing the opportunity to visit the battle site.

I was by myself, fishing a hole that Ken had shown me the previous day, and that I knew had a number of trout within. After much casting with no success, I decided to try a new fly, a size 16 Zug Bug with a small sinker on the line. I sent the fly into the stream about twenty feet above the fishing hole, and literally walked down the bank, the rod in my hand, to let the fly drift naturally towards the fish. Within an hour, I caught and released four rainbows and browns in the vicinity of twelve to fourteen inches.

Pictures: The Conewago Creek



Then on one cast, a trout took my nymph, and I felt something that I had never experienced before, the weight of a truly large fish. I had no power over this trout. My rod was bent in a deep arc, and each time I tried to reel him in, I felt the weight of the fish resisting me. It was like trying to move a big heavy rock in the water. Then the trout leapt into the air. He had to be at least eighteen inches, and came back down into the water with a splash, as if to taunt me and show me his greatness. I was ecstatic, having never hooked a trout this large in my life.

For a few minutes, I tried to reel him in, but eventually my inexperience with such a large fish got the best of me, and he broke the line. When the trout escaped, I jumped in the air in my excitement like a little kid, mimicking the trout who had leaped out of the water not a minute before. I felt like a ten year-old as I re-lived the thrill of catching my first fish. I did not care that I could not land the trout. Simply feeling that weight on the line, and knowing that I had hooked this mighty fish was enough.

On the drive home, I realized that perhaps I had passed the fly fishing class that Professor Lokensgard offered at Gettysburg College. I had caught a few fish, and even hooked a great monster. I had shared my passion for fly fishing and Judaism with a group of college students and built new connections with them. But most of all, I had found something very rare, a person who loved religion and fly fishing, and I had made a new friend.

To visit John Bechtel’s fly fishing guide service for the Letort River and other Central PA streams: CLICK HERE

To listen to an excerpt of my presentation at Gettysburg College: CLICK on the blue play button:

The Fly Fishing Rabbi meets The Fly Fishing Professor

A Fly Fishing Pilgrimage

Roscoe, New York calls itself “Trout Town USA.” Probably the most famous fly fishing river east of the Mississippi, the Beaverkill begins at Junction Pool, where hundreds of fishermen and women test their skills each spring. Roscoe is the center of fly fishing in the Catskills. For over 100 years, the Beaverkill, Willowemec, Delaware and other streams have attracted the preeminent fly fishers in America including Theodore Gordon, Art Flick and Joan and Lee Wulff. The Catskills soon became known as the birthplace of American Fly Fishing.

A journey to the Beaverkill River is like a pilgrimage, a long journey to a sacred place. Muslims make a pilgrimage to Mecca once in their lives. Christians travel to Rome to visit the Vatican and hear the Pope speak. In ancient times, Jews used to travel to the Temple in Jerusalem three times a year to offer sacrifices to God. Today, a trip to Israel remains a sacred pilgrimage for Jews, a way to connect to the past and the Bible. While I would not put Roscoe New York on the same spiritual plane as the Temple in Jerusalem, for many fly fishers the Beaverkill River is a sacred site, a place like no other in America to cast a fly.

In October 2001, I journeyed to Roscoe on a trip that felt much like a pilgrimage. It was only a few weeks after 9/11. From my apartment in Brooklyn, I could still smell the smoke coming from the remains of the twin towers. New York City felt like a war zone, and I needed some time away, a safe place in a world that felt upside-down.

After a two hour car trip, I arrived at Roscoe New York, population 597. Every pilgrimage has rituals, and a trip to Roscoe is no different. I ate at the Roscoe Diner, I visited Catskill Flies to get some gear and good advice, and I checked into the Reynolds House, a nice B&B right in town. Finally, it was time to go fishing.

As I had been looking forward to fly fishing the Beaverkill for a long time, I could not help imagining what would happen when I finally cast my line. I dreamt of a beautiful river, filled with large rising trout. On a perfect fall day, I would be the only person around for miles, and I would catch and release fish after fish for hours. Needless to say, my dreams for this fly fishing pilgrimage were a bit unrealistic. Junction Pool was too crowded, the Beaverkill River was low that year, and I got skunked for two days, not catching a single trout. I realized that while the pools of the Beaverkill might be famous, for me that day they were also fishless.

Picture: The Beaverkill River

On my second day of fly fishing, when the streams would not yield a bite, I decided to abandon my fly rod and go for a hike. I climbed to the top of one of the hills which was very steep, and I looked around. Trees covered the Catskill Mountains in all directions, the leaves were turning brilliant yellows and oranges. I had never witnessed such a beautiful fall scene in my life. As I stood on top of the hill, I realized that I had completed my pilgrimage. The sacred site that I was looking for was not Junction Pool or the Beaverkill River. It was on top of that mountain, where I felt in awe of the beauty of nature.

Picture: On top of a Catskill Mountain in October 2001

Many religions consider high places to be holy. Mt Fuji in Japan is worshipped. The Temple in Jerusalem was located on a hill, the highest point in the ancient city. In the modern Jewish synagogue, the Rabbi and Cantor sit on a bimah¸ a raised platform, above the pews of the congregation. When we arrive at a place that is high above ground, we feel less caught up in the everyday, and we can see a new perspective on our lives.

Being on top of that hill in the Catskills reminded me of another pilgrimage that I once took, to Mt. Sinai in Egypt. In the Bible, Moses went up Mt. Sinai to speak to God and to receive the 10 Commandments. Moses was up there for 40 days and 40 nights, and he needed no food or water.

My wife and I arrived at St. Catherine’s Monastery on the foot of Mt. Sinai in the early evening. The monastery was built in the 6th Century upon the supposed spot of the Burning Bush, where God first spoke to Moses. The fortress-like building contained many ancient artifacts and a skull room, but it was closed for the night.

The fastest way to get up to the top of Mt. Sinai is by camel. We were helped up on the saddles of the tall brown beasts. Soon we were working our way up the mountain on a narrow path. It quickly became dark. For some reason, the camels liked to walk right near the edge of the path, overlooking the depths below, so that the entire trip I had a great view of how far I would fall if the camel tripped. After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at a small shack, where an Egyptian man was smoking comfortably and a few other tourists were huddled in the corners. It was 2 a.m. by now, and we were freezing on top of the mountain, with the winds blowing through the open walls of the shelter without mercy. We crawled under a blanket and half-slept, shivering and praying that the night would soon end.

We awoke to see a sunrise that was beyond description. I forgot all about the trails of the night before. The light illuminated rounded peaks in all directions. Standing on this mountain, I understood how Moses could feel the presence of God in such a place. I wanted the walk down Mt. Sinai to last forever, as I stared at the mountains and the occasional goat searching for something to eat.

Pictures: Mt. Sinai at sunrise. Look for the mountain goat in the third picture!

A pilgrimage is about taking the time to escape the everyday, about traveling to a place that is far from the ordinary. This type of journey can be a search for safety in a post 9/11 world, a return to nature and simplicity when human society seems so distorted and difficult. A pilgrimage is also about connecting to the past. I may not have caught a fish in Roscoe, but knowing that I was fishing the same rivers as Theodore Gordon and other greats made me feel grounded and authentic.

Perhaps the ultimate goal of a pilgrimage is enlightenment, the gaining of wisdom and knowledge like Moses on Mt. Sinai. Standing on top of a hill in Roscoe in the fall and shivering in that shack on Mt. Sinai, I did not directly hear the voice of God. But the beauty of my surroundings helped me to look beyond my own life, and to contemplate the Divine, and that made these two journeys well worthwhile.

Fish that Can Walk and Evolution

Apparently, 375 million years ago, fish could walk. According to the San Francisco Chronicle, scientists found a fossil of a creature that had the scales, gills and fins of a fish, but also had ribs and the primitive limbs of land creatures. One of the paleontologists, Neil Shubin, said: “What we found was clearly a fish, but it had a long flat head with its eyes on top like a crocodile, a shoulder, an elbow and a wrist.” This fish spent most of its time swimming, but also climbed out of the water and hunted on land.

Picture: Fossilized remains of Tiktaalik rosae, the fish that could walk, and a model of the fish. From the San Francisco Chronicle and the University of Chicago.

The discovery of the fish that could walk is being hailed as an important evolutionary link between fish and land creatures. The walking fish was an early ancestor of reptiles, dinosaurs and mammals, including human beings. Science can now prove that we all descended from fish. Perhaps that is why I enjoy spending so much time fly fishing; the trout are my very very distant cousins.

One scientist, Jenny Clark of Cambridge University, offered an interesting response to this great discovery: “This is another gap closed that a deity no longer needs to fill.” Clark describes the conflict that can exist between religion and science, between those who believe in evolution and those who read the Bible as the literal word of God. For some people, God played no role in the development of life on earth. Over millions of years, the laws of nature and evolution led single-celled organisms to develop into fish, land creatures and eventually human beings. In this view, nature does not require any divine intervention, and God need not fill any gaps in our understanding of the origins of life.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, creationists believe that God created the entire universe exactly as described in the Bible. Genesis chapter one describes how God made everything in the world by the power of speech: “God said: ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.” In Genesis, there is no mention of any ideas that suggest evolution. There are no walking fish in the Bible either, although there are sea monsters. On day five, God created the fish and the taninim, the great sea monsters, which were perhaps whales.

The fish that could walk is not the only fish that symbolizes the conflict between evolution and religion. Some people put an ichthys, or “Jesus fish” on the bumper of their cars as a sign of their belief in Christianity. In response, others have chosen to modify the “car fish” to represent their support of evolution. Some versions add the word “evolution” or “Darwin” within the symbol. There are even "Darwin fish" with feet, which we now know is scientifically accurate thanks to the fish that could walk. I respect the “Jesus fish” symbol and do not agree with making fun of the beliefs of others. However, the many versions of the “car fish” illustrate the continued debate between science and religion.

Pictures: "Jesus fish" and the "Darwin" fish with feet. Courtsey of wikipedia.org.





How does one navigate the conflict between evolution and creationism? I believe in evolution and that humans came about by the rules of natural selection and survival of the fittest. I also believe that the Bible has lessons to teach us about our origins. Both perspectives, the scientific and the religious, have value; they simply address different questions. Science answers the “how” and “where” questions quite well: Where did humans come from? We evolved from earlier life forms. How are we related to other animals? We all come from the same source, the single celled organisms of millions of years ago.

However, science falls short in responding to the “why questions”: Why are we here? Why are we conscience beings, with the self-awareness that separates us from animals? Genesis provides us with religious answers. The Bible says that there is a God who cares about this world and created it as an act of kindness and love. After six days of creation, God surveyed the world and found it to be very good. Despite all of the evil and struggle that we must all face, our world is an inherently good place, where we can find blessing and hope.

In light of evolution and science, perhaps we cannot read the Bible literally. The world was not created in only six days, and God did not make all creatures from nothing, rather they evolved. However, there are ways of reconciling evolution and Genesis. God can still play a role in the creation of the world. Science tells us that nature follows rules, like gravity, so that a ball will always fall back to the earth when you drop it. But where did gravity come from? How is it that nature is so perfectly designed that our earth can exist, and that we could evolve from a walking fish? How were the rules created in the first place that allowed our world to function?

One metaphor for the origins of the universe compares God to a clock-maker. God would up the clock, and then let it go. Since then, our universe, like a clock, has run on its own, according to the laws of nature. Perhaps God’s role was in creating the rules and the system in the first place, whereby an amazing earth and human beings could evolve and question their own origins.

Jenny Clark was right when she said that the discovery of a walking fish was another gap closed that a diety no longer needs to fill. However, there will always be some questions that science cannot answer, some mysteries that cannot be solved. Evolution will probably draw a straight line from the formation of the earth 4.5 billion years ago to us humans. However, evolution will not be able to explain why the world is so perfectly designed or why we feel such awe in the beauty of nature. The next time I go fly fishing, I may remember that the trout and I have a common ancestor, a walking fish. But as I stand in the stream, and cast my line surrounded by the peace of nature, I will probably be more apt to recall what God said about our world: it was very good.

To read the article from the San Francisco Chronicle about the walking fish: CLICK HERE