April 15 in Los Angeles, it's tax day, also almost Yom Ha'atzmaut, Israel's birthday, and I see on my screen that a bombing has happened in Boston.
On the dining room table, I see that our tax return is missing. It had been sitting on top of a Jewish newspaper advertising a citywide Israel festival that Sunday. In the second that it takes for me to remember that my wife has taken the return to work, it occurs to me that in Boston, I am missing something else. Where is our son, Benzi?
He's supposed to be in Cambridge, across the river from Boston, a student at Harvard's Graduate School of Design studying architecture--yes, we are very proud--but today seeing on TV patches of red on a Boston sidewalk, I am trying to remember if he had talked about seeing the Marathon.
As is typical of parents with adult children his age, I don't know where he is--and generally don't want to--but today was dangerously different. Where is he?
I go upstairs and turn on the TV. No, I don't expect to see him, but I am trying to be a cool Jewish dad. You know, not panicky, but informed, so when we do connect, I could relate to the horrific events of the day.
He has gone to school to learn how to put up buildings: greenhouses, office buildings, schools, homes--the structures that give our society form, line, structure, and a sense of security, and on this day, on a street where we have walked together, things have come down.
Where is he? I hear on the news that cell service in the area has been turned off. How big an area?
The news shows the explosion over and over, in slow motion even, with the runners and cheerers-on, probably family and friends, going down on the sidewalk.
Only a few months before, my wife and I had walked down Boylston Street, the scene of the two bombings. We had taken a look inside the Gothic Revival Old South Church, visited the Boston library, designed after the Bibliotheque Sainte-Genevieve in Paris, did some shopping in Lord and Taylor--close to where one of the bombs went off-- and ate a couple of chocolates on the corner, right after we bought them at Lindt's.
Today is not so sweet. There are reports, photos, of people having been torn apart by the explosions. I watch as an older runner, nearing the finish line is downed by the explosion again and again.
Already a commentator compares the bombing to something that happens in Kabul, or Jerusalem. For Israel's birthday, this is not the regards I want to hear.
My wife calls.
It's not about the taxes. It's about our son. He called and told her he's OK. He's safely stashed in Harvard's Gund Hall, where the Architecture department is housed. The hall's "Central studio space extends through five levels under a stepped, clear-span roof that admits natural light and provides views toward Boston," says the department's site, reminding me this day how close he is to the havoc.
After we end our call, my son instant messages me. "Everything is fine," he writes. "Did you get an email from the school?" I IM back.
He did.
Directed to Harvard community members, from Katie Lapp, the university's executive vice president it read, in part:
"Many people from Harvard participated in today's marathon and much remains to be learned about what happened at the scene, and we are continuing to monitor reports.
Our thoughts are with everyone who has been affected by this tragic event. People who were near the scene are encouraged to check in through the American Red Cross.
Incidents such as these are a reminder that public safety is at its highest when we all remain vigilant."
My wife IM's me a little later. "Mailed the taxes," she writes.
What a relief.
Back to Jewplexed Main Edmon J. Rodman has written about making his own matzah for JTA, Jewish love music for the Jerusalem Post, yiddisheh legerdemain for the Los Angeles Jewish Journal, a Bernie Madoff Halloween mask for the Forward, and what really gets stuck in the La Brea Tar Pits for the Los Angeles Times. He has edited several Jewish population studies, and is one of the founders of the Movable Minyan, an over twenty-year-old chavura-size, independent congregation. He once designed a pop-up seder plate.In 2011 Rodman received a First Place Simon Rockower Award for "Excellence in Feature Writing" from the American Jewish Press Association."
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As is typical of parents with adult children his age, I don't know where he is--and generally don't want to--but today was dangerously different. Where is he?
