Some texts just slay me: the beauty of the messages, and of the letters themselves.  So I’m a letter artist. 

 

Raised in a temperate, traditional Jewish home with hasidic roots, I was given a double education, K-16.  A great launching pad.  I’ve stood as public reader before those spartan rectangles of Torah; prayed in nature; added my voice in song to that of the throng’s; was tented by Dad’s tallith  while the priests (some were bus drivers) blessed us.  

 

Now I’m a man, way past twenty one... and our old standard, the Shma  (the words within a mezuza), which Matanya and I nightly recited to each other in the dark, at bedtime (and each Amen  to each)—my God!  It’s a screenplay of the spiritual equation.  And whether I read about theVedas  or the Sundance ceremonies of the Lakota, it’s all familiar:

I’ve seen the hasidic version. 

 

 

In midlife I began treating sacred texts, ancient and modern, from my tradition and others, in the ancient writing systems (and others), on wood, papyrus, garden hose, remesh, and more.  And I mean business, so fun’s in the script.  The Cajuns (who share with Jews, among other things, Tay-Sachs) have a sacred tenet: Laissez les bon temps roulez!