Remembering Patrick Lee

I only met Patrick Lee once, at our first bloggers brunch in March 2008, when more than a dozen of us, mostly strangers but united by a passion for theatre, gathered at the venerable Broadway hangout Angus McIndoe.

I remember going on about how much I loved The 39 Steps, which had recently moved to Broadway after a stop in Boston. Patrick didn't share my enthusiasm for the play but we had a lively discussion about it.

That was the first of many terrific conversations, many brunches and dinners and shows and adventures with new friends. We don't always agree and that's a good thing. Because for me, the debate is a big part of the fun.

Today Theatermania, where Patrick was a frequent contributor, reported that he passed away earlier this month in Larchmont, N.Y. He's survived by his mother, sisters and other family members.

My theatergoing friends have become a big part of my life and to lose one, so young and so unexpectedly, is incredibly sad and shocking. My condolences go out to Patrick's family and to friends and colleagues who knew him far better than I did.

Even though we only met once, I was a devoted reader of his blog, Just Shows to Go You. We both had an opportunity to see Hairspray before it closed on Broadway. It's one of my favorite musicals and Patrick summed up so well what I loved about it:

"I spent the first act with the wildly enthusiastic audience marveling at how feel-good a well-directed, delightfully choreographed and terrifically scored big Broadway musical can be when everyone is on their game."

As a writer and as an advocate for theatre, Patrick Lee was always on his game. He will be missed.

My colonoscopy - without the gory details

Two weeks ago I had a colonoscopy. I'm happy to report that my colon is in good shape, thank-you very much. And of course, there's a theatre angle.

I knew that once you reach a certain age - which I uh, attained last year - you're supposed to have one. Everyone I talked to said it was no big deal - they put you to sleep and the next thing you know, you're in the recovery room.

I also knew that the preparation, which involves a liquid diet and a thorough cleansing of the system, was going to make me physically uncomfortable. It did. I'll spare you the gory details but even now I shudder just walking past a display of Gatorade at the supermarket.

So, I kept putting it off. I had plenty of time, it wasn't the right time of year, I didn't have a family history of colon cancer, whatever. I'm very good at procrastination, especially when it involves physical discomfort.

Now, here's where the theatre angle comes in.

One of my regular blog reads is Guy Dads, written by Ed and his husband Eddie, who live in Northern California. They have a big, blended family, they're San Francisco Giants fans, opera buffs and they love theatre. I love reading about their marathon theatre trips to New York City.

Well in October, Ed wrote that he had colon cancer. Thankfully, it was caught early and although it's been a harrowing nine months involving multiple surgeries, he's doing great. I'm looking forward to reading about their next theatre trip to New York, whenever that might be.

When Ed was too ill to post, Eddie has kept friends, family and readers informed. One thing he wrote struck me as so important:

I cannot tell you how wonderful it has been to be in a state, city and hospital system where not one person has blinked an eye every time I walk in anywhere with Ed or where I call or show up and say I am his spouse.

The doctors, nurses, receptionists, social worker, medical records clerks, etc. have each and every one treated me with respect and as the person who of course should be monitoring and managing Ed's health care.

I cannot imagine how much more difficult this whole situation would have been in most of the other states of this 'free' country. In many, I would not have been allowed in most of the offices. I certainly would not be called by the doctor, emailed with the test results, or allowed to ask anyone any question and get it answered.

This is why President Obama's April mandate, that hospitals extend visitation rights to the partners of gay and lesbian patients and respect their right to make decisions for their partners, is so important. A new study by the Human Rights Campaign finds 42 percent of the nation's 200 biggest hospitals lack policies to protect gay and lesbian patients.

Ed's cancer diagnosis was certainly a wake-up call for me. Without it, I probably would have put off the colonoscopy even longer. The day before wasn't pleasant but the test was a piece of cake (if only I could have had a piece of cake that morning!) - and it beats the alternative.

Normally I wouldn't get so personal but as the Talmud teaches, if you save one life it's as if you've saved the entire world.

In defense of Twitter

After I finish writing this blog post I'll put a link to it on Twitter and that will be my 5,000th tweet.

I know it's fashionable to knock Twitter as another example of social networking run amok, filled with people sharing the minutiae of their lives in 140-character spurts, like what they had for breakfast or lunch.

In one of the most recent examples, George Packer wrote online for The New Yorker: "Every time I hear about Twitter I want to yell Stop. The notion of sending and getting brief updates to and from dozens or thousands of people every few minutes is an image from information hell."

Honestly, I feel just the opposite. Rather than an "information hell," I use Twitter to better organize information.

Many of the sites I follow are related to theatre. It's a quick and easy way to keep track of what's happening on Broadway and elsewhere. There are book-related sites on my list, too. (In one of the most imaginative uses of Twitter, I'm also tracking John F. Kennedy's campaign for the White House in 1960.)

Some people I follow are friends and fellow bloggers. Others I've found through a shared interest. I've had great discussions with theatre fans across the country and as far away as Australia about shows we've seen or what we're looking forward to seeing.

Often, the tweet includes a link to an interesting article I wouldn't have found otherwise, like the inspiring story of Andrew Grene, a U.N. worker killed in the earthquake in Haiti. And in one serendipitous case, a tweet led to an act of kindness I'll never forget.

It's not always so serious either. There are some people I follow simply because they make me laugh. I need a laugh every once in awhile.

On the down side, every once in awhile I go through my followers and block the ones who are spamming me. And yes, Twitter attracts people who hide behind pseudonyms to say stupid, vulgar things, just like every other part of the Internet.

What I appreciate about Twitter is that it's easy and immediate and limitless. It's also been a great way for me to find new readers, especially when people link to a blog post I've written.

I look at it as a never-ending conversation with as many or as few people as I choose, for as much or as little time as I care to spend. To some, perhaps that's overwhelming but to me, it opens up a world of possibilities.

Into the woods - my Yosemite adventure

A new, six-party documentary by Ken Burns, The National Parks: America's Best Idea, will air on PBS beginning Sept. 27. At the series' Web site, you can submit stories and photographs about your national parks experience.

Here's mine:

In 2004, I visited Yosemite National Park with friends who live near San Francisco. Our first day we drove south, to Wawona, to see the giant sequoias and they were mighty impressive.

The next day, I wanted to spend some time in Yosemite Valley, so we split up. I took a bus from our motel to the visitor center and wandered around, went to the Ansel Adams gallery, saw a movie about the park.

Then, feeling energetic, I went to the information desk to get a list of Yosemite Valley day hikes. The park ranger gave me a sheet of paper with eight or nine hikes, a description and their level of difficulty from easy to very strenuous.

She checked off an "easy" one, Mirror Lake/Meadow, which you can do as either a 2-mile or 5-mile loop. I rode the shuttle bus to the starting point and I was ready to go. This particular hike starts with a paved trail, which was no sweat. Then, feeling ambitious, I went off the trail.

Bad idea.

Athough I was a Girl Scout, I must have missed the meeting where they taught us how to find our way around in the woods. Give me a city neighborhood and I'm fine. But what markers do you use in the woods? All the trees and rocks look alike! And there are no helpful signs to point you in the right direction.

While Yosemite does get crowded in the summer, it's easy to find solitude once you leave the paved paths. Every once in awhile other hikers or runners would come through but I was pretty much alone. The woods were beautiful and I kept climbing until I had a spectacular view of the meadow below.

Once I decided to head back down, though, I was in trouble. I could see the gigantic granite monolith of El Capitan in the distance, so I had a vague idea of which way to head, but I couldn't find anything resembling a paved path.

Of course I didn't bring nearly enough water and I was down to my last granola bar. Yosemite isn't like Disney World, where they check at the end of the day to make sure everyone's made their way out safely. I never tried my cell phone but I'm not sure it would have worked.

Up until that point, my new Merrell hiking shoes had kept me steady on my feet. Then, I fell and skinned my knee. Ouch, did it hurt! Luckily, a couple with a baby were behind me and helped me up. I told them to go on ahead, I'd be fine.

From then on, I walked very gingerly, carefully stepping over every rock. I could not believe there were so many of them. Clearly, this was not a path intended for human use. Mountain goats, maybe.

Eventually, I reached the main road and the shuttle bus back to the visitors center. You would not believe the rush of adrenaline I felt at that point. I felt like John Muir!

I could have gone to the first aid station to get a bandage but I didn't want to miss the next bus to the motel and I wanted to hit the gift shop. I weighed the options - Band-aid, souvenirs - and decided the knee could wait.

Now, I have a lovely, framed Yosemite poster on my wall and an adventure I'll never forget.

Jonathan Salant, in profile

Indulge me while I do a little kvelling. Usually, reporters are the ones writing the profiles but in this case, it's the opposite.

My friend Jonathan Salant, a political reporter for Bloomberg News and former president of the National Press Club, is the subject of a profile in Washington Jewish Week.

The writer touches on the highlights of Jonathan's career, including his cameo in the movie Absence of Malice, as well as his passions - baseball, collecting political buttons and most of all, being a devoted single dad to his son Izzy.

Jonathan and I first met as colleagues in Syracuse, where he was the Albany reporter for the now-defunct Herald-Journal and later, the Syracuse Newspapers' Washington correspondent.

Over the years, he's been a mentor and friend and a gracious host. Jonathan and his late wife, Joan Friedenberg, were always wonderful about putting me up when I visited Washington, which I tried to do as often as I could because it's always been one of my favorite cities.

And without his example, I never would have visited Israel or ended up living there for a year. Talking to Jonathan about what he saw and how he felt after he made his first trip planted the idea in my mind that I should go, too.

Among Jonathan's areas of expertise is campaign finance, although he says in the profile that his favorite story was a feature he wrote on a group of Syracuse-area sixth-graders who lobbied successfully to have the apple muffin named New York State's official muffin.

I've always admired his tenacity and dedication and when Mario Cuomo was governor of New York, his ability to get him on the phone for a quote anytime, almost effortlessly.

Here's Jonathan on why he got into journalism. It says a lot about why he's so good at what he does:

"I grew up during the protests for civil rights and the Vietnam War and I saw what journalists were doing,'' he said, explaining that becoming a journalist was a "chance to make the world a better place."

Staying in my seat until the bitter end

Earlier this week, SteveOnBroadway posed an interesting question on Twitter about whether or not you've ever walked out of a show. And Chris picked up on it in Everything I Know I Learned from Musicals.

I answered in both of those forums - the answer is no - but I always have more to say!

The simple, easy answer is that I have never walked out of a play or musical or even a movie. Okay, I'll admit The Tempest, with Ian McKellen, is in my DVR, only partly watched. I'll get back to it someday, I promise. But that's the exception. It's even rare for me to not finish a book.

In answering Steve's and Chris' queries, I said that Broadway theatre tickets are so expensive - over $100 unless I can find a discount code, that there's no way I'd ever walk out out of a show until the bitter end.

Monetary considerations aside, I don't get to New York that often and it's still a thrill for me to see a play or musical on Broadway, even if it's one I don't like very much. I came to New York to see a show. If I left, what would I do? Where would I go? And there's always a chance things will improve in Act II.

But even when I'm at home and buying a $15 rush ticket at Trinity Repertory Company, I've still never been tempted. In the midst of all of my responsibilities in life, going to the theatre is a luxury, a chance to sit back and relax and immerse myself in someone else's world for a couple of hours.

As I've said before, I'm a pretty easy theatergoer to please. I can always find something I like in a show. And I've simply never seen anything - on Broadway or elsewhere - that's so bad it would make me want to gather up my belongings and leave. I always want to stay and find out how things end.

Sure, there are times when I've been bored. But unless something is so offensive that I simply can't bear to stay, or unless there's something on stage that's making me physically ill, I can't ever imagine walking out. I'm just happy to be there.

A very special theatrical event

You didn't hear Cynthia Nixon or Lin-Manuel Miranda announce this Tony nomination but if it were up to me the award for Best Special Theatrical Event of 2009 would go my surprise birthday party weekend!

Produced, directed and costarring the very talented Steve on Broadway, it also starred Chris, Kari, Sarah and Roxie. They were all wonderful! Plus, there were cameos from Angela Lansbury, Renee Fleming, Stephen Sondheim, Cole Porter and Dame Judi Dench.

And what magnificent sets - from the marble corridors of power to the glitz of a 1930s movie palace, from the gritty streets of an urban neighborhood that drew Italian immigrants seeking the American Dream to the opulent mansions of the Gilded Age where millionaire industrialists and their families whiled away the summer.

Really, it had everything I love about live theatre - it took me to places I'd never been before, there were plot twists I never imagined, moments of laughter and tears (of joy), an abundance of witty banter and an absolutely perfect ending. I wish it could have run forever.

To everyone who made the weekend possible, "Bravo!" Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you for the best birthday celebration I've ever had. Please come back soon. It's never too early for a revival!

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

When I lived in Connecticut, I always got a chuckle reading about a certain St. Patrick's Day tradition in the city of New Haven.

To mark the occasion, the state representative, an African-American man, would present a giant green bagel from New Haven-based Lender's Bagels to the mayor, an Italian-American.

Let's go over that again: the black state representative, the Italian mayor and the Jewish bagel-maker come together to honor the patron saint of Ireland. Only in American politics!

Happy St. Patrick's Day, and may all your bagels be green.

America's most famous theatre

Ford's Theatre bills itself "as America's most famous theatre" and that's probably true, although certainly not in a way you'd want to be famous. I saw a show there in 1976, during my first visit to Washington, D.C., when I was in high school. It was the gospel-themed musical Your Arm's Too Short to Box With God.

While I don't remember anything about the musical, I do remember looking up at the presidential box more than once. The history buff in me wondered what it must have been like on that fateful night of April 14, 1865, when John Wilkes Booth entered the box, shot President Lincoln, then leaped to the stage to make his getaway.

Tonight, a day before Lincoln's 200th birthday, Ford's Theatre officially reopens after a $25-million renovation. To mark the occasion, there's an invitation-only gala featuring a host of celebrities and the presentation of the Lincoln Medal to George Lucas and Sidney Poitier.

The theatre also plans a makeover of the type of work it presents, according to its director, Paul Tetreault. The emphasis will be on education and the American experience. "I think we're going to be focused on more important work. It might be funny, it might be serious."

A new play about Lincoln, The Heavens Are Hung in Black, by James Still, is playing there until March 8. Starring David Selby as Lincoln, it covers the five months between the death of the president's son Willie and the issuance of the Emancipation Proclamation. It'll be followed by the musical The Civil War from March 27 to May 24.

Yes we can!

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.

It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled. Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of red states and blue states.

We are, and always will be, the United States of America.

President-elect Barack Obama

I got out of work at about 1 a.m. and like I always do, I drove by the State House in Providence on my way home. Usually, it's pretty quiet. There's hardly anyone out on the streets and just a few other cars on the road.

So I wasn't prepared for what I saw: hundreds of people walking up the brick pathway, across the gently sloping manicured lawn, toward the building's marble steps.

I did a quick U-turn, parked the car and joined the parade. They were mostly young - black and white - and they were an incredibly joyous bunch, waving American flags and shouting "O-BA-MA" and "Yes we can!"

I stood there for a few minutes, taking it all in, fumbling with my cell phone as I tried to figure out how to take a picture. It was a thrilling end to a truly historic evening. As I headed home, I could hear the crowd singing:

Oh say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

Studs Terkel: 1912-2008

Author, radio host and activist Studs Terkel, best known for his books chronicling 20th-century America through the lives of ordinary, everyday people, died today in Chicago at age 96.

Terkel, a Pulitzer Prize-winner, helped popularize oral history as a genre in books like Working: People Talk About What They Do All Day and How They Feel About What They Do; Race: What Blacks and Whites Think and Feel About the American Obsession; and Hard Times: An Oral History of the Great Depression.

I met Terkel once, about 30 years ago, when I was a young, wet-behind-the-ears student at Northeastern University in Boston. At that time, The Boston Globe had an annual weekend-long book fair with all sorts of authors peddling their latest offerings.

I'm sure I was quite the sight when I approached him - eager and brimming with enthusiasm. I remember asking him how he found his interview subjects. I couldn't afford whatever new hardcover he had just published, so I bought a paperback copy of Working and asked him to sign it. I'm not sure why he wrote "A real journalism student," with the word "real" underlined.

I do remember that he was a very nice person in our brief exchange - gracious, encouraging and extremely approachable. I even dabbled a bit in oral history myself when I did a senior honors project - I interviewed people who had been students at Northeastern during the 1960s about their lives.

While I knew a lot about Terkel, I learned a few new things from reading the obituaries today. For example, I didn't realize that he'd been an actor - on the radio and on stage. He wrote radio scripts and acted in soap operas and once appeared in a production of Clifford Odets' play Waiting for Lefty at the Depression-era Chicago Repertory Group. The Chicago Tribune's drama critic Chris Jones has a brief tribute to Terkel as a friend of Chicago theatre.

Adaptations of two of Terkel's books, Working and Hard Times, made it to Broadway where, sadly, they weren't successful. Arthur Miller's The American Clock, inspired by Hard Times, opened on Nov. 11, 1980, and closed at the end of the month. A musical version of Working, with songs by Stephen Schwartz, began previews on May 5, 1978 and closed on June 4. In the cast were Patti LuPone, who played an editor and a call girl, and Joe Mantegna, in the roles of a migrant worker and an interstate trucker.

But a revamped version of Working, with additional songs by In the Heights composer Lin-Manuel Miranda, was produced earlier this year at Florida's Asolo Repertory Theatre. It'll be staged next year at San Diego's Old Globe Theatre, from March 7 to April 12. The original is available on dvd, although I think it's with a different cast.

I'd love to visit Chicago someday. Hog butcher to the world, city of the big shoulders, it sounds so much larger than life. And Terkel, along with poet Carl Sandburg and journalist Mike Royko, was one of the great chroniclers of the city, as well as of American life.

Mad about Jeopardy!

I had a Jeopardy! game when I was a kid and I loved it. I've always had a talent for remembering random, some would say trivial, facts. It even helped me get a job once. I impressed the person interviewing me by being one of the few women, he said, who knew that Don Larsen pitched the only perfect game in a World Series.

(It's only the important stuff that I tend to forget - like something really crucial that I was supposed to pick up at the supermarket. Yeah, I know, I should always make a list. But I always think I'll remember. Then I forget that I never remember.)

Anyway, thanks to Pop Candy, USA TODAY's useful compendium of pop culture news, I found a free online Jeopardy! game. The questions are from the 1960s, an homage to Mad Men, one of my favorite tv programs. And the 1960s is one of my favorite decades. Truly a perfect storm of trivia. On Friday, Jeopardy will have a special Mad Men category.

Unlike real Jeopardy!, this is multiple choice. And you're not playing against anyone or the computer. The categories included ad slogans, fads and fashions, news and New York nightlife. I "won" $8,800. I aced the Daily Double but, unfortunately, bombed out on Final Jeopardy.

Some of the questions were pretty easy: "A U.S.-backed invasion of this country in 1961 failed miserably." Some required a bit of thought: "Jackie Kennedy wore this designer's A-line dresses and pillbox hats." A couple of the answers sounded plausible but I guessed right. And at least one question was downright shocking: "In 1961, Fred Flintstone said this brand tastes good like a cigarette should."

Fred Flintstone hawking cigarettes?! I don't remember that from my childhood. Or maybe I do, because I knew the answer. Here's the ad:

Not in front of the children

I'm not a rabid devotee of This American Life with Ira Glass, but I usually end up listening to at least part of it on Sunday while I'm driving around doing errands. (The radio is permanently tuned to NPR. I don't even know the call numbers of any other stations in my area).

There's always one segment that really grabs my attention, forcing me to sit my car, in the parking lot of whichever store I'm at, until it's over. Today, I heard the show's production manager, Seth Lind, talk about seeing an inappropriate movie as a child. When he was 6 years old, he watched The Shining and had nightmares and trouble falling asleep for two years afterward. (Lind is also a member of the improv group Thank You, Robot.)

The segment got me thinking about my age-inappropriate movie - Psycho. As a horror movie, it would probably be considered pretty tame today - I mean, it's not even in color - but it was scary enough for me. Actually, for me, it would be inappropriate at any age. As I mentioned in my review of the play The 39 Steps, I'm pretty squeamish.

I started watching Psycho on tv once when I was a little kid (or maybe not so little, I don't remember). I got as far as the shower scene. It made me so nauseous that I had to flee to the safety of my bedroom. I don't remember any nightmares or sleepless nights. But because of that experience, until fairly recently I pretty much swore off all Alfred Hitchcock movies. You can't be too careful.

I've never revisited Psycho and I'm certain I don't want to - ever. But I've mostly overcome my fear of Hitchcock and I've enjoyed many of his films over the past couple of years, including Vertigo, Rear Window, The Man Who Knew Too Much, The Trouble with Harry, North by Northwest and The 39 Steps, all without any ill effects.

Okay, I'm not big on heights, so I was a little nervous about Vertigo, but knock on wood, it went well. Of course, none of those is really scary. I've stayed away from The Birds, though. I have a feeling that one would be a little too intense and I don't want to press my luck.

Hats Entertainment!

Brrrr. It's barely in the double digits in southern New England today, and by the time I get home from work tonight, it'll be even colder. This is the time of year when I always think about buying a new hat.

It's not that I have a large collection. I'm not Carrie Bradshaw with her Manolo Blahniks. I hardly ever even wear a hat - just during the coldest winter days, or in the summer if I'm sightseeing someplace and the sun is really bearing down. But I do like trying them on.

I remember as a kid there was time when I absolutely had to have a Greek fisherman's cap. I don't remember why. I'd never been to Greece. I'd never met a Greek fisherman. Maybe it was my lame attempt at looking cool. Whatever the reason, I don't think I ever got one.

For the past few years, my Holy Grail of headgear has been a World War II aviator's hat, also known as Yukon trooper's hat and, unfortunately, as a bomber hat. (Or even worse, a mad bomber hat!)

I'm not trying to make a fashion statement. My purpose in acquiring one is purely utilitarian. It's just the perfect winter hat - unlike the knit variety, it keeps your ears warm without having to pull it so far down on your forehead that you can't see where you're going. My ears tend to get very cold.

I actually have a bomber hat - but it's kind of thin, made of polyester. While it's ok, it doesn't provide the level of luxurious warmth I'm seeking while I'm driving around doing errands or going to and from work. (But it has to be synthetic. There's no way I'm wearing the fur of a dead animal on my head).

I see a lot of people with great looking bomber hats this time of year, and I'm always a little envious. I'm often tempted to stop them and ask where they bought it, but then I lose my nerve. A lot of them probably wouldn't be available in my size anyway. They seem to be a popular item for the under-2 set.

I've tried some on in stores, but they've never seemed right - too big, too small, too thin, too furry, or they made me feel like Elmer Fudd when I really want to feel like a World War II flying ace. Once I saw the perfect hat in a Land's End catalog, but when I tried to order one, I was told it was sold out for the season.

So, I keep talking about getting one, and searching. Eventually, the weather gets warmer and I forget about my quest. But winter always returns. Like it did today.

To all my Iowa readers, if you're going out to caucus tonight, please stay warm!

My Visa problem

Add this to your checklist of things to do before you go on vacation: call your credit card issuer and tell them about your plans. Yes, in addition to stopping the paper, putting a hold on the mail, asking a neighbor to watch your house and boarding the dog, apparently you also have to alert Visa, and probably MasterCard, too.

I found this out the hard way during my weekend in New York City earlier this month. The first inkling of a problem came when I was in the subway, trying to add some money to my MetroCard, and it wouldn't accept my Visa. I thought maybe the magnetic stripe on the back had become worn. Luckily, I had my American Express card, so I used that instead.

Usually, as a safety precaution, I only travel with one credit card. But for some reason, I forgot to take the AmEx card out of my wallet. And I'm glad I had it, because when I tried to check in at the Marriott Marquis in Times Square, the desk clerk informed me that my Visa wasn't being accepted there, either.

He was very discreet and nice about it. I knew the problem wasn't on my part. I always pay my credit card bills in full every month. In 25 years of carrying a card, I've never, ever carried a balance. I said a silent prayer that I had my new best friend, American Express, with me. Believe me, you don't suddenly want to find out on vacation that your credit card isn't accepted. It's like having an insurance policy that only covers you when you don't need it.

In addition to the inconvenience, I was angry because I have a Borders Rewards Visa and I was looking forward to getting some hefty Borders bucks with my next bill. I'm one of those people who charges almost everything - groceries, gas, etc., and every month I add to my little pile of $5 coupons that I can use toward books, cds and DVDs from my favorite bookstore.

Later that evening, I called Visa customer service and was told that they'd put a hold on my card because they saw an unusually large amount for a hotel room reservation. Apparently, no one at Visa has ever reserved a room in Times Square in November, on the New York City Marathon weekend, or they wouldn't have been surprised at the amount!

I told the customer service representative that this was my third trip to New York in six months, and I'd used my Visa multiple times on the previous trips, including to pay my hotel bill. It never raised an eyebrow. What was I supposed to do, I asked, let Visa know when and where I'm going on vacation? Yes, that's exactly what I should have done, she replied. And she did agree to credit my account, so I'll get my full complement of Borders coupons.

Look, I like my Visa card. We've been to some great places together, shared a lot. But I just don't feel the need to tell my credit-card issuer in advance when I'm taking a trip and where I'm going. I understand that the company is doing this for its own protection, as well as mine, in case my card is lost or stolen. (And if I read the fine print closely enough, I'm sure I'd find that I'm actually obligated to tell them). I guess I should be glad they care. Still, it seems so intrusive.

Shalom Chaver

Sunday marks the 12th anniversary of the assassination of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin. I wrote this 10 years ago, when I was living in Israel. It originally appeared in the Syracuse Herald-Journal.

TEL AVIV - I stood in an elementary school gym Wednesday morning not far from where the late Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin lived and recited a few lines in Hebrew about his life:

Yitzhak Rabin was the grandfather of Noa, Yonatan and Michael.
Yitzhak Rabin was the father of Dalia and Yuval.
Yitzhak Rabin was the brother of Rachel.
Yitzhak Rabin was the husband of Leah.

I looked at the children sitting on the floor in front of me. The youngest, first-graders, were closest. It is impossible to look into the faces of children here and not wonder what the future holds for them, especially at a time like this.

Wednesday marked the second anniversary of Rabin's death according to the Hebrew calender. He was assassinated on Nov. 4, 1995, minutes after speaking at a peace rally in front of Tel Aviv's city hall.

His murderer, Yigal Amir, opposed the Oslo agreement with the Palestinians. For the past week, Israelis have attended seminars, speeches, rallies and concerts in memory of the slain prime minister. Every school, including the one where I work, held a ceremony. Classes Wednesday were devoted to activities focusing on Rabin's achievements, the events surrounding his assassination and its meaning for society.

My role in our school's ceremony was small. I was nervous speaking in Hebrew but I was glad I could participate. I came to Israel for the first time because of Rabin. I felt that if Israelis were taking risks for peace, I wanted to show my support.

That trip, in August 1995, affected me in a way I never anticipated. I never expected to feel so deeply, so emotionally, about this country. When I saw what had been built here, despite nearly a half-century of war, terrorism and international isolation, I felt so proud to be Jewish.

And I felt a sense of hope that after 50 years, Israel's existence was no longer in jeopardy, that Israelis would be able to live in peace. I remember our guide told my tour group: "Before, it was like we were on another planet. Now, we can breathe like a normal country."

Three months later, Rabin was killed. I was crushed. I understood the criticisms of the Oslo agreement. I knew that some Israelis felt it went against Judaism to give up any part of the Land of Israel. I knew some Israelis felt trading land for peace had not brought security, only more terror.

But I wondered what had happened to the optimism and hope I felt in August. How could a Jew, a religious Jew, have murdered the prime minister of Israel? I remembered something else our tour guide had said, "The war between the Jews will be worse than the war between Jews and Arabs." Time has not healed the rift between Jews. The country remains split between right and left, religious and secular.

A poster for an educational organization called "Gesher," Hebrew for bridge, said, "If there's no bridge, there's no communication." The picture showed two cacti pricking each other. It's a fitting symbol. Native Israelis are called "sabras," after the fruit of the cactus that is prickly on the outside and sweet in the inside.

Israelis cannot even agree how to mourn Rabin.

Members of the Knesset, Israel's parliament, from Rabin's Labor Party asked that Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu not speak at a session honoring Rabin unless he apologizes for "his contributions to the atmosphere of incitement" preceding the assassination. Netanyahu's supporters accuse the opposition of politicizing Rabin memorial events. Conspiracy theories have crept up regarding Rabin's assassination and the complicity of the country's security apparatus.

For nearly two years, I kept tacked to the wall above my desk at work a newspaper photograph from the rally where Rabin was killed. Last Saturday night, I became a part of that picture. I joined approximately 200,000 people at a rally on the same spot, now called Rabin Square.

A huge white banner with blue letters at one end of the square said "Friend, I remember." It's a new twist on the phrase Bill Clinton coined after Rabin's death, "Shalom chaver," "Goodbye, friend." Last year's version was "Friend, you are missed."

The crowd was mostly secular. There were many young people. I saw a few men with kipot, the head covering worn by religious Jews. It's sad that more religious Jews didn't come. Perhaps they feared that they would be unwelcome.

The rally was supposed to be nonpartisan. But there were a few anti-Netanyahu posters. The crowd booed the one government representative who spoke, Industry and Trade Minister Natan Sharansky. I couldn't believe it. Booing Sharansky? The man who languished in a Soviet prison camp for years for the "crime" of wanting to immigrate to Israel? The man whose plight galvanized Jews around the world? I was glad that when he finished, Labor Party leader Ehud Barak went to the stage, held up his arm and called him a hero.

A sign on a building across the street urged Israelis to "return to the way of Rabin." Former Prime Minister Shimon Peres told the crowd, "We may be sad without him, but we may not despair. We have no other country and we have no other way except for Yitzhak Rabin's way."

Two singers performed John Lennon's "Imagine" in Hebrew. At the end of the rally, every one sang "Shir L'Shalom," "The Song of Peace."

In Jewish tradition, the anniversary of a person's death is observed by lighting a memorial candle and reciting kaddish, the prayer for the dead. Supermarkets have been selling candles with Rabin's picture. Many of those candles have been left at the spot where Rabin was killed, now marked by a memorial of black stones. People also leave bouquets of flowers and letters. There was a wreathe last week from the Jewish Federation of Los Angeles.

Around the corner, a wall is spray-painted with graffiti. There are snippets of songs about peace, a plaintive "lama?" "why?" and in English, "Do you remember the 4th of November?" The graffiti has been there for two years. Some call it a secular Western Wall. The Western Wall in Jerusalem, the holiest Jewish site, is where Jews have come for millennia to mourn the loss of the Temple.

One afternoon last week, I walked across the broad plaza, past workers setting up a stage for th rally, past a picture of Rabin and a sign that said, "Don't forget. Shout for peace." I walked down the stairs to the parking lot where Yigal Amir waited for Rabin.

At the foot of the stairs, I looked around at what Rabin saw in the last minutes of his life, a bustling, vibrant city.

In his speech that night, Rabin said, "I was a military man for 27 years. I fought so long as there was no chance for peace. I believe that there is now a chance for peace, a great chance." He acknowledged that "this is a course which is fraught with difficulties and pain. For Israel, there is no path that is without pain."

Whatever people thought of his policies, one thing cannot be denied: without Rabin and those of his generation, there wouldn't be an Israel today. Yitzhak Rabin was born in Jerusalem a Jew and died in Tel Aviv an Israeli. To that, I can only add, thank-you friend.