A Visit to the Uffizi

Portrait of Giovanni de Medici by Agnolo Bronzino c. 1545. Hopefully the bird survived the sitting. This photo cannot do justice to the vivid colours, especially in contrast to the dour portraits in the rest of the room.

Last week I was given a lovely gift, L & I were invited to join an old friend in visiting the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. I've been a cultural Philistine for far too long (although I did visit the Accademia on my first trip and was surprisingly overwhelmed by the beauty of David), but it is easy to put things off when surrounded by such an abundance of art. 

After standing in a queue in order to join the queue to queue for tickets, we found out that our tickets were from an independent organisation and therefore all our queues were the wrong queues. Eventually we got in and, following a tip overheard from someone in the security area, decided to start at the top and work our way down.

I had no idea what to expect, or how I would react. This is the height of summer, the museum was full full full, with several group tours in several languages. So many people, in the heat of the day, and visiting a museum with someone for the first time (different people have different ways of going through galleries!) ... I told myself, I just want to see the Botticelli Venus with my own eyes, and some Leonardos. Anything else is a bonus. After a few collections of Xian religious art, we walked into the Botticelli room:

ravaj's-eye view from the midst of the crowd jostling for a photo (thus a bit askew)

It's such a hackneyed image and yet, when meeting her for real, there is something about this c. 535-year-old that got me. Yes, I was weepy. 

I had a good look. Then I took some pictures. Then I had another look. Then I had a fit of hypocrisy, and condemned everyone who used their moment with this, and other paintings, to take selfies, and photos of the painting. 

Actually looking with my eyes, rather than through a Smartphone, I saw things of which this photo might remind me, but doesn't actually show me:  the colours that I saw, and the emotions they provoked; or the one daisy on the robe being offered that sometimes looked part of the fabric and sometimes as alive as the petals being blown by the wind.

I should do that more often.

And also, hey, there's nothing wrong with having a bit of fun:

Medusa, o my! (thanks to Caravaggio & my beloved L)

It is possible that I had a timely reminder that seeing something through a camera lens and seeing it through the lenses of the eyes in my head are two different experiences, and sometimes I forget that a picture in my mind may be what I need rather than the apparently more permanent digital record.

Sigh.

After a couple of hours, we said goodbye to our lovely friends, who needed to go home, and left the crowds of the popular* rooms for the Uffizi Summer Exhibition:  The Colours of Judaism in Italy. While L luxuriated in the textiles, I searched for pomegranate shapes in the designs. 

We were the last to leave. What a great day. 

Thanks to Judy & Jessica.

* seated quietly amid rooms of Leonardos, Raphaels, Caravaggios, Titians, Tintorettos et al, there was one room seemingly less visited. It was full of paintings that I was introduced to by my parents, but they seemed to be less appreciated than the majestic heroes of Italian Art whose works fill the rest of the museum. It includes a couple of works by Albrecht Dürer, including the Virgin and the Pear; and this:

Adam & Eve by Lucas Cranach the Elder

Megan Rapinoe

US co-captain Megan Rapinoe salutes the crowd after scoring the first goal in the 2019 World Cup Final against the Netherlands (photographer unknown)

So the 2019 Women's World Cup winners are the USA, beating the Netherlands 2-0 in France yesterday. As an American, I should be proud, and I can certainly say that I think the best team won. My European heart, however, suffered when England lost the semifinal (VAR! Ellen White's lost goal! The penalty miss (why didn't they let Lucy Bronze blast it through the net?!)! As a WSL fan, I had a strong commitment to the Lionesses, and I felt it when they did not prevail. For the final, the large contingent of Arsenal Women in the team, and a lifelong love of Dutch football, also turned out to have a pull on my heartstrings. Whilst the US players were clearly stronger, the Dutch held on staunchly, until they were felled by the awarding of a penalty kick in the second half. Megan Rapinoe, a co-captain of the US team, stepped up, and sent Sari van Veenendaal the wrong way to score the opening goal. It broke the Dutch team. Ah well, that's football. Congratulations, commiserations, and thank you all teams involved for raising the profile of the game.

I've heard conflicting opinions regarding Megan Rapinoe. My first instinct is to celebrate her for standing up for her beliefs, e.g., protesting her National Anthem in solidarity with NFL player Colin Kaepernick's stand against racial injustice in the USA; being part of a gender-discrimination lawsuit filing for equal pay for female soccer players; she is an ambassador for ending homophobia and transphobia in sport, she supports Paralympic athletes and donates a percentage of her salary to football-related charities. She ticks a lot of boxes for me. So where's the conflict? 

Earlier this week, Marc Thiessen wrote in the New York Post:

"Rapinoe is an amazing athlete. Her heroics in the quarterfinal against France were a wonder to watch. She has every right to express displeasure with the administration. Many Americans have legitimate grievances with Trump.

But Rapinoe isn't playing for the Trump administration; she is playing for the United States. It's one thing for a professional athlete to protest the national anthem, but quite another for a member of Team USA to do it. Rapinoe is protesting the Stars and Stripes while wearing the Stars and Stripes.

That isn't OK. Representing your country is a privilege, not a right. If she really feels she can't show respect for the US flag and anthem, then she shouldn't wear the US jersey, either."

(full article here)

It is clear today that many people I know, who may agree with Rapinoe's desire for change in various areas of national life and culture, are offended by what they see as her lack of respect for a national symbol and an institution. This surprised me, and that is why I'm taking a moment to consider the situation. 

Although I am a US citizen, and was born there, I did not grow up in America. I have to admit that I really do not understand, at a visceral level, the symbolism of the flag. In fact, my religious beliefs make me wary of such an icon, since idolatry is a big no-no in the Torah. Thus, I'm not too worried about flags and anthems. 

Therefore, what does it mean to represent your country in a sporting competition? What are the responsibilities that you take on when you put on the shirt? I would hope that you would  comport yourself according to the values that your country (is supposed to) represent (s). But what if you feel that the current administration is falling short of the national values in which you believe? Are you dissing your country if you use the platform your sporting prominence has given you to shine a light on what you believe to be flaws and failings in the life of your nation? As I write these questions, I am sorry if people feel hurt by what they see as the disrespecting of a badge or a shirt or a flag or a song. But, they are symbols. If what they stand for is under threat, I am glad that they (& I) live in a country where it is possible to question and debate and express dissent. And I am proud that there are people brave enough to speak out where they see injustice. So in the end, while I hope that all involved will say their pieces without resorting to ad hominem attacks or vulgar language, I congratulate Ms Rapinoe for her stand, and wish her well.

Remembering Rabbi A Stanley Dreyfus z"l

Brooklyn 2005 with R Steve Arnold & R A Stanley Dreyfus z"l

Each year as the yahrzeit for my beloved father R Albert H Friedlander comes round, I'm reminded that, sadly, it is also the yahrzeit for my beloved teacher R A Stanley Dreyfus. 

During my years in Brooklyn, Stanley and Marianne were in loco parentis around the corner in Park Slope. As rabbinic students at HUC-JIR, we were often invited to their home for tea or Shabbat dinner,; to study, and to celebrate other holidays. We soon grew to appreciate Stanley's extensive textual knowledge. At my first Chanukah with the Dreyfus', there was a twinkle in Stanley's eye when he saw that I was the only one joining him in singing (what I thought were all) three verses of Maoz Tsur. I felt rather proud. He then gently recited all the other verses to us! 

Probably the most poignant memory for me was after my first serious relationship broke up. The Dreyfus' took me in, letting me stay in their guest room, caring for me as I licked my wounds. I remember particularly sitting with Stanley in his study, talking it all through together as I wept bitterly. He was an older gentleman, quite traditional in many ways. Could I have expected him to listen so lovingly as I spoke about an ex-girlfriend? Of course I could! I will never forget that kindness, all his kindness, all their kindness, for he and Marianne were a great team.

Much missed, by so many, for so many reasons.

Zichrono livracha.

Installation at Port Jewish Center, Manorhaven, NY