Passions, Fire and Unfinished Business

 "I loved her so much that instead of flowers, I gave her books, because flowers last a few days, but a good book lasts a lifetime." 

~ Albert Einstein

"In this world you can

search for everything,

except Love and death. 

They find you when the 

time comes."

~ Sergei Yesenin

[This is the latest part of a work in progress. Links to the earlier parts are at the bottom of this page.]

by Zvi Baranoff

I was thinking about the woman on the West Coast that I still very much loved. That was why I was contemplating the long gone time, in Philly, when we were very much in love - which is, of course, a very different thing.

I also had unfinished business in Philadelphia, so it was natural, I suppose, to conjure up ancient memories of that very different and distant Philadelphia.

Assuredly, one thing follows another as the night following day, the Alphabet Song proceeds from "A" to "Elemenopea" and eventually to "XYZ" and the planets move in their destined courses. Everything is connected, I suppose…if we can connect the dots.

The world was a very different place when we first met. 

The government had not yet banned the Temple of Aphrodite. It was the fastest-growing religion in North America at one time. Cities spanning the continent hosted large congregations that supported majestic centers dedicated to Aphrodite. Schools and hospitals were founded and financed by the Temple of Aphrodite, offering quality service to the communities that they adorned. 

Cars ran on gasoline. People drove them with no programming and  without computers. We listened to dial-up broadcast radio with static and erratic reception as we drove on the ribbons of blacktop. The interstate connected the continent. Maps were printed on paper. There was no hyperloop.

Casinos were few and far between. Gambling was restricted. Card games took place in back rooms. Churches cornered the market on bingo. State governments ran lotteries. The local police departments nationwide had hounded the numbers rackets right out of existence, assuring the States a monopoly.

Medical drugs were highly controlled. Recreational drugs were mostly illegal. Marijuana was felonious. 

Brothels were only legal in rural Nevada, where (mostly) men paid (mostly) women for sexual services. Elsewhere, a criminalized flesh market was either fly-by-night or involved paying bribes and periodic police raids. Robotic sexuality only existed in science fiction.

Back then, the book trade was still quite legal and was considered a respectable business. 

Bookstores and libraries were plentiful and operated publicly. One didn't need to know someone and the password and the hand sign as well as carry a handgun to get into a bookstore. There would be a sign out front and an unlocked door during business hours. Anyone could just walk in. Most store owners had virtually no security. Mind boggling!

It is difficult for anyone that hadn't lived through those times to imagine how totally different those times were...and there just aren't a whole lot of us old folks still around.

I had been away for a spell, although not by choice. When I got out of prison, I found a job in a Philadelphia bookstore, and eventually became the manager and then the store's owner. I lived in a small apartment above the store.

I had grown tired of being knocked around and all the ins and outs of contraband and criminality. I was trying to go straight. Hells Bells. I was on Probation and the Probation Officer was a real prick. My family was glad to see me appear to be on the straight and narrow.

Back then, I could not foresee that the winds and tides would change so dramatically. Before very long, laws and regulations criminalized the book trade. I was dropped right back into the outlaw subculture. But, that was later. For the time being, I had a respectable gig and I mostly enjoyed the work.

She and I kept crossing paths at concerts, poetry readings and such. We knew people in common. We had similar interests. We were both avid readers with a deep appreciation for books.

Yet, somehow we hadn't actually met until the day she walked into the bookstore. From that moment on, however… There are unplanned and seemingly innocuous moments that alter one's trajectory and this was one of those.

It all started out casual enough, I suppose. Maybe I let my guard down. Furniture was rearranged. Paintings were hung on the walls. There was a new throw rug by my bed and there was someone else's toothbrush besides my own in the little cup by the sink. Next thing I knew, we certainly appeared to be a couple. 

Neither one of us was particularly religious. Our attraction to that Temple was via the cultural milieu of elements such as concerts and lectures rather than any sense of religiosity. The Temple of Aphrodite was not far from my bookstore. Attending events at the Temple was a way of being neighborly.

The Priestess was a poet and an artist that frequented the local cultural scene. She was colorful and vibrant, outwardly friendly, welcoming and open. When we decided to "make it official" we asked her to perform the ceremony that tied the knot. 

So, we occasionally would attend the Friday service. We would show up for the solstices and equinoxes. We would stay for the feasts but generally would duck out before the orgies got too extensive. Our tendencies were more towards privacy in such matters.

The media outlets had begun to make a fuss about the Temple of Aphrodite, but neither of us were paying that noise much attention. From our perspectives, it seemed to largely be a matter of miscommunication and a problem of translation. Neither of us foresaw what the cultural, political and personal ripples would lead to.

The media outrage focused on the Sisterhood, which was a religious order within the Temple. They were colloquially referred to as Temple Prostitutes, although that was certainly a misnomer. Amongst their duties was to oversee and coordinate the religious gatherings, including all the seasonal orgies. The right-wing press dug their self-righteous teeth into this and wouldn't let go.

On Sunday mornings we usually slept late. Sometimes we ate breakfast in bed and would read the Sunday Times. That was back when the news was still printed on paper. So, it was late in the day before we made it to the front door of the store and saw the packet that had been slipped through the mail slot.

The Priestess that had been our friend, who had been a regular at cultural gatherings, and had officiated our wedding had left a manifesto in my mail slot. By the time we had seen it, there was nothing for us to do about it. The fire had already been lit and extinguished. 

In protest against what she saw as the infringement of religious freedom, the Priestess decided on a bold and irrevocable course of action. 

After slipping her manifesto through my mail slot, she walked to a nearby plaza. She calmly sat cross-legged in her flowing robe. She poured gasoline over herself and set her clothing on fire.

Links to the other posted parts of this story, Chapters 1 - 26.

Part 1: Grace and Mercy If Luck Holds 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/05/grace-and-mercy-if-luck-holds.html?m=1

Part 2: Everything Was Fine Until It All Went Sideways

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/07/everything-was-fine-until-it-all-went.html

Part 3: I Blink In & Out and Awakened In the Zone

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/07/i-blink-in-out-and-awakened-in-zone.html

Part 4: Out Of Time

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/07/out-of-time.html

Part 5: Even Without Clocks

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/07/even-without-clocks.html

Part 6: Cerveza & Barbecue Before I Go

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/cerveza-barbecue-before-i-go.html?m=1

Part 7: Heading Towards the Exit

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/heading-towards-exit.html?m=1

Part 8:  A Sign, Divine Guidance & Moxie

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/a-sign-divine-guidance-moxie.html?m=1

Part 9:  Somehow We Kept Breathing

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/somehow-we-kept-breathing.html?m=1

Part 10:  I Squinted and Stared Through it All

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/i-squinted-and-stared-through-it-all.html?m=1

Part 11:  Riding a Wave

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/riding-wave.html?m=1

Part 12:  Some Relief Amongst the Chaos at Woodpecker Flats

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/08/some-relief-amongst-chaos-at-woodpecker.html?m=1

Part 13:  A "Classy" Operation in the District of Columbia

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/09/a-classy-operation-in-district-of.html?m=1

Part 14:  In the Shadow of the Dome

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/09/in-shadow-of-dome.html?m=1

Part 15:  Hidden Places and Dark Corners

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/11/hidden-places-and-dark-corners.html?m=1

Part 16:  On the Jersey Shore

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2020/12/on-jersey-shore.html?m=1

Part 17:  Dreaming at the No Tell Motel

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/01/dreaming-at-no-tell-motel.html?m=1

Part 18:  The Coffee Didn't Help

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/02/the-coffee-didnt-help.html?m=1

Part 19:  Like Two Drops of Rain

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/02/like-two-drops-of-rain.html?m=1

Part 20 : Chased by the Devil

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/03/chased-by-devil.html?m=1

Part 21: An Arcade and a Penny for Your Thoughts

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/11/an-arcade-and-penny-for-your-thoughts.html?m=1

Part 22: We Have to Talk, She Said

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/11/we-have-to-talk-she-said.html

Part 23: She Climbed Out of the Water

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2021/12/she-climbed-out-of-water.html

Part 24: Passions, Fires and Unfinished Business

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/04/unfinished-business.html

Part 25: The Book Trade Hasn't Killed Me Yet 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/05/the-book-trade-hasnt-killed-me-yet.html?m=1

Part 26: A Detour Through the Fire 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/12/a-detour-through-fire.html?m=1

One Little Goat: A Prisoner's Story

by Zvi Baranoff

It was cold all the time. 

In the winter, they didn't supply enough heat to warm the place. In the summer, the air conditioning blew icy cold day and night. 

Each prisoner was issued one blanket. Possession of more than a single blanket was a breach of regulations and a punishable offense.

At night, teeth chattered as each man wrapped himself cocoon-like, each in his sweats and wool hat, wrapped in that single blanket. 

Hundreds of men were housed together, each very much alone. Alone in his thoughts, alone in self-torture. Alone, doing his time.

Young or old, experienced or not, you do your time or the time does you. In the world, time is measured by clocks. In prison, time is measured differently. 

A sentence of less than five years is measured by months, and looked at by most as if it was a holiday cruise. Five years is called a Nickel, and is worth about as much. More than that is counted by calendars. 

A sentence of anything less than a Dime seriously holds little credibility. Seniority counts for prestige and influence in the distorted mirror world of prison as much as in any corporate setting.

I felt as alone as anyone could possibly be, there in the crowded prison dormitory. I arrived at this Federal Prison Camp in rural Georgia, with a sentence of less than five years. I was viewed as a short timer by other prisoners as well as the staff. 

In the segregated subculture of prisons, nearly everything is black or white. The redneck prisoners held some advantage as most of the guards were from the same background. The black prisoners had the advantage of numbers. 

Most prisoners kept to their own kind. Black, whites and the "others". There were a handful of Jews counted amongst the others.

I was just one small goat awaiting the passage of time. There were very few others in that place that would attend a Passover Seder, if such a thing were to happen.

In the world, in the America that we are most familiar with, there is an illusion of meritocracy, a semblance of fairness and a modicum of justice. That paper-thin veneer is torn away inside. 

One might think that the prison system is a network of well-structured institutions with clear rules and orders from above. That's certainly how it all appears from the outside, looking in. From the inside, the perspective changes.

The Cat always had larger portions, more slack and an extra blanket. He had cigarettes. He had a cellphone. If you needed something - or wanted something - he could help, for a price. 

Every prisoner has a prison job for which he is paid pennies an hour for the time at work. To bring some balance to the equation, inmates will slack off or pilfer. The Cat worked in the kitchen. He was no slacker at pilfering. He always had bananas and other delicacies that were rarely served in the chow line. 

The day to day operations of the dormitory wing where I was housed depended on the Cat. With a wink or a nod, difficulties could be ironed out. The Cat did as he pleased, within limits. 

Most of the guards appreciated the soft assignment of policing a low level joint. It was an easy gig. They did their time and went home. They avoided conflicts and ignored petty infractions because all of that just led to extra work. 

There was one Bulldog that would occasionally clamp his incisors into the Cat, landing the Cat in solitary. It is not unreasonable to think that there was some theater involved. The Cat was never away for long. He always returned with few losses.

Food services were overseen by a CO named Mr Smith. He ran a tight operation, wielding authority like a stick. The prisoners that served under him could hardly get away with anything. He did not tolerate prisoners stealing. For him, such actions, from prisoners, was a personal affront.

Working directly under Mr Smith was the CO Ms Smith - no relation. Mr Smith was married and his wife worked at a school in town. 

Ms Smith was a devout Christian, most evident by the Cross she always wore and the phrases such as "God Bless" and "Praise Jesus" that peppered her speech, even when speaking to inmates.

It was an open secret that Mr Smith and Ms Smith were having an affair. 

Ms Smith, however, would not allow her vagina to be penetrated by Mr Smith. Her religion proscribed that. In their stolen moments of passion, she would only allow Mr Smith to fondle her breasts and to enter her anus.

Mr Smith found this somewhat frustrating and kept up a steady pressure on Ms Smith but she remained true to her faith.

They would relieve their tensions in the storage room. They believed they were out of the range of the security cameras and that no inmate could see them. 

The Cat would sometimes watch from a spot in the crawlspace. Usually, however, he took advantage of their indiscretions for his own nefarious thievery.

On the days when she had been butt fucked, she smiled a little more and served slightly larger portions in the chow line. On the days that she had not been pleasured, she was irritable and the portions were smaller.

Between the two Smiths, they figured how to divert supplies from storage and out of the prison in the trunks of their cars. Ms Smith would sell the diverted goods through her church. This larceny padded their incomes. 

This arrangement went on for years, but no fire can burn forever. It must have felt like a bucket of cold water when Ms Smith was busted for selling stolen goods. 

Ms Smith claimed that she was misled by her passionate love for Mr Smith, however she alone lost her job and went to jail. 

Mr Smith's infidelity and the scandal had rippling effects. His marriage ended in divorce and he was saddled with crippling alimony and child support payments. 

Mr Smith also lost his supplementary income as he was under greater scrutiny and had no accomplice to sell the pilfered goods. To add insult to his injury, the prison system replaced Ms Smith with a homosexual who did his best to replace Ms Smith on a level that Mr Smith refused to rise to.

Everyone called the old man the Ox. He was in the final couple of years of a twenty year stretch. He could be found most days lifting weights. He was a large man with an even temperament.

When his stomach began hurting, he took his concerns to the medic. The doc prescribed antacid. The pains did not subside. They got progressively worse. He laid in his bunk, between trips to the sick bay to see the doc that was called the Butcher. 

Months passed. Eventually, a new set of tests discovered the cancer that was eating out the insides of the Ox. 

Of course, the Warden could have written a recommendation for a Compassionate Release, sending the Ox home for his remaining time. Instead, he was shipped to a prison hospital, behind a fence that made escape impossible.

There, in the Prison Hospital, the Angel of Death came and took the Ox away. We learned of his death the night of the first Seder.

The Cat had received his cut. The Bulldog looked the other way. There was nearly enough matzah and grape juice. In the Prison, deprived of all liberty, we read the story of the struggle for freedom, from the Four Questions to the tail end of the Seder - the song about a goat.

"Then came The Holy One, Blessed be He, and smote the angel of death, who slew the slaughterer, who killed the ox, that drank the water, that put out the fire, that burned the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, which my father bought for two zuzim. One little goat, one little goat."

Dizabin abba bitrei zuzim. Chad gadya, chad gadya.

The Town of First Landing

 by Zvi Baranoff

The town of First Landing is the third largest city on Planet Birobidzhan. It is a dreadful place. 

First Landing sits at the approximate center of Planet Birobidzhan's most populous continent. It is a dusty and wind-blown industrial town. It is at the eternal crossroads. The horizon is flat and unimpressive in every direction. 

Nearly every building was constructed from prefabricated materials that had arrived on board the various transit ships or made from the hulls and cannibalized innards of those ships. It exudes a sense of decay and projects an aura of disintegration.

Few people would consciously choose to live in such a place. There is very little reason to stay put in a place like First Landing, other than inertia. Of course, for some inertia is the primary force of their existence. That is really the best explanation for the continued habitation of First Landing after so many generations.

The intention of the Founders was for this place to be primarily a transit station. The spot was chosen because it was flat and central. These two factors made it the ideal landing spot for the ships coming from Earth. After landing and orientation, it was assumed that the Yidden would flow outward in all directions, filling the land.

Generations after the last transport from the Home Planet landed here, First Landing remains a transient location. There is an airport and a train station, being about halfway between New Jerusalem and New New York. The continent's two main highways cross here as well.

First Landing has the largest slaughterhouse and meat packing facility on the planet. The Currency Printing Press and what can roughly be called the Central Bank is located there. 

There is a scattering of small Shuls. A distillery produces a balm for the tedium of existence. Birobidzhan's only zoo is in New Landing, a monument of sorts to the disjointed thinking of the Agency planners. 

The original greenhouses are still functioning, growing winter fruits and vegetables. The planet's first vineyard and winery is situated nearby, on the outskirts of town. 

For nearly eighteen years, the intergalactic starship the Hatikvah traveled through the void from the Home Planet. The trajectory was preprogrammed and automated. 

For all those years the half dozen pilots on board had no responsibilities other than to wait for the starship to arrive at the coordinates of our new homeland. 

When the place that would eventually be known as Planet Birobidzhan was reached and orbiting was set, only one pilot was required for the landing. Nonetheless, they all met on the flight deck. 

The pilots worked closely together, scrutinizing charts and computer projections, in order to determine the best place on this planet to land. Wherever they put down would serve as the entrance point for all new arrivals for the foreseeable future.

When the Hatikvah was safely landed, the passengers were tasked with establishment of the infrastructure for the survivability of the new settlement. 

The pilots focused on building and maintenance of the landing site and providing electronic guidance for the subsequent unpiloted transit ships. 

It can be said that in this aspect, the planning by the Agency and the presumptions and projections of the Earth-bound were right on target. This aspect of the settlement worked out just fine. However, not much else worked according to plan.

On Earth, the public position expressed by the Agency was that the entire Earth Jewish population of twenty-five million would be transported in short order. Realistically, no one expected that to actually unfold but it was widely assumed that most of that population - perhaps as many as fifteen to twenty million would leave the Home Planet. 

The optimists suggested that could be accomplished in ten years or less, not counting the actual transportation time, of course. The pessimistic position was that it would take twice as long. 

No one projected that before the third year of active transports, the flights would grind to a halt with less than two million Yidden actually transported. 

The skyport that the pilots had built and maintained is now the airport. Flights of a ten passenger plane between New Jerusalem and New New York operate five days a week with a short stop at First Landing. 

The old observation tower and telescopes are used by amateur astronomers. Of course, a sighting of a ship from The Home Planet - or anywhere else - would be a huge event but no one realistically expects any outside contact these days. 

The end of the immigration flights played havoc with the various presumptions of the Agency. Much was based on the idea that supplies and personnel for settlement were to arrive in conjunction with timely needs. For instance, it was presumed that schools would not be a big priority for the first five years so teachers and school supplies would arrive later. They, of course, never did arrive. 

For the eighteen years of the Hatikvah's flight and for the first couple of months on the new planet, there were sufficient varied food supplies for everyone. The Founders had grown accustomed to the consistency of fresh food and the relative comfort of the living quarters on board that continued to provide shelter on this new planet.

The first of the void-transcending herring tins arrived just a couple of months after the Hatikva. There were 10,000 cryogenically preserved Yidden on board. 

When the cryogenically stored loads of new immigrants began arriving by the tens of thousands, the capacity to feed everyone satisfactorily was thoroughly strained and housing for the new immigrants was sketchy.

Upon defrosting on a strange planet, the new immigrants were housed in substandard dormitories and fed a diet consisting mainly of potatoes. Starvation was not an actual danger but there were shortages of everything with the exception of potatoes for the next three years.

According to the orientation before flight - and the master plan - a year's supply of kosher MRE would be sent with each cryogenic flight to assure that food supplies would last until the cultivation levels could sustain the population. 

However, the first of those flights included perhaps an eight month bare minimum food supply and each subsequent ship held less than the one before it. The Agency seemed to have just presumed that the pioneering spirit would suffice if supplies dwindled.

The financial committee was certainly capable of getting the printing press up and running quickly and printing plenty of cash. However, there was no real way to determine the value of the money and virtually nothing to spend the money on. There was a need for devising a distribution system for necessities in short supply. Ration coupons were far more important to those immigrants than paper shekels.

On Earth, it had been determined that the currency of the new settlement would be called the Shekel and that its value was equivalent to the Dollar. All potential immigrants were given the opportunity to transfer dollars to the Agency in exchange for credit in shekels on arrival. That was the case for the passengers of the Hatikvah and the first of the subsequent flights. 

As time elapsed, the Agency found a growing reluctance to make an exchange of hard cash for abstract promises. As an incentive, the rate of exchange increased. New immigrants thus arrived shekel-rich with their wealth duly noted in the ship computers. On arrival, they would receive stacks of nearly worthless cash. 

The cash the Agency acquired, and spent, on Earth to purchase the ships and supplies for the next waves of immigration. The financial model was essentially similar to a pyramid or that of a ponzi scheme. The payoff for the immigrants was eighteen years away on a distant planet with no direct accountability for the plans made by pencil pushers and accountants on Earth. 

It was presumed that a market economy would be developed. No one really had a clue how that would happen or how long that would take. 

It was also presumed that at some point intergalactic trade would develop and that ships would be outfitted for return flights and flights to other settled planets. Generations later, those hopes have yet to be realized.

It was presumed, on Earth, that the large bison-like creatures that roam our planet were similar enough to cattle to be a source of kosher meat. This was a false hope. 

After a few years, it was determined that the wild hog-like creatures that the rabbis first disdained are actually kosher. So, at that point meat became plentiful as the Yidden learned to appreciate the kosher ham, pork and bacon. For the first few critical years, meat was in very short supply.

When the first few flights arrived, they were greeted with excitement and hope by the earlier immigrants. New people and fresh supplies held promise. The feelings of hope and promise soon began to fade as an account of the situation became clearer.

Supplies were inadequate. No one could make sense of the decisions made on Earth as to what was needed here on Planet Birobidzhan. Perhaps the Agency was just clueless. Perhaps they were making purchases based on calculations that were beyond comprehension. Perhaps there was a payola factor.

The initial charter for the settlement provided no formula for governance. Very little that resembles a government has ever developed here. There is no military, secular courts, police, public schools, jails, taxes or welfare. Also, virtually no public planning. In the early days, a lot of decisions were temporarily put off until those with more expertise arrived. Of course, those experts never arrived.

We do have rabbis - lots of rabbis - and rabbinic courts. However, because of the plethora, none of them carry a whole lot of weight. They can each, for instance, rule concerning marriage and divorce, dogma and theology, even declare excommunication. They can also contradict each other. If one is unhappy with a ruling from a Beit Din, a different answer to the question at hand might be found at a shul literally within a stone's throw. 

There are historical reasons for the relative weakness of rabbinic authority on Planet Birobidzhan. The rabbis that arrived on the Hatikvah had been transformed by their time in transit. By the time they had reached the new planet, they had all developed a fairly laissez-faire attitude about most matters. 

When the subsequent flights arrived, the rabbis that came along were much younger than those from the Hatikvah, so were inclined to give their elders leeway, treat their decisions as precedence and follow the example of those that arrived earlier.

This is not to say that the rabbis did not have some real world matters to grapple with upon arrival. For those that traveled on the Hatikvah, ship time had been pinned to the Earth time of their departure point. Upon arrival, the clocks and calendar needed resetting.

The days of the week were certainly consistent. The daylight determined the time of the day. 

The moon was a whole other factor. That is, on Earth, the new month of the Jewish calendar begins with a new moon. On Planet Birobidzhan, there are two moons and the cycle of neither one is the same as the Earthly moon. Additionally, the seasons in this new land were significantly different from those of the Home Planet. 

The rabbis had plenty to argue over concerning how to define time and the order for traditional celebrations under these totally new conditions. Of course, rabbinical arguments have a long tradition.

Not long after the two major cities of New New York and New Jerusalem were settled, a major Yeshiva (and multiple minor ones just to add to the confusion) was in each of these cities with each reflecting an opposition to the other on almost every issue. It took years to reach a general consensus on the issues surrounding the calendar.

The new immigrants that arrived after the Hatikvah were predominantly very young. The Agency, it seems, believed that what was needed were young men with strong backs and women of a breeding age. So, what the immigrants lacked in education, they compensated with inexperience.

Those that had arrived on the Hatikvah were more skilled, far better educated and much older than the fresh arrivals. It was their mission to try to motivate the growing number of youthful immigrants to take on the task of exploring and settling the vast and empty planet.

An initial analysis of the planet projected that it could optimally sustain a population of five to seven billion people. Even if all of Earth's Yidden had been delivered at once, the Planet Birobidzhan would be sparsely populated for a very long time. This may have been why the Agency chose to ship absolutely no type of birth control - no condoms, no diaphragms and no birth control pills - of any amounts on any of those ships.

Five major projects were seen as essential to those with any interest in planning. 

The founding and development of the two major cities, New New York on the west coast of the continent and New Jerusalem on the east coast was deemed paramount. The location for these cities were chosen because of the deep natural harbors that could provide logical jumping off points for outward expansion to the rest of the planet.

The harvest of hardwood trees for lumber was considered essential for any advanced construction. In the southern part of the continent, the forest to sustain such an industry offered itself to developing.

Also to the south of First Landing were mineral deposits for potential mining.

The production of a wide variety of food to sustain the growing population required settlements in rural areas and the creation from scratch of an agricultural economy. 

The piles of near worthless cash did not excite the new settlers. Ship load after ship load of immigrants arrived. The young people filled up First Landing waiting for inspiration and motivation. Other incentives besides illusory wealth were needed to encourage the youthful arrivals to take on such tasks. 

Potatoes at every meal and nightmares of potatoes was the most compelling argument for carrying on the pioneering experiment. The potato has a rightful place in the history of Planet Birobidzhan. Probably, the tedium of potatoes was more significant motivation than all of the planning and tinkering of ideologues, the theorizing of theoreticians, the philosophies or theological positioning of rabbis and sages on the Home Planet or here.

Der mensch tracht un gott lacht. (Man plans and God laughs.)

This is not a Jewish story. It is, however, a story about Jews. One does not need to be Jewish to read this tale any more than one needs to be a Hobbit or an Elf to read Lord of the Rings. 

This story is a work of fiction. The setting for this tale is in the distant future, on the far away Planet Birobidzhan. This planet was settled by Jewish exiles from Planet Earth. 

The population of Planet Birobidzhan has been cut off from the Home Planet for a long  time. They have developed their own unique culture, traditions and linguistics. 

The language spoken on Planet Birobidzhan is primarily Yiddish. I have sprinkled a significant number of Yiddish words and phrases throughout the telling of the tale. I also refer to various Jewish religious and cultural touchstones. 

To make this story more accessible, I have included a glossary of words and phrases in Yiddish and Hebrew that are used as well as some explanations of religious terms and holidays. 

I hope that readers find  this to be useful.

The link to the Glossary is here:

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/a-useful-guide-glossary-to-planet.html?m=1

פּלאַנעט ביראָבידזשאַן

Do you want to read more about Planet Birobidzhan? Here are all the posted installments so far, in the order that they were posted. Just click your way through the story!

1 On A Planet Safe for Yidden

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/02/on-planet-safe-for-yidden.html

2 Yenne Velt: A History of Planet Birobidzhan

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/02/yenne-velt-history-of-planet-birobidzhan.html

3 Another Globe, Perhaps?

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/02/another-globe-perhaps.html

4 Bereshis: The Transport & Transformation of the Founders

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/03/bereshis-transport-transformation-of.html

5 The Town of First Landing

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/03/the-town-of-first-landing.html

6 A Personal History of an Early Settler on Planet Birobidzhan

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/05/a-personal-history-of-early-settler-on.html

7 Chickens, Jews Harps & Cronyism

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/07/cronyism.html

8 Dovid's Neshumeh

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/07/dovids-neshumeh.html

9 The Octogenarian and the Youngster

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/07/the-octogenarian-and-youngster.html

10 An Otherworldly Havdalah

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/08/an-otherworldly-havdalah.html

11 The Courtship & Marriage of Bathseba

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/08/the-courtship-marriage-of-bathseba.html

12 A Job, an Apartment & Two Honeymoons

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/08/a-job-apartment-two-honeymoons.html

13 The Pathway Into the Stars

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/08/the-pathway-into-stars.html

14 Abi Guzunt 

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/08/abi-guzunt.html

15 A Dozen or So…

http://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/10/a-dozen-or-so.html

16 Tamar's Sketchbook 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/11/tamars-sketchbook.html?m=1

17 An Apologetic Interlude in the Galactic Tale

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/11/an-apologetic-interlude-in-galactic-tale.html?m=1

18 Tamar's Mushrooms 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/11/tamars-mushrooms.html?m=1

19 Intergalactic Travel Can Not Be Done on the Cheap

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/12/intergalactic-travel-can-not-be-done-on.html?m=1

20 Unauthorized Fire on Planet Birobidzhan 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/12/unauthorized-fire-on-planet-birobidzhan.html?m=1

21 Tamar and the Klezmorim of Planet Birobidzhan

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/12/tamar-and-klezmorim-of-planet.html

22 Heresy, Flimflam and Death 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2022/12/heresy-flimflam-and-death.html?m=1

23 On a Distant Planet, An Apartment in the City by the Sea

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/on-distant-planet-apartment-in-city-by.html?m=1

24 The Girl with a Fiddle on Planet Birobidzhan 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/the-girl-with-fiddle-on-planet.html

25 Tamar and the Scholars of Planet Birobidzhan 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/tamar-and-scholars-of-planet-birobidzhan.html

26 The Tropics of Planet Birobidzhan 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/the-tropics-of-planet-birobidzhan.html

27 The Beaches and Coastal Shtetls of Planet Birobidzhan 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/the-beaches-and-coastal-shtetls-of.html

28 A Pre-launch Reunion 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/a-pre-launch-reunion.html

29 The Launch Was Imminent 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/the-launch-was-imminent.html

30 Liftoff Into the Unknown 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/liftoff-into-unknown.html

31 Across the Void, Down a Wormhole & Into the Snow

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/across-void-down-wormhole-into-snow.html

32 Flourishing on Planet Shney 

https://21stcenturybogatyr.blogspot.com/2023/01/flourishing-on-planet-shney.html