A great post from Nick Verron
I’m going to re-blog this because I think it’s a good discussion, more so because you respectfully disagree.
What do you folks think?
Opinionated Man has posted that women should not be priests. His argument is that is doesn’t feel right. This is an argument that I have also had with the husband for years. His argument? Well Peter left his wife to follow Jesus so they are the only ones that should be priests. The Pope said so and he is infallible. These misogynistic attitudes have permeated the church for centuries.
Women and their roles in the church have been subject to propaganda including the early female leaders being removed from the Bible. Mary Magdalene in new research in newly discovered early texts may have been one of Christ’s disciples, one of prominence. New Testament gospels written in the early years of the church acknowledge that women were among the first of Jesus’s followers. Mary Magdalene, Joanna and Susanna accompanied Jesus during his early ministry and even financed some of it. (Luke…
View original post 442 more words
This is a fascinating post! There is a 15 year age gap between me and my partner.
What are your thoughts on this topic?
When it comes to dating, the rotten rule that has been around for generations states that it is socially acceptable for a person to be romantically involved with someone who’s age is at least half your age plus seven. However, there are people, SANE people, who deviate from the norm and date someone much younger or older than them; which, in my humble opinion, is totally fine as long as both individuals connect.
In my post, I’m going to write on the advantages a young woman has when she dates an older man, say +15 years her senior. While you must be cudgelling your brains about what has triggered me to blog on this, let me confess beforehand that as a young woman myself, I find older men enormously attractive. They are a whole package! And the fascinating thing with them is that they equate me on many levels –…
View original post 1,101 more words
My Father always looked old to me.
He was 41 when I was born.
When my Father was amused his left eyebrow shot up.
He reserved his smile for The Big Picture and the life insurance
salesman who came every Saturday to chat and drink coffee.
My Father said he had nothing against blacks, but they weren’t the same as whites.
He was oblivious to the fact that to almost everyone in our Southern Baptist
neighborhood, Jews were Black too.
Why did an Orthodox Jew choose to live among racist anti-Semites?
My Father bought a house among them the year of my conception.
Was he stupid?
Was he defiant?
Maybe he felt he had earned the right to live where he pleased.
In this flash of memory four members of the John Birch Society arrive one Sunday night to give my family a presentation.
I listen in horror as the leader describes the communist chinks who play
football with the dead babies of white people.
“They kick ’em and thow ’em like they was footballs!”
After the four men leave my Father’s left eyebrow shoots up.
He looks at my Mother and says: “I didn’t know the Communist chinks played football.”
My Father kept a uniform in his closet.
Was he an officer? I can’t remember.
It looked like an officer’s uniform.
Later, when I was six and alone in the house I tried on the jacket.
It smelled of Old Spice.
I realized in yesterday’s therapy session that my Father must
be the source of the way I understand my duty as a man.
He took me to Temple and drove me twice a week to
choir practice and Hebrew School.
I was even in the Jewish Boy Scouts.
I believe that everyone around me is an extension of God’s will.
I believe that if you are born to this Earth then you have a right
to a share of God’s abundance.
These values must have come from my Father.
When I was born my parents were typical members of the
prosperous working class.
But there was something wrong with my parents and it became
clear to the leaders of Charleston’s Jewish Community.
In this flash of memory a social worker takes me and my Sister
to Foster care, but I don’t remember why he was called.
Rob Goldstein (c) 2016