How awesome is it that my Mom's birthday falls on Martin Luther King Day and during this great celebration for the inauguration of Barack Obama?
I'll tell you how awesome it is: My Mom is one of the millions of people across this country who made these times possible. Throughout her adult life, Mom has worked for equality, justice and tolerance. She also served as a role model to her family and friends, showing us how to think outside the boxes of race, religion, culture and "American-ness."
Mom has always fought for her political beliefs. She has argued and demonstrated against nuclear proliferation and against wars designed mostly to benefit American wealth and status. She worked for the political campaigns of friends and colleagues she felt could make a positive impact on the cause of social justice. She has also actively supported statewide and national campaigns she believed in -- Mom was never afraid to have the political sign on the lawn! In the '70s, Mom volunteered her time to lobby in the Missouri State House for laws addressing the needs of those who often go under- or un-represented.
Along with my father, my mother made a conscious decision that the neighborhood and schools in which she brought up her children could benefit the causes of diversity and education in the community while exposing us to that diversity and high standard of education. When we moved to Indian Meadows in suburban St. Louis when I was 5, we were one of a few "WASP" families in a neighborhood of African American and Jewish households. This may not seem like a big deal now, but I believe that in the mid-70's, this took courage and foresight. I am grateful for having been raised and educated in this unique suburban landscape.
Mom and Dad took their standards of diversity in education to an international level in 1982, when they (always only with the kids' blessing!) decided to take in their first foreign exchange student, Jehu, from Liberia. Not only did our international brothers and sisters benefit from a chance to learn about the United States, but Lisa and I, as well as our friends and neighbors, got a chance to learn about the cultures (Liberian, Peruvian, German, Swiss and Japanese), opinions, and personal situations of the students who came to the U.S. These experiences also inspired my sister to spend two months as a foreign exchange student in Argentina.
And of course, Mom and Dad eventually helped Jehu return to the US to escape war in West Africa and bring up his young family in American prosperity and relative peace. As a result, Mom and Dad now have a beautiful extended family that I'm sure they never dreamed of when they first started on their quest to raise their daughters! In addition to our international brothers and sisters, Lisa and I have a younger foster brother, Joe, because Mom met a great kid while teaching middle school and decided to bring him into the family when he needed a change during tough times.
Mom never stops learning (neither does Dad!): Mom is retired from her job as an educator in the public schools, but she continues to read avidly, and she participates in a regular book club. She is active in an interfaith discussion group that has helped her understand not only the religious beliefs and practices of people she doesn't know, but the transformation of her daughter - me - into a Jewish woman.
Without my Mom and people like her - people of all skin colors, religions and cultural backgrounds - younger generations could never have understood the importance of Dr. King's message of peace and tolerance. We could never have had the chance to realize his dream and the dreams of so many like him. And we never could have elected Barack Obama to be President of these great United States of America.
Thanks, Mom! And Happy Birthday!
Monday, January 19, 2009
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
"Lessons I Learned in Hawaii", or "Finding Aloha"
Once again I have been to Oahu and returned refreshed, though I also miss the island. I don't need to go into detail about how this works, but let me just express why my trips to Hawaii are so important to me. Every time I go there, I learn more and more what really matters in life. I am happy to be with my best friend, my sister, yet I miss my friends who aren't there with me. I have a deep need to share the island with them. I want them to feel the warmth of the sun and the renewal of the rain along with me. To lie on the beach listening to the ocean, to play in the surf, to discover a new plant or animal or human tradition -- these are my most fervent desires when I am in Hawaii. I wish I could share with my friends the beauty of the natural island world and the genuine love of my sister, her husband, George, and even her crazy cat! I wish I had a way to share the unity of spirituality that exists in that place -- a place where it doesn't seem odd to be Christian and Jewish and Buddhist and Pagan all at the same time.
I can't take Hawaii and all its people and places back home with me (though I sure do try: I take photos and even buy a few things to remind me and if possible, to share). But at least I can attempt to bring back some Aloha. Aloha is a lot like Shalom, actually, though it feels somehow more universal. (The small community of Jews in Hawaii actually uses the expression "Shaloha"!) What is Aloha? To me, it is a sense of human equality, a sense that there is no point in judging my neighbor too harshly, for I can easily be harshly judged. It is my idealism, my wish for a little bit of joy for everyone; the world can be a tough place, but it can also be beautiful. And on a personal, practical level, Aloha is about rejecting excessive materialism and discovering what makes me truly happy.
Of course, all this reflects an idealism that must seem simplistic in our complicated American culture, especially in a time of economic and ecological turmoil as well as renewed violence around the world. Still, I believe that a little simplicity, a little genuine joy, and a little spiritual renewal -- internal things we are each responsible for on an individual level -- are the only things that will get us through these tough times. And so I wish for everyone: Aloha!
I can't take Hawaii and all its people and places back home with me (though I sure do try: I take photos and even buy a few things to remind me and if possible, to share). But at least I can attempt to bring back some Aloha. Aloha is a lot like Shalom, actually, though it feels somehow more universal. (The small community of Jews in Hawaii actually uses the expression "Shaloha"!) What is Aloha? To me, it is a sense of human equality, a sense that there is no point in judging my neighbor too harshly, for I can easily be harshly judged. It is my idealism, my wish for a little bit of joy for everyone; the world can be a tough place, but it can also be beautiful. And on a personal, practical level, Aloha is about rejecting excessive materialism and discovering what makes me truly happy.
Of course, all this reflects an idealism that must seem simplistic in our complicated American culture, especially in a time of economic and ecological turmoil as well as renewed violence around the world. Still, I believe that a little simplicity, a little genuine joy, and a little spiritual renewal -- internal things we are each responsible for on an individual level -- are the only things that will get us through these tough times. And so I wish for everyone: Aloha!
Sunday, November 30, 2008
An inevitable aspect of being Jewish
By now, everyone reading this has heard all the awful stories about the terrorist attacks in Mumbai, India. You probably know that two posh hotels and a train station were the biggest targets, and that scores of civilians were taken hostage and murdered. You have also probably heard that among the "smaller" locations targeted by these terrorists was a Jewish organization, the Chabad-Lubavich center of Mumbai. An American rabbi and his Israeli wife were killed there, as were several other foreign nationals, including another rabbi.
The terrorists were clearly seeking to terrorize foreigners and Indians who do business with foreigners, given that the target locations were places frequented by foreigners. This was true of the Chabad House as well, but in particular, it was probably one of the most obvious places in the city to find Jews. In fact, it is hard to think that the Nariman House, which contained the Chabad House, was chosen for any other reason than because it was a place to terrorize Jews. The media has so far been reluctant to speculate as to why this might have been, although given the apparent likelihood that the attacks were carried out by Muslim extremists, the answer may be a foregone conclusion.
So while nearly 200 people were killed during these days of terror in Mumbai, I found myself focusing on the rabbi, his wife, and the other Jews who were unlucky enough to be in the Chabad House at the time of the attack. The attacks as a whole were distressing enough; it brought back memories of 9/11. Yet I somehow could not help seeing the attacks as, in part, attacks on Jews. Hundreds of people were targeted, yet only a handful were Jewish (though the number of Jewish victims was certainly disproportionate to the number of actual Jews in the huge city of Mumbai!). But while the rest of the victims seemed chosen almost at random, there is nothing random about being Jewish and being in a place where Jewishness is encouraged and supported.
The truth is, because of the Chabad House attack, I felt targeted. It was as if family members had been killed, and it made me particularly depressed, angry and vulnerable. It isn't that I felt more fear than I had before, but I absolutely felt protective. My defenses became keen. It didn't matter one bit that this group of people represented a different part of Jewry (Orthodox, Israeli) than I (American, Conservative). Only upon later reflection did I consider that these folks may or may not even have accepted me as Jewish, given my halachic-but-non-orthodox conversion. But that didn't matter and it still doesn't. For me, my Jewishness is visceral, and it's a connection I have to this beautifully dysfunctional family of others Jews.
I felt a little guilty about the fact that I did not connect to the other victims the same way I connected to the Jewish ones. After all, they are all strangers to me, Jew and gentile, all human with valuable human lives, but fundamentally anonymous. But then again, why should I feel guilty for identifying with members of this subset of humanity, this family of Jews? I am proud of it! And I am lucky to have achieved this unique, Jewish view of the world. My reaction is a natural Jewish one, I am sure of it. And so, there it is: being Jewish means, in part, feeling especially aware of injustices against other Jews, perhaps in the context of centuries of such injustice.
May God rest the souls of every victim of this awful act of violence in Mumbai last week. May God give comfort to their loved ones. And may God protect all of humanity, granting peace to us all.
The terrorists were clearly seeking to terrorize foreigners and Indians who do business with foreigners, given that the target locations were places frequented by foreigners. This was true of the Chabad House as well, but in particular, it was probably one of the most obvious places in the city to find Jews. In fact, it is hard to think that the Nariman House, which contained the Chabad House, was chosen for any other reason than because it was a place to terrorize Jews. The media has so far been reluctant to speculate as to why this might have been, although given the apparent likelihood that the attacks were carried out by Muslim extremists, the answer may be a foregone conclusion.
So while nearly 200 people were killed during these days of terror in Mumbai, I found myself focusing on the rabbi, his wife, and the other Jews who were unlucky enough to be in the Chabad House at the time of the attack. The attacks as a whole were distressing enough; it brought back memories of 9/11. Yet I somehow could not help seeing the attacks as, in part, attacks on Jews. Hundreds of people were targeted, yet only a handful were Jewish (though the number of Jewish victims was certainly disproportionate to the number of actual Jews in the huge city of Mumbai!). But while the rest of the victims seemed chosen almost at random, there is nothing random about being Jewish and being in a place where Jewishness is encouraged and supported.
The truth is, because of the Chabad House attack, I felt targeted. It was as if family members had been killed, and it made me particularly depressed, angry and vulnerable. It isn't that I felt more fear than I had before, but I absolutely felt protective. My defenses became keen. It didn't matter one bit that this group of people represented a different part of Jewry (Orthodox, Israeli) than I (American, Conservative). Only upon later reflection did I consider that these folks may or may not even have accepted me as Jewish, given my halachic-but-non-orthodox conversion. But that didn't matter and it still doesn't. For me, my Jewishness is visceral, and it's a connection I have to this beautifully dysfunctional family of others Jews.
I felt a little guilty about the fact that I did not connect to the other victims the same way I connected to the Jewish ones. After all, they are all strangers to me, Jew and gentile, all human with valuable human lives, but fundamentally anonymous. But then again, why should I feel guilty for identifying with members of this subset of humanity, this family of Jews? I am proud of it! And I am lucky to have achieved this unique, Jewish view of the world. My reaction is a natural Jewish one, I am sure of it. And so, there it is: being Jewish means, in part, feeling especially aware of injustices against other Jews, perhaps in the context of centuries of such injustice.
May God rest the souls of every victim of this awful act of violence in Mumbai last week. May God give comfort to their loved ones. And may God protect all of humanity, granting peace to us all.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Blog Updates to Come?
Several people have mentioned my blog to me in recent months, and I have to admit that I haven't written in it for over a year! However, I wanted to write this entry as a placemark because I do intend to start writing again soon. It looks like I may be on a long road to an adult bat mitzvah soon, and hopefully within a few months I'll have a job as an attorney. I expect a lot of new and possibly exciting things to come down the pike, so check back soon. :-)
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Jewish Alone
So I'm going along with my life, just being my Jewish self, but something just doesn't feel right. And I'm pretty sure I know what it is: I don't have a family with whom I can celebrate my day-to-day Jewish life. Of course I am very close to my family, but they live far away and naturally they don't observe Jewish rituals. I do have a "Jewish family," which I developed during the year and a half before I converted. They are the people who helped me learn about being Jewish and who have accepted me as part of their extended family. But I cannot (nor should I) expect to be with them for every Jewish celebration and observance. So on Shabbat, and in everyday life, I am generally alone in my Judaism.
This is sometimes difficult, because many -- if not most -- Jewish traditions are built around the home and the family. This is especially true of Shabbat. I light my candles and say my blessings alone, I go to and from the shul alone, and I often spend Saturday afternoon alone as well. I am rarely able to share my thoughts and exchange my ideas about Judaism with people who want to or are even able to discuss Torah and Jewish tradition.
I do have some Jewish friends, but most of them are not particularly religious. I must admit that I feel silly bringing up my religious observances with them. On one hand, many of them know much more about these things than I do (at least in a practical sense), but on the other hand, they haven't been observant since they were children and most of them don't seem to want to talk much about these things. In fact, my ideas must seem almost infantile to those who have decided that they no longer need religion because parts of it seem to defy good, modern logic. The fact that I have found spiritual expression, comfort, and even logic in Jewish observance is something that may or may not interest them.
I don't expect anyone to totally understand my choice to become Jewish or my need for observance. I know I have to seek out chances to learn because I never had a chance to go to Hebrew School or USY camp or a Birthright trip to Israel. My friends and family have generally been wonderfully supportive and even curious to understand. But I hope they will forgive me for saying that I hope I won't be Jewish alone for a long time. I hope one day I'll be able to share the joy of Jewish observance with a Jewish family of my own.
This is sometimes difficult, because many -- if not most -- Jewish traditions are built around the home and the family. This is especially true of Shabbat. I light my candles and say my blessings alone, I go to and from the shul alone, and I often spend Saturday afternoon alone as well. I am rarely able to share my thoughts and exchange my ideas about Judaism with people who want to or are even able to discuss Torah and Jewish tradition.
I do have some Jewish friends, but most of them are not particularly religious. I must admit that I feel silly bringing up my religious observances with them. On one hand, many of them know much more about these things than I do (at least in a practical sense), but on the other hand, they haven't been observant since they were children and most of them don't seem to want to talk much about these things. In fact, my ideas must seem almost infantile to those who have decided that they no longer need religion because parts of it seem to defy good, modern logic. The fact that I have found spiritual expression, comfort, and even logic in Jewish observance is something that may or may not interest them.
I don't expect anyone to totally understand my choice to become Jewish or my need for observance. I know I have to seek out chances to learn because I never had a chance to go to Hebrew School or USY camp or a Birthright trip to Israel. My friends and family have generally been wonderfully supportive and even curious to understand. But I hope they will forgive me for saying that I hope I won't be Jewish alone for a long time. I hope one day I'll be able to share the joy of Jewish observance with a Jewish family of my own.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Can't Science and Religion Just Get Along?
This is from a post on an online discussion regarding the first chapter of a new book by Richard Dawkins, the respected scientist and adamantly atheist author. The chapter is available on his website:
http://richarddawkins.net/godDelusion#firstChapter
In order to understand a few references in my blog post below, you may want to read the Dawkins text first.
Before I go on this rant, I should qualify my statements below with my recognition that Richard Dawkins is an important popularizer of science. I also understand -- and agree with -- his concern for science education in a sea of religious literalists. I simply think he goes too far; he seems to have a personal axe to grind and seems bent on taking down all religious thought with it.
Dawkins continues to make me angry when I read his works because he is so damned sure that because he understands what religion (or God) is from his point of view, he understands the meaning of religion (or God) for all people. He and others like him paint all religion and all concepts of God with one gigantic brush and allow for no nuance or intelligent discussion of the nature of spirituality. He would like to define God as "supernatural" when many of us consider God to be just the opposite: a human expression of the infinity of all that is natural, including the collective potential of humankind.
If Dawkins has no use for the term "God" in such a spiritual discussion, this must be respected, but why does he insist that his terminology must replace the terminologies currently in use by the various religions? I can't help feeling that this is a sort of spiritual colonialism: one should use religious language in Dawkins's sense, and then shape up or ship out! He is arrogantly telling us that either we believe in his version of religion or else we are not religious, the latter is of course the "right" answer, and all other philosophies on the subject are bunk. It's a very odd place for a politically liberal person, by the way, to believe that one has such a handle on truth that one can take one's scientific prowess and extend it to the artistic, spiritual, and emotional perceptions of every other person!
Guess what? I agree with Einstein that there is no "personal" God! Does this mean I lack religion? You can go ask my rabbi, but I'm 100% sure he'll tell you I'm a religious Jew. (I'm also 100% sure that it keeps me from being an evangelical Christian. But I don't know that it would stop someone from being a Christian in some sense of the word, assuming I had requisite beliefs regarding Christ, which of course I don't.) I still believe in the value of praise and prayer. There's nothing supernatural about it; I just believe that if used properly, worship and prayer can be helpful to those who practice a religion.
In the passage cited here, Dawkins quotes Carl Sagan. Sagan has been one of my heroes since childhood and that has not suddenly changed because I have chosen to take up Judaism. Sagan and I would disagree on religion, but I am confident that if he were still alive, he would encourage me to rethink my belief in God but then accept that I can have faith but still have a scientific mind. I'm proud to say that this is the attitude of my atheist PhD chemist father. Dawkins's dismissiveness is intolerant and offensive.
Rather than insult people who have faith (many of whose religious ideas would seem absurd to my own intellect and sense of spirituality), I believe my duty as a "scientifically" minded modern human being is to understand and communicate scientific truth. In other words, rather than having an absolutist attitude about science's incompatibility with religion, I believe in keeping the two separate in practice and allowing each individual person to find a way to marry the ideas or reject them as necessary or appropriate. And it so happens that I do find that science and my religion can inform one another for purposes of deciding how to behave in the empirical world.
For instance, do I believe in a literal interpretation of the first two chapters of Genesis? Of course not; to have such a belief would be incomprehensible to one who has seen the evidence of evolution. Yet the first two chapters of Genesis are one of my favorite passages in the Torah. The passage is indeed a metaphor that sets the tone for the relationship the Torah then develops between God, humankind and the cosmos. It has little to do with physical reality in the evolutionary sense, yet it has *everything* to do with spiritual reality, as I see it. What's more, the spiritual awareness of human interdependence on the physical world we understand, as well as the scientific concepts we don't yet comprehend keeps us connected to our moral and ethical obligations to that world. I don't ask that anyone else share my interpretations or beliefs. But I would request that my scientific understanding of the world not be judged by my religious beliefs. There are, after all, very religiously observant, respected scientists in the world, as well as plenty of atheists who don't know the difference between a mole (chemical measurement) and a mole (disgusting little yard pest).
_________________
"Doubt is part of all religion. All the religious thinkers were doubters." -- Isaac Bashevis Singer
http://richarddawkins.net/godDelusion#firstChapter
In order to understand a few references in my blog post below, you may want to read the Dawkins text first.
Before I go on this rant, I should qualify my statements below with my recognition that Richard Dawkins is an important popularizer of science. I also understand -- and agree with -- his concern for science education in a sea of religious literalists. I simply think he goes too far; he seems to have a personal axe to grind and seems bent on taking down all religious thought with it.
Dawkins continues to make me angry when I read his works because he is so damned sure that because he understands what religion (or God) is from his point of view, he understands the meaning of religion (or God) for all people. He and others like him paint all religion and all concepts of God with one gigantic brush and allow for no nuance or intelligent discussion of the nature of spirituality. He would like to define God as "supernatural" when many of us consider God to be just the opposite: a human expression of the infinity of all that is natural, including the collective potential of humankind.
If Dawkins has no use for the term "God" in such a spiritual discussion, this must be respected, but why does he insist that his terminology must replace the terminologies currently in use by the various religions? I can't help feeling that this is a sort of spiritual colonialism: one should use religious language in Dawkins's sense, and then shape up or ship out! He is arrogantly telling us that either we believe in his version of religion or else we are not religious, the latter is of course the "right" answer, and all other philosophies on the subject are bunk. It's a very odd place for a politically liberal person, by the way, to believe that one has such a handle on truth that one can take one's scientific prowess and extend it to the artistic, spiritual, and emotional perceptions of every other person!
Guess what? I agree with Einstein that there is no "personal" God! Does this mean I lack religion? You can go ask my rabbi, but I'm 100% sure he'll tell you I'm a religious Jew. (I'm also 100% sure that it keeps me from being an evangelical Christian. But I don't know that it would stop someone from being a Christian in some sense of the word, assuming I had requisite beliefs regarding Christ, which of course I don't.) I still believe in the value of praise and prayer. There's nothing supernatural about it; I just believe that if used properly, worship and prayer can be helpful to those who practice a religion.
In the passage cited here, Dawkins quotes Carl Sagan. Sagan has been one of my heroes since childhood and that has not suddenly changed because I have chosen to take up Judaism. Sagan and I would disagree on religion, but I am confident that if he were still alive, he would encourage me to rethink my belief in God but then accept that I can have faith but still have a scientific mind. I'm proud to say that this is the attitude of my atheist PhD chemist father. Dawkins's dismissiveness is intolerant and offensive.
Rather than insult people who have faith (many of whose religious ideas would seem absurd to my own intellect and sense of spirituality), I believe my duty as a "scientifically" minded modern human being is to understand and communicate scientific truth. In other words, rather than having an absolutist attitude about science's incompatibility with religion, I believe in keeping the two separate in practice and allowing each individual person to find a way to marry the ideas or reject them as necessary or appropriate. And it so happens that I do find that science and my religion can inform one another for purposes of deciding how to behave in the empirical world.
For instance, do I believe in a literal interpretation of the first two chapters of Genesis? Of course not; to have such a belief would be incomprehensible to one who has seen the evidence of evolution. Yet the first two chapters of Genesis are one of my favorite passages in the Torah. The passage is indeed a metaphor that sets the tone for the relationship the Torah then develops between God, humankind and the cosmos. It has little to do with physical reality in the evolutionary sense, yet it has *everything* to do with spiritual reality, as I see it. What's more, the spiritual awareness of human interdependence on the physical world we understand, as well as the scientific concepts we don't yet comprehend keeps us connected to our moral and ethical obligations to that world. I don't ask that anyone else share my interpretations or beliefs. But I would request that my scientific understanding of the world not be judged by my religious beliefs. There are, after all, very religiously observant, respected scientists in the world, as well as plenty of atheists who don't know the difference between a mole (chemical measurement) and a mole (disgusting little yard pest).
_________________
"Doubt is part of all religion. All the religious thinkers were doubters." -- Isaac Bashevis Singer
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Kol Nidre
It is nearly Yom Kippur, and I have been wanting to write about my interpretation of the kol nidre prayer ever since last year.
I have heard several Jews say they are uncomfortable with the prayer, that they are uncomfortable with the premise that God will absolve them of all vows, including those not yet said. But I believe this is based on a misunderstanding of the prayer. Worse, I think it is based on a misunderstanding promulgated by non-Jews over the centuries who have wanted to discredit Jewish loyalty.
The kol nidre prayer is fairly simple. The individual praying the kol nidre is basically asking God to absolve him or her of all vows that he or she might make to God in the coming year. The prayer does not ask that God absolve all congregants or all Jews of their collective promises to God, nor does it ask God to absolve the praying person of vows to other people.
I believe the purpose of this prayer is not only to ask God for absolution, but to remind those who pray it of their own humanity. After all, who can ever truly keep a vow to God? It is an important quality of the Jewish God that he/she is merciful. God asks us to keep the covenant and to try to treat our fellow humans with love and respect. But God and his people both know that we won't be perfect in the eyes of God.
So the kol nidre is, in a way, the most compelling statement we make regarding the nature of Adonai. It is also a compelling statement about the nature of man. God forgives. God asks much but does not expect perfection. Humans have the capacity to constantly improve themselves, as we do through our acts of mitzvot and by our acts of supplication at the High Holidays. This separation of divine and human is fundamental to Judaism. It is also a comfort to those of us who feel we will never live up to all that is expected of us.
I have heard several Jews say they are uncomfortable with the prayer, that they are uncomfortable with the premise that God will absolve them of all vows, including those not yet said. But I believe this is based on a misunderstanding of the prayer. Worse, I think it is based on a misunderstanding promulgated by non-Jews over the centuries who have wanted to discredit Jewish loyalty.
The kol nidre prayer is fairly simple. The individual praying the kol nidre is basically asking God to absolve him or her of all vows that he or she might make to God in the coming year. The prayer does not ask that God absolve all congregants or all Jews of their collective promises to God, nor does it ask God to absolve the praying person of vows to other people.
I believe the purpose of this prayer is not only to ask God for absolution, but to remind those who pray it of their own humanity. After all, who can ever truly keep a vow to God? It is an important quality of the Jewish God that he/she is merciful. God asks us to keep the covenant and to try to treat our fellow humans with love and respect. But God and his people both know that we won't be perfect in the eyes of God.
So the kol nidre is, in a way, the most compelling statement we make regarding the nature of Adonai. It is also a compelling statement about the nature of man. God forgives. God asks much but does not expect perfection. Humans have the capacity to constantly improve themselves, as we do through our acts of mitzvot and by our acts of supplication at the High Holidays. This separation of divine and human is fundamental to Judaism. It is also a comfort to those of us who feel we will never live up to all that is expected of us.
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