From The Archimedes Codex

On pg 76 of [this book]:

* * *
The Byzantine Renaissance

On Saturday, 26 July 811, Krum, the Bulgarian Khan, slew Nicephorus, the Byzantine Emperor, at the battle of Pliska and turned his skull into a wine cup. Not a good start to the ninth century for Constantinople. On the surface, things didn't look much better thirty years and six emperors later, when Michael III, `The Drunkard,' ascended the throne. But in fact the intellectual climate was improving, and it got even better when Basil I assassinated Michael in 867. Under Basil I Constantinople quickly became the capital of the greatest empire in the Mediterranean world. The Macedonian dynasty that he founded could boast both scholarship and mettle. While Constantine VII wrote a book on the administration of empire, Basil II took 14,000 Bulgarians prisoner in 1014, and blinded 99 out of every hundred. The lucky one in a hundred got to guide his fellows home. Constantinople had entered a golden age, if not an enlightened one.

* * *
Ah—those were the days!

Easterday Co. Furniture.

I was planning to go to downtown Palo Alto to take a photo of this business sign, which was recently exposed after the building next door was pulled down.

Then I thought, "why bother---someone's probably already done it and posted it to Flickr." I was right.

In the Palo Alto Daily there was an article that suggested this sign was probably painted around 1918 and that the business had failed before 1920.

Mr. Easterday was originally from Lincoln, Nebraska.

Sam Goldburg's Bar Mitzvah

We attended Sam Goldburg's Bar Mitzvah this afternoon at Temple Beth Jacob in Redwood City.

It's the first bar mitzvah I've ever attended, and perhaps the fourth or fifth religious ceremony our kids have ever attended of any kind (Nebraska Cornhusker football games excepted).

Owen and I arrived first, and Cole and Gloria came later, since Cole had diving practice. The ceremony lasted 2 1/2 hours.

On entering the temple, Owen and I decided to sit at the edge of the pews, on the far left side. But then the sun shone brightly into the particular pew we'd chosen, and I found myself having to shield my eyes to see the action at the front of the temple. I suggested to Owen that we simply get up from the pew we were in, and move to another pew (I had already observed a certain unexpected mobility in the congregation, with people entering and leaving the ceremony at random points, as if they were at a basketball game rather than a "church" service. As a child in Presbyterian services, I considered a seat in the sancutary as a sort of one-hour terminal life sentence—I wouldn't have dreamed of asking to be excused for 5 or ten minutes—it was unthinkable).

At the front of the temple, instead of a cross, a huge box, somewhat shaped like a coffin propped up on its end, but also very much a part of the architecture of the building itself. The box was no prop.

I wondered what the box might contain. Certainly not a cross, and certainly not a body. What then? By careful, slow-witted contemplation, I came to be convinced that it might contain a copy of the ten commandments, or the Torah, or some other holy text.

I was right—later in the ceremony, the box was opened, and was revealed to contain several scroll Torahs. There was a small one, which Wes (Sam's brother) held, a medium one that Sam's grandfather held, and a truly large one only suitable for Paul Bunyan or some other heroic figure.

When the box was opened, I noticed Owen squirming next to me. We were too far to the left to have a clear view of the contents of the box. "Let's move, to that pew over there," Owen said. He pointed to available seats much near to the center of the action.

"Let's stay here, for now," I said.

Later, I asked Sam's grandfather Victor about the big Torah scroll. "How much did that weigh?" I wondered. "It was plenty heavy, but OK," he said. "Well, you looked OK carrying it, but it sure looked heavy to me," I said. "Thanks for that," Victor said.

I enjoyed the cermony a lot, despite its length and general incomprehensibility, but had to take Owen back to Palo Alto for a baseball game before the party ended. There was an excellent Klezmer band at the reception.

I did achieve one goal—to get photos of Cole and Owen wearing yarmulkes in the temple:

I would have liked to have had one of myself, too, but forgot to ask someone to take the picture.

At the reception, two different people identified themselves to me as "atheist," pretty much without my prompting them. I don't recall anyone ever volunteering information like that in the many Presbyterian events I attended as a child and young adult.

Perhaps it's becoming OK to be an atheist?

Maybe at the Temple Beth Jacob, but I doubt that it's catching on elsewhere.

All of the readings and songs were in Hebrew, and I found myself stupidly following the Hebrew-to-English transliterations rather than reading the English translations in the column opposite. Yet when I read the translations, I found in them the same monotony that I naturally associated with Christian liturgy.

I'd hoped there would be a sermon, and there was, and I liked it.

I love sermons.