Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Kosher Dispensary

September 24, 2013

Rabbi Ties Jewish Faith to Medical Marijuana

Rabbi Ties Jewish Faith to Medical Marijuana

(WASHINGTON) -- Rabbi Jeffrey Kahn spent his 30-year career educating others and helping to ease human suffering, leading Jewish congregations in Australia, Illinois, his hometown of Miami and New Jersey.

Now, he is practicing his faith in a different line of work: Kahn runs a dispensary for medical marijuana. Call it a mitzvah -- or one of God's commandments.

"From the Jewish perspective, nothing is more important than the concept of healing and bringing sufferers relief," said Kahn, 61.

"I was a congregational rabbi during the worst days of the AIDS epidemic and saw up close and personal what people living with AIDS were dealing with and finding relief with medical marijuana," he said.

Just last month, Kahn and his wife, who works as a nurse at a long-term acute care hospital, opened the Takoma Wellness Center on the outskirts of Washington, D.C., where they are legally allowed to dispense medical marijuana.

So far, they only have three customers, who must meet state criteria and suffer from one of five diseases: HIV, AIDS, cancer, multiple sclerosis or glaucoma.

"The cannabis plant was created by God on the second day of creation when God created all the other plants, and touching this one isn't forbidden," Kahn said in a June interview with New Voices, a national magazine for Jewish college students.

Stephanie Reifkind Kahn, 59, has decorated the dispensary with "hamsas," a Jewish and Arabic symbol to ward off evil.

"They are Middle Eastern for healing and protection," she said. "It's something the Arab and Israeli communities agree upon. It is our shared connection."

The Kahns are able to offer their for-profit services under the district's Medical Marijuana Program that launched Aug. 1. All proceeds will go to HIV/AIDS charities, according to the Kahns.

Rabbi Kahn comes from the liberal stream of the Jewish faith, but he is not alone in his support of medical marijuana.

The Jewish Advocate just recently reported that the regional co-director of the Chabad of Eastern Massachusetts, which is part of the orthodox stream, had applied for a medical marijuana dispensary license, one of 181 in that state.

The rabbi, Chaim Prus of the Beth Menachem Chabad of Newton, told ABC News that he would be unable to comment until the licensing process is complete.

In 2003, the Union for Reform Judaism passed a resolution supporting medical marijuana and called its congregations to support legalization for medical purposes. But that nor any of the other Jewish denominations support widespread legalization of recreational marijuana.

Twenty states and the District of Columbia allow its regulated therapeutic use, according to the National Conference of State Legislatures. California was the first, in 1996.

Congress had blocked legalization in the nation's capital until 2010 with a "very well-regulated law," Kahn said.

"We knew this could be done well and we know how to do this right," he said. "It's important to know the risks. But we are bringing healing and relief to people."

Legal risks are still real, because any use of marijuana is still banned under federal law, but Attorney General Eric Holder eased fears recently saying he would respect local, regulated programs.

A 2003 report by the Institute of Medicine found that cannabinoid drugs like marijuana, which has the active ingredient THC are effective for the treatment of pain, nausea control and appetite stimulation.

The psychological benefits include anxiety reduction, sedation, and euphoria can influence their potential therapeutic value

But the institute also noted that smoking marijuana is a "crude" method that delivers harmful substance.

After their children left home, the Kahns left the United States to live in Israel, where their younger son was serving in the combat military and where medical marijuana is used legally and "robustly," he said.

Stephanie Kahn's father had been ill with multiple sclerosis for 50 years.

"In the 1970s he was going from doctor to doctor to try to find relief and couldn't find anything until someone suggested he try marijuana," said Kahn. "It gave him significant relief."

But the man never lived to get marijuana "safely and legally," according to Kahn.

In 2009, the couple came home to the U.S. because of transitions in their family --- they were to become grandparents and Stephanie Kahn's mother fell ill with lung cancer.

They settled in Washington, D.C., where their older son lived.

"She was going through very aggressive chemotherapy and radiation and her doctor in New Jersey had recommended medical marijuana, but she wasn't able to find it," he said. "She wasted away and lost 40 pounds in a few months."

Ending suffering trumps all other Jewish laws, according to Kahn. A sick patient is not expected to fast on Yom Kippur; Jews have a responsibility to help the sick even when they are supposed to be praying.

"God would never forbid the need to go to a hospital," Kahn said. "We put people in the ambulance and treat them with all the medical equipment -- even the orthodox do."

In addition to marijuana, which the Kahns obtain from 10 warehouses around the District of Columbia, the dispensary provides a large selection of equipment, including a "magical butter machine" that converts the drug to butter, oil or tinctures.

But Kahn also finds more traditional ways to bring comfort to his patients.

"I find so much of my time is spent counseling people and speaking to people on the phone," he said. "I can't say that everybody facing illness likes to have someone to talk to. But lots of people do and I am using my rabbinical skills -- and that's really great."

Copyright 2013 ABC News Radio

http://www.610kvnu.com/health/f17ae4da759b1f1827f6dde623824477

Rabbi Jeffrey Kahn with D.C. Council member Muriel Bowser at the Takoma Wellness Center. (Courtesy Jeffrey Kahn)(WASHINGTON) -- Rabbi Jeffrey Kahn spent his 30-year career educating others and helping to ease human suffering, leading Jewish congregations in Australia, Illinois, his hometown of Miami and New Jersey.

Now, he is practicing his faith in a different line of work: Kahn runs a dispensary for medical marijuana. Call it a mitzvah -- or one of God's commandments.

"From the Jewish perspective, nothing is more important than the concept of healing and bringing sufferers relief," said Kahn, 61.

"I was a congregational rabbi during the worst days of the AIDS epidemic and saw up close and personal what people living with AIDS were dealing with and finding relief with medical marijuana," he said.

Just last month, Kahn and his wife, who works as a nurse at a long-term acute care hospital, opened the Takoma Wellness Center on the outskirts of Washington, D.C., where they are legally allowed to dispense medical marijuana.

So far, they only have three customers, who must meet state criteria and suffer from one of five diseases: HIV, AIDS, cancer, multiple sclerosis or glaucoma.

"The cannabis plant was created by God on the second day of creation when God created all the other plants, and touching this one isn't forbidden," Kahn said in a June interview with New Voices, a national magazine for Jewish college students.

Stephanie Reifkind Kahn, 59, has decorated the dispensary with "hamsas," a Jewish and Arabic symbol to ward off evil.

"They are Middle Eastern for healing and protection," she said. "It's something the Arab and Israeli communities agree upon. It is our shared connection."

The Kahns are able to offer their for-profit services under the district's Medical Marijuana Program that launched Aug. 1. All proceeds will go to HIV/AIDS charities, according to the Kahns.

Rabbi Kahn comes from the liberal stream of the Jewish faith, but he is not alone in his support of medical marijuana.

The Jewish Advocate just recently reported that the regional co-director of the Chabad of Eastern Massachusetts, which is part of the orthodox stream, had applied for a medical marijuana dispensary license, one of 181 in that state.

The rabbi, Chaim Prus of the Beth Menachem Chabad of Newton, told ABC News that he would be unable to comment until the licensing process is complete.

In 2003, the Union for Reform Judaism passed a resolution supporting medical marijuana and called its congregations to support legalization for medical purposes. But that nor any of the other Jewish denominations support widespread legalization of recreational marijuana.

Twenty states and the District of Columbia allow its regulated therapeutic use, according to the National Conference of State Legislatures. California was the first, in 1996.

Congress had blocked legalization in the nation's capital until 2010 with a "very well-regulated law," Kahn said.

"We knew this could be done well and we know how to do this right," he said. "It's important to know the risks. But we are bringing healing and relief to people."

Legal risks are still real, because any use of marijuana is still banned under federal law, but Attorney General Eric Holder eased fears recently saying he would respect local, regulated programs.

A 2003 report by the Institute of Medicine found that cannabinoid drugs like marijuana, which has the active ingredient THC are effective for the treatment of pain, nausea control and appetite stimulation.

The psychological benefits include anxiety reduction, sedation, and euphoria can influence their potential therapeutic value

But the institute also noted that smoking marijuana is a "crude" method that delivers harmful substance.

After their children left home, the Kahns left the United States to live in Israel, where their younger son was serving in the combat military and where medical marijuana is used legally and "robustly," he said.

Stephanie Kahn's father had been ill with multiple sclerosis for 50 years.

"In the 1970s he was going from doctor to doctor to try to find relief and couldn't find anything until someone suggested he try marijuana," said Kahn. "It gave him significant relief."

But the man never lived to get marijuana "safely and legally," according to Kahn.

In 2009, the couple came home to the U.S. because of transitions in their family --- they were to become grandparents and Stephanie Kahn's mother fell ill with lung cancer.

They settled in Washington, D.C., where their older son lived.

"She was going through very aggressive chemotherapy and radiation and her doctor in New Jersey had recommended medical marijuana, but she wasn't able to find it," he said. "She wasted away and lost 40 pounds in a few months."

Ending suffering trumps all other Jewish laws, according to Kahn. A sick patient is not expected to fast on Yom Kippur; Jews have a responsibility to help the sick even when they are supposed to be praying.

"God would never forbid the need to go to a hospital," Kahn said. "We put people in the ambulance and treat them with all the medical equipment -- even the orthodox do."

In addition to marijuana, which the Kahns obtain from 10 warehouses around the District of Columbia, the dispensary provides a large selection of equipment, including a "magical butter machine" that converts the drug to butter, oil or tinctures.

But Kahn also finds more traditional ways to bring comfort to his patients.

"I find so much of my time is spent counseling people and speaking to people on the phone," he said. "I can't say that everybody facing illness likes to have someone to talk to. But lots of people do and I am using my rabbinical skills -- and that's really great."

Copyright 2013 ABC News Radio - See more at: http://www.610kvnu.com/health/f17ae4da759b1f1827f6dde623824477#sthash.FibHHP7L.dpuf

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

represent.us camapign - America For Sale?

Interesting project if you add your name to petition type things - represent.us - I got this card at the Washington, DC, Greenfest.

B side -

Beginings of the Digital Transformation

Early changes of the digital transformation - culture as much as technical until we get used to it whether we like it or not........ fascinating stories! From The New York Times -

Courtesy of Alcatel-Lucent USA

John E. Karlin, a researcher at Bell Labs, studied ways to make the telephone easier to use.

February 8, 2013

John E. Karlin, 1918-2013

John E. Karlin, Who Led the Way to All-Digit Dialing, Dies at 94

By MARGALIT FOX

A generation ago, when the poetry of PEnnsylvania and BUtterfield was about to give way to telephone numbers in unpoetic strings, a critical question arose: Would people be able to remember all seven digits long enough to dial them?

And when, not long afterward, the dial gave way to push buttons, new questions arose: round buttons, or square? How big should they be? Most crucially, how should they be arrayed? In a circle? A rectangle? An arc?

For decades after World War II, these questions were studied by a group of social scientists and engineers in New Jersey led by one man, a Bell Labs industrial psychologist named John E. Karlin.

By all accounts a modest man despite his variegated accomplishments (he had a doctorate in mathematical psychology, was trained in electrical engineering and had been a professional violinist), Mr. Karlin, who died on Jan. 28, at 94, was virtually unknown to the general public.

But his research, along with that of his subordinates, quietly yet emphatically defined the experience of using the telephone in the mid-20th century and afterward, from ushering in all-digit dialing to casting the shape of the keypad on touch-tone phones. And that keypad, in turn, would inform the design of a spate of other everyday objects.

It is not so much that Mr. Karlin trained midcentury Americans how to use the telephone. It is, rather, that by studying the psychological capabilities and limitations of ordinary people, he trained the telephone, then a rapidly proliferating but still fairly novel technology, to assume optimal form for use by midcentury Americans.

“He was the one who introduced the notion that behavioral sciences could answer some questions about telephone design,” Ed Israelski, an engineer who worked under Mr. Karlin at Bell Labs in the 1970s, said in a telephone interview on Wednesday.

In 2013, the 50th anniversary of the introduction of the touch-tone phone, the answers to those questions remain palpable at the press of a button. The rectangular design of the keypad, the shape of its buttons and the position of the numbers — with “1-2-3” on the top row instead of the bottom, as on a calculator — all sprang from empirical research conducted or overseen by Mr. Karlin.

The legacy of that research now extends far beyond the telephone: the keypad design Mr. Karlin shepherded into being has become the international standard on objects as diverse as A.T.M.’s, gas pumps, door locks, vending machines and medical equipment.

Mr. Karlin, associated from 1945 until his retirement in 1977 with Bell Labs, headquartered in Murray Hill, N.J., was widely considered the father of human-factors engineering in American industry.

A branch of industrial psychology that combines experimentation, engineering and product design, human-factors engineering is concerned with easing the awkward, often ill-considered marriage between man and machine. In seeking to design and improve technology based on what its users are mentally capable of, the discipline is the cognitive counterpart of ergonomics.

“Human-factors studies are different from market research and other kinds of studies in that we observe people’s behavior and record it, systematically and without bias,” Mr. Israelski said. “The hallmark of human-factors studies is they involve the actual observation of people doing things.”

Among the issues Mr. Karlin examined as the head of Bell Labs’ Human Factors Engineering department — the first department of its kind at an American company — were the optimal length for a phone cord (a study that involved gentle, successful sabotage) and the means by which rotary calls could be made efficiently after the numbers were moved from inside the finger holes, where they had nestled companionably for years, to the rim outside the dial.

John Elias Karlin was born in Johannesburg on Feb. 28, 1918, and reared nearby in Germiston, where his parents owned a grocery store and tearoom.

He earned a bachelor’s degree in philosophy, psychology and music, and a master’s degree in psychology, both from the University of Cape Town. Throughout his studies he was a violinist in the Cape Town Symphony Orchestra and the Cape Town String Quartet.

Moving to the United States, Mr. Karlin earned a Ph.D. from the University of Chicago in 1942. Afterward, he became a research associate at Harvard; he also studied electrical engineering there and at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

At Harvard, Mr. Karlin did research for the United States military on problems in psychoacoustics that were vital to the war effort — studying the ways, for instance, in which a bomber’s engine noise might distract its crew from their duties.

In 1945 he joined Bell Labs, then the jointly owned research and development arm of the American Telephone & Telegraph and Western Electric Companies. (It is now owned by Alcatel-Lucent.) The first research psychologist on the labs’ staff, Mr. Karlin spent his early years there working on problems in telephone acoustics.

Before long, he later said, he realized that the dynamics of using a telephone involved far more than speaking and hearing. In 1947 he persuaded Bell Labs to create a unit, originally called the User Preference department and later Human Factors Engineering, to study these larger questions; Mr. Karlin became its head in 1951.

An early experiment involved the telephone cord. In the postwar years, the copper used inside the cords remained scarce. Telephone company executives wondered whether the standard cord, then about three feet long, might be shortened. Mr. Karlin’s staff stole into colleagues’ offices every three days and covertly shortened their phone cords, an inch at time. No one noticed, they found, until the cords had lost an entire foot.

From then on, phones came with shorter cords.

Mr. Karlin also introduced the white dot inside each finger hole that was a fixture of rotary phones in later years. After the phone was redesigned at midcentury, with the letters and numbers moved outside the finger holes, users, to AT&T’s bewilderment, could no longer dial as quickly.

With blank space at the center of the holes, Mr. Karlin found, callers no longer had a target at which to aim their fingers. The dot restored the speed.

Mr. Karlin’s biggest challenge was almost certainly the advent of the push-button phone, officially introduced on Nov. 18, 1963, in two Pennsylvania communities, Carnegie and Greensburg.

In 1946, a Bell Labs engineer, Rudolph F. Mallina, had patented an early model, with buttons arranged in two horizontal rows: 1 through 5 on top, 6 through 0 below. It was never marketed.

By the late 1950s, when touch-tone dialing — much faster than rotary — seemed an inevitability, Mr. Karlin’s group began to study what form the phone of the future should take. Keypad configurations examined included Mr. Mallina’s, one with buttons in a circle, another with buttons in an arc, and a rectangular pad.

The victorious design, based on the group’s studies of speed, accuracy and users’ own preferences, used keys half an inch square. The keypad itself was rectangular, comprising 10 keys: a 3-by-3 grid spanning 1 through 9, plus zero, centered below. Today’s omnipresent 12-button keypad, with star and pound keys flanking the zero, grew directly from this model.

Putting “1-2-3” on the pad’s top row instead of the bottom (the configuration used, then as now, on adding machines and calculators) was also born of Mr. Karlin’s group: they found it made for more accurate dialing.

Mr. Karlin’s first marriage, to Jane Daggett, ended in divorce. Survivors include his second wife, the former Susan Leigh, whom he married in 1963; a daughter from his first marriage, Bonnie Farber; three stepchildren, Christopher, Stuart and Susan Leigh, who confirmed her stepfather’s death, at his home in Little Silver, N.J.; six grandchildren; and three great-grandchildren. A son from Mr. Karlin’s first marriage, Christopher Karlin, died in 1968.

Throughout his career, Mr. Karlin was happy to work out of the limelight, a stance doubtless reinforced by this cautionary tale of all-digit dialing:

By the postwar period, telephone exchanges that spelled pronounceable words were starting to be exhausted. All-digit dialing would create a cache of new phone numbers, but whether users could memorize the seven digits it entailed was an open question.

Mr. Karlin’s experimental research, reported in the popular press, showed that they could. As a result, PEnnsylvania and BUtterfield — the stuff of song and story — began to slip away. By the 1960s, those exchanges, along with DRexel, FLeetwood, SWinburne and scores of others just as evocative, had all but disappeared.

This did not please traditionalists, and thanks to the papers they knew the culprit’s name.

“One day I was at a cocktail party and I saw some people over in the corner,” Mr. Karlin recalled in a 2003 lecture. “They were obviously looking at me and talking about me. Finally a lady from this group came over and said, ‘Are you the John Karlin who is responsible for all-number dialing?’ ”

Mr. Karlin drew himself up with quiet pride.

“Yes, I am,” he replied.

“How does it feel,” his inquisitor asked, “to be the most hated man in America?”

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/09/business/john-e-karlin-who-led-the-way-to-all-digit-dialing-dies-at-94.html?pagewanted=all&src=ISMR_AP_LO_MST_FB&_r=0

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Weekend In Reykjavik

My wife wants to visit Reykjavik, Iceland - here is New York The Times 36 hours series visiting there -

September 19, 2013

36 Hours in Reykjavik

By INGRID K. WILLIAMS

The major news out of Iceland in recent years has not been good. First a banking collapse crippled the economy in 2008, and then a year and a half later, the volcanic eruption at Eyjafjallajokull halted air travel across the Atlantic and in Europe, frustrating millions. But signs of an upswing — economic and otherwise — can be spotted in Reykjavik, where this year the capital’s impressive new concert hall won the prestigious Mies van der Rohe Award, the European Union’s top prize for contemporary architecture. In other parts of town, new restaurants are embracing fresh local fare, and the bacchanalian night life is thumping with a crop of new bars and clubs. This winter has been predicted to be a particularly favorable time to observe the aurora borealis dancing across the night sky, but already Reykjavik is shining.

FRIDAY

3:30 p.m.
1. Hallowed Halls

To get your bearings, take the elevator to the top of the austere Hallgrimskirkja, an imposing pale gray church whose distinctive stepped-slope facade frames a tower (admission, 700 kronur, or about $6 at 118 kronur to the dollar) from which a bird’s-eye view of the city’s colorful rooftops and compact downtown awaits. Then return to sea level to marvel at the city’s newest architectural landmark: the Harpa concert hall, unveiled in May 2011, is a dazzling geometric structure that sits like a jewel on the waterfront. Home to Iceland’s symphony orchestra and opera, Harpa is well worth a visit even if only to gaze through the honeycomb-like glass facade, designed in collaboration with the Danish-Icelandic artist Olafur Eliasson.

5:30 p.m.
2. Records and Reels

A modest two-story house fronted with corrugated metal is where you’ll find 12 Tonar, a small record store, listening room and gathering place for local musicians. The pocket-size shop often hosts live performances on Friday afternoons, with bands squeezed between bins and shelves in a setup reminiscent of NPR’s Tiny Desk concerts. After the show, head downstairs to listen to any album from the ever-changing selection, which is as varied as the influences that fuel Iceland’s experimental music scene. Prefer reels to records? Then stroll over to the cozy Bio Paradis, an independent four-screen cinema that opened in 2010 showing new movies, art-house flicks and Icelandic films (often with English subtitles), like the moving Sigur Ros documentary “Heima” about the band’s 2006 series of free, unannounced concerts around Iceland.

8 p.m.
3. Icelandic Tapas

Dine on a parade of creative small plates at Forrettabarinn, a new restaurant near the harbor that hums with convivial chatter. Glowing pendant lamps and eclectic artworks brighten the industrial interior, where groups of friends gather around long wooden tables to graze on locally sourced hot smoked salmon and plump blue mussels. A highlight of a recent meal was a plate of buttery cod with crispy pork belly, chunks of chorizo and creamed parsnips (1,890 kronur), which was bested only by dessert: a parfait of skyr — an Icelandic yogurt-like dairy product — layered with cream and blueberries (1,390 kronur).

10 p.m.
4. Civilized Sips

Until 1989, most beers were banned in Iceland under an old prohibition law, so when it comes to beer drinking (and brewing), the country has a lot of catching up to do. Even today, craft brewing is just starting to catch on, which means it’s feasible to sample beers from most of the domestic craft breweries in a single night. Start at the year-old Kaldi Bar, where there are several cozy nooks in which to sip a pint of caramel-tinged Kaldi dark. Then pull up a stool at MicroBar, an unassuming new pub hidden behind the lobby of the City Center Hotel, which has eight taps dedicated to Icelandic craft brews like Gaedingur Brugghus’s hoppy IPA; a flight to taste all eight costs 3,500 kronur.

SATURDAY

8 a.m.
5. Waterfront Walk

Wake up with a walk along the waterfront path that winds northwest out of the city into the residential Seltjarnarnes area and toward the lighthouse on Grotta Island. With uninterrupted views of the majestic Esja mountain range across the water, it’s an enjoyable two-mile trek to the tip of the peninsula. If you can’t continue onto Grotta — it’s reachable by foot only during low tide when a rocky, seaweed-strewn isthmus emerges — consider dipping your toes in the geothermal footbath (actually a sculpture by Olof Nordal called “Kvika”) nestled among the rocks nearby.

11:30 a.m.
6. Waffles and Art

Take a step back in time at Mokka-Kaffi, a quiet coffee shop where the midcentury décor appears unchanged since the shop opened in 1958. Settle into a booth and warm up from the cold with coffee and the house specialty: sweet homemade waffles served with jam and fresh whipped cream (850 kronur). The space doubles as an art gallery with exhibitions rotating every few weeks, so afterward scope out the current works from Icelandic artists lining the sepia-hued walls.

1 p.m.
7. Domestic Designs

Nestled amid the touristy shops downtown are several small boutiques worth browsing for authentic local designs. Kiosk is a co-op shop stocked with the wares of eight young designers who also take turns running the store. There, shop for silk pillowcases adorned with fantastical exotica by the illustrator Kristjana S. Williams, or snap up Milla Snorrason blouses with patterns inspired by nature and the city skyline. A broader range of Icelandic designs, from graphic art prints to hand-knit woolens, is packed into the nearby gallery-cum-shop Spark Design Space. But if you didn’t pack warmly enough, make Geysir your first stop; the clothing store is packed with stylish cold-weather basics: fur-lined scarves, over-the-knee stockings and adult-size woolen onesies.

3:30 p.m.
8. Art Three Ways

For such a small city, Reykjavik has a surprisingly rich art scene. For proof, head to the i8 gallery (free), where a simple white-walled space hosts exhibitions of major international and Icelandic artists, like a recent Olafur Eliasson show that included mirror-and-glass works that toy with perception. Down the block at Hafnarhus, the home of the Reykjavik Art Museum’s contemporary collections, don’t miss the galleries filled with eye-catching pieces by the controversial postmodern artist Erro (admission, 1,200 kronur). Back on the street, look for works by the Danish artist Theresa Himmer, like the glittering glacial snowcap that tops a building near the corner of Klapparstigur and Laugavegur.

8 p.m.
9. The Burger Menagerie

Adventurous eaters will thrill at the many unusual dishes served at Grillmarkadurinn, an elegant new restaurant with décor heavy on knotted wood and volcanic rock. On the menu, there’s charcoal-grilled steak of Icelandic horse (5,490 kronur) and a sampler of three mini “burgers” featuring lobster, puffin and whale (2,890 kronur). No hankering for horse? No palate for puffin? Visit Saemundur i Sparifotunum, a laid-back gastro pub inside the Kex Hostel popular among transient backpackers and locals alike. In addition to the waterfront views and Nordic craft beers on tap, there are scrumptious burgers of free-range Icelandic beef with melted Isbui cheese and caramelized-onion mayo (2,490 kronur).

Midnight
10. Up All Night

The ritual of the runtur, or pub crawl, during which locals let loose in the bars and clubs downtown, begins around midnight. Most places stay open until 4 a.m. (or later), so ease into the night at the subdued Slippbarinn, where jugs of murky liquor infusions are stacked atop the bar and inventive cocktails are mixed with local spirits like birch-flavored Birkir snaps and dill aquavit. Then hit the dance floor at Harlem, a new bar with trippy graphic art scrawled across the walls. From there, roll down the block to party with the hip kids at Dolly, a year-old club where electronica pumps from a glittering D.J. booth inside a cute, mustard-yellow house. Finally, end the night at Kaffibarinn, a rollicking bar in a rambling old house where the atmosphere is more house party than nightclub and — by this point in the runtur — the crowd is as energetic as it is inebriated.

SUNDAY

4 a.m. or 11 a.m.
11. Morning Cure

The success of your runtur will dictate the time for a stop at Baejarins Beztu Pylsur, a red-and-white hot-dog stand near the harbor. The stand (the name translates to “the best hot dog in town”) is a Reykjavik institution; expect a line regardless of whether it’s before sunrise or after. Whatever the hour, order one with everything: fried onions, raw onions, ketchup, rémoulade, sweet Icelandic mustard (380 kronur).

1 p.m.
12. Island Peace

Iceland’s interior is studded with otherworldly marvels — thundering waterfalls, belching geysers, the steaming waters of the Blue Lagoon — but if it’s unspoiled nature you’re after, there’s no need to trek deep into the countryside. Beautiful landscapes can be found mere minutes from the city by boarding the ferry that shuttles between Skarfabakki pier and the uninhabited island of Videy (1,100 kronur round trip). Explore the western part of the tranquil island by following the circuitous path through meadows, along rocky beaches and past a series of basalt columns — an installation by the American artist Richard Serra — that dots the perimeter. The city remains within sight across the bay, but the whipping wind will likely be the only sound.

THE DETAILS

1. Hallgrimskirkja, Skolavorduholti; hallgrimskirkja.is. Harpa, Austurbakki 2; harpa.is.

2. 12 Tonar, Skolavordustig 15; 12tonar.is. Bio Paradis, Hverfisgotu 54; bioparadis.is.

3. Forrettabarinn, Nylendugata 14; forrettabarinn.is.

4. Kaldi Bar, Laugavegur 20B; (354) 858-0104. MicroBar, Austurstraeti 6; (354) 847-9084.

5. Grotta Island.

6. Mokka-Kaffi, Skolavordustig 3A; mokka.is.

7. Kiosk, Laugavegur 65; (354) 445-3269. Spark Design Space, Klapparstigur 33; sparkdesignspace.com. Geysir, Skolavordustig 16; geysirshops.is.

8. i8, Tryggvagata 16; i8.is. Reykjavik Art Museum — Hafnarhus, Tryggvagata 17; artmuseum.is.

9. Grillmarkadurinn, Laekjargata 2A; grillmarkadurinn.is. Saemundur i Sparifotunum, Skulagata 28; kexhostel.is/saemundur.

10. Slippbarinn, Myrargata 2; slippbarinn.is. Harlem, Tryggvagata 22. Dolly, Hafnarstraeti 4. Kaffibarinn, Bergstadastraeti 1; kaffibarinn.is.

11. Baejarins Beztu Pylsur, Tryggvagata; bbp.is.

12. Videy island, videy.com.

Lodging

The centrally located 101 Hotel (Hverfisgata 10; 101hotel.is) has 38 rooms and suites featuring open-plan bathrooms and heated oak floors. A minimalist black-and-white color scheme extends to the hotel’s trendy restaurant and bar, which are adorned with contemporary Icelandic artworks. Doubles from about 36,000 kronur (about $300).

Hosteling is hip at Kex Hostel (Skulagata 28; kexhostel.is), which opened in 2011 in a former biscuit factory with 142 beds spread between dorms (from 3,000 kronur) and private rooms (three with en suite bathrooms; doubles, 21,500 kronur). The hostel also boasts cool, retro décor — salvaged, vintage and well-worn — and a lively in-house gastro pub.

http://travel.nytimes.com/2013/09/22/travel/36-hours-in-reykjavik.html?emc=eta1&_r=0

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Fossil Fuel Addicts Annonymous - Divestment From Fossil Fuels

I am not sure which step this corresponds to in the 12 Step process for addiction withdrawal, but it is a big step even if the United Church of Christ still uses cars and heats with coal or oil. It is a 12 Step process.

United Church of Christ officers encourage fossil fuel divestment

Written by Barb Powell
June 27, 2013

In anticipation of a larger church-wide discussion on climate change, officers of the United Church of Christ today (June 27) released an open letter advocating that the UCC’s resources not be invested in fossil fuel companies.
The letter –– addressed to delegates arriving in Long Beach, Calif., for the denomination’s 29th General Synod –– was distributed to church leaders ahead of a resolution coming before the Synod urging divestment from fossil fuel companies.
“We believe that God is calling the United Church of Christ to become the leading religious voice on climate change and environmental racism and, as officers of the church, this public leadership requires us to state our conviction that our church’s resources not be invested in fossil fuel companies,” the letter stated.
But the letter also acknowledged that divestment is but one strategy among many for applying economic leverage, and that worldwide dialogue must ensue, particularly with the global south, where the impact of climate change is greatest.
The UCC’s officers also committed to facilitating church-wide conversations on the environment, engaging with global partners on various environmental issues, encouraging positive investments in renewable energy, and resourcing the church on issues of environmental racism. They called for aggressive shareholder action, including “green fund” investment options across the life of the church.
The resolution to be addressed by delegates to the UCC’s General Synod, meeting June 29-July 2 at the Long Beach Convention Center, is sponsored by the UCC’s Massachusetts, Southwest, New York, and Central Atlantic Conferences. The General Synod is the main deliberative body of the United Church of Christ.
Here is the entire text of the open letter sent by the UCC’s officers to delegates to the denomination’s 29th General Synod:
“Grace to you, and peace, from our Savior Jesus Christ!
“We are keenly aware of the conversations occurring throughout our church regarding how best to move forward boldly and responsibly on the critical issues of climate change and environmental justice which are before you. As your officers, we want to be responsive to the needs of the whole church including those who faithfully advocate for decisive action to save the earth from a disastrous future and those whose investments might be affected by a call for divestment from fossil fuel companies.
“We believe that God is calling the United Church of Christ to become the leading religious voice on climate change and environmental racism and, as officers of the church, this public leadership requires us to state our conviction that our church’s resources not be invested in fossil fuel companies. We state this position not as those who claim to possess all wisdom, but in humble recognition of the complexity of the issues before us. Humility demands that we recognize, among other things:
“* The fiduciary responsibility to invest workers’ pensions in a prudent manner, as well as the assets of churches and faith-based organizations.
“* Divestment is only one strategy for applying economic leverage. Positive investment and corporate engagement are also viable strategies.
“* The global south is most impacted by climate change, and we have not had dialogue with our global partners on fossil fuel divestment.
“Recognition of complexity does not negate the calling of the Stillspeaking God to decisive action. Scripture says that creation itself longs to be set free from decay (Romans 8:21); we must respond to that longing in light of current realities. Accordingly, we call for a multi-pronged approach to the environmental crisis upon us:
“1. Building upon the momentum of Mission 4/1 Earth, we commit to facilitating church-wide conversations on the environment and faithful, decisive actions to protect it.
“2. We commit to engagement with our global partners on a variety of environmental issues, including climate change.
“3. We call for shared decision-making across the life of the church on positive investments in renewable energies and the removal of investments from fossil fuel companies.
“4. We will resource the church on issues of environmental racism and lead the way in advocacy.
“5. We call for aggressive shareholder action to ensure that corporations operate in environmentally responsible ways.
“6. We call for “green fund” investment options so that each of us, across the life of the church, can be called to thoughtful and informed decision-making about how our personal and institutional resources are invested.
“Roy Tillerson, the CEO of ExxonMobil, said recently in Cleveland, “Climate change is a serious and complex problem that society may not be able to fix and will just have to deal with.” As officers of the United Church of Christ, we respond by saying that climate change is a serious and complex problem that God calls the church and all humanity to address boldly and faithfully.
“We fully trust that God’s Vision will prevail as we work together as the UNITED Church of Christ toward a just and sustainable world as made manifest in the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
The Rev. Geoffrey A. Black, General Minister and President
Mr. W. Mark Clark, Associate General Minister
The Rev. J. Bennett Guess, Executive Minister, Local Church Ministries
The Rev. M. Linda Jaramillo, Executive Minister, Justice and Witness Ministries
The Rev. James Moos, Executive Minister, Wider Church Ministries”

http://www.ucc.org/news/united-church-of-christ-11.html

Why We Divested

by Jim Antal [2] 07-19-2013
To many, our resolution to divest from fossil fuels was a scandal. So much so that months before the national Synod of the United Church of Christ (UCC) would consider it a well-funded, all-out campaign to defeat the resolution was underway. It didn’t have to be that way.

As soon as I read Bill McKibben’s Rolling Stone article on the terrifying math of global warming [7] it was clear to me that the church needed to provide leadership. Bill and I had been arrested twice at the White House protesting the Keystone XL pipeline, and the three days we spent in jail further clarified for me that in response to the reality of climate change, God is calling the church to a new vocation.

Over Thanksgiving I drafted a resolution calling upon the UCC to divest from fossil fuel companies. In late December 2012, the Board of the Mass. Conference UCC, representing 370 UCC churches, voted to bring the resolution to the national UCC Synod. Rooted in an understanding of love of neighbor — one that regards future generations as no less our neighbors than those seated next to us in church — it also drew from language available from 350.org [8]. That vote was the first by any religious body in America to divest from fossil fuel companies.

I immediately wrote to the CEOs of the two major investment agencies for the UCC: the Pension Board and the United Church Funds (UCF). As a pacifist, I wanted to do all I could to find a way to forge an unlikely collaboration among the three of us. The UCC’s United Church Funds engaged me in conversation. The Pension Board conducted a comprehensive campaign to defeat the resolution.

Initially, I was surprised that divestment was controversial. While corporate engagement and socially responsible investing were totally acceptable, to many, divestment was a third rail. Over time, I began to realize that many in the church had lost sight of a crucial role we too often discount or ignore. We actually do have the power to bend the arc of justice.

Between January and June 2013, ten of the 37 other Conferences of the UCC voted to endorse or co-sponsor the resolution. This kind of support was unprecedented.

Meanwhile, the leaders of United Church Funds and I spent hundreds of hours drafting some possible amendments to the resolution that would make it actionable and would even allow UCF to support it. Thus, the resolution, as revised, would require a hearing at every Synod at which our investment institutions will have to defend any on-going holdings as “best in class.”

Many of the delegates were shocked to learn that United Church Funds and I had worked out some proposed revisions. And most of them rejoiced, realizing that this was not just a moral declaration — it was a commitment to actions and a process that had teeth.

These hearings will, I believe, result in such an outcry that within five years, the UCC will have fully divested. That result will come thanks to everyone – our investment leaders as well as the rank and file delegates — learning more and more about the current science of climate change.

Once the Synod voted to approve [9] the resolution, it received ample coverage [10] by worldwide media and I began hearing from partners in the struggle to defend God’s creation.

Bill McKibben tweeted, “Just got news that the United Church of Christ has voted to divest from fossil fuels. This is incredibly important news!” He also wrote in an email to the AP that the UCC vote “may be the most important moment yet in the divestment campaign.”

Not only that, a Nobel Prize laureate and the head of a major Protestant denomination sent their congratulations. And Archbishop Desmond Tutu also sent his congratulations, adding, “We hope others will follow your splendid example.”

All of us hope this resolution will become a model for all faith communities who care about God’s creation and recognize the urgent scientific mandate to keep at least 80 percent of the known oil, gas and coal reserves in the ground.

I know we share this conviction. Now it’s time to amplify our conviction with our money. As other denominations vote to divest — joining President Obama in his call to divest [11] — our hope for a sustainable future will begin to take shape.

One final thought. On Ash Wednesday 2013, civil rights legend Julian Bond and I found ourselves crammed into a prisoner transportation vehicle. We had just been arrested for protesting the Keystone XL pipeline at the White House. With our hands cuffed behind our backs, we made the most of our time. We shared stories of the civil rights movement and climate activism.

I asked him what single ingredient was most essential for the success of the civil rights movement.

He responded: “Persistence.”

I pray that we all have the necessary persistence and courage to respond to God’s call to witness on behalf of Creation.

The Rev. Dr. Jim Antal is Minister and President of the Massachusetts Conference of the United Church of Christ, and former Executive Secretary of the Fellowship of Reconciliation. He provides national leadership as a climate activist for the United Church of Christ.

http://sojo.net/blogs/2013/07/19/why-we-divested

Rosh Hashannah - Environmental Concerns About Tashlich and More Approaches To Tashlich

I stumbled on this today - from 2002 but completely relevant to right now:

201-4088 Cambie Street
Vancouver, BC V5Z 2X8
Canada

Phone 604-872-7380 Fax 604 872-4406
info@av-a.org
www.av-a.org

September 1, 2002 / 24 Elul 5762

To the Editor,

As Rosh Hashanna approaches, many of us look forward to Tashlich. Customarily, people gather by the water's edge, recite a passage from the prophet Micha and throw bread crumbs or other matter into the water, to symbolize the casting away of sins. While this custom may seem harmless, it in fact presents a number of problems with Jewish teachings as well as potential environmental concerns. Adam va-Adamah Environmental Society(www.av-a.org), regional affiliate of the Coalition on the Environment and Jewish Life, urges the community to reconsider its Tashlich practices.
The potential Jewish problems with throwing bread on Tashlich include the following:

� Prohibition against trapping (baiting) wild animals on Yom Tovim (Holydays)

� Concern over superstition; people may think they can literally castaway sins

� Prohibition against waste (Bal Tashchit)

One of the first mentions of Tashlich as we now know it appears in the book Sefer Marharil. The Marharil was a noted rabbi who lived in Germany and Austria in the 14th-15th centuries. According to a verse from Micha, we cast our sins into the sea, so we read this verse on Tashlich. Jews also go to the sea during Rosh Hashanah to remember the Akeda (the binding of Isaac).
Why do we recall the Akeda on Tashlich? According to Midrash, during Abraham's three-day journey to sacrifice his son, Isaac, on Mount Moriah he encountered Satan, representing the yetzer hara (evil inclination). Satan tried to convince Abraham not to sacrifice his son. According to our tradition, the yetzer hara can use seemingly rational, reasonable arguments to lead us astray. Despite Satan's efforts, Abraham remained steadfast. Satan then turned himself into a river, causing an obstacle for Abraham's journey. Undaunted, Abraham forded the river up to his neck. Hashem then stepped in and rebuked Satan. Thus flowing water reminds us Abraham's unshakable faith.
While we do recall the Akeda during Tashlich, The Maharil says it is a desecration of the Yom Tov to throw food to the fish. Why? Because according to the Babylonian Talmud, it is prohibited to trap a fish from a large contained holding area on Shabbat and on Yom Tovim. The midrash goes on to say that you may not feed any wild, untrapped animals on Yom Tovim.
The Tosafots (students of Rashi) explain that feeding wild animals is the usual way to trap them (the use of bait). Trapping is prohibited on Shabbat and Yom Tovim. This injunction represents one of the many "fences" in Judaism erected to prevent us from slipping into violating Halacha (Jewish law).
In addition, the Rema (Rabbi Moses Iserles) raised concerns about the aspect of superstition of casting away sins people may take it literally and neglect the important work of teshuva (repentance). For this reason, sources say, the Vilna Goan didn't follow the practice of Tashlich.
In addition to the Jewish problems with throwing bread, the potential environmental issues presented by this practice include the following:
� Organic matter like bread can rot and reduce the oxygen content of the water, making it hard for fish and other life to breath

� Young birds do not have gravel in their crop (unlike adults) and bread can become compacted in their crop, leading to death

� Organic matter like bread can collect into debris jams, blocking water flow and causing an unsightly mess

It seems ironic that in the process of expiating our sins, we can cause harm to living creatures, create pollution and go against Jewish tradition.

An alternative practice would be to go the water's edge, since in ancient times, kings were crowned on the riverbank. The flowing water thus reminds us of the majesty of life, of Hashem, and of all creation. We then recite the appropriate passage from Micha, available in most prayer books. And then,with proper kavannah (intention) we can shake the dust from our clothes(metaphorical or real dust!). In this way, we can still enjoy his wonderful minhag, respect the wisdom of our sages and avoid harming Hashem's creation.
May we all have a joyous and meaningful Rosh Hashana!
Sincerely,

Steve Lipari
Chair
Adam va-Adamah Environmental Society
Vancouver, BC
steve_lipari@yahoo.ca

http://www.av-a.org/TashlichLet0263.htm

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Sicilian Roots

The article below is Russel Shorto's account of his trip to Sicily in search of answers to his family history questions which appeared in the NYT travel section - his own web site is here - http://www.russellshorto.com/

August 16, 2013

Digging Up Family Roots in Sicily

By RUSSELL SHORTO

As a writer I’ve always tended to seek out origins. My first book, about the search for the historical Jesus, was an attempt to get at the “real” story behind my Catholic upbringing. After living in Manhattan for several years, I wrote “The Island at the Center of the World,” a book about the Dutch settlement of New Amsterdam, the seed from which New York City grew.

Recently I began considering my family. Among its manifold curiosities is our last name. People always ask me about the derivation of “Shorto.” The story I’d heard as a child was that after my illiterate Sicilian great-grandparents settled in my hometown of Johnstown, Pa., they enrolled their children in school and said the name aloud: Sciotto. And the administrator wrote it as he or she heard it.

Anecdotes like that were good enough before, but once I began to take a serious interest in my roots they felt soft. I wanted a better sense of who we were and where we had come from. I’d grown up with some of the atmosphere of the Old Country — the primal aroma of frying meatballs, the smothering embraces of old relatives, whispers of Mafia shenanigans, funny traditions like taping a silver dollar to the bellybutton of a newborn. But really it was an American childhood. There was almost no information about how it all began, about the generation that had emigrated at the start of the 20th century. It wasn’t even clear where in Sicily the family hailed from.

Having done a good deal of historical research in my time, I knew that seeking out family roots must be a business filled with vagueness and generally lacking in eureka moments. I cautioned myself that tracking ancestors would be a crapshoot. So my initial objective was modest: to trace the path backward, from Pennsylvania to Sicily.

Maybe it was good to set the bar low, because it didn’t take long to get results. Some relatives said they thought our roots were in a town near Messina. My father’s cousin’s wife, who used to drive the oldest aunts to their doctors’ appointments, and thus served as listener, said she thought the ancestral home was called “San Pedro Something.” I didn’t think we were from Mexico, but took “San Pietro” as a possibility.

I did an Internet search of Sciottos in Sicily. A village called San Pier Niceto, 13 miles from Messina, was among those with the biggest number of hits. My father then suggested I call his cousin Anthony Verone, a retired doctor in New York City. Anthony, it turned out, remembered quite a few things his mother had told him about Antonino Sciotto, my great-grandfather. Once he’d left Sicily and established himself in Pennsylvania, he apparently became Johnstown’s first moonshiner; foreseeing the end of Prohibition, he had a scheme in place to start a legitimate distillery, a plan that was cut short by his early death. Did Anthony recall his mother mentioning the name of the Sicilian village our enterprising forebear had come from? He pronounced it straightaway: “San Pier Niceto.”

So I had confirmation: the hometown of my father’s grandfather. But Anthony told me one thing more. Not only Antonino Sciotto, but Anna Maria Previte, the woman he would marry, had also come from San Pier Niceto. I’d known Previte as a name in the family, but didn’t realize that both of these ancestors had emigrated from the same Sicilian village to Pennsylvania coal and steel country.

By now my interest was piqued. A more substantial plan began to take shape, one that involved airplanes.

I’d been to the Italian mainland many times, but never to Sicily. I had no intention of trying to do the whole island. The plan was that the contingent of our blended family that was able to join me would stay in one place, relax, eat good food and give ourselves some sense of the island’s dizzying history. I’d be exploring my family background, but, again, in a limited, roundabout way. As for San Pier Niceto, my idea was to just show up in town and poke around: simply to get a feel for the place my people had come from.

At the last minute, however, I sent an e-mail to the town hall of San Pier Niceto explaining my interest. Moments later someone with the unlikely name of Mario Italiano friend-requested me on Facebook. In English that probably matched what my Italian sounds like (“Happy to meet, I’ll give you my phone number — and my wife”), he pronounced himself at my service.

My favorite form of accommodation in Italy is agriturismo — working farms that double as countryside hotels — so I booked one in the province of Messina that had both a swimming pool (we were going in late July) and top reviews. I figured if it was in the same province as my destination it would be close enough. This was my first lesson on travel in Sicily: mountains add dramatically to the length of a trip. We were staying only about 30 miles from San Pier Niceto but an hour and a half away.

What’s more, the last 12 miles of the drive to the farm were on a winding road into the heart of the Nebrodi Park, a protected area much of which is forest. It was night by the time we arrived, and we sighted foxes and porcupines in the headlights. The remoteness was reinforced the next night, when we were awakened by what sounded like people moving outside our windows. It turned out to be a colony of wild pigs, their primeval forms, silver in the moonlight, looking like things orcs might ride.

But remote was good. Even if it wasn’t focused, this trip had a purpose, which had little to do with standard-issue tourism. With such a base, we had the feeling of being in the real Sicily: far from coastal resorts, in the sparsely populated interior, among the cicadas and olive trees and baked earth.

Every agriturismo has a story. In this case, our host, Alfonso, represented the fifth generation of his family to farm here. Twenty years ago he added guest rooms, making his farm one of Sicily’s first agriturismos. He and his wife, Josie, assisted by a Ghanaian named Alex, do just about everything associated with the accommodation of guests.

We ate about half of our meals at the agriturismo. The food was good, simple but inventive, and almost all of it came from the farm. The baked ricotta tart served as a first course at dinner one night came from their cows’ milk. Blackberry and fig jam were made from the fruit that grew around the group of old stone buildings where we were housed. The evening after the wild pig experience, the secondo on the menu was ...roasted wild pig. A man in the nearest town, who serves as the farm’s cheesemaker, occasionally traps one of the pigs, whereupon it ends up on the menu. As to the farm itself, villagers from the town harvest olives, cork and fruit and tend the animals, which free-range through the more than 1,200 acres of woods and brush.

During the week we kept mostly to the mountainous interior of Messina province and to the Tyrrhenian coast, immersing ourselves in what you might call my ancestral landscape. We had dinner one evening in the resort town of Taormina, including a terrific rendition of one of the island specialties, pasta with swordfish and fresh mint. We spent one day at Cefalù, famed as the location of the film “Cinema Paradiso,” dividing our time between its fine sandy beach packed with Italian holidaymakers (middle-aged men with paunches jutting out over precipitously narrow Speedos) and its pretty old city of ancient clustered houses.

We also visited some of the hill towns in the region. San Marco d’Alunzio sits so dizzyingly high up that you feel in constant danger of plunging into the surrounding ravines. Yet it pulsed with Italian street life: kids on motor scooters, people sitting at outdoor cafe tables gesturing noisily over espressos. The expansive ruins of Tindari, near the coast, attest that it too once pulsed with life. It thrived for more than a millennium starting about 395 B.C., had at one time a population of 5,000, but now exists only as a well-tended archaeological site.

San Fratello, the town nearest our agriturismo, is a cross between these two. Its still functioning center is a dusty and colorless place, but stretched across the hilltop above it is one of the many antiquities sites that are so common on this island that has been colonized or conquered by Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Normans, Spaniards and others. The oldest part of the site is a rangy archaeological complex that was once a Greek temple devoted to the cult of Apollo. Rising above it is a ruined church dating to the Norman invasion in the 11th century; it later served as a Franciscan monastery. The site isn’t on any map or guidebook that I know of. It surely isn’t the most spectacular historic site on the island; what made it terrific was its privacy. We pulled up at a little hut next to a locked gate; the man on duty inside nodded, unlocked the gate, and gave us a free, personal guided tour. We had the whole place — mosaic floors, a couple of huge amphorae rooted into the soil, the ancient aqueduct, the church complete with its own saint entombed in the crypt — to ourselves.

We also spent time hiking the area around the agriturismo. We climbed past the fig and citrus trees clustered near the farm buildings, entered a cork forest, wound through an olive grove, then headed into the beech and oak forest, with bells from unseen goats sounding in the distance like a Balinese orchestra. We found a porcupine quill, collected slabs of cork and picked wild blackberries, and were stopped in our tracks by the thunder of a herd of free-ranging sheep we’d frightened. Back at the farm, hot and dusty, we plunged into the swimming pool and gazed into the staggering vaults of space across the summer-sweltering valley to the opposite slopes.

But of course the purpose of the trip was to see where my paternal great-grandparents had come from. San Pier Niceto ranges like a serpent along a mountain ridge. From its church towers you have views out to the sea and the ghostly hulks of the Aeolian islands. All of the narrow, stacked houses fall on one side or the other of the town’s main drag, Corso Italia. Mario Italiano, who had offered to assist me, had suggested a late-afternoon meeting. We showed up at his house, right on the main road, at 5. He stepped out of his front door as we pulled up.

Mario turned out to be an exuberant 59-year-old accountant who serves as unofficial town historian. He welcomed us into his neat little house. His wife, Maria, crushed some ice, whisked sugar and fresh lemon into it, and we all sat down to refreshments at the dining table while “Say Yes to the Dress” played on the TV in the background and Mario gushed about the town, its history and traditions.

Mario presented me with a folder. He’d done a good bit of research, including finding the birth certificates of both of my great-grandparents. Then he led us on a remarkable procession through the town. People joined along the way, so that eventually we included his daughter, Grazia; his son Salvatore; a nephew, also Salvatore; his son Alberto; Alberto’s girlfriend; and others. As we walked along Corso Italia, Mario literally stopped before every person we passed and explained what we were doing. He began each encounter by pointing to my 3 ½-year-old son, Anthony, and saying, “Questo è Antonio Sciotto!” as if expecting the town’s inhabitants to gaze in astonishment at a fabled long-lost son.

We met at least two Sciottos during our little parade. One woman told me her mother was named Sarah Sciotto. My father has an aunt named Sarah Shorto. Since first names are heavily recycled in Sicilian families, we agreed that we were probably related. An old man named Francesco Sciotto, who was sitting on a bench along the town’s central piazza, told me of his relatives who had emigrated to America. Sciottos, I learned, were also spread out around the region. One branch had spawned lawyers; two nearby towns had recently had Sciottos as mayors. It seemed that long ago there had been a dynasty of sorts called Lo Sciotto, which was affiliated with the town of Pace del Mela, six miles from San Pier Niceto, where there is a Palazzo Lo Sciotto.

My ancestral town turned out to be a sweet, somnolent, pleasant place. Its roots are deep: traditions and architectural remains date to the Middle Ages, and its earliest settlement may have been in the third century B.C. But the more recent story is one of steady depopulation, starting in the late 1800s. It had around 8,000 residents at one time; now the population is 3,000. Most who left emigrated to three places: Venezuela, Canada and the United States. Of those who went to America, it seems Pennsylvania and New Jersey were the most common destinations.

As darkness fell, Mario abruptly guided us into a doorway, and the next thing we knew we were in a family kitchen. His wife, Maria, had gone ahead of us and prepared a dinner at her mother’s house. It was loose, informal, exactly the style of my extended family’s dinners at home. People came and went. Joking taunts were shouted across the table. Plates of pasta were handed around: macaroni alla Norma, with tomato sauce and roasted eggplant. Salvatore, Mario’s nephew, told us he lives in Switzerland most of the year, where he works in bars and has been known to sing Red Hot Chili Peppers covers in a band. Maria’s mother hovered in the background the way my grandmother used to at family meals. For the secondo Maria produced breaded veal cutlets, which I was astonished to find were almost exactly like my mother’s. It began to dawn on me that my family culture — the loudness, the physicality, the jokes, the food, the immediate familiarity toward others — was maybe not so much Italian as specifically Sicilian. And the origins were here, right here. It all felt bewilderingly and unexpectedly familiar.

Then we hit the street again. Mario had one final thing to show me. At the far edge of town he stopped in front of a centuries-old stone house, which had long been abandoned, and which looked out onto a patch of farmland and toward the sea beyond. It hadn’t been hard to find, he said, for the address was right there on the birth certificate. This building was where my great-grandfather was born. It was the home of Antonino Sciotto, who, after emigrating to Pennsylvania to work in the coal mines, became Tony Shorto and gave rise to the world into which I was born.

We stopped at a little bar on the way back and ordered gelati, which we ate outside in the piazza where locals hold their political debates. It was after 10, and the dark Sicilian night felt luxuriant.

In front of his house again, Mario Italiano told me I had to come back. “When you do, you’ll know everybody in town!” I exchanged two kisses with him, and thanked him as profusely as I could in my bumbling Italian. My historical training had caused me to restrict my expectations about what this investigation might yield. But I had gotten two things from it: a gut feeling for the forces that had shaped me, and an actual physical place in which to ground that feeling. I had started my exploration as an almost academic exercise, a mere intellectual puzzle. This generous man, and his love for his town, had made it something more.

IF YOU GO

We stayed at the agriturismo Masseria Santa Mamma, masseriasantamamma.businesscatalyst.com, 12 miles from the town of Acquedolci. Information on agriturismo stays in Italy: agriturismo.it.

For pasta with swordfish and mint, visit Trattoria Antonio, Via Crocifisso in Taormina, (39 0942) 24570. And we had a nice meal at a seafood restaurant/wine bar on the coast called La Perla Nera, Fonderia 14, Marina di Patti, Patti, (39-0941) 362284.

Russell Shorto is the author of the forthcoming “Amsterdam: A History of the World’s Most Liberal City.”

http://travel.nytimes.com/2013/08/18/travel/digging-up-family-roots-in-sicily.html?src=me&ref=general&_r=0

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