newyorker--2020-08-05--The North American Maximalism of Gigi Hadid’s and Drake’s Home Design

In 1910 , in a lecture titled “ Ornament and Crime , ” the Austrian architect Adolf Loos delivered an invective against any kind of decoration , from filigree on building façades to tooling on leather shoes and embroidery on clothing .
“ The evolution of culture is synonymous with the removal of ornament from utilitarian objects , ” Loos said .
He connected the impulse toward ornament with uncontrolled eroticism , criminal activity , and peasantry—an allover retroversion , the ignorance of progressive social norms .
The truly civilized , he said , “ have outgrown ornament ; we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from ornament.
” The kind of modernism that Loos advocated was spare and austere , highlighting the function of each object or structure rather than concealing it behind layers of frippery .
In the interiors he designed , he preferred furniture that was monochromatic and built-in , highlighting the natural beauty of wood or stone .
Lucky that Loos isn ’ t here , in 2020 , to witness the revenge of everything he hoped could be vanquished more than a century ago .
Take , for instance , the recent design choices @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , who , in a post last month on Instagram , unveiled her dream New York City apartment , which she designed , in the course of the past year , with the architect Gordon Kahn .
The first shock is a row of transparent kitchen cabinets filled with a melange of dried “ pasta art ” seemingly tie-dyed in a rainbow of artificial colors—more aesthetic than appetizing .
But the rest of the home is as hectic with color : an overstuffed , Steampunkish mustard-colored makeup chair on a mustard rug ; @ @ @ @ @ @ @ counter filled , inexplicably , with billiard balls , which are neither food nor functional ; bright , hallucinatorily patterned fabric , perhaps an influence of her Palestinian roots ; the lime-green tailgate of a Chevrolet pickup truck mounted vertically on a wall ; and a bathroom bedecked in a busy grid of pinned-up New Yorker covers .
Many surfaces in the apartment are upholstered ; everything is decorated .
Ornament ’ s not so dead after all ; its crimes are still being rampantly and enthusiastically perpetrated .
There ’ s a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of home decorating right now .
Call it a new North American maximalism .
It was on display , in April , when Drake went public with his fifty-thousand-square-foot Toronto mansion in Architectural Digest .
“ Ornate ” is too casual a word for this project , which was led by the Canadian architect and interior designer Ferris Rafauli .
“ Baroque ” seems ideal , because of the airy , cathedral-like spaces as well as the density of ornament , from barbed chandeliers ( even in the dressing room ) to a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of historic basketball jerseys , like saintly relics .
The home is dripping with expensive decoration , like it ’ s dressed to attend an opera .
The four-thousand-pound bathtub is made from a single slab of black marble .
The master bed features a tapestry designed by Alexander McQueen and an Art Deco-ish framework of shelving and seating nooks—the rapper as a twenty-first-century soft-boy Gatsby .
His studio lounge has a backlit , window-sized installation of brown agate , and the pool appears to be an aquarium from the eighties , like @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the self-satisfaction of a man cave with the self-seriousness of Versailles .
“ I wanted the structure to stand firm for 100 years , ” Drake told Architectural Digest .
“ It will be one of the things I leave behind.
” Maximalism is a perennial mode of interior decorating : it never really goes away , though gaudiness has faced stiff competition with the lo-fi industrial wave that followed the 2008 recession and , more recently , with the rise of Marie Kondo .
Pop stars , in particular , tend to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ day-glo mansion , in Beverly Hills , courtesy of the designer Kelly Wearstler .
Yet Hadid and Drake ’ s homes promise something even more extra , the fulfillment not of a decorator ’ s vision but of a personal identity .
Like all millennials , they want credit for curating their total environments .
The two have starkly different personal styles—hers is colorful , plush , and relatively approachable , and his is masculine monochrome , meant to impress if not intimidate—but what they have in common is the sheer ardor of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ restrained or simple in their homes ; everything is not only complicated but expensively so .
In fact , this kind of excess is what bothered Loos most about the styles of the wealthy whom he encountered in his own time .
“ Ornamented things first create a truly unaesthetic effect when they have been executed in the best material and with the greatest care and have taken long hours of labour , ” he said in the lecture .
What was offensive was the lavish investment in one ’ s own bad @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cheaper or follow someone else ’ s designing advice ( like Loos ’ s ) .
Our current moment has been called a twenty-first-century Gilded Age .
Inequality , already growing by leaps and bounds , has been exacerbated by the pandemic , when 17.8 million Americans are unemployed , as of June , and Jeff Bezos is making more money than ever .
Despite looming disaster , wealth still makes itself known .
The man in the White House has gone the traditional route to flaunt his riches , or sustain their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in twenty-four-carat gold in mimic Louis XIV fashion .
But many of today ’ s megarich prefer a quieter kind of extravagance .
One route is to accumulate as much space as possible , even in the most expensive spots .
Mark Zuckerberg is being accused of “ colonizing ” the Hawaiian island of Kauai by pressuring native Hawaiians to sell the land near his property .
In the Kalorama neighborhood of Washington , D.C. , Bezos likely recently bought the mansion across the street from the two mansions he already owned , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dwelling .
Kim Kardashian and Kanye West ’ s Los Angeles mansion is a monument to minimalism .
Created with the Belgian designer Axel Vervoordt , it ’ s a blank , diaphanous haze of unused space : monochrome walls , floor , furniture , including a soft , interactive floor sculpture by the artist Isabel Rower .
“ The proportions are the decoration , ” West told Architectural Digest .
The home demonstrates that it ’ s completely possible to be a minimalist-maximalist , emphasizing the wealth it takes to maintain so @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the twenty-four-year-old Kendall Jenner ’ s L.A. home is just as refined , though less aggressive , with a faux nineteenth-century art-studio space and a light installation by James Turrell , whose austere pieces , playing tricks with perception , are much more difficult to come by than the KAWS sculptures standing sentinel at Drake ’ s house .

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In 1910, in a lecture titled “Ornament and Crime,” the Austrian architect Adolf Loos delivered an invective against any kind of decoration, from filigree on building façades to tooling on leather shoes and embroidery on clothing. “The evolution of culture is synonymous with the removal of ornament from utilitarian objects,” Loos said. He connected the impulse toward ornament with uncontrolled eroticism, criminal activity, and peasantry—an allover retroversion, the ignorance of progressive social norms. The truly civilized, he said, “have outgrown ornament; we have fought our way through to freedom from ornament.” The kind of modernism that Loos advocated was spare and austere, highlighting the function of each object or structure rather than concealing it behind layers of frippery. In the interiors he designed, he preferred furniture that was monochromatic and built-in, highlighting the natural beauty of wood or stone.
Lucky that Loos isn’t here, in 2020, to witness the revenge of everything he hoped could be vanquished more than a century ago. Take, for instance, the recent design choices of Gigi Hadid, the twenty-five-year-old supermodel, who, in a post last month on Instagram, unveiled her dream New York City apartment, which she designed, in the course of the past year, with the architect Gordon Kahn. The first shock is a row of transparent kitchen cabinets filled with a melange of dried “pasta art” seemingly tie-dyed in a rainbow of artificial colors—more aesthetic than appetizing. But the rest of the home is as hectic with color: an overstuffed, Steampunkish mustard-colored makeup chair on a mustard rug; a primitive wooden vessel on the kitchen counter filled, inexplicably, with billiard balls, which are neither food nor functional; bright, hallucinatorily patterned fabric, perhaps an influence of her Palestinian roots; the lime-green tailgate of a Chevrolet pickup truck mounted vertically on a wall; and a bathroom bedecked in a busy grid of pinned-up New Yorker covers. Many surfaces in the apartment are upholstered; everything is decorated. Ornament’s not so dead after all; its crimes are still being rampantly and enthusiastically perpetrated.
There’s a sensibility at play at the highest end of home decorating right now. Call it a new North American maximalism. It was on display, in April, when Drake went public with his fifty-thousand-square-foot Toronto mansion in Architectural Digest. “Ornate” is too casual a word for this project, which was led by the Canadian architect and interior designer Ferris Rafauli. “Baroque” seems ideal, because of the airy, cathedral-like spaces as well as the density of ornament, from barbed chandeliers (even in the dressing room) to a mood-lit hall displaying Drake’s collection of historic basketball jerseys, like saintly relics. The home is dripping with expensive decoration, like it’s dressed to attend an opera. The four-thousand-pound bathtub is made from a single slab of black marble. The master bed features a tapestry designed by Alexander McQueen and an Art Deco-ish framework of shelving and seating nooks—the rapper as a twenty-first-century soft-boy Gatsby. His studio lounge has a backlit, window-sized installation of brown agate, and the pool appears to be an aquarium from the eighties, like swimming inside a neon tube. Mix the self-satisfaction of a man cave with the self-seriousness of Versailles. “I wanted the structure to stand firm for 100 years,” Drake told Architectural Digest. “It will be one of the things I leave behind.”
Maximalism is a perennial mode of interior decorating: it never really goes away, though gaudiness has faced stiff competition with the lo-fi industrial wave that followed the 2008 recession and, more recently, with the rise of Marie Kondo. Pop stars, in particular, tend to favor it—see Gwen Stefani’s former day-glo mansion, in Beverly Hills, courtesy of the designer Kelly Wearstler. Yet Hadid and Drake’s homes promise something even more extra, the fulfillment not of a decorator’s vision but of a personal identity. Like all millennials, they want credit for curating their total environments. The two have starkly different personal styles—hers is colorful, plush, and relatively approachable, and his is masculine monochrome, meant to impress if not intimidate—but what they have in common is the sheer ardor of their design choices. There is nothing restrained or simple in their homes; everything is not only complicated but expensively so. In fact, this kind of excess is what bothered Loos most about the styles of the wealthy whom he encountered in his own time. “Ornamented things first create a truly unaesthetic effect when they have been executed in the best material and with the greatest care and have taken long hours of labour,” he said in the lecture. What was offensive was the lavish investment in one’s own bad taste; better to either choose something cheaper or follow someone else’s designing advice (like Loos’s).
Our current moment has been called a twenty-first-century Gilded Age. Inequality, already growing by leaps and bounds, has been exacerbated by the pandemic, when 17.8 million Americans are unemployed, as of June, and Jeff Bezos is making more money than ever. Despite looming disaster, wealth still makes itself known. The man in the White House has gone the traditional route to flaunt his riches, or sustain their illusion, daubing his Trump Tower penthouse in twenty-four-carat gold in mimic Louis XIV fashion. But many of today’s megarich prefer a quieter kind of extravagance. One route is to accumulate as much space as possible, even in the most expensive spots. Mark Zuckerberg is being accused of “colonizing” the Hawaiian island of Kauai by pressuring native Hawaiians to sell the land near his property. In the Kalorama neighborhood of Washington, D.C., Bezos likely recently bought the mansion across the street from the two mansions he already owned, which he had turned into a single dwelling.
Kim Kardashian and Kanye West’s Los Angeles mansion is a monument to minimalism. Created with the Belgian designer Axel Vervoordt, it’s a blank, diaphanous haze of unused space: monochrome walls, floor, furniture, including a soft, interactive floor sculpture by the artist Isabel Rower. “The proportions are the decoration,” West told Architectural Digest. The home demonstrates that it’s completely possible to be a minimalist-maximalist, emphasizing the wealth it takes to maintain so much pristine emptiness. The decor of the twenty-four-year-old Kendall Jenner’s L.A. home is just as refined, though less aggressive, with a faux nineteenth-century art-studio space and a light installation by James Turrell, whose austere pieces, playing tricks with perception, are much more difficult to come by than the KAWS sculptures standing sentinel at Drake’s house.
By contrast, Hadid’s technicolor apartment seems almost understated. Her aesthetic is baroque Americana, elevating, upgrading, and accelerating the style of dorm-room kitsch into something you definitely couldn’t buy at Target. The giant yellow ballpoint pen leaning against the wall might be a riff on a Claes Oldenburg sculpture, but everything else is more or less unpretentious. The low couches, pinned-up magazines, a slapdash painting that advertises a safe space for all (it better be, in a multi-million-dollar apartment)—it’s a young-adult starter home.


newyorker--2020-08-05--Americans Support Using U.S. Postal Service to Ship Trump to Different Address

WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report ) —In a major vote of confidence for the embattled agency , a new poll @ @ @ @ @ Americans support using the United States Postal Service to ship Donald Trump to a new @ @ @ @ @ it has become a tradition for outgoing Presidents to depart 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue via helicopter @ @ @ @ @ ” that using the U.S. Mail to remove Trump would be preferable , the poll @ @ @ @ @ , after a new President is inaugurated , on January 20th , Trump should be @ @ @ @ @ the White House for pickup by a local mail carrier .
Additionally , there was @ @ @ @ @ Trump to his new address via Priority Mail Express to insure that he is dispatched @ @ @ @ @ Although Americans were divided as to what Trump ’ s new address should be , @ @ @ @ @ overnighting him to Cyrus Vance , Jr. , the New York County District Attorney .

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—In a major vote of confidence for the embattled agency, a new poll reveals that a majority of Americans support using the United States Postal Service to ship Donald Trump to a new address in January.
While it has become a tradition for outgoing Presidents to depart 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue via helicopter, Americans “strongly agree” that using the U.S. Mail to remove Trump would be preferable, the poll finds.
Americans agreed that, after a new President is inaugurated, on January 20th, Trump should be left on the curb outside the White House for pickup by a local mail carrier.
Additionally, there was a strong consensus for sending Trump to his new address via Priority Mail Express to insure that he is dispatched as quickly as possible.
Although Americans were divided as to what Trump’s new address should be, there was substantial support for overnighting him to Cyrus Vance, Jr., the New York County District Attorney.


newyorker--2020-08-06--Rules of Baseball, 2020

Rules of Baseball, 2020

We here at Major League Baseball ( M.L.B . )
have put a great deal of thought and preparation into this year ’ s abbreviated , sixty-game season .
With player health and safety paramount , here are the rule changes that will be implemented on a rolling basis as the season progresses : To shorten playing time and thereby limit player risk and exposure , every extra inning will start with a runner already at second base .
To further limit player exposure , fans will not be allowed to attend games .
Instead , cardboard cutouts of season-ticket @ @ @ @ @ @ @ behind home plate .
Off the field , players are banned from visiting bars , honky-tonks , and strip clubs , unless they ’ re really restless and just need to get out of the hotel for a while .
Games involving players who have tested positive for COVID-19 have been postponed and will be rescheduled as part of a shortened , seven-inning doubleheader .
Cardboard cutouts of season-ticket holders can now leave during the sixth inning to beat the traffic .
Players should think twice before sending a trainer ’ s assistant @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they sprint down the hotel ’ s rear stairway in order to visit bars , honky-tonks , and strip clubs , but , if they must , should consider confining themselves to those venues ’ less-crowded V.I.P .
lounges .
To further shorten game length , every strike will equal an out .
Cardboard cutouts of season-ticket holders can now leave during the sixth inning based on a “ gut feeling ” that their team is about to blow a three-run lead .
Players , it ’ s one thing to sneak out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ clubs , but commandeering the team bus for said visits , and then inviting people you meet at bars , honky-tonks , and strip clubs to jump on the bus for a late-night “ tour of the city ” is not cool and is to be discouraged .
To further shorten playing time , every game will start at the top of the ninth inning with the home team leading , 8–0 .
Due to the growing “ situation , ” players will be replaced in games by cardboard cutouts , provided that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Players who flee their hotels claiming that they are “ running for their lives , ” and who can ’ t be easily located and retrieved because they aren ’ t hiding in the first place we ’ d look—namely , bars , honky-tonks , and strip clubs—will be billed for repatriation services by Major League Baseball .
And while we ’ re at it , players , why can ’ t you be more like the cardboard cutouts of season-ticket holders ?
Disease-free , always smiling and well-behaved , these M.L.B.-trademarked Cardboard @ @ @ @ @ @ @ true heroes .
In the pursuit of even shorter game time , the home team will be declared the winner at the conclusion of batting practice .
Because who cares at this point if , when the ball is hit to left field , base runners run clockwise , and when the ball is hit to the right of second base , they run counterclockwise ?
M.L.B .
team owners will call N.B.A .
team owners seeking advice on whether it ’ s too late to start playing “ in the bubble.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to our eight World Series Champions who all shared league-leading 9–7 records !
M.L.B .
will abandon baseball , and pivot to marketing Cardboard Buddies™ for bar mitzvahs , weddings , and funerals .
After a Presidential appointment , the M.L.B .
commissioner will report to his new job , reopening our nation ’ s schools .

We here at Major League Baseball (M.L.B.) have put a great deal of thought and preparation into this year’s abbreviated, sixty-game season. With player health and safety paramount, here are the rule changes that will be implemented on a rolling basis as the season progresses:
Rule Changes Effective Opening Day, July 24th
To shorten playing time and thereby limit player risk and exposure, every extra inning will start with a runner already at second base.
To further limit player exposure, fans will not be allowed to attend games. Instead, cardboard cutouts of season-ticket holders will be placed in the seats behind home plate.
Off the field, players are banned from visiting bars, honky-tonks, and strip clubs, unless they’re really restless and just need to get out of the hotel for a while.
Rule Changes Effective Friday, July 31st
Games involving players who have tested positive for COVID-19 have been postponed and will be rescheduled as part of a shortened, seven-inning doubleheader.
Cardboard cutouts of season-ticket holders can now leave during the sixth inning to beat the traffic.
Players should think twice before sending a trainer’s assistant to the lobby to distract security while they sprint down the hotel’s rear stairway in order to visit bars, honky-tonks, and strip clubs, but, if they must, should consider confining themselves to those venues’ less-crowded V.I.P. lounges.
Rule Changes Effective Wednesday, August 5th
To further shorten game length, every strike will equal an out.
Cardboard cutouts of season-ticket holders can now leave during the sixth inning based on a “gut feeling” that their team is about to blow a three-run lead.
Players, it’s one thing to sneak out to bars, honky-tonks, and strip clubs, but commandeering the team bus for said visits, and then inviting people you meet at bars, honky-tonks, and strip clubs to jump on the bus for a late-night “tour of the city” is not cool and is to be discouraged.
Rule Changes Effective Friday, August 7th
To further shorten playing time, every game will start at the top of the ninth inning with the home team leading, 8–0.
Due to the growing “situation,” players will be replaced in games by cardboard cutouts, provided that the players are also season-ticket holders.
Players who flee their hotels claiming that they are “running for their lives,” and who can’t be easily located and retrieved because they aren’t hiding in the first place we’d look—namely, bars, honky-tonks, and strip clubs—will be billed for repatriation services by Major League Baseball.
And while we’re at it, players, why can’t you be more like the cardboard cutouts of season-ticket holders? Disease-free, always smiling and well-behaved, these M.L.B.-trademarked Cardboard Buddies are the 2020 season’s true heroes.
Rule Changes Effective Friday, August 7th, 2 P.M.
In the pursuit of even shorter game time, the home team will be declared the winner at the conclusion of batting practice.
Because who cares at this point if, when the ball is hit to left field, base runners run clockwise, and when the ball is hit to the right of second base, they run counterclockwise?
M.L.B. team owners will call N.B.A. team owners seeking advice on whether it’s too late to start playing “in the bubble.”
Rule Changes Effective Friday, August 7th, 2:53 P.M.
Wow, what a season! Congratulations to our eight World Series Champions who all shared league-leading 9–7 records!
Rule Changes Effective Saturday, August 8th
M.L.B. will abandon baseball, and pivot to marketing Cardboard Buddies™ for bar mitzvahs, weddings, and funerals.
After a Presidential appointment, the M.L.B. commissioner will report to his new job, reopening our nation’s schools.


newyorker--2020-08-06--Tales Told to Tevye

Tales Told to Tevye

This is the fifth story in this summer ’ s online Flash Fiction series .
You can read the entire series , and our Flash Fiction stories from previous years , here .
Reb Lev told the story on Purim , when you are supposed to get so drunk that you can ’ t distinguish the hero from the villain in the Book of Esther .
“ Prayer , ” he said , “ is the sweetness of life , and to be able to pray , even when they arrest you with only clothes on your back and put @ @ @ @ @ @ @ near Minsk , is a miracle .
“ In prison were hoodlums , the worst scum , Jews among them who had renounced study of Torah and strayed from path of the righteous .
In a corner apart I stood .
It was Yom Kippur , most sacred of days .
From memory I prayed the Kol Nidre in the evening and Shacharis in the morning but stumbled in the Musaf prayer that says all men are true believers .
I looked around and thought , These hoodlums and crooks , surely they @ @ @ @ @ @ @ there they sent us to Vorkutlag concentration camp a hundred miles above Arctic Circle in East .
I stood in my prayer shawl , closed my eyes , and shook gently back and forth , davening , when a strange man , a giant Uzbek with a big mustache and rugged face , came over to me and said , ‘ Reb Lev , you are praying , are you not ?
’ How did he know I was praying ?
But he knew , and he knew my name was Lev .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Lev , ’ he said , ‘ I am also a Jew—named after our patriarch Avraham—but raised in Communist state , and I do not know Hebrew except what my grandfather taught me : the Modeh Ani .
And here is Yom Kippur and I must fast .
May I pray with you ?
’ ” Here he paused to take a sip of Covenant Neshama Proprietary Red ( OU Kosher ) 2015 ruby-red wine , while others of us drank the Barkan Pinot Noir or the same winery ’ s Chardonnay .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ prayed ?
He prayed by saying the Modeh Ani once and then twice and then again in a constant murmur .
“ And there , among the crooks , the hoodlums , the gangsters , I prayed , and understood for first time the Musaf prayer .
All men are true believers , women , too , and worthy of the blessings of the Lord .
“ And therefore every morning , upon waking , I think of that blessed Uzbek oaf when I say the Modeh Ani and offer thanks to the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mercifully restored my soul within me.
” The three rabbis were asked to sum up Judaism in a single sentence or Biblical verse .
Rabbi Baruch chose the first sentence of Genesis : “ In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.
” And the people thought , Yes , that must be right .
God is the creator of all things .
To recognize Hashem is the first commandment .
The illustrious Ben Zoma chose the Sh ’ ma— “ Hear , O Israel , the Lord our God , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is what the martyrs uttered at the last moment .
It was what Rabbi Akiva said when they tortured him .
It was said by Jacob upon meeting his son Joseph after many years .
And the people thought , Surely , that is the correct answer .
And consider the precedents that Ben Zoma wisely cited .
Then it was the Vilna Gaon ’ s turn .
He said the others had spoken well but the true answer was this : the command to bring to the temple two lambs each day @ @ @ @ @ @ @ one in the morning and one in the afternoon .
The effect of this statement was immediate .
The other two rabbis stood on their feet and declared that the Vilna Gaon was right and had won the competition .
The unanimous decision was applauded by all in attendance .
Rabbi Biegeleisen explained that to summarize Judaism in a single sentence or verse was nonsense .
It was , he said , “ like supposing you could master the Talmud while standing on one foot.
” It was an act of chutzpah , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Rabbi Biegeleisen said , “ the Vilna Gaon treated the questioner seriously .
To such a questioner , lacking in tact or seriousness , or maybe just too young to know better , the affirmation of God as the creator , the sole Lord of Israel , was not sufficient .
It was the easy part .
The command to bring to the temple two lambs each day as an offering to the Lord , one in the morning and one in the afternoon , indicates what is required .
A sacrifice , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Rabbi Biegeleisen was the most revered of all the rebbes in Vysotsk .
Though loath to interrupt his daily schedule , which was as famously rigid as Immanuel Kant ’ s , he left for Odessa when word reached him of the uprising against the new rabbi there , Rabbi Simcha , who was considered too strict in demanding observance of all the major festivals and fast days .
When Rabbi Biegeleisen spoke at the Odessa synagogue , the people in attendance were skeptical , but he won them over .
He argued @ @ @ @ @ @ @ indeed strict—possibly too strict .
After all , he told the congregants , look at all the other obligations in your life .
How could you be expected to break the day into three parts , for morning and afternoon and evening prayers ?
The congregants liked what they heard .
Then he said he had to end his talk for the day but would speak again on the morrow .
This time , every seat in the synagogue was taken .
There was even a line to get in .
And it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , repudiated all that he had implied on the previous day , and said that our sages should not be doubted .
And even though Rabbi Simcha had white hair and a white beard so that he looked like a man of seventy when he was only thirty-nine years old , yet he was a sage !
A sage !
He had sacrificed two sheep to the Lord each day of the year .
When he said the Modeh Ani , he saved the millions for whom he spoke .
This happened in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ before Rosh Hashanah .
Rabbi Biegeleisen produced a shofar .
“ Why , ” he thundered , “ is the shofar crooked ?
” No one said a word .
“ To teach us humility , ” said Rabbi Biegeleisen .
Not an eye in the house was dry by the time he finished .
The congregants left the temple and walked to the house where Rabbi Simcha lived .
From the window he saw them coming and wondered whether they had come to lynch him .
“ Please forgive us , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
And Rabbi Simcha forgave them .
And months went by before the next popular rebellion .

This is the fifth story in this summer’s online Flash Fiction series. You can read the entire series, and our Flash Fiction stories from previous years, here.
In memoriam Rabbi Aharon Eliezer Ceitlin, 1953-2015
1. A Miracle
Reb Lev told the story on Purim, when you are supposed to get so drunk that you can’t distinguish the hero from the villain in the Book of Esther.
“Prayer,” he said, “is the sweetness of life, and to be able to pray, even when they arrest you with only clothes on your back and put you in dungeon in old Soviet Union near Minsk, is a miracle.
“In prison were hoodlums, the worst scum, Jews among them who had renounced study of Torah and strayed from path of the righteous. In a corner apart I stood. It was Yom Kippur, most sacred of days. From memory I prayed the Kol Nidre in the evening and Shacharis in the morning but stumbled in the Musaf prayer that says all men are true believers. I looked around and thought, These hoodlums and crooks, surely they are not true believers.
“From there they sent us to Vorkutlag concentration camp a hundred miles above Arctic Circle in East. I stood in my prayer shawl, closed my eyes, and shook gently back and forth, davening, when a strange man, a giant Uzbek with a big mustache and rugged face, came over to me and said, ‘Reb Lev, you are praying, are you not?’ How did he know I was praying? But he knew, and he knew my name was Lev. Who was he?
“ ‘Reb Lev,’ he said, ‘I am also a Jew—named after our patriarch Avraham—but raised in Communist state, and I do not know Hebrew except what my grandfather taught me: the Modeh Ani. And here is Yom Kippur and I must fast. May I pray with you?’ ”
Here he paused to take a sip of Covenant Neshama Proprietary Red (OU Kosher) 2015 ruby-red wine, while others of us drank the Barkan Pinot Noir or the same winery’s Chardonnay.
“You want to know how he prayed? He prayed by saying the Modeh Ani once and then twice and then again in a constant murmur.
“And there, among the crooks, the hoodlums, the gangsters, I prayed, and understood for first time the Musaf prayer. All men are true believers, women, too, and worthy of the blessings of the Lord.
“And therefore every morning, upon waking, I think of that blessed Uzbek oaf when I say the Modeh Ani and offer thanks to the living and eternal King, who has mercifully restored my soul within me.”
2. The Three Rabbis
The three rabbis were asked to sum up Judaism in a single sentence or Biblical verse.
Rabbi Baruch chose the first sentence of Genesis: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.”
And the people thought, Yes, that must be right. God is the creator of all things. To recognize Hashem is the first commandment.
The illustrious Ben Zoma chose the Sh’ma—“Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One”—because that is what the martyrs uttered at the last moment. It was what Rabbi Akiva said when they tortured him. It was said by Jacob upon meeting his son Joseph after many years.
And the people thought, Surely, that is the correct answer. And consider the precedents that Ben Zoma wisely cited.
Then it was the Vilna Gaon’s turn. He said the others had spoken well but the true answer was this: the command to bring to the temple two lambs each day as an offering to the Lord, one in the morning and one in the afternoon.
The effect of this statement was immediate. The other two rabbis stood on their feet and declared that the Vilna Gaon was right and had won the competition. The unanimous decision was applauded by all in attendance.
3. An Uprising in Odessa
Rabbi Biegeleisen explained that to summarize Judaism in a single sentence or verse was nonsense. It was, he said, “like supposing you could master the Talmud while standing on one foot.” It was an act of chutzpah, of disrespect.
“Nevertheless,” Rabbi Biegeleisen said, “the Vilna Gaon treated the questioner seriously. To such a questioner, lacking in tact or seriousness, or maybe just too young to know better, the affirmation of God as the creator, the sole Lord of Israel, was not sufficient. It was the easy part. The command to bring to the temple two lambs each day as an offering to the Lord, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, indicates what is required. A sacrifice, every day, twice a day.”
Rabbi Biegeleisen was the most revered of all the rebbes in Vysotsk. Though loath to interrupt his daily schedule, which was as famously rigid as Immanuel Kant’s, he left for Odessa when word reached him of the uprising against the new rabbi there, Rabbi Simcha, who was considered too strict in demanding observance of all the major festivals and fast days.
When Rabbi Biegeleisen spoke at the Odessa synagogue, the people in attendance were skeptical, but he won them over. He argued that Rabbi Simcha’s policies were indeed strict—possibly too strict. After all, he told the congregants, look at all the other obligations in your life. How could you be expected to break the day into three parts, for morning and afternoon and evening prayers? The congregants liked what they heard.


newyorker--2020-08-06--America’s Coronavirus Endurance Test

America’s Coronavirus Endurance Test

Donald Ainslie Henderson , known as D.A .
to his colleagues , was the Babe Ruth of public health .
As a young epidemiologist with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention , he cut his teeth during the 1957 H2N2 flu pandemic , which originated in Guizhou , China , and killed more than a million people before it could be curbed by a vaccine .
In the nineteen-sixties and seventies , he led the effort to eradicate smallpox , finding clusters of people infected with the disease around the globe , tracing and isolating others who ’ d @ @ @ @ @ @ @ some of the world ’ s poorest children .
It ’ s thanks to D.A .
that we can now speak about smallpox in the past tense .
When we first met , in 1986 , I was an intern at the Johns Hopkins Hospital , and D.A .
was the dean of the School of Public Health , directly across the street .
Like many epidemiologists of his vintage , he was a true-blue “ vaccine man , ” for whom the immunizations created in the course of the twentieth century were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ D.A.
, vaccines were the definitive answer to all contagious-disease questions .
By contrast , I had begun my career at the dawn of the H.I.V .
era .
In the late nineteen-eighties , we had few medications , let alone a vaccine , with which to fight that virus .
While we waited for science to progress , our only weapon was public health : we had to study the virus ’ s transmission , test for cases , reach out to those who were at risk , and educate them .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , some misguided politicians advocated quarantining the victims , and many doctors and nurses refused to treat them .
Since then , I ’ ve devoted much of my working life to studying the social history of pandemics and the uses and misuses of quarantine .
D.A .
and I saw each other often between 2006 and 2010 , when , together with Martin Cetron , the director of the C.D.C.
’ s Division of Global Migration and Quarantine , I worked to help develop the concept now known as “ flattening the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ decrease the peak burden on health-care systems and to buy time for scientists and doctors to respond .
( Those now-familiar drawings of flattened curves , seen at White House briefings and elsewhere , were taken from one of Marty ’ s PowerPoint slides . )
With the assistance of medical historians , epidemiologists , infectious-disease experts , and statisticians , we gathered more than twenty thousand documents from hundreds of archives across the country , focussing on how forty-three American cities responded to the 1918 flu pandemic .
We looked , in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ isolation and quarantine , the banning of public gatherings , the closing of schools , and , in some cases , the shutting down of roads and railways .
We found that those cities which used more than one intervention simultaneously , and which acted early and persisted for sustained periods , experienced significantly lower rates of death than those which didn ’ t .
The fates of twenty-three “ double-humped ” cities were equally telling : having released the brakes too soon , they suffered a second spike in cases and in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Many had to institute another round of social distancing—a thorny political task .
We presented our data for the first time on a bleak December day in 2006 , at a hotel near the Atlanta airport , where the C.D.C .
was holding a meeting on national pandemic preparedness .
Several hundred people—state and local health officials , scholars , virologists , epidemiologists , and reporters—had flown in to attend ; the George W. Bush Administration , concerned about a possible flu pandemic the next year , had asked us to come @ @ @ @ @ @ @ finished my talk , the first person to stand up and speak was the man we most feared .
In a booming voice , one that carried the authority of a living legend , D.A .
said that our carefully arrayed historical research was just that : history .
Social distancing , he argued , would be hugely disruptive .
It would ruin the economy .
It would destroy jobs and hamstring education .
Kids who were out of school would congregate in malls and spread the virus anyway .
Better , he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ through the population while concentrating on an effective vaccine .
Sitting down , he looked me in the eye and added , gruffly , “ Cull the herd !
” As it turned out , D.A.
’ s dismissal didn ’ t mark the end of social distancing .
During our current pandemic , most nations have embraced the idea .
Because social distancing is a quiet form of civic action , and because its success results in fewer infections , it ’ s easy to underestimate its effects—and yet they have been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ published in Nature estimated that the social-distancing measures employed in the United States , China , South Korea , Italy , Iran , and France have prevented around five hundred and thirty million coronavirus infections—sixty million of them in the United States .
( Currently , with distancing , the U.S. has reported around four and a half million confirmed cases ; the real number is probably higher . )
Another study , conducted at Columbia University , found that , if parts of this country had started distancing on March 1st—roughly two @ @ @ @ @ @ @ home—fifty-four thousand fewer people would have died .
It ’ s difficult to say with certainty how many deaths flattening the curve has prevented , but it is likely in the millions .
The global social-distancing effort has been “ one of humanity ’ s greatest collective achievements , ” Solomon Hsiang , the leader of the Nature study , said , in announcing the findings .
“ I don ’ t think any human endeavor has ever saved so many lives in such a short period of time.
” In March , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the United States , they seemed like a bargain .
The W.H.O .
had calculated a case-fatality rate of 3.8 per cent for the novel coronavirus ; by comparison , the rate of death during the 1918 flu pandemic was about 2.5 per cent .
If those numbers weren ’ t enough to terrify you , there were images of intubated patients in I.C.U.s and of bodies in refrigerated trucks ; in New York and elsewhere , hospitals were overloaded , ventilators were in short supply , and sirens echoed through the night @ @ @ @ @ @ @ When our health officials asked us to stay home , we did so , despite the disruptions .
And yet the terrified unanimity of those early days didn ’ t last .
It quickly became apparent that there would be great inequality in how the social-distancing measures played out .
For some people , the Internet softened the blow : they could work and shop from home while staying connected and entertained .
Others lost their jobs or , if they were essential workers , kept them while shouldering high shares of viral @ @ @ @ @ @ @ government loans while others were left to fail .
Meanwhile , COVID-19 exposed preëxisting disparities in American health care .
Poor and minority communities experienced disproportionate death .
Other people , living in places where the viral surge had yet to arrive , found themselves making sacrifices without quite understanding why .
As the curve flattened , misconceptions took hold .
Perhaps the biggest was that social distancing was a policy that would need to be enacted only once , for a brief period , after which the virus would be defeated and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ this fantasy in mind , politicians began to argue that the time had come to reopen .
A number of factors—mounting economic distress , inevitable claustrophobia and fatigue , the President ’ s deranged tweets about “ liberating ” certain states , an explosion of justified protest against police brutality and racial injustice—combined to weaken the consensus around social distancing .
Across the country , and despite a lack of testing-based data about how widely the virus had spread , bans on gatherings were lifted .
We were tired of being shut in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ go back to the world we ’ d left behind in March .
We told ourselves , erroneously , that our social-distancing efforts had defeated the virus .

Donald Ainslie Henderson, known as D.A. to his colleagues, was the Babe Ruth of public health. As a young epidemiologist with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, he cut his teeth during the 1957 H2N2 flu pandemic, which originated in Guizhou, China, and killed more than a million people before it could be curbed by a vaccine. In the nineteen-sixties and seventies, he led the effort to eradicate smallpox, finding clusters of people infected with the disease around the globe, tracing and isolating others who’d caught it, and providing vaccines to some of the world’s poorest children. It’s thanks to D.A. that we can now speak about smallpox in the past tense.
When we first met, in 1986, I was an intern at the Johns Hopkins Hospital, and D.A. was the dean of the School of Public Health, directly across the street. Like many epidemiologists of his vintage, he was a true-blue “vaccine man,” for whom the immunizations created in the course of the twentieth century were the pinnacle of modern medicine. For D.A., vaccines were the definitive answer to all contagious-disease questions. By contrast, I had begun my career at the dawn of the H.I.V. era. In the late nineteen-eighties, we had few medications, let alone a vaccine, with which to fight that virus. While we waited for science to progress, our only weapon was public health: we had to study the virus’s transmission, test for cases, reach out to those who were at risk, and educate them. At the beginning of the AIDS pandemic, some misguided politicians advocated quarantining the victims, and many doctors and nurses refused to treat them. Since then, I’ve devoted much of my working life to studying the social history of pandemics and the uses and misuses of quarantine.
D.A. and I saw each other often between 2006 and 2010, when, together with Martin Cetron, the director of the C.D.C.’s Division of Global Migration and Quarantine, I worked to help develop the concept now known as “flattening the curve”: using social distancing to decrease the peak burden on health-care systems and to buy time for scientists and doctors to respond. (Those now-familiar drawings of flattened curves, seen at White House briefings and elsewhere, were taken from one of Marty’s PowerPoint slides.) With the assistance of medical historians, epidemiologists, infectious-disease experts, and statisticians, we gathered more than twenty thousand documents from hundreds of archives across the country, focussing on how forty-three American cities responded to the 1918 flu pandemic. We looked, in particular, at how those cities employed isolation and quarantine, the banning of public gatherings, the closing of schools, and, in some cases, the shutting down of roads and railways. We found that those cities which used more than one intervention simultaneously, and which acted early and persisted for sustained periods, experienced significantly lower rates of death than those which didn’t. The fates of twenty-three “double-humped” cities were equally telling: having released the brakes too soon, they suffered a second spike in cases and in deaths, sometimes worse than the first. Many had to institute another round of social distancing—a thorny political task.
We presented our data for the first time on a bleak December day in 2006, at a hotel near the Atlanta airport, where the C.D.C. was holding a meeting on national pandemic preparedness. Several hundred people—state and local health officials, scholars, virologists, epidemiologists, and reporters—had flown in to attend; the George W. Bush Administration, concerned about a possible flu pandemic the next year, had asked us to come up with a plan. When I finished my talk, the first person to stand up and speak was the man we most feared. In a booming voice, one that carried the authority of a living legend, D.A. said that our carefully arrayed historical research was just that: history. Social distancing, he argued, would be hugely disruptive. It would ruin the economy. It would destroy jobs and hamstring education. Kids who were out of school would congregate in malls and spread the virus anyway. Better, he argued, to let the virus burn through the population while concentrating on an effective vaccine. Sitting down, he looked me in the eye and added, gruffly, “Cull the herd!”
As it turned out, D.A.’s dismissal didn’t mark the end of social distancing. During our current pandemic, most nations have embraced the idea. Because social distancing is a quiet form of civic action, and because its success results in fewer infections, it’s easy to underestimate its effects—and yet they have been formidable. Last month, a study published in Nature estimated that the social-distancing measures employed in the United States, China, South Korea, Italy, Iran, and France have prevented around five hundred and thirty million coronavirus infections—sixty million of them in the United States. (Currently, with distancing, the U.S. has reported around four and a half million confirmed cases; the real number is probably higher.) Another study, conducted at Columbia University, found that, if parts of this country had started distancing on March 1st—roughly two weeks before most Americans began to stay home—fifty-four thousand fewer people would have died. It’s difficult to say with certainty how many deaths flattening the curve has prevented, but it is likely in the millions. The global social-distancing effort has been “one of humanity’s greatest collective achievements,” Solomon Hsiang, the leader of the Nature study, said, in announcing the findings. “I don’t think any human endeavor has ever saved so many lives in such a short period of time.”
In March, when social-distancing policies were first enacted in the United States, they seemed like a bargain. The W.H.O. had calculated a case-fatality rate of 3.8 per cent for the novel coronavirus; by comparison, the rate of death during the 1918 flu pandemic was about 2.5 per cent. If those numbers weren’t enough to terrify you, there were images of intubated patients in I.C.U.s and of bodies in refrigerated trucks; in New York and elsewhere, hospitals were overloaded, ventilators were in short supply, and sirens echoed through the night. Fear is an excellent motivator. When our health officials asked us to stay home, we did so, despite the disruptions.
And yet the terrified unanimity of those early days didn’t last. It quickly became apparent that there would be great inequality in how the social-distancing measures played out. For some people, the Internet softened the blow: they could work and shop from home while staying connected and entertained. Others lost their jobs or, if they were essential workers, kept them while shouldering high shares of viral risk. Some businesses succeeded in accessing government loans while others were left to fail. Meanwhile, COVID-19 exposed preëxisting disparities in American health care. Poor and minority communities experienced disproportionate death. Other people, living in places where the viral surge had yet to arrive, found themselves making sacrifices without quite understanding why.
As the curve flattened, misconceptions took hold. Perhaps the biggest was that social distancing was a policy that would need to be enacted only once, for a brief period, after which the virus would be defeated and life would return to normal. With this fantasy in mind, politicians began to argue that the time had come to reopen. A number of factors—mounting economic distress, inevitable claustrophobia and fatigue, the President’s deranged tweets about “liberating” certain states, an explosion of justified protest against police brutality and racial injustice—combined to weaken the consensus around social distancing. Across the country, and despite a lack of testing-based data about how widely the virus had spread, bans on gatherings were lifted. We were tired of being shut in and shut down; we wanted to go back to the world we’d left behind in March. We told ourselves, erroneously, that our social-distancing efforts had defeated the virus.
The reality, of course, is that social distancing cannot cure or defeat COVID-19. It only allows us to hide from the virus while scientists do their work. The overwhelming majority of Americans—perhaps as many as three hundred million people—are still susceptible to infection. As they venture back into a reopened world in which the virus is still circulating, they are at risk. In the past few weeks, this simple reality has asserted itself. In states as varied as Texas, Arizona, Florida, and California, we have seen a steepening of the curve. Since June 15th, case counts in the United States have exploded from roughly twenty thousand new cases a day to more than sixty thousand. The U.S. now leads the world in the production of new coronavirus cases. The sheer number of new cases and deaths is staggering. Since May 28th, when the hundred-thousandth American died of COVID-19, sixty thousand more have been killed by the virus. The C.D.C. is now projecting that we will reach somewhere between a hundred and sixty-eight and a hundred and eighty-two thousand deaths by August 22nd. The harsh truth about our situation is clear: it isn’t over.
In 2006, when my colleagues and I first proposed the idea of flattening the curve, we hoped to draw up plans for the subsequent phases of a pandemic. We knew the basic idea: work would proceed on vaccines and treatments while testing, tracing, and isolation measures ramped up; meanwhile, the federal government would step in to keep households and businesses afloat. But, although the federal government developed a detailed pandemic plan, many stakeholders disagreed about when social distancing might become necessary, and about what should be done during an extended pandemic like the one we are experiencing now. In 2009 and 2013, when epidemiologists warned about the potential for a swine-flu pandemic and a widespread Ebola outbreak, respectively, it seemed as though a sweeping pandemic plan might need to be finalized and acted on. But neither disease turned out to warrant the “nuclear option” of social distancing, and so the working out of a detailed plan, encompassing an initial flattening of the curve and everything that would follow, would have to wait.
As the decade drew to a close, the United States was prepared for a pandemic in some respects and unprepared in others. In October, 2019, a study conducted by the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security ranked the U.S. first in the world in terms of pandemic readiness, in part because of its “robust” health-care system; even so, this was a relative measure, and the researchers took pains to point out that no country was truly prepared. (Despite its over-all ranking, the U.S. ranked nineteenth on measures such as public-health infrastructure and economic resilience.) The Trump Administration exacerbated the problem by disbanding the National Security Council’s pandemic team and defunding various public-health programs. But inattentiveness to the risks of a pandemic preceded Trump: when the millions of masks stored in the federal government’s Strategic National Stockpile were used up, during the 2009 flu pandemic, Congress failed to reappropriate the funds necessary to replenish them.
In retrospect, one of the biggest weaknesses in our pandemic planning was that many infectious-disease experts, including me, focussed on the threat posed by a novel strain of influenza. We feared a repeat of 1918—and yet, because we now have the technology to create and mass-produce a new flu vaccine in only a few months’ time, a flu pandemic isn’t necessarily the worst-case scenario. As we are currently discovering, designing and testing an entirely new vaccine against a never-before-seen infectious disease is a far more uncertain and daunting task. The fact that the novel coronavirus is RNA-based, like H.I.V., intensifies the difficulty. It’s possible that a vaccine will arrive this year—but many experts think that it could be two years or even longer before a safe and effective shot has been developed, tested, manufactured, and made widely available.
The challenge, therefore, isn’t just flattening the curve but keeping it flat—holding the line not for months but for years. In a study published in Science in April, researchers at the Harvard T. H. Chan School of Public Health estimated that, in the absence of a vaccine for the coronavirus, periods of social distancing would be necessary into the year 2022. (Their analysis was, in its own way, optimistic: it incorporated the possibilities of new treatments for COVID-19, increases in I.C.U. capacity, and the spread of durable immunity over time.) The researchers noted that, even after social distancing lets up, governments will need to continue tracking the virus and addressing occasional outbreaks. In that sense, there’s a good chance that the pandemic may not be over until 2024.
Some countries have adjusted their plans to match these timelines. The German government has established a standard that allows communities to reopen, close up again, and then re-reopen. If, in the course of a week, a community detects more than fifty new coronavirus cases per hundred thousand people, then social distancing measures are reinstated; the same thing happens if the virus’s “reproduction number”— which measures the average number of non-immune individuals whom someone with the coronavirus is likely to infect—exceeds one. This plan allows Germany to reopen in a measured, cautious, data-driven way, and to retreat when the virus threatens to reach an inflection point, beyond which it will begin spreading so fast that it becomes nearly impossible to contain. Most Germans accept that this system, and the restrictions it requires, will remain in place until there is a vaccine or another transformative treatment.
And yet, here in the United States, keeping our curve flat will require more than the establishment of a conservative target for new cases. The challenges facing us are vast and, in some respects, unique. Unlike New Zealand, Iceland, Taiwan, and the other island nations that have succeeded in controlling the virus, ours is a huge country with decentralized political and public-health systems. A state that succeeds in containing the virus can be reinfected by its less successful neighbors. Our politics are divisive, our President is obstructionist, and a wide swath of Americans doubt what scientists say and resist public-health mandates as a matter of principle. Even those Americans who take the virus seriously are not accustomed to thinking about disease as a social issue. During flu epidemics, Japanese citizens are quick to self-isolate, put on masks, keep their children out of school, and stay home from work. In the U.S., we’re used to going to work even when we’re sick and to sending our sniffling children off to school. Scattered, leaderless, and misinformed, we are not necessarily in a position to succeed.


newyorker--2020-08-06--Making Peace with My Summer Neighbor

Making Peace with My Summer Neighbor

Recently , New York City gave car owners a break , rolling back the street-sweeping times to just once a week .
If a sign says “ No Parking Tues. & Fri. 7:30 AM – 8 AM , ” you move your car only on the latter day .
This revision means the streets are dirtier , but I never noticed that they were any cleaner after a street-sweeper went by .
For years , twice a week I sat in my car in Manhattan , waiting tensely for the yellow-flashing lights of the broom to appear in the rearview @ @ @ @ @ @ @ start our engines and maneuver across the street and repeat the maneuver in reverse when the street-sweeper had passed , a ballet of Sentras and Infinitis .
In Rockaway Beach , where I spend the summer , the parking is easier , except on weekends when the weather is good , and then a spot is hard to find .
Neighborhoods in the West End have regulations that discourage what are known as D.F.D.s ( Down for the Days ) : no parking Saturday , Sunday , and holidays , May through September @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 11:30 A.M. to 1 P.M. on one side of the street and Tuesdays 11:30 A.M. to 1 P.M. on the other .
You just have to remember what day of the week it is .
In case you forget , everybody knows your car and if you haven ’ t moved it and it ’ s almost eleven-thirty on a Tuesday , a neighbor will come to your door to remind you .
Sometimes the car watch is a bit too intimate .
The other day at the deli , I borrowed a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ my beer and pretzels , and he told me that I had rust on my rear end .
Some years ago , a guy who devotes a lot of time and ingenuity to maintaining his curb space moved onto the block .
He has a black S.U.V .
with a Semper Fi decal , signalling his service in the U.S. Marine Corps , and a wheelchair lift hitched to the back , on which he occasionally straps something he is trying to sell , as when he recently hung a “ For Sale @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a thing of glass and steel prongs with a heating element .
He also has a motorcycle , which he has been known to park parallel instead of perpendicular , setting up an orange traffic cone on either side and leaving just enough diabolical space between the cone and the next car to discourage anyone who covets the spot .
( We neighbors know from experience not to nudge one of his cones .
He is not doing anything illegal . )
Often he attaches a homemade trailer or wagon to the motorcycle @ @ @ @ @ @ @ When he wants to take out his S.U.V.
, he stretches out the chain from the motorcycle to the wagon and re-spaces the cones for maximum curb coverage .
On his return , he compacts the convoy again and voilà—a parking space .
In my kinder moods , I try to understand that my neighbor can ’ t help it : his military background has programmed him to occupy the block .
His treasures have long overflowed the property he rents , so he finds ways to store things on other people ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ back door is a motley collection of shovels and hand trucks and scrap lumber and sheet-metal ducts and lattice remnants , traffic cones , water jugs , and—oh , yes—a rain barrel and several trash cans , for recycling and so-called regular garbage .
Earlier in the summer , I was having a new roof put on my house , and the roofers said , “ Talk to your neighbors .
Tell them to clear out the space between the houses.
” They made it sound so easy .
The bungalows are maybe @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have a system of draping tarps between them in a U-shape to catch the old shingles and make it easier to clean up .
I gave my neighbor a week ’ s notice .
“ Roofers are coming next Monday , and it would be best if you cleaned your stuff out from between the houses , ” I said .
“ I ’ m not moving anything , ” he said .
“ Then the roofers will move it , ” I said .
“ Nobody touches my stuff , ” he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ As for the neighbor himself , he is bald-headed , and his upper body is covered in tattoos , like Queequeg .
Everyone calls him Spider .
For the past few seasons , he and I have had an uneasy truce : I wouldn ’ t complain about his junk and he wouldn ’ t complain about my garden .
Years ago , I planted Jerusalem artichokes , and they come back thicker every year and grow into trees before blossoming in the fall with dazzling tiny Italian sunflowers .
They help improve @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they get in his way .
I have sometimes , perhaps unfairly , suspected him of planticide—the tallest , most annoying stalk was once snapped off near the ground , and one stand mysteriously withered while another stayed healthy—and he does have one of those bottles with a wand and nozzle , like an exterminator .
I erected what defenses I could : I bought bamboo shades and hung them on the porch—as many bamboo shades as I could find , but it still wasn ’ t enough , because Trump had imposed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ few years ago , Spider occupied a vacant corner lot and started charging beachgoers to park there .
I actually thought this was clever .
The lot was owned by an absentee landlord , so it was no skin off anybody ’ s nose .
Still , someone reported the parking operation .
Spider ’ s response was to cordon off the lot with a rope and hang a sign on it that said “ No Parking.
” The day before the roofers came , I was cleaning up the back of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Spider about the roofers .
I was shaking sawdust off a coil of rope when he came in from the street and said , “ That ’ s not yours.
” It isn ’ t ?
I stood there with the rope in my hand , holding a vivid memory of my sister , who used that rope for work when she was in the tree-climbing business ; she left it in Rockaway when she brought me some furniture from our late parents ’ house , in Cleveland , before selling the house @ @ @ @ @ @ @ offered the rope to Spider .
Perhaps he had rightly perceived that a person of my description would not know what to do with such a fine coil of rope .
Then he realized his mistake and backed down : he thought I had taken the rope from between the houses , where he keeps his snow shovels and traps and tanks and panels of aluminum siding that would make noise if stepped on by a raccoon or some other intruder .
“ I apologize , ” he said .
“ When I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Wow , wrongfully accused .
I offered him the rope again , but he said he didn ’ t need it .
We both went back to our jobs , me weeding and sweeping , him hosing off a scrap of plastic lattice .
Neighbors went by and exchanged friendly greetings with him .
I started to feel envious .
Was I the only one on the block who had trouble with Spider ?
I waited until my chore was done before speaking to him , so in case anything went wrong I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
When the black plastic garbage bag was tied up and ready to haul out to the street , I locked eyes with my neighbor and said , “ Tomorrow , the roofers are coming .
”

Recently, New York City gave car owners a break, rolling back the street-sweeping times to just once a week. If a sign says “No Parking Tues. & Fri. 7:30 AM – 8 AM,” you move your car only on the latter day. This revision means the streets are dirtier, but I never noticed that they were any cleaner after a street-sweeper went by. For years, twice a week I sat in my car in Manhattan, waiting tensely for the yellow-flashing lights of the broom to appear in the rearview mirror. My fellow-parkers and I would start our engines and maneuver across the street and repeat the maneuver in reverse when the street-sweeper had passed, a ballet of Sentras and Infinitis.
In Rockaway Beach, where I spend the summer, the parking is easier, except on weekends when the weather is good, and then a spot is hard to find. Neighborhoods in the West End have regulations that discourage what are known as D.F.D.s (Down for the Days): no parking Saturday, Sunday, and holidays, May through September. My block is leisurely: Mondays 11:30 A.M. to 1 P.M. on one side of the street and Tuesdays 11:30 A.M. to 1 P.M. on the other. You just have to remember what day of the week it is. In case you forget, everybody knows your car and if you haven’t moved it and it’s almost eleven-thirty on a Tuesday, a neighbor will come to your door to remind you. Sometimes the car watch is a bit too intimate. The other day at the deli, I borrowed a dollar from a neighbor to pay for my beer and pretzels, and he told me that I had rust on my rear end.
Some years ago, a guy who devotes a lot of time and ingenuity to maintaining his curb space moved onto the block. He has a black S.U.V. with a Semper Fi decal, signalling his service in the U.S. Marine Corps, and a wheelchair lift hitched to the back, on which he occasionally straps something he is trying to sell, as when he recently hung a “For Sale” sign on a pizza warmer, a thing of glass and steel prongs with a heating element. He also has a motorcycle, which he has been known to park parallel instead of perpendicular, setting up an orange traffic cone on either side and leaving just enough diabolical space between the cone and the next car to discourage anyone who covets the spot. (We neighbors know from experience not to nudge one of his cones. He is not doing anything illegal.) Often he attaches a homemade trailer or wagon to the motorcycle and uses it for street storage. When he wants to take out his S.U.V., he stretches out the chain from the motorcycle to the wagon and re-spaces the cones for maximum curb coverage. On his return, he compacts the convoy again and voilà—a parking space.
In my kinder moods, I try to understand that my neighbor can’t help it: his military background has programmed him to occupy the block. His treasures have long overflowed the property he rents, so he finds ways to store things on other people’s property. The view from my back door is a motley collection of shovels and hand trucks and scrap lumber and sheet-metal ducts and lattice remnants, traffic cones, water jugs, and—oh, yes—a rain barrel and several trash cans, for recycling and so-called regular garbage.
Earlier in the summer, I was having a new roof put on my house, and the roofers said, “Talk to your neighbors. Tell them to clear out the space between the houses.” They made it sound so easy. The bungalows are maybe four feet apart, and the roofers have a system of draping tarps between them in a U-shape to catch the old shingles and make it easier to clean up. I gave my neighbor a week’s notice. “Roofers are coming next Monday, and it would be best if you cleaned your stuff out from between the houses,” I said.
“I’m not moving anything,” he said.
“Then the roofers will move it,” I said.
“Nobody touches my stuff,” he said.
So that went well.
As for the neighbor himself, he is bald-headed, and his upper body is covered in tattoos, like Queequeg. Everyone calls him Spider. For the past few seasons, he and I have had an uneasy truce: I wouldn’t complain about his junk and he wouldn’t complain about my garden. Years ago, I planted Jerusalem artichokes, and they come back thicker every year and grow into trees before blossoming in the fall with dazzling tiny Italian sunflowers. They help improve my view and torment the neighbor because they get in his way. I have sometimes, perhaps unfairly, suspected him of planticide—the tallest, most annoying stalk was once snapped off near the ground, and one stand mysteriously withered while another stayed healthy—and he does have one of those bottles with a wand and nozzle, like an exterminator. I erected what defenses I could: I bought bamboo shades and hung them on the porch—as many bamboo shades as I could find, but it still wasn’t enough, because Trump had imposed tariffs on imports from China.
A few years ago, Spider occupied a vacant corner lot and started charging beachgoers to park there. I actually thought this was clever. The lot was owned by an absentee landlord, so it was no skin off anybody’s nose. Still, someone reported the parking operation. Spider’s response was to cordon off the lot with a rope and hang a sign on it that said “No Parking.”
The day before the roofers came, I was cleaning up the back of the house and wondering how best to remind Spider about the roofers. I was shaking sawdust off a coil of rope when he came in from the street and said, “That’s not yours.” It isn’t? I stood there with the rope in my hand, holding a vivid memory of my sister, who used that rope for work when she was in the tree-climbing business; she left it in Rockaway when she brought me some furniture from our late parents’ house, in Cleveland, before selling the house and moving to the Netherlands. I offered the rope to Spider. Perhaps he had rightly perceived that a person of my description would not know what to do with such a fine coil of rope. Then he realized his mistake and backed down: he thought I had taken the rope from between the houses, where he keeps his snow shovels and traps and tanks and panels of aluminum siding that would make noise if stepped on by a raccoon or some other intruder. “I apologize,” he said. “When I’m wrong, I apologize.”
Wow, wrongfully accused. I offered him the rope again, but he said he didn’t need it. We both went back to our jobs, me weeding and sweeping, him hosing off a scrap of plastic lattice. Neighbors went by and exchanged friendly greetings with him. I started to feel envious. Was I the only one on the block who had trouble with Spider?
I waited until my chore was done before speaking to him, so in case anything went wrong I could get the hell out of there. When the black plastic garbage bag was tied up and ready to haul out to the street, I locked eyes with my neighbor and said, “Tomorrow, the roofers are coming.”
He cupped his ear. Spider has told me that he doesn’t hear well—I assume he lost his hearing in service to his country—and not being able to hear is good cover for not wanting to listen. I tried again, making a broad gesture to the roof and saying, “Roofers. Tomorrow.”


newyorker--2020-08-06--“Mr. President, What Are Your Priorities?” Is Not a Tough Question

It was not supposed to be a trick question , or even all that tricky .
For any other candidate , it would have been the softest of softballs , the slowest of pitches .
But when the Fox News host Ainsley Earhardt asked Donald Trump the other morning , “ Mr .
President , what is your second-term agenda ?
What are your top priorities ?
, ” his inability to answer was one of the most revealing moments of his reëlection campaign so far .
“ I want to take where we left , ” Trump said .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ ever , ” he added , wistfully conjuring the booming pre-pandemic America of his fantasies , where everybody had a job and the stock market was great .
Facing uncontrolled death from the coronavirus and an economy that is cratering because of it , Trump is desperate for a do-over .
Other than that , he had pretty much nothing to say about why he should be elected to a second term , although he took more than three hundred words to say it .
The bottom line seemed to be that Trump @ @ @ @ @ @ @ jobs ” and of stopping U.S. allies , especially Germany , from “ ripping us off.
” And that ’ s it .
This painful exchange , which even the Fox hosts eventually cut off , after a few cringe-inducing minutes , was little noted among the many whoppers , distortions , and outrages offered up by Trump this week .
It wasn ’ t even the big news out of that particular Fox interview , the coverage of which rightfully focussed on the President ’ s absurd claims that the coronavirus is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ schools should reopen because children are “ almost immune ” to COVID-19 .
Throughout the week , Trump ’ s near-delusional state about the pandemic has been on awkward display , most notably in his instant classic of an interview with the Axios journalist Jonathan Swan , whose simple but skeptical queries about the virus revealed a President unable to comprehend basic facts about the public-health crisis or devise a national plan for combatting it .
“ It is what it is , ” Trump told Swan , when asked about the large @ @ @ @ @ @ @ line that may well go down as one of his most chillingly callous .
But Trump ’ s struggle to answer such an important and straightforward question about what he would do in a second term should not be overlooked , because it goes to the heart of why his campaign— and the country that he nominally governs—is in such trouble .
As an incumbent , Trump is certainly in a bind : he can hardly campaign on his record , when the United States is in the midst of the worst economic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to a hundred and sixty thousand Americans are dead of the coronavirus .
There ’ s only so much blame that Trump can deflect ; this is a catastrophe that happened on his watch , and—no matter how many times he calls it the “ China virus ” or warns Americans that Joe Biden will turn the country into a godless hellscape—he knows it .
Trump ’ s vapid answer is more than a reflection of a political-messaging dilemma—it ’ s a sign of decline , both in terms of the President ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ simple query and as a warning for American democracy , given that such a large segment of the electorate apparently finds it acceptable to support a leader whose only campaign selling point is himself .
Is Trump ’ s inability to come up with something to say about the next four years a reflection of the fact that even he thinks he is going to lose ?
Perhaps , but it ’ s also a measure of how far Trump has descended into full “ l ’ état , c ’ est moi @ @ @ @ @ @ @ offering even a hint of a program is a sure indicator of at least aspirational authoritarianism .
The Trump of four years ago was a far more conventional candidate , at least in this one sense .
He had a slogan of making America great again , and a platform , however objectionable or unrealistic , that went with it .
He made campaign promises .
He repeated them over and over .
Some were highly specific and executable , and could even be said to constitute a coherent world view : Barack @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a decadent , globalized élite that is outsourcing your jobs and opening your borders to criminals—I will do the opposite .
In the fall of 2016 , Trump gave a speech called a “ Contract with the American Voter , ” in which he promised to withdraw from the Obama-era multinational trade pact called the Trans-Pacific Partnership , to exit the Paris climate accord , and to approve the controversial Keystone XL oil pipeline from Canada , all of which he did after he took office .
One politically useful , and highly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the 2016 campaign was to assure conservatives that he would pick federal judges and Supreme Court Justices from a Federalist Society-approved list .
He stuck to that , too .
Of course , Trump made myriad other promises in 2016—and since—that he has not fulfilled , from building a border wall that Mexico would pay for , to revitalizing the American coal industry , to cutting middle-class taxes by thirty-five per cent and increasing G.D.P .
by up to six per cent a year .
None has happened , nor will they , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is that he offered voters at least a semblance of an agenda .
Once he took office , the campaign promises served as a constraint of sorts on a President who has had very few of them .
Steve Bannon , who helped Trump win election and who controversially served as his chief strategist for part of 2017 , was photographed in his White House office with a whiteboard that listed such Trump “ pledges.
” In his pre-coronavirus campaign-style rallies , Trump often spoke of his “ promises made , promises kept.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s determined absence of a second-term agenda as he campaigns now so striking .
Remember : Trump knows these questions are coming , and he still has nothing to say .
It ’ s not a mistake at this point , or a flub : it ’ s on purpose .
In several previous interviews , in fact , Trump has been asked a version of the second-term question .
Every time , he has stumbled .
In late June , he told his Fox friend and confidant Sean Hannity that he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ experience , ” in a hundred-and-forty-word salad of an answer .
Given another chance a few days later , by the Sinclair Broadcast Group ’ s Eric Bolling , Trump still could not respond , finally settling on the vague formulation that “ we ’ ve done a lot , but we have a lot of things we can do.
” Even now , more than a month later , Trump has not come up with a better answer , leading to the conclusion that he is either incapable of producing one or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is just as worrisome—he may feel no need to , confident that his loyal Republican base , which has not wavered through impeachment , plague , and recession , will support him no matter what he says and does .
Recent polls confirm this : Trump ’ s approval rating today remains around forty per cent among the U.S. electorate , which is almost exactly what it has been for the vast majority of his tenure as President .
Whatever the reasons , it appears that Trump is not even pretending anymore .

It was not supposed to be a trick question, or even all that tricky. For any other candidate, it would have been the softest of softballs, the slowest of pitches. But when the Fox News host Ainsley Earhardt asked Donald Trump the other morning, “Mr. President, what is your second-term agenda? What are your top priorities?,” his inability to answer was one of the most revealing moments of his reëlection campaign so far. “I want to take where we left,” Trump said. “We were better than we were ever,” he added, wistfully conjuring the booming pre-pandemic America of his fantasies, where everybody had a job and the stock market was great. Facing uncontrolled death from the coronavirus and an economy that is cratering because of it, Trump is desperate for a do-over. Other than that, he had pretty much nothing to say about why he should be elected to a second term, although he took more than three hundred words to say it. The bottom line seemed to be that Trump is promising four more years of “jobs” and of stopping U.S. allies, especially Germany, from “ripping us off.” And that’s it.
This painful exchange, which even the Fox hosts eventually cut off, after a few cringe-inducing minutes, was little noted among the many whoppers, distortions, and outrages offered up by Trump this week. It wasn’t even the big news out of that particular Fox interview, the coverage of which rightfully focussed on the President’s absurd claims that the coronavirus is just “going away” and that schools should reopen because children are “almost immune” to COVID-19. Throughout the week, Trump’s near-delusional state about the pandemic has been on awkward display, most notably in his instant classic of an interview with the Axios journalist Jonathan Swan, whose simple but skeptical queries about the virus revealed a President unable to comprehend basic facts about the public-health crisis or devise a national plan for combatting it. “It is what it is,” Trump told Swan, when asked about the large, and growing, American death toll—a line that may well go down as one of his most chillingly callous.
But Trump’s struggle to answer such an important and straightforward question about what he would do in a second term should not be overlooked, because it goes to the heart of why his campaign—and the country that he nominally governs—is in such trouble. As an incumbent, Trump is certainly in a bind: he can hardly campaign on his record, when the United States is in the midst of the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression and close to a hundred and sixty thousand Americans are dead of the coronavirus. There’s only so much blame that Trump can deflect; this is a catastrophe that happened on his watch, and—no matter how many times he calls it the “China virus” or warns Americans that Joe Biden will turn the country into a godless hellscape—he knows it.
Trump’s vapid answer is more than a reflection of a political-messaging dilemma—it’s a sign of decline, both in terms of the President’s ability to respond cogently to a simple query and as a warning for American democracy, given that such a large segment of the electorate apparently finds it acceptable to support a leader whose only campaign selling point is himself. Is Trump’s inability to come up with something to say about the next four years a reflection of the fact that even he thinks he is going to lose? Perhaps, but it’s also a measure of how far Trump has descended into full “l’état, c’est moi”-ism. Running for reëlection without offering even a hint of a program is a sure indicator of at least aspirational authoritarianism.
The Trump of four years ago was a far more conventional candidate, at least in this one sense. He had a slogan of making America great again, and a platform, however objectionable or unrealistic, that went with it. He made campaign promises. He repeated them over and over. Some were highly specific and executable, and could even be said to constitute a coherent world view: Barack Obama was a terrible President who represented a decadent, globalized élite that is outsourcing your jobs and opening your borders to criminals—I will do the opposite. In the fall of 2016, Trump gave a speech called a “Contract with the American Voter,” in which he promised to withdraw from the Obama-era multinational trade pact called the Trans-Pacific Partnership, to exit the Paris climate accord, and to approve the controversial Keystone XL oil pipeline from Canada, all of which he did after he took office. One politically useful, and highly concrete, promise that Trump made during the 2016 campaign was to assure conservatives that he would pick federal judges and Supreme Court Justices from a Federalist Society-approved list. He stuck to that, too.
Of course, Trump made myriad other promises in 2016—and since—that he has not fulfilled, from building a border wall that Mexico would pay for, to revitalizing the American coal industry, to cutting middle-class taxes by thirty-five per cent and increasing G.D.P. by up to six per cent a year. None has happened, nor will they, now or ever. But the point is that he offered voters at least a semblance of an agenda. Once he took office, the campaign promises served as a constraint of sorts on a President who has had very few of them. Steve Bannon, who helped Trump win election and who controversially served as his chief strategist for part of 2017, was photographed in his White House office with a whiteboard that listed such Trump “pledges.” In his pre-coronavirus campaign-style rallies, Trump often spoke of his “promises made, promises kept.”
All of which makes the President’s determined absence of a second-term agenda as he campaigns now so striking. Remember: Trump knows these questions are coming, and he still has nothing to say. It’s not a mistake at this point, or a flub: it’s on purpose. In several previous interviews, in fact, Trump has been asked a version of the second-term question. Every time, he has stumbled. In late June, he told his Fox friend and confidant Sean Hannity that he should be reëlected because of his “experience,” in a hundred-and-forty-word salad of an answer. Given another chance a few days later, by the Sinclair Broadcast Group’s Eric Bolling, Trump still could not respond, finally settling on the vague formulation that “we’ve done a lot, but we have a lot of things we can do.” Even now, more than a month later, Trump has not come up with a better answer, leading to the conclusion that he is either incapable of producing one or unwilling to do so. Or—and this is just as worrisome—he may feel no need to, confident that his loyal Republican base, which has not wavered through impeachment, plague, and recession, will support him no matter what he says and does. Recent polls confirm this: Trump’s approval rating today remains around forty per cent among the U.S. electorate, which is almost exactly what it has been for the vast majority of his tenure as President. Whatever the reasons, it appears that Trump is not even pretending anymore.
Were Trump to defy the odds, which at this point strongly favor Biden in November, he would likely become even more unconstrained than he has been in his first term. Who could dare question someone who managed to pull off two of the biggest political upsets in American history? What would Trump do knowing that he would never have to face voters again, that he would go down in history as only a winner? Whatever else he chose to do, it’s a virtual certainty that, without a new electoral opponent to demonize, Trump would have to create a new enemy or enemies to combat. He thrives on conflict, and we can easily speculate about whom he would target. The “enemies of the people” in the press, perhaps, who have been so unfair to him? The “so-called allies,” such as Germany and South Korea, on whose defense America spends so much? Winning when no one expects him to would surely embolden Trump to back up his inflammatory rhetoric with inflammatory action. Would he go even further than withdrawing troops from NATO-ally nations and take on the coalition itself? Accommodate Russia? Make a bad deal with North Korea? His former national-security adviser John Bolton thinks so and has been publicly warning about it. But we don’t really know—and that’s the point. Having promised the American people nothing, Trump would therefore be accountable for nothing, which is the reason that it’s usually Presidents in pretend democracies who get away with this sort of thing.
Still, history suggests that running on a platform of one’s own wonderful self is a recipe for defeat. When the television journalist Roger Mudd asked Ted Kennedy why he wanted to run for President, in 1979, Kennedy’s long-winded answer about “complex issues” and his desire to see a “sense of restoration in this country by its people in dealing with the problems that we face” was seen as a knockout blow to a candidacy that he had yet to announce. It was a clarifying moment, and not in a good way, for an entitled scion who seemed to regard the Presidency as a birthright more than a mission. Trump’s blathering non-answers to this simple question are just as illuminating, although they may not prove as consequential to his prospects as Kennedy’s screwup was to his.
By the end of August, to be sure, Trump’s advisers will have to come up with something a bit more concrete. When he delivers his speech accepting the Republican nomination, the President will have at least to pretend to be running in order to accomplish something. So far, there’s been more attention paid to the dilemma of where he will give the speech—no easy matter, it should be said, in the midst of a pandemic that has forced him to cancel two variations of an in-person convention—than to what he will say in it. Whatever words appear on the teleprompter, and whether Trump speaks from the White House lawn or not, the truth is that we already know the President’s program for the next four years, because it is the same as the one he has had for the last four years. The platform is Trump. It always has been.


newyorker--2020-08-06--It Really Is Time to Get Rid of the Filibuster

Joe Biden served in the Senate for more than thirty years , and he became an eager custodian of its traditions , including the filibuster .
In theory , the filibuster allows a single senator to speak from the floor and extend debate until sixty senators vote to shut him or her down .
Biden told me his views on the filibuster in 2005 , when I wrote a story about Republican efforts to limit the practice so that the Senate could confirm George W. Bush ’ s nominees to the federal bench .
Biden said that the Senate remained @ @ @ @ @ @ @ slow things down and make sure that a minority gets a voice .
The chance to filibuster is what makes the difference between this body and the other one ” —that is , the House of Representatives .
In our conversation , he recalled what he described as a more functional era in the government .
“ Let me tell you how we did it in the Reagan Administration , ” Biden , who chaired the Senate Judiciary Committee for several of those years , said .
“ They came to me and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ nominate , and I ’ d say , ‘ You ’ re going to have a problem with this one or that one ’ —maybe a dozen out of the hundreds of judges that Reagan appointed .
And I ’ d say , ‘ If you want to push that guy , all the others will wait in line behind him.
’ And the problems generally were removed .
We did business that way for years , and it worked .
Now this crowd wants to shove everything down our throats .
They @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
So we escalated with the filibusters .
And they escalate with the nuclear option ” —that is , the abolition of the filibuster .
In 2005 , Democrats and Republicans in the Senate compromised .
Bush got most ( but not all ) of his judicial nominees confirmed , and the Democrats held on to the filibuster as a legislative tool .
But the use of the filibuster , which was once rare , became a routine part of Senate procedure .
( Filibusters no longer necessarily involve extended speeches on the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ practice , if a senator announces his or her intention to filibuster , the Senate simply moves on to other business . )
In recent years , filibusters have become so routine that it ’ s often been said , in a kind of understandable shorthand , that it takes sixty votes to pass legislation .
Today , in fact , it mostly does .
The filibuster has been under bipartisan assault for some time .
The practice survived the 2005 standoff , but in Barack Obama ’ s second term , Harry @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Senate Majority Leader , abolished its use against the nomination of most Administration officials and lower-court judges .
In 2017 , Mitch McConnell , as the Republican Senate Majority Leader , won the abolition of the filibuster in the review of Supreme Court nominees , paving the way for the confirmation of Neil Gorsuch .
In other words , the filibuster now survives only as a vehicle to derail legislation—and precisely the kind of ambitious legislation that Biden hopes to pass if elected President .
Democrats have a decent chance of winning a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but it ’ s extremely unlikely that they will win sixty seats .
So , under the current rules , the Republicans would be able to stymie the Democratic agenda with forty-plus votes .
The very existence of the Senate is an affront to democracy .
California , with forty million people , and Wyoming , with five hundred and seventy-nine thousand , are both represented by two senators .
But the filibuster is an even more egregious insult to the principle of majority rule .
It gives veto power to forty-one senators @ @ @ @ @ @ @ forty per cent of the population .
( Even though the Democratic caucus in the Senate includes only forty-seven members , they represent many more people than the Republican majority . )
It is true that the Framers intended the Senate to be a slower-moving institution than the House—the cooling saucer , in George Washington ’ s perhaps apocryphal phrase—but there is no evidence that the Framers wanted paralysis .
Several Democratic senators , such as Jeff Merkley , of Oregon , have been agitating against the filibuster for some time ; and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , of West Virginia , have expressed skepticism about the idea of abolishing it .
The risk , of course , in doing away with the filibuster is that it may turn around and hurt the party that sponsored its demise if that party ’ s political fortunes change .
In the first two years of Donald Trump ’ s Presidency , when Republicans also controlled the Senate and House , Senate Democrats found much to admire in the filibuster rules , and they employed them with regularity .
But it ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ needs to go .
Ultimately , filibusters are always going to hurt Democrats more than Republicans , because Democrats are the party of activist government .
Democrats , as a rule , want more new laws than Republicans do , and the filibuster will always serve to thwart change .
During this campaign , Biden himself has come to recognize that the filibuster has become a toxic force in government .
( Barack Obama , also a former senator , recently joined the call to end the practice . )
Abolishing the filibuster @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but it ’ s one worth taking for the simplest of reasons : it ’ s the right thing to do .

Joe Biden served in the Senate for more than thirty years, and he became an eager custodian of its traditions, including the filibuster. In theory, the filibuster allows a single senator to speak from the floor and extend debate until sixty senators vote to shut him or her down. Biden told me his views on the filibuster in 2005, when I wrote a story about Republican efforts to limit the practice so that the Senate could confirm George W. Bush’s nominees to the federal bench. Biden said that the Senate remained a place where “you can always slow things down and make sure that a minority gets a voice. The chance to filibuster is what makes the difference between this body and the other one”—that is, the House of Representatives. In our conversation, he recalled what he described as a more functional era in the government. “Let me tell you how we did it in the Reagan Administration,” Biden, who chaired the Senate Judiciary Committee for several of those years, said. “They came to me and told me whom they were going to nominate, and I’d say, ‘You’re going to have a problem with this one or that one’—maybe a dozen out of the hundreds of judges that Reagan appointed. And I’d say, ‘If you want to push that guy, all the others will wait in line behind him.’ And the problems generally were removed. We did business that way for years, and it worked. Now this crowd wants to shove everything down our throats. They don’t pull back on anybody. So we escalated with the filibusters. And they escalate with the nuclear option”—that is, the abolition of the filibuster.
In 2005, Democrats and Republicans in the Senate compromised. Bush got most (but not all) of his judicial nominees confirmed, and the Democrats held on to the filibuster as a legislative tool. But the use of the filibuster, which was once rare, became a routine part of Senate procedure. (Filibusters no longer necessarily involve extended speeches on the Senate floor. Rather, in current practice, if a senator announces his or her intention to filibuster, the Senate simply moves on to other business.) In recent years, filibusters have become so routine that it’s often been said, in a kind of understandable shorthand, that it takes sixty votes to pass legislation. Today, in fact, it mostly does.
The filibuster has been under bipartisan assault for some time. The practice survived the 2005 standoff, but in Barack Obama’s second term, Harry Reid, who was then the Democratic Senate Majority Leader, abolished its use against the nomination of most Administration officials and lower-court judges. In 2017, Mitch McConnell, as the Republican Senate Majority Leader, won the abolition of the filibuster in the review of Supreme Court nominees, paving the way for the confirmation of Neil Gorsuch. In other words, the filibuster now survives only as a vehicle to derail legislation—and precisely the kind of ambitious legislation that Biden hopes to pass if elected President. Democrats have a decent chance of winning a majority in the Senate in November, but it’s extremely unlikely that they will win sixty seats. So, under the current rules, the Republicans would be able to stymie the Democratic agenda with forty-plus votes.
The very existence of the Senate is an affront to democracy. California, with forty million people, and Wyoming, with five hundred and seventy-nine thousand, are both represented by two senators. But the filibuster is an even more egregious insult to the principle of majority rule. It gives veto power to forty-one senators who may well represent significantly less than forty per cent of the population. (Even though the Democratic caucus in the Senate includes only forty-seven members, they represent many more people than the Republican majority.) It is true that the Framers intended the Senate to be a slower-moving institution than the House—the cooling saucer, in George Washington’s perhaps apocryphal phrase—but there is no evidence that the Framers wanted paralysis. Several Democratic senators, such as Jeff Merkley, of Oregon, have been agitating against the filibuster for some time; and some moderates, such as Joe Manchin, of West Virginia, have expressed skepticism about the idea of abolishing it. The risk, of course, in doing away with the filibuster is that it may turn around and hurt the party that sponsored its demise if that party’s political fortunes change. In the first two years of Donald Trump’s Presidency, when Republicans also controlled the Senate and House, Senate Democrats found much to admire in the filibuster rules, and they employed them with regularity.
But it’s past time to recognize that the filibuster needs to go. Ultimately, filibusters are always going to hurt Democrats more than Republicans, because Democrats are the party of activist government. Democrats, as a rule, want more new laws than Republicans do, and the filibuster will always serve to thwart change. During this campaign, Biden himself has come to recognize that the filibuster has become a toxic force in government. (Barack Obama, also a former senator, recently joined the call to end the practice.) Abolishing the filibuster is certainly a risk for Democrats, but it’s one worth taking for the simplest of reasons: it’s the right thing to do.