​LIVING IN THE MATERIAL WORLD

I’d rather have a memory than a dream.

Wisdom Wherever You Find It
 
I’d rather have a memory than a dream.    Leonard Feather and Bob Russell
 
Sarah Vaughn sang the ballad with this name (and first lyric). It was written by two Jewish guys who went on to have better careers than this modest song might have predicted. (Feather was a renown jazz critic and Russell eventually wrote “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” for the Hollies.) I never would have heard of the song were it not for baseball legend Buck O’Neill, but that’s a story for another column.
 
The song is about love, as you might expect. I’d rather have a memory than a dream; I’d rather have your kisses than your smiles. And so forth. As romantic as the sentiments are, they stand in contrast to other aspirations that are familiar to me.
 
A dream, after all, looks forward. A memory is, by definition, in the past. Anyone who has nurtured a dream knows how idealized it can become, especially if the dreamer holds it, unrealized, for a long time. As a Zionist (BTW, if you object to that word, get over it), I know that the dream of thousands of years for Jews to be a free people in their own land found its most pithy expression in the words attributed to the man credited with founding modern Zionism, Theodor Herzl.  In the 19th century, he called on activists to believe, im tirtzu ein zo aggadah. The highly interpretive translation into English is commonly “if you will it, it is no dream.”
 
And so dream they did. The socialists dreamed of a socialist state. The militarists dreamed of a power state. The religious folk (who allowed themselves to dream) dreamed of a spiritual heaven on earth. And so forth and so on. As long as there was only the dream, the homeland for the long-dispossessed Jewish people was perfect.
 
But we all know that even at Disneyworld, even after wishing upon a star, dreams never exactly come true. The State of Israel has as imperfect a reality as any other nation, past or present or likely future. There are aspects of the variegated society that are beyond the fulfillment of wildest dreams. There are aspects that are closer to nightmares. And then there is the complicated question of ensuring the fulfillment of the dreams of the Palestinian people (BTW, if you object to that notion, get over it) who lay claim to the same land and human rights.
 
The person who claims “I’d rather have a memory than a dream” lives in a moment after awakening and before fulfillment. They live in that moment between the smile and the kiss, when everything is possible, and nothing has yet happened. In other words, they live in the present, romanticizing the aspiration of Feather and Russell. (In fact, when I get around to my Buck O’Neill quotation, you will see that even he messed with Mr. In-between.)
 
It's the sad person who gives up the dream once they have the memory. There is only heartbreak in demanding the perfect in an imperfect world. The word translated as “dream” in Herzl’s formulation really means “story,” a Talmudic kind of story that is true even if it is not accurate. It is meant to teach a lesson, to inspire, to illustrate something more important that plain reportage. Herzl, long before “Man of La Mancha,” was encouraging us to dream the possible dream.
 
I will take one moment to contradict myself before signing off. I recently had the privilege to experience the total eclipse of the sun from a rooftop in Cleveland, Ohio. Since I can remember, I have dreamed of seeing the moment of totality, the corona blazing around the darkened moon, the weather changing suddenly, the animals in momentary confusion. At 71, I figured this was one item on my bucket list that I would leave behind. But I found a flight and a place to stay, the skies were clear (enough), and my dream of more than sixty years came true. It was better than I could have imagined. I guess in this case, I’d rather have a memory than a dream.