Jewish Museum of Maryland

I am forever grateful for my Grateful Dead-loving friend Pete.  He had texted me some pictures from the Psychedelicatessen exhibit at the Jewish Museum of Maryland, a psychedelia-themed art exhibit by an artist named Steve Marcus, which merges Jewish culture and psychedelia (including some Grateful Dead references, including Terrapin Station).


I made sure to sport the tie-dye Grateful Dead T-shirt I got at Virginia Beach’s Half Moon Cafe.  The MARC up was soothing as usual.  Waiting for the bus (a la ZZ Top) was not, as it never came.  So I walked; this journey included broken walking signs and a shut-down of a street on my map; it was a long strange trip, for sure.  But I did it make there and was greeted by a nice young lady with a Shabbat tattoo on her arm, who said, “I guessed from your shirt you were here for the exhibit.”  A good assumption to make, but I do have an interest in history, and although I don’t practice Judaism anymore, I do love the history and culture.


Below are a few pictures of the exhibit:

I was in full Deadhead mode, as I had the likes of “Touch of Grey,” “Brokedown Palace,” and “Eyes of the World” piping through my headphones.  But those pictures of knishes and pastrami had me wanting a nice big meal from a nice Jewish deli.  

I explored the rest of the museum, which included an old newsletter called Generations; this periodical consists of stories of Jews who had emigrated to Maryland from the Holocaust, and there were some interesting-looking magazines, including a story with a nod to a rabbi who had never married.  No judgment from the writer, just a statement of fact.  That made me think of Paul, who posited that some are better suited for single hood if they’re serving God.  I’m not religious, but I do believe my single hood has positioned for serving my fellow humans through advocating for those who are single, either by choice or by circumstance.  

There were some cool videos too, including some of musical performances, as well as podcasts that narrated tales of Jewish settling in Maryland.  I was done after about an hour.  When I got out, I saw a building called Weiss’s Deli; I figured I’d just see if they had anything.  The line blocked any possible view of snacks or drinks, so I moved along and passed by Attman’s Deli, the sign of which reflected a true old-school Jewish deli.  It’s a Black neighborhood now, and the deli is quite popular among them.  It was cool to see Blacks and whites working side by side behind the counter and eating together in the nicely decorated dining room.  I’d never had a hot dog with bologna on it, so I figured it would tide me over nicely.  A Doc Brown’s soda is also a requirement in any Jewish deli anywhere.

Afterwards, I rode the Baltimore subway for the first time, which isn’t much different from DC, but I do love subways.  And before the pandemic, I loved writing in coffee shops.  I don’t do it much anymore, but since I was set to meet my friend Alicia at an Italian restaurant called Viccino Italian Gourmet, and I was about an hour early, I thought I’d start this post at Starbucks with more Dead sounds in my ears (live versions of “Walking Blues” and “Terrapin Station,” as well as “Casey Jones” and “Althea,” provided the soundtrack for this round).

Alicia and I then met at a local diner where we held a deep conversation, much of which revolved around being single at heart.  It's always nice to find like-minded folks.