I had a great 50th birthday last week. The highlight was a book Alen put together of writings and pictures from friends and family who have known me in all parts of my life. I guess 50 years is a long time - I was surprised by the range of people who responded and my heart was warmed by the beautiful things people said and sent, including photos of me I don't ever remember seeing.
I have so much gratitude on this birthday. I often say I was 40 years old and did not know if I would have children. In the past decade we've had the kids, bought a home, made so many friends. We've had very sad losses, and I believe that through it all, I have grown.
On Saturday night we had a party at the Kehillah (congregation) that we are part of. Over 100 people came, including a lot of children. I had made a program of songs (which I will send to you on request). Some students from HUC who are connected with our congregation came and played guitar and Mira from the congregation played flute. I had chosen a mixture of Hebrew and English songs that mean something to me. It was a lot of fun singing. I should also mention that people brought wonderful food. It was impressive to me that after almost 11 years here we could pull together such a big group - including some people I've known for 20 or 30 years - from before we moved here. My cousins (distant cousins who live here and in Jerusalem) were there which was great, and many people from work and from all facets of our life here. Sagit from the congregation gave a beautiful blessing, talking about Avigail from the Bible.
I spoke at the party about third places and the importance for me of having a community, the congregation, as a third place in addition to family and work, a place where I and my family can be known by another group. The congregation is really important to me, and at the same time, it has been a humbling experience to work on trying to build it and keep it strong. The challenges of lay leadership are larger than I would have ever thought possible and I am in awe of the people who give their heart and soul to congregations all over the world to build meaningful communities.
If you are reading this and would like to celebrate my birthday with a donation to Kehillat Tzur Hadassah, it will mean a great deal to me and to my family. Thank you to everyone who made this birthday celebration so special - it was a wonderful feeling that I hope will stay with me for the next decade!
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
My Pinkwashed Life
The title of this post is a tip of the nib to Ma Vie En Rose, a great film!
So I heard about Pinkwashing last spring, but it's gotten a lot of press recently with Sarah Shulman's Op Ed in the New York Times.
The basic accusation of pinkwashing is that Israel, seeking to win support of both gay and left-leaning people around the world, touts its record on gay rights to obscure the serious violations of the rights of Palestinians. For a well done example of this kind of PR, see Bret Stephens' video, Will Israel Survive?.
I have two responses to Sarah Shulman and those who accuse Israel of pinkwashing. The first was summed up on my friend Rich's facebook post with the link to her article: No matter what we do, they hate us. I would say it differently like this: When Israel is wrong we're wrong and when we're right we're wrong.
My second response is that of course I agree. Of course gay rights are an incomplete indicator of human rights. I've had ample time to think over the past 11 years about whether it is right that my partner and I took advantage of the benefits allowed us under the law of return and moved here while millions of Palestinians do not have the right of return to this area and while my neighbors across the green line in Wadi Fukin and Husan do not have the right to vote and have limited freedom of movement.
But for me it's not about pinkwashing, it's about reality. It's about my life. And my reality is that my family can't live in the US because my partner and I are a bi-national same sex couple. So gay rights in Israel isn't theory for me, it's fact. It's not something to like or not like, it's something that makes my family life possible. And no David, this is not about my pain. This is about my reality.
The reality is the every country that surrounds Israel has human rights issues. Nothing is black and white, and every country lives with a messy reality. Because Israel is subject to an organized media campaign of de-legitimization, and because Israel cares about its image in the eyes of the western world, for self-serving reasons no doubt, we have people out there making the case for what's good about the reality here. Whether you like that or not, it doesn't make a difference to me. I can't live in the US as a lesbian and I'm here because of the reality of gay rights in Israel.
It's not lost on me that Sarah Shulman is in all likelihood, like myself, a descendant of Sarah Imenu. And perhaps that's a good thing. We are a people with a conscience and our arguments and differences are leshem shamayim. For better or worse, the Jewish people still want Israel to be a light unto the nations and for many people it is love of justice and of the Jewish people and the Jewish tradition that motivates their criticisms of Israel. I would not for one minute want my brothers and sisters to stay silent about what they believe is right. I just ask that they remember that there are people, including gay Palestinians, for whom these issues are not words on a page, are not a matter of spin or of "washing" one way or another. There are many people whose lives are directly impacted by the reality of gay rights here - for the good.
None of us knows where this is all leading - if the decline of women's rights in Israel is any indication, nothing is working out the way we planned. I'm grateful that the anti-gay policies of the US government compelled my family to move to the place where the Jewish tradition and politics are intertwined, where the messy imperfection of reality is the challenge that faces me every day.
So I heard about Pinkwashing last spring, but it's gotten a lot of press recently with Sarah Shulman's Op Ed in the New York Times.
The basic accusation of pinkwashing is that Israel, seeking to win support of both gay and left-leaning people around the world, touts its record on gay rights to obscure the serious violations of the rights of Palestinians. For a well done example of this kind of PR, see Bret Stephens' video, Will Israel Survive?.
I have two responses to Sarah Shulman and those who accuse Israel of pinkwashing. The first was summed up on my friend Rich's facebook post with the link to her article: No matter what we do, they hate us. I would say it differently like this: When Israel is wrong we're wrong and when we're right we're wrong.
My second response is that of course I agree. Of course gay rights are an incomplete indicator of human rights. I've had ample time to think over the past 11 years about whether it is right that my partner and I took advantage of the benefits allowed us under the law of return and moved here while millions of Palestinians do not have the right of return to this area and while my neighbors across the green line in Wadi Fukin and Husan do not have the right to vote and have limited freedom of movement.
But for me it's not about pinkwashing, it's about reality. It's about my life. And my reality is that my family can't live in the US because my partner and I are a bi-national same sex couple. So gay rights in Israel isn't theory for me, it's fact. It's not something to like or not like, it's something that makes my family life possible. And no David, this is not about my pain. This is about my reality.
The reality is the every country that surrounds Israel has human rights issues. Nothing is black and white, and every country lives with a messy reality. Because Israel is subject to an organized media campaign of de-legitimization, and because Israel cares about its image in the eyes of the western world, for self-serving reasons no doubt, we have people out there making the case for what's good about the reality here. Whether you like that or not, it doesn't make a difference to me. I can't live in the US as a lesbian and I'm here because of the reality of gay rights in Israel.
It's not lost on me that Sarah Shulman is in all likelihood, like myself, a descendant of Sarah Imenu. And perhaps that's a good thing. We are a people with a conscience and our arguments and differences are leshem shamayim. For better or worse, the Jewish people still want Israel to be a light unto the nations and for many people it is love of justice and of the Jewish people and the Jewish tradition that motivates their criticisms of Israel. I would not for one minute want my brothers and sisters to stay silent about what they believe is right. I just ask that they remember that there are people, including gay Palestinians, for whom these issues are not words on a page, are not a matter of spin or of "washing" one way or another. There are many people whose lives are directly impacted by the reality of gay rights here - for the good.
None of us knows where this is all leading - if the decline of women's rights in Israel is any indication, nothing is working out the way we planned. I'm grateful that the anti-gay policies of the US government compelled my family to move to the place where the Jewish tradition and politics are intertwined, where the messy imperfection of reality is the challenge that faces me every day.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
What Dad Wrote Me in 1983
Here's some excerpts from two letters I treasure that Dad wrote me in 1983, when I was in Israel for the year. The letters are on two airletters, so there aren't really paragraphs:
My grandfather Burstyn was, I suppose, nominally Orthodox (he was once a mashgiach (is that the word? Kashrut supervisor) on Hamburg-America line ships to the U.S. But I don't recall that they even kept a kosher home when I knew them or went to services. My father essentially gave up Jewish ritual after his bar mitzvah, moving instead into the kinds of Jewish socialism that led to the State of Israel (Mapai) as well as to Bolshevism. He was, I believe, a member of the Arbeiter Ring in his youth in the US. I never heard him utter a word of Hebrew (except maybe the Shma), and I doubt that he would have even joined a synagogue had my mother not come from a religious family. So the religious behavior of my family was conditioned by my mother - - I expect this is true for most families. We did not belong to a synagogue until after my grandfather died in 1940. Before then holidays revolved around the Pezrow...house.
Remember that Aunt Vera lived downstairs with her husband Henry Goldsmith and their son Clifford, in what had been a one-family house, and that Aunt Lil, unmarried, lived at home, as I guess did Uncle Ken until he was married in 1939. My grandfather was a pillar of one of those small, Orthodox synagogues that had never built more than the basement, as short a walk in one direction from his house as his grocery store was in the other. I'll show you the neighborhood sometime if you like. The synagogue had no rabbi in my time, because, my grandfather told me, any of the men could conduct the service and the rabbi was needed only to teach the children, who were then (ca. 1938) all grown up. They did have a cantor, who probably had another occupation. Though I have only the vaguest recollections of going to that synagogue (one of Sukkot where I and some other little boys, also grandchildren, went into the succah with my grandfather who draped his huge tallit over all of us while he read something from a scroll or prayerbook), I obviously imbibed a lot of ritual behavior at that impressionable age...
...I can't remember where I left off. I guess I wanted to say that the rigid, unyielding, narrow orthodoxy of my grandfather could not survive the decline of persecution. And considering that he lost his eldest son (cut off for marrying a shikse [yiddish word for non-Jewish woman- ed.], a story so painful that my mother never told me about it-- [your mother] found out from my aunt before she died), it's not clear to me that his religion did anything for Jewish survival, thus rendering practically as well as morally dubious what I take to be the principal argument for Orthodoxy....
There's more which I'll put in another post. If you are reading this, please pray for more to be revealed about my great-Uncle Jack - the oldest son mentioned above. We've learned so much about him this year and understand more that this was a complicated story. I truly believe that my great grandfather Mendel Pezrow of blessed memory would have done it all differently if he had it all to do over again, and I pray that the coming year will reveal more - G-d willing leading us to know when Uncle Jack died and where he is buried. His birth date was August 1, 1898, and he is remembered in the names of my son Alexander Yakov and his second cousin Jacob. Thanks to the kindness of cousins and strangers, we know the name of the woman Uncle Jack married, Edith, that she had a son, and I've made contact with that son's son. May my great grandfather and Uncle Jack's memories be for a blessing.
My grandfather Burstyn was, I suppose, nominally Orthodox (he was once a mashgiach (is that the word? Kashrut supervisor) on Hamburg-America line ships to the U.S. But I don't recall that they even kept a kosher home when I knew them or went to services. My father essentially gave up Jewish ritual after his bar mitzvah, moving instead into the kinds of Jewish socialism that led to the State of Israel (Mapai) as well as to Bolshevism. He was, I believe, a member of the Arbeiter Ring in his youth in the US. I never heard him utter a word of Hebrew (except maybe the Shma), and I doubt that he would have even joined a synagogue had my mother not come from a religious family. So the religious behavior of my family was conditioned by my mother - - I expect this is true for most families. We did not belong to a synagogue until after my grandfather died in 1940. Before then holidays revolved around the Pezrow...house.
Remember that Aunt Vera lived downstairs with her husband Henry Goldsmith and their son Clifford, in what had been a one-family house, and that Aunt Lil, unmarried, lived at home, as I guess did Uncle Ken until he was married in 1939. My grandfather was a pillar of one of those small, Orthodox synagogues that had never built more than the basement, as short a walk in one direction from his house as his grocery store was in the other. I'll show you the neighborhood sometime if you like. The synagogue had no rabbi in my time, because, my grandfather told me, any of the men could conduct the service and the rabbi was needed only to teach the children, who were then (ca. 1938) all grown up. They did have a cantor, who probably had another occupation. Though I have only the vaguest recollections of going to that synagogue (one of Sukkot where I and some other little boys, also grandchildren, went into the succah with my grandfather who draped his huge tallit over all of us while he read something from a scroll or prayerbook), I obviously imbibed a lot of ritual behavior at that impressionable age...
...I can't remember where I left off. I guess I wanted to say that the rigid, unyielding, narrow orthodoxy of my grandfather could not survive the decline of persecution. And considering that he lost his eldest son (cut off for marrying a shikse [yiddish word for non-Jewish woman- ed.], a story so painful that my mother never told me about it-- [your mother] found out from my aunt before she died), it's not clear to me that his religion did anything for Jewish survival, thus rendering practically as well as morally dubious what I take to be the principal argument for Orthodoxy....
There's more which I'll put in another post. If you are reading this, please pray for more to be revealed about my great-Uncle Jack - the oldest son mentioned above. We've learned so much about him this year and understand more that this was a complicated story. I truly believe that my great grandfather Mendel Pezrow of blessed memory would have done it all differently if he had it all to do over again, and I pray that the coming year will reveal more - G-d willing leading us to know when Uncle Jack died and where he is buried. His birth date was August 1, 1898, and he is remembered in the names of my son Alexander Yakov and his second cousin Jacob. Thanks to the kindness of cousins and strangers, we know the name of the woman Uncle Jack married, Edith, that she had a son, and I've made contact with that son's son. May my great grandfather and Uncle Jack's memories be for a blessing.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Parve Lime Bars
I made this parve lime dessert Key Lime Bars with a Gingersnap Crust from a recipe I got on a blog called Couldn't be Parve. http://www.couldntbeparve.com/ You could cut the sugar. I doubled the recipe and used petit beurre parve cookies for the crust. The recipe is a surprise because the crust rises to the top - I did not know that would happen! I used greaseproof paper instead of foil. Come over soon if you want some - they'll be gone quickly!
Makes 12-16 bars depending on the size
For crust
1 cup gingersnap or graham cracker crumbs (gluten-free gingersnap crumbs worked well to make a gluten-free bar)
1/4 cup sugar
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) margarine.
For filling
3 large eggs
1 1/4 cups sugar
3 tablespoons cornstarch
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/3 cup key lime juice (fresh or from frozen concentrate, bottled is not as tasty in this recipe)
Zest of 2 limes
Confectioner’s sugar for dusting
Preheat the oven to 350 F degrees. Line an 8X8 inch baking pan with foil so that the foil hangs over the sides of the pan, and spray the foil with nonstick baking spray.
If starting with whole gingersnaps process them in the food processor until finely ground. Place the margarine in a medium bowl and microwave until melted. Add sugar and crumbs and stir until well combined. Press crumb mixture evenly into the bottom of pan. Bake for 10-12 minutes or until lightly golden. Let the crust cool while making the filling.
Place the eggs in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment and whisk the eggs on medium-high speed until they thicken, about 2 minutes. Slowly add the sugar while continuing to whip on medium-high, until the mixture is very thick and pale colored, about 5 minutes.
Combine the cornstarch and baking powder and stir together to blend well. Add to the egg mixture and blend together on medium speed, scraping down the sides of the bowl if necessary. Add the lime juice and zest and mix well. Pour the filling over the the crust and bake for 30-35 minutes, until the top is set and light golden and a tester inserted into the center comes out clean or slightly damp. Cool completely on a wire rack.
Lift the cooled bars from the pan using the foil and place on a cutting board. Peel the foil away from the sides and cut into 2-inch squares. Dust with confectioner’s sugar and serve.
Makes 12-16 bars depending on the size
For crust
1 cup gingersnap or graham cracker crumbs (gluten-free gingersnap crumbs worked well to make a gluten-free bar)
1/4 cup sugar
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) margarine.
For filling
3 large eggs
1 1/4 cups sugar
3 tablespoons cornstarch
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/3 cup key lime juice (fresh or from frozen concentrate, bottled is not as tasty in this recipe)
Zest of 2 limes
Confectioner’s sugar for dusting
Preheat the oven to 350 F degrees. Line an 8X8 inch baking pan with foil so that the foil hangs over the sides of the pan, and spray the foil with nonstick baking spray.
If starting with whole gingersnaps process them in the food processor until finely ground. Place the margarine in a medium bowl and microwave until melted. Add sugar and crumbs and stir until well combined. Press crumb mixture evenly into the bottom of pan. Bake for 10-12 minutes or until lightly golden. Let the crust cool while making the filling.
Place the eggs in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment and whisk the eggs on medium-high speed until they thicken, about 2 minutes. Slowly add the sugar while continuing to whip on medium-high, until the mixture is very thick and pale colored, about 5 minutes.
Combine the cornstarch and baking powder and stir together to blend well. Add to the egg mixture and blend together on medium speed, scraping down the sides of the bowl if necessary. Add the lime juice and zest and mix well. Pour the filling over the the crust and bake for 30-35 minutes, until the top is set and light golden and a tester inserted into the center comes out clean or slightly damp. Cool completely on a wire rack.
Lift the cooled bars from the pan using the foil and place on a cutting board. Peel the foil away from the sides and cut into 2-inch squares. Dust with confectioner’s sugar and serve.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Gilad is home
It's so hard to put into words the overwhelming feelings I have had today. I woke up at 5:30 am, not thinking anything special, but unable to sleep. At 7 am Alen called from on her way to work to say that Gilad Shalit would be released this morning. I told the kids they could not watch any cartoons and put on the tv news, something we rarely watch here. Sasha said that all the soldiers had come home but Gilad Shalit did not come home.
We watched the build up on tv for awhile and then I dropped the kids at day care and got in the car to work. On my way to work I was listening to the radio news and several text messages came in from security updates I got. Then I sat at work with one eye on Haaretz.
I talked to my boss about how one of the people being released today is the woman who blew up the Sbarro restaurant in August 2001, right after Alen and I moved to Jerusalem. His friend's daughter, Malki Roth, was killed in that bombing, and her parents started Keren Malki in her memory to help families of children with disabilities.
I read online about the other woman who everyone was talking about today - the one who lured a 16 year old boy from Ashkelon over facebook and got him to Ramallah where he was shot. I remember when that happened.
I went to the bank. The person who served me is someone who has worked there since I lived here. He said no one's mind is on work today. I started talking about the Sbarro bombing and the bombing at Moment cafe that happened in March, 2002. I was a block away when it happened, though I did not tell him that. He told me about a customer who was right in the cafe and was miraculously unharmed. We agreed that we should hear only good news.
I came home and watched Gilad return to Mitzpe Hilah. We postponed dinner to watch Noam Shalit talk to the press at 6 pm. In our Sukkah at dinner Gabi said, "I don't understand why 1,000 Palestinian prisoners are exchanged for one person. It's a damn iska (agreement)."
We talked about how Sasha was less than 2 months old when Gilad Shalit was kidnapped. I tried to imagine what 5 years has meant - to him, to his parents. That's Sasha's whole life, all his growing, all his years.
I once heard Elan Ezrachi talk about how Israel is considered a "high context society" - where what happens to the nation affects each person. I have never felt it more strongly than today. The kids' day care provider was telling me how she had the kids watch the news and how people would be asking, "do you remember where you were when Gilad Shalit was released?" I was too overwhelmed to think of what to say. Then she asked me (maybe a little suspiciously), "were you watching this today"? And I reassured her, yes, yes, the tv, the radio, the internet, yes, I've been glued to it.
And all day I'm wondering - what does it mean to be a parent, to be a child, to be a citizen of this place. I so often wonder what I am doing here. And I have thought of something I heard on the radio - how one of the Hamas leaders, I think it was Haniyeh, told a reporter how he admires the Israeli spirit and commitment, how the Israeli people cared so much about one person.
And I thought of the poem, "Each of us has a name", and of how what has gone on with Gilad Shalit has expressed the notion that he who saves one life is as if he saved the entire world.
And I've felt sad because with all the joy of Gilad's release there's still the overwhelming sadness of the situation we are living in and the sense of intractability. And the fear - that the release of people who have taken innocent lives will lead to more terror attacks, that any one of us could become G-d forbid Noam or Aviva Shalit and any one of our children could be Gilad Shalit. And amazement at the nobility and persistence of the Shalit family, how they have stood their ground and fought for this day, and incredible joy that it is finally here.
We watched the build up on tv for awhile and then I dropped the kids at day care and got in the car to work. On my way to work I was listening to the radio news and several text messages came in from security updates I got. Then I sat at work with one eye on Haaretz.
I talked to my boss about how one of the people being released today is the woman who blew up the Sbarro restaurant in August 2001, right after Alen and I moved to Jerusalem. His friend's daughter, Malki Roth, was killed in that bombing, and her parents started Keren Malki in her memory to help families of children with disabilities.
I read online about the other woman who everyone was talking about today - the one who lured a 16 year old boy from Ashkelon over facebook and got him to Ramallah where he was shot. I remember when that happened.
I went to the bank. The person who served me is someone who has worked there since I lived here. He said no one's mind is on work today. I started talking about the Sbarro bombing and the bombing at Moment cafe that happened in March, 2002. I was a block away when it happened, though I did not tell him that. He told me about a customer who was right in the cafe and was miraculously unharmed. We agreed that we should hear only good news.
I came home and watched Gilad return to Mitzpe Hilah. We postponed dinner to watch Noam Shalit talk to the press at 6 pm. In our Sukkah at dinner Gabi said, "I don't understand why 1,000 Palestinian prisoners are exchanged for one person. It's a damn iska (agreement)."
We talked about how Sasha was less than 2 months old when Gilad Shalit was kidnapped. I tried to imagine what 5 years has meant - to him, to his parents. That's Sasha's whole life, all his growing, all his years.
I once heard Elan Ezrachi talk about how Israel is considered a "high context society" - where what happens to the nation affects each person. I have never felt it more strongly than today. The kids' day care provider was telling me how she had the kids watch the news and how people would be asking, "do you remember where you were when Gilad Shalit was released?" I was too overwhelmed to think of what to say. Then she asked me (maybe a little suspiciously), "were you watching this today"? And I reassured her, yes, yes, the tv, the radio, the internet, yes, I've been glued to it.
And all day I'm wondering - what does it mean to be a parent, to be a child, to be a citizen of this place. I so often wonder what I am doing here. And I have thought of something I heard on the radio - how one of the Hamas leaders, I think it was Haniyeh, told a reporter how he admires the Israeli spirit and commitment, how the Israeli people cared so much about one person.
And I thought of the poem, "Each of us has a name", and of how what has gone on with Gilad Shalit has expressed the notion that he who saves one life is as if he saved the entire world.
And I've felt sad because with all the joy of Gilad's release there's still the overwhelming sadness of the situation we are living in and the sense of intractability. And the fear - that the release of people who have taken innocent lives will lead to more terror attacks, that any one of us could become G-d forbid Noam or Aviva Shalit and any one of our children could be Gilad Shalit. And amazement at the nobility and persistence of the Shalit family, how they have stood their ground and fought for this day, and incredible joy that it is finally here.
Monday, September 12, 2011
It'll be a New Year
I had one of those innocuous conversations today. With someone I really like, someone I was happy to be talking to, someone I had not seen in awhile.
She asked how I am, how the family is, in a way that indicated she cared and wanted to hear. So I said it's been a hard time, the past 6 months since Lucas died, that we saw his family, that it was hard.
And she said, "it'll be a New Year". Meaning well, it's a nice thing to say.
I didn't say a lot of what's on my mind - how I don't want to go to Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur services, how in the New Year Lucas will still be dead, how the world will still be a place where a 4 year old boy can suddenly leave, where a family can be left with grief.
Yesterday, September 11, I did not think much about Lucas. I thought about all the people who died that day 10 years ago.
But today, September 12, I'm back to where I was. Not looking forward to a New Year, not knowing what it means to make a fresh start when a piece is, and will always be, missing.
And knowing that this is what people my age, which is not that old, and some younger, do all the time. That figuring out how to live with loss is basically figuring out how to live. I don't have it figured out yet.
Many years ago someone told me a year is important because after a year, you've gone through all the seasons. I have no doubt next high holidays will be easier. For now I'm dreading the thought of trying to be present as we read, "who shall live and who shall die". Alen's been listening to a Leonard Cohen version of it in the car - I don't know how. I changed the disc when it came on.
She asked how I am, how the family is, in a way that indicated she cared and wanted to hear. So I said it's been a hard time, the past 6 months since Lucas died, that we saw his family, that it was hard.
And she said, "it'll be a New Year". Meaning well, it's a nice thing to say.
I didn't say a lot of what's on my mind - how I don't want to go to Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur services, how in the New Year Lucas will still be dead, how the world will still be a place where a 4 year old boy can suddenly leave, where a family can be left with grief.
Yesterday, September 11, I did not think much about Lucas. I thought about all the people who died that day 10 years ago.
But today, September 12, I'm back to where I was. Not looking forward to a New Year, not knowing what it means to make a fresh start when a piece is, and will always be, missing.
And knowing that this is what people my age, which is not that old, and some younger, do all the time. That figuring out how to live with loss is basically figuring out how to live. I don't have it figured out yet.
Many years ago someone told me a year is important because after a year, you've gone through all the seasons. I have no doubt next high holidays will be easier. For now I'm dreading the thought of trying to be present as we read, "who shall live and who shall die". Alen's been listening to a Leonard Cohen version of it in the car - I don't know how. I changed the disc when it came on.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Painful Driving Questions
Tomorrow is six months since Lucas died. Last night, I looked at 192 photos of him that his aunt Lisa has on her facebook. The whole time feeling how I still can't comprehend this.
On the way home from work today, Sasha was with me thanks to strep throat. A coworker and friend was in the car with us. Sasha started talking about places he wants to go for his birthday and mentioned that Alen said we could go to Trinidad. I wonder if she did.
So I asked him why he wants to go to Trinidad and he said he wants to see Lucas's toys, and that he wants to see Lucas. So I said you know if we go there, we won't see Lucas, he's dead. Then Sasha started asking about if he was buried. Then he asked if he was in one of those things Dracula goes in (because we have a book with a picture of a vampire in a coffin, and it's the only picture of a coffin Sasha has ever seen). So I tried to explain what cremation is, in Hebrew, and that when someone is cremated there are ashes, but Sasha didn't really know what ashes are. Then Sasha said it was too bad because he wanted to see Lucas, and I explained that we can't see people who are dead and that Lucas's body isn't here anymore and we can't see his spirit.
My friend didn't say anything.
Later in the ride I told Sasha I wanted to tell him something about my friend's father (that he produces musicals) and Sasha said, "what, is he dead?"
Then we talked about being grandparents, and people dying when they are grandparents or great grandparents.
The way it is supposed to be.
And I have a whole new pile of students, wonderful students, who don't know, who didn't hear, and still friends who for one reason or another we have not told, and time goes on. And I still feel that I have no idea what I believe anymore, that the G-d I believed in before this happened was more like Santa Claus, that I have no idea who the G-d is that I believe in anymore, and that the abyss remains very close. That am dreading the long prayers of the high holidays and the unetaneh tokef. And that my heart is with our family in Trinidad.
On the way home from work today, Sasha was with me thanks to strep throat. A coworker and friend was in the car with us. Sasha started talking about places he wants to go for his birthday and mentioned that Alen said we could go to Trinidad. I wonder if she did.
So I asked him why he wants to go to Trinidad and he said he wants to see Lucas's toys, and that he wants to see Lucas. So I said you know if we go there, we won't see Lucas, he's dead. Then Sasha started asking about if he was buried. Then he asked if he was in one of those things Dracula goes in (because we have a book with a picture of a vampire in a coffin, and it's the only picture of a coffin Sasha has ever seen). So I tried to explain what cremation is, in Hebrew, and that when someone is cremated there are ashes, but Sasha didn't really know what ashes are. Then Sasha said it was too bad because he wanted to see Lucas, and I explained that we can't see people who are dead and that Lucas's body isn't here anymore and we can't see his spirit.
My friend didn't say anything.
Later in the ride I told Sasha I wanted to tell him something about my friend's father (that he produces musicals) and Sasha said, "what, is he dead?"
Then we talked about being grandparents, and people dying when they are grandparents or great grandparents.
The way it is supposed to be.
And I have a whole new pile of students, wonderful students, who don't know, who didn't hear, and still friends who for one reason or another we have not told, and time goes on. And I still feel that I have no idea what I believe anymore, that the G-d I believed in before this happened was more like Santa Claus, that I have no idea who the G-d is that I believe in anymore, and that the abyss remains very close. That am dreading the long prayers of the high holidays and the unetaneh tokef. And that my heart is with our family in Trinidad.
Monday, July 18, 2011
The 17th of Tammuz - Repairing the Breach
I've made some progress looking for Uncle Jack. It's not very pretty and somewhat chilling.
I was never able to learn Uncle Jack's real story. Grandma said he "fell in with a bad lot." I think my father told me Jack's father wanted nothing to do with him but that Aunt Lil kept in touch with him in the 1930s.
Uncle Jack was arrested in Boston when he was young. Drove a car in a robbery, which he claimed he was not connected with.
In 1930, he was living with a wife and stepson in NY.
I found the stepson who died in 2005. His widow spoke to someone who is helping me, and said that he grew up in an orphanage and then on the streets before he joined the Navy.
This stepson had a son, who is not mentioned in his obituary.
That's three generations - father estranged from son, stepfather estranged from stepson, father estranged from son.
In a letter to the stepson's widow I wrote:
I think that, if my great-grandfather Mandel had everything to live over, he would have tried to find a way to reconcile with his son, and that in some way I am carrying the desire to make some healing of this breach.
Today, the 17th of Tammuz commemorates the day the Romans breached the walls of Jerusalem. Only today I realized that when we gave Sasha the middle name Yakov, we were also naming him after Uncle Jack (Jacob) Pezrow/Pesarevsky.
I was never able to learn Uncle Jack's real story. Grandma said he "fell in with a bad lot." I think my father told me Jack's father wanted nothing to do with him but that Aunt Lil kept in touch with him in the 1930s.
Uncle Jack was arrested in Boston when he was young. Drove a car in a robbery, which he claimed he was not connected with.
In 1930, he was living with a wife and stepson in NY.
I found the stepson who died in 2005. His widow spoke to someone who is helping me, and said that he grew up in an orphanage and then on the streets before he joined the Navy.
This stepson had a son, who is not mentioned in his obituary.
That's three generations - father estranged from son, stepfather estranged from stepson, father estranged from son.
In a letter to the stepson's widow I wrote:
I think that, if my great-grandfather Mandel had everything to live over, he would have tried to find a way to reconcile with his son, and that in some way I am carrying the desire to make some healing of this breach.
Today, the 17th of Tammuz commemorates the day the Romans breached the walls of Jerusalem. Only today I realized that when we gave Sasha the middle name Yakov, we were also naming him after Uncle Jack (Jacob) Pezrow/Pesarevsky.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Jackson Browne - the best!
I got up this morning and was thinking of this Jackson Browne song. Thank G-d for Google - otherwise I would have had to remember the words myself!
It's a little maudlin, but if you know the music, you might like it. And this youtube is awesome!
Your Bright Baby Blues by Jackson Browne
I'm sittin' down by the highway
Down by that highway side
Everybody's goin' somewhere
Ridin' just as fast as they could ride
I guess they got a lot to do
Before they can rest assured
Their lives are justified
Pray to God for me, babe, he can let me slide
Well, I've been up and down this highway
Far as my eyes can see
No matter how fast I run
I can never seem to get away from me
No matter where I am
I can't help thinkin', I'm just a day away
Where I wanna be
Now I'm runnin' home, baby
Like a river to the sea
Baby, if you could see me
Out across this wilderness
There's just one thing
I was hopin' you might guess
Baby, you can free me
All in the power of your sweet tenderness
Yeah, yeah
I can see it in your eyes
You've got those bright baby blues
You don't see what you've got to gain
But you don't like to lose
You watch yourself from the sidelines
Like your life is a game
You don't mind playin', to keep yourself amused
I don't mean to be cruel, babe
But you're lookin', confused
Baby if you can hear me
Turn down your radio
There's just one thing
I want you to know
When you've been near me
I've felt the love
Stirrin' in my soul, yeah, yeah, yes I have
It's so hard to come by
That feeling of peace
This friend of mine said
"Close your eyes
And try a few of these"
I thought I flyin' like a bird
So far above my sorrow
But when I looked down
I was standin' on my knees
Now I need
Someone to help me
Someone to help me, please
Baby, if you need me
Like I know I need you
There's just one thing
I'll ask you to do
Take my hand and lead me
To the hole in your garden wall
And pull me through, pull me through
It's a little maudlin, but if you know the music, you might like it. And this youtube is awesome!
Your Bright Baby Blues by Jackson Browne
I'm sittin' down by the highway
Down by that highway side
Everybody's goin' somewhere
Ridin' just as fast as they could ride
I guess they got a lot to do
Before they can rest assured
Their lives are justified
Pray to God for me, babe, he can let me slide
Well, I've been up and down this highway
Far as my eyes can see
No matter how fast I run
I can never seem to get away from me
No matter where I am
I can't help thinkin', I'm just a day away
Where I wanna be
Now I'm runnin' home, baby
Like a river to the sea
Baby, if you could see me
Out across this wilderness
There's just one thing
I was hopin' you might guess
Baby, you can free me
All in the power of your sweet tenderness
Yeah, yeah
I can see it in your eyes
You've got those bright baby blues
You don't see what you've got to gain
But you don't like to lose
You watch yourself from the sidelines
Like your life is a game
You don't mind playin', to keep yourself amused
I don't mean to be cruel, babe
But you're lookin', confused
Baby if you can hear me
Turn down your radio
There's just one thing
I want you to know
When you've been near me
I've felt the love
Stirrin' in my soul, yeah, yeah, yes I have
It's so hard to come by
That feeling of peace
This friend of mine said
"Close your eyes
And try a few of these"
I thought I flyin' like a bird
So far above my sorrow
But when I looked down
I was standin' on my knees
Now I need
Someone to help me
Someone to help me, please
Baby, if you need me
Like I know I need you
There's just one thing
I'll ask you to do
Take my hand and lead me
To the hole in your garden wall
And pull me through, pull me through
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Fruit upside down cake
So I think the thing to do with too soft or too sour fruit like plums these days is to make an upside down cake. I've been experimenting with this.
I've been using a glass pie dish, which is probably a mistake. I think it covers too much area, so the cake is not deep enough. OTOH, it's a nice shape. Maybe an 8" round cake pan would be better.
Cover the bottom with whatever fruit you want. If the fruit is sour, sprinkle it with sugar and also cinnamon if you want.
Make the cake - today I used
1 and 1/2 cups flour
1/2 cup sugar
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
sift together
mix separately
2 eggs
1/2 cup melted butter or oil
1/2 cup milk (use juice if you want)
Add wet to dry and mix. Spread on the fruit. Cook at 400 for 25 minutes until cake is done.
Alen said this was not as good as last time, when I made it with butter. This week I used oil. But I think last week I used a different cake batter like this:
3 eggs
1/2 cup melted butter or oil
no milk
2 cups flour
1 cup sugar
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
And baked at 350 for more time - about 40-45 minutes.
If you try either way, let me know how it turns out.
I've been using a glass pie dish, which is probably a mistake. I think it covers too much area, so the cake is not deep enough. OTOH, it's a nice shape. Maybe an 8" round cake pan would be better.
Cover the bottom with whatever fruit you want. If the fruit is sour, sprinkle it with sugar and also cinnamon if you want.
Make the cake - today I used
1 and 1/2 cups flour
1/2 cup sugar
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
sift together
mix separately
2 eggs
1/2 cup melted butter or oil
1/2 cup milk (use juice if you want)
Add wet to dry and mix. Spread on the fruit. Cook at 400 for 25 minutes until cake is done.
Alen said this was not as good as last time, when I made it with butter. This week I used oil. But I think last week I used a different cake batter like this:
3 eggs
1/2 cup melted butter or oil
no milk
2 cups flour
1 cup sugar
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
And baked at 350 for more time - about 40-45 minutes.
If you try either way, let me know how it turns out.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Brains and all that
So Gabi has been accepted to a gifted program that will take her out of school once a week - supposedly they chose the top 2% of students, which includes 3 kids from her 2nd grade class and we saw 2 others there from other 2nd grades. She proudly wore a "geek chick" T-shirt she had received as a birthday present to the introductory event.
To say I have mixed feelings about this is an understatement. Gabi is about 6 months older than I was when I was put ahead from 2nd grade into 3rd grade, also presumably because people thought I was smart. Already a late birthday December child, that placed me 18 months behind many of my classmates in age and maturity. Smart, however, they define it, does not mean socially able or able to cope with such a gap.
It also seems to me that many people I know who have not been defined as gifted have much cleaner houses than I do. In my imagination, they do not wake up in the morning thinking "how will I possibly cope with this day", nor do they scream at their children. In short, whatever intelligence I have has not necessarily served me so well. As my sister's best friend's mother said when she was in high school, "Judy may be book smart, but she lacks common sense." (Sorry Judy - she said it about you but I'm quoting it here about me.)
At some point, after I graduated college, my mother told me something that rocked my world. She said something like this, "It really doesn't matter how smart you are, it's how hard you work and apply yourself that makes a difference in life." You're kidding???? Why didn't anyone tell me this when I was a kid?
My friend Doug in college liked to say, "We are the uniquely gifted of our generation." Maybe he didn't like to say it, but he wrote it to me once. Another piece of information that even if true has not done me much good - it seems to me many people of my generation have done much more than I have - of course spending my college years and much of my 20s wasted probably didn't help my lifetime productivity.
So I'm not going to deny Gabi the opportunity to participate in this program, but if anything I feel like it is sealing her doom - she will be doomed to a cluttered home filled with books, where instead of putting away laundry, washing dishes and making kids lunches, she'll spend her time like me writing blog posts and wondering what being gifted means anyway. And then wondering why her house isn't cleaner. Duh.
To say I have mixed feelings about this is an understatement. Gabi is about 6 months older than I was when I was put ahead from 2nd grade into 3rd grade, also presumably because people thought I was smart. Already a late birthday December child, that placed me 18 months behind many of my classmates in age and maturity. Smart, however, they define it, does not mean socially able or able to cope with such a gap.
It also seems to me that many people I know who have not been defined as gifted have much cleaner houses than I do. In my imagination, they do not wake up in the morning thinking "how will I possibly cope with this day", nor do they scream at their children. In short, whatever intelligence I have has not necessarily served me so well. As my sister's best friend's mother said when she was in high school, "Judy may be book smart, but she lacks common sense." (Sorry Judy - she said it about you but I'm quoting it here about me.)
At some point, after I graduated college, my mother told me something that rocked my world. She said something like this, "It really doesn't matter how smart you are, it's how hard you work and apply yourself that makes a difference in life." You're kidding???? Why didn't anyone tell me this when I was a kid?
My friend Doug in college liked to say, "We are the uniquely gifted of our generation." Maybe he didn't like to say it, but he wrote it to me once. Another piece of information that even if true has not done me much good - it seems to me many people of my generation have done much more than I have - of course spending my college years and much of my 20s wasted probably didn't help my lifetime productivity.
So I'm not going to deny Gabi the opportunity to participate in this program, but if anything I feel like it is sealing her doom - she will be doomed to a cluttered home filled with books, where instead of putting away laundry, washing dishes and making kids lunches, she'll spend her time like me writing blog posts and wondering what being gifted means anyway. And then wondering why her house isn't cleaner. Duh.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Totally worthwhile dessert
My friends are going to say this has way too much sugar - adjust as you wish.
We have a big plum tree in our yard with these tiny plums. This is the first year I made something with them - it's called Plum Pudding Cake from the Betty Crocker cookbook.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F/170 C
1 cup flour
1/2 cup sugar (she said 3/4 cup)
1/4 tsp salt
2 tsp baking powder
Mix these
Add
3 tablespoons oil
1/2 cup milk or water
Mix
Put in a square pan - she says ungreased but I'm thinking greased might have worked better
On the top put
2 cups sliced plums
Mix one packed cup brown sugar (I only had demerara but brown would be better)
with one teaspoon cinamon
spread this over the plums
Now pour 1 cup boiling water on top
Bake for 60-70 minutes until the cake part is done.
Sounds weird, but it's delicious. I'll let you see yourself how it turns out.
We have a big plum tree in our yard with these tiny plums. This is the first year I made something with them - it's called Plum Pudding Cake from the Betty Crocker cookbook.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F/170 C
1 cup flour
1/2 cup sugar (she said 3/4 cup)
1/4 tsp salt
2 tsp baking powder
Mix these
Add
3 tablespoons oil
1/2 cup milk or water
Mix
Put in a square pan - she says ungreased but I'm thinking greased might have worked better
On the top put
2 cups sliced plums
Mix one packed cup brown sugar (I only had demerara but brown would be better)
with one teaspoon cinamon
spread this over the plums
Now pour 1 cup boiling water on top
Bake for 60-70 minutes until the cake part is done.
Sounds weird, but it's delicious. I'll let you see yourself how it turns out.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
The last time I saw Grandma
Yesterday was my grandmother's yahrzeit. Around the time she died, I wrote in my journal about my last visit with her. I wanted to publish it but couldn't really work on it. These days publishing is so much easier. But I'm not sure where my journal is.
And I'm still afraid, perhaps more afraid because this is more public than some small lesbian journal. A friend describes the "rolling the grave factor" and how she will do things that would cause her parents to roll once, but not more than once.
My grandmother was not shy to state her opinions. But I'm not sure I can convey the love and the pathos of our last meeting, or do justice to who she was when I describe it.
So let me start here - I had one grandparent for 22 years. Grandma was larger than life in part because encounters with her never ended there - they were always the subject of extended family conversations, often long after the visit and certainly for the first week or so. A certain amount of decompression was always necessary, and analyzing, describing and talking about Grandma was a family pastime.
Grandma was formidable. My dad explained to me that she had strong opinions but no higher education and that when one doesn't have higher education, convention becomes more important. I'm sure that's part of it. Grandma left school to work at either 12 or 14 - my aunt says it was age 12. But prior to that also, Grandma was highly alert for what it would take to succeed in America and absorbed every possible lesson available. I wrote more about this at her yahrzeit last year - you'll find it under family history.
Grandma lived to be 93. In the last few years of her life, she lost some of her fight. It was a great relief and at the same time very painful to see. Grandma had always been able to shoot to the heart, as she did when she said to me when I was in college, "you should get Judy your sister to show you how to put on make up so you can get more boyfriends" and when I said, "I have plenty of boyfriends Grandma" she had the perfect retort "yes, but they aren't Jewish."
But at the end, the zingers were gone. The stories were gone. I went to see her in Florida in 1995 and I knew it would be the last time I saw her. I gathered my courage, and I told her about Alen.
It goes without saying that Grandma was homophobic, with the reflexive homophobia of her generation and of someone who cared so much for convention. The gender issues raised by the women's movement were a constant challenge to her, along with her career-oriented daughter-in-law (my mom). When my brother and sister went down to visit her and my brother was about 11 or 13, Grandma said he should not use creme rinse on his hair and told my mom it would make him gay.
So talking to Grandma took some courage on my part. It went something like this, "Grandma I've met someone I want to share my life with, it's a woman, her name is Alen. We are going to have a wedding. I hope you will come."
"Grandma, remember so-and-so, who I brought to Florida a few years ago. You really liked her. She was also my girlfriend. I'm a lesbian."
I don't remember the responses to this part, but they weren't real positive.
At one point I said, "Look Grandma, you have lots of different kinds of people in your family. You have lawyers, you have dentists, you have lesbians". Grandma said in a wry tone, "Well the lesbians I could do without." She didn't mean me she could do without. She meant me being a lesbian. I got that. I'll never forget her tone, her laugh. It wasn't a criticism of me, it was a statement about how much change a person can handle in nearly 100 years of living.
The next morning I tried again. "Grandma, I hope that you can be happy for me. I have found someone I want to spend my life with." She said something like, "Well I don't see why you have to have a wedding."
As I write this, I'm only thinking two things. One is how much I loved Grandma and how I still miss her after 16 years. And the other is a kind of awe of myself that (after I had been out for more than 6 years), I actually had the guts to come out to her. I'm so grateful that I got to tell her I found my life partner before she died.
Grandma, as I sat crying in bed telling you this on the morning of March whatever it was 1995, I had no doubt in my mind how much you loved me and how much I loved you. As I sit crying writing this now, I miss you still.
And I'm still afraid, perhaps more afraid because this is more public than some small lesbian journal. A friend describes the "rolling the grave factor" and how she will do things that would cause her parents to roll once, but not more than once.
My grandmother was not shy to state her opinions. But I'm not sure I can convey the love and the pathos of our last meeting, or do justice to who she was when I describe it.
So let me start here - I had one grandparent for 22 years. Grandma was larger than life in part because encounters with her never ended there - they were always the subject of extended family conversations, often long after the visit and certainly for the first week or so. A certain amount of decompression was always necessary, and analyzing, describing and talking about Grandma was a family pastime.
Grandma was formidable. My dad explained to me that she had strong opinions but no higher education and that when one doesn't have higher education, convention becomes more important. I'm sure that's part of it. Grandma left school to work at either 12 or 14 - my aunt says it was age 12. But prior to that also, Grandma was highly alert for what it would take to succeed in America and absorbed every possible lesson available. I wrote more about this at her yahrzeit last year - you'll find it under family history.
Grandma lived to be 93. In the last few years of her life, she lost some of her fight. It was a great relief and at the same time very painful to see. Grandma had always been able to shoot to the heart, as she did when she said to me when I was in college, "you should get Judy your sister to show you how to put on make up so you can get more boyfriends" and when I said, "I have plenty of boyfriends Grandma" she had the perfect retort "yes, but they aren't Jewish."
But at the end, the zingers were gone. The stories were gone. I went to see her in Florida in 1995 and I knew it would be the last time I saw her. I gathered my courage, and I told her about Alen.
It goes without saying that Grandma was homophobic, with the reflexive homophobia of her generation and of someone who cared so much for convention. The gender issues raised by the women's movement were a constant challenge to her, along with her career-oriented daughter-in-law (my mom). When my brother and sister went down to visit her and my brother was about 11 or 13, Grandma said he should not use creme rinse on his hair and told my mom it would make him gay.
So talking to Grandma took some courage on my part. It went something like this, "Grandma I've met someone I want to share my life with, it's a woman, her name is Alen. We are going to have a wedding. I hope you will come."
"Grandma, remember so-and-so, who I brought to Florida a few years ago. You really liked her. She was also my girlfriend. I'm a lesbian."
I don't remember the responses to this part, but they weren't real positive.
At one point I said, "Look Grandma, you have lots of different kinds of people in your family. You have lawyers, you have dentists, you have lesbians". Grandma said in a wry tone, "Well the lesbians I could do without." She didn't mean me she could do without. She meant me being a lesbian. I got that. I'll never forget her tone, her laugh. It wasn't a criticism of me, it was a statement about how much change a person can handle in nearly 100 years of living.
The next morning I tried again. "Grandma, I hope that you can be happy for me. I have found someone I want to spend my life with." She said something like, "Well I don't see why you have to have a wedding."
As I write this, I'm only thinking two things. One is how much I loved Grandma and how I still miss her after 16 years. And the other is a kind of awe of myself that (after I had been out for more than 6 years), I actually had the guts to come out to her. I'm so grateful that I got to tell her I found my life partner before she died.
Grandma, as I sat crying in bed telling you this on the morning of March whatever it was 1995, I had no doubt in my mind how much you loved me and how much I loved you. As I sit crying writing this now, I miss you still.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Uncle Jack found
For those of you who followed the family history thread, I do feel I have been remiss in not reporting that my new found cousin Andrew (from my grandfather Julius's side) found my missing great Uncle Jack (from my grandmother Zena's side) in a 1930 census, living in New York, and married to an English woman named Edith who had a son, Robert Anglin. Oh how I wish I could find Robert - he was 6 in 1930 - he would be now 87 if he's still alive. Edith was from England, probably not Jewish, thus perhaps the reason for the estrangement.
Monday, May 30, 2011
In memory of Lucas (with the author's permission)
Today is 12 weeks since Lucas died. The following was written by Rosally Saltsman about last week's Torah portion:
These are the names of the sons of Aharon, the first born was Nadav, and Avihu, Elazar and Ithamar. Nadav and Avihu died before Hashem and they had no children.
(Bamidbar 3:1-4)
It is a sad fact that too many parents outlive their children. In Israel the situation is worse because of all the soldiers who have died protecting the country and the civilian 'soldiers' who have died living in it. This probably would not have occurred to me in this context if not for the fact that I met Yehudah Wachsman, the father of Nachshon Wachsman, Hashem should avenge his blood, at a shiva. We weren't actually introduced but someone pointed out to me who he was. He and his wife Esther entered the hearts and consciousness of the nation when their son was abducted several years ago and the entire country was united in prayer for him until they received the tragic news that he had been murdered.
Those men and women who die young die without leaving children, a legacy to their parents. Many people, when confronted with parents who have tragically lost children often feel uncomfortable and don't know what to say. They are afraid to bring up the subject trying to avoid seeing the pain in the eyes of the parent. But there's a certain insensitivity inherent in that. Parents don't want to forget their children and they don't want others to forget them either, to act like they never existed. G-d mentions all four sons of Aharon in the verse. Although they have died and the circumstances of their death are additionally painful, it would have been much more difficult for Aharon had his sons not been mentioned at all, as if they had faded into obscurity.
When people die, they live on in our memories, in our hearts and in our consciousness - if we let them. It is very important that we do their memory honor by talking about them, about the importance of their lives and the significance of their sacrifice with their parents. It is a great chesed (kindness) to show parents that though their children may be gone, they are not forgotten.
From Rosally Saltsman's new book, A Portion of Kindness, now available for order.
These are the names of the sons of Aharon, the first born was Nadav, and Avihu, Elazar and Ithamar. Nadav and Avihu died before Hashem and they had no children.
(Bamidbar 3:1-4)
It is a sad fact that too many parents outlive their children. In Israel the situation is worse because of all the soldiers who have died protecting the country and the civilian 'soldiers' who have died living in it. This probably would not have occurred to me in this context if not for the fact that I met Yehudah Wachsman, the father of Nachshon Wachsman, Hashem should avenge his blood, at a shiva. We weren't actually introduced but someone pointed out to me who he was. He and his wife Esther entered the hearts and consciousness of the nation when their son was abducted several years ago and the entire country was united in prayer for him until they received the tragic news that he had been murdered.
Those men and women who die young die without leaving children, a legacy to their parents. Many people, when confronted with parents who have tragically lost children often feel uncomfortable and don't know what to say. They are afraid to bring up the subject trying to avoid seeing the pain in the eyes of the parent. But there's a certain insensitivity inherent in that. Parents don't want to forget their children and they don't want others to forget them either, to act like they never existed. G-d mentions all four sons of Aharon in the verse. Although they have died and the circumstances of their death are additionally painful, it would have been much more difficult for Aharon had his sons not been mentioned at all, as if they had faded into obscurity.
When people die, they live on in our memories, in our hearts and in our consciousness - if we let them. It is very important that we do their memory honor by talking about them, about the importance of their lives and the significance of their sacrifice with their parents. It is a great chesed (kindness) to show parents that though their children may be gone, they are not forgotten.
From Rosally Saltsman's new book, A Portion of Kindness, now available for order.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Still in the game with prayer
For those of you who think I've given up, I'm still in the game with prayer.
I found this quote sent by my colleague Elliot Skiddell:
"Prayer cannot rebuild a broken bridge or make a desert bloom, but prayer can rebuild a broken will or water an arid soul.”
According to the source he found, it's from Bahya ibn Pakuda though he did find it also attributed, variously, to Gates of Prayer and also to Heschel.
I found this quote sent by my colleague Elliot Skiddell:
"Prayer cannot rebuild a broken bridge or make a desert bloom, but prayer can rebuild a broken will or water an arid soul.”
According to the source he found, it's from Bahya ibn Pakuda though he did find it also attributed, variously, to Gates of Prayer and also to Heschel.
Monday, May 23, 2011
In memory of Lucas and before getting permission
I told my friend I'd get her permission to write this but it's too late to call her. I hope she'll tell me if she wants me to take it down.
Tomorrow is 11 weeks since Lucas died. I think I'm going over the edge. Please pray for his parents, his sister, his grandparents, aunts, uncles and his caregiver.
I was looking for a 10th person for a minyan for mincha and when I asked my friend and colleague who happened to be passing through the building she was reluctant and said she'd do it if I raised some money for a project near and dear to our hearts.
I told her to come do it so we could resurrect Lucas and she said I was giving her a guilt trip.
I told my students that she was accusing me of a guilt trip I had not meant in any way. I told them I was just commenting on the total worthlessness of our prayers to do what I want done in the world right now.
After we got a minyan without her, she left and I sobbed my way through the first part of mincha. When I got back to my office I wrote her an email entitled "What I meant"
And I told her that what I meant is that I feel like I get up every day and stand at the edge of an abyss and that nowhere do I feel that more than when I am trying to pray. And in addition to just trying to make things work at my job, I was asking her to stand with me there for five minutes.
So she called and asked me for coffee and she said, in that beautiful understated way the British have, "I read your email and it sounds like you could use some chocolate cake."
I don't want chocolate cake. I want the world to go back to the way it was on March 7. And according to Jewish tradition (Mishnah Brachot, last chapter, hatzoek lesheavar), that's not even something I can pray for.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
In memory of Lucas
Yesterday was 10 weeks since Lucas died.
It's really not a lot of time.
I have run out of poems to post but I hope to find more.
Please keep his parents and his sister, his grandparents, his aunts and uncles, his caregiver and all who loved him in your prayers.
It's really not a lot of time.
I have run out of poems to post but I hope to find more.
Please keep his parents and his sister, his grandparents, his aunts and uncles, his caregiver and all who loved him in your prayers.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Why I made Mushroom Moussaka
Yesterday I made an infamous recipe from the Moosewood Cookbook, one I had never tried since my beloved housemate Camille (known then as Jennifer) made it for us in 1981 or 1982, our last year of college.
It's easy to see from looking at the page in the cookbook why this recipe lived in infamy and why I had to make it yesterday. Right at the top of the page it says: preparation time - 2 hours. Right away, you know something is wrong here. I don't ever have two hours to make one item of food. And actually, no one really has two hours to make dinner.
Then you read the recipe itself - it has three parts, each of which needs to be cooked, and then they have to be assembled and recooked. That's too many parts. That's too much cooking.
Then here's the kicker - the recipe calls for 1/4 cup of red wine. Yup, just 1/4 cup. So if you are anything like me you are thinking - what happened to the rest of the bottle?
And there in a nutshell is why I haven't made the recipe for nearly 30 years. I had too many bad memories of how cranky I got as my dear friend worked hard to assemble this for dinner while she or we took care of the rest of the wine. I think we ate around 10 pm that night.
My life now is not anything like it was then.
But 30 years later, and minus the wine, I gave it a try yesterday. I did it for the same reason I've been writing about recipes since the kids were little- I used to say it was to act like I had a life, but I realize I can focus that more. It's to act like I have independence. Like I do one thing for myself only and not for anyone else. I mean, when you see the ingredients below, you KNOW my kids aren't eating it, and Alen's been sick in bed for 3 days, although she emerged tonight and said it was pretty good. Thanks for this go to Michal Shusman, who watched Sasha yesterday afternoon, and to Rachel and Ofer Shabbat Beit Halachmi, who hosted Gabi.
So here's my adaptation of Mollie Katzen's mushroom moussaka. The measurements are Israeli.
1 eggplant (Mollie said three, but we don't like it that much)
2 boxes of mushrooms
1 large chopped onion
2 minced garlic cloves
1 container tomato paste (Israeli containers are smaller, so I added 2 tablespoons prepared spaghetti sauce)
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
oregano (Mollie said basil too, but I didn't have any)
cinamon - a dash
salt & pepper
1/4 cup grape juice
1/2 cup bread crumbs
1/2 cup grated cheddar plus more for the top
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon flour
about 1.5 cups milk
2 eggs and one egg yolk (Mollie said 4 eggs plus 4 egg yolks - I thought that was extreme)
Slice the eggplant and bake about 15 minutes on an oiled tray in the oven
Fry the mushrooms, onions and garlic in butter in a big pot
Add the tomato paste, parsley, grape juice (or wine), oregano, basil, cinamon, salt and pepper. Cook until liquid is mostly gone, then add bread crumbs and cheese and 2 beaten eggs and remove from heat.
Melt the butter, make a roux with the flour, and add the milk. Thicken to a white sauce, then beat in the egg yolk.
Make the Moussaka with a layer of eggplant, a layer of mushroom sauce, more eggplant, more mushroom sauce, and then the white sauce on top, with a little grated cheese on top of that. Cook at 350 for 35 minutes covered and 15 minutes uncovered.
There was a lot to love about our home at 34 Haverford Road. Thanks to my friends from those years. I'm glad I tried again with the Mushroom Moussaka.
It's easy to see from looking at the page in the cookbook why this recipe lived in infamy and why I had to make it yesterday. Right at the top of the page it says: preparation time - 2 hours. Right away, you know something is wrong here. I don't ever have two hours to make one item of food. And actually, no one really has two hours to make dinner.
Then you read the recipe itself - it has three parts, each of which needs to be cooked, and then they have to be assembled and recooked. That's too many parts. That's too much cooking.
Then here's the kicker - the recipe calls for 1/4 cup of red wine. Yup, just 1/4 cup. So if you are anything like me you are thinking - what happened to the rest of the bottle?
And there in a nutshell is why I haven't made the recipe for nearly 30 years. I had too many bad memories of how cranky I got as my dear friend worked hard to assemble this for dinner while she or we took care of the rest of the wine. I think we ate around 10 pm that night.
My life now is not anything like it was then.
But 30 years later, and minus the wine, I gave it a try yesterday. I did it for the same reason I've been writing about recipes since the kids were little- I used to say it was to act like I had a life, but I realize I can focus that more. It's to act like I have independence. Like I do one thing for myself only and not for anyone else. I mean, when you see the ingredients below, you KNOW my kids aren't eating it, and Alen's been sick in bed for 3 days, although she emerged tonight and said it was pretty good. Thanks for this go to Michal Shusman, who watched Sasha yesterday afternoon, and to Rachel and Ofer Shabbat Beit Halachmi, who hosted Gabi.
So here's my adaptation of Mollie Katzen's mushroom moussaka. The measurements are Israeli.
1 eggplant (Mollie said three, but we don't like it that much)
2 boxes of mushrooms
1 large chopped onion
2 minced garlic cloves
1 container tomato paste (Israeli containers are smaller, so I added 2 tablespoons prepared spaghetti sauce)
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
oregano (Mollie said basil too, but I didn't have any)
cinamon - a dash
salt & pepper
1/4 cup grape juice
1/2 cup bread crumbs
1/2 cup grated cheddar plus more for the top
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon flour
about 1.5 cups milk
2 eggs and one egg yolk (Mollie said 4 eggs plus 4 egg yolks - I thought that was extreme)
Slice the eggplant and bake about 15 minutes on an oiled tray in the oven
Fry the mushrooms, onions and garlic in butter in a big pot
Add the tomato paste, parsley, grape juice (or wine), oregano, basil, cinamon, salt and pepper. Cook until liquid is mostly gone, then add bread crumbs and cheese and 2 beaten eggs and remove from heat.
Melt the butter, make a roux with the flour, and add the milk. Thicken to a white sauce, then beat in the egg yolk.
Make the Moussaka with a layer of eggplant, a layer of mushroom sauce, more eggplant, more mushroom sauce, and then the white sauce on top, with a little grated cheese on top of that. Cook at 350 for 35 minutes covered and 15 minutes uncovered.
There was a lot to love about our home at 34 Haverford Road. Thanks to my friends from those years. I'm glad I tried again with the Mushroom Moussaka.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Yom Hazikaron - Memorial Day and Mothers' Day
Today was Mothers' Day and two months to the day that Lucas died.
Tonight began Memorial Day - Yom HaZikaron - in Israel. Gabi wanted to go down to the town ceremony at the school and I'm really glad we did. After a few speakers, songs, poems, etc., Kay Susan Wilson was introduced. I was very surprised and impressed. I don't think I wrote about it here on the blog, though I meant to, but in December two women walking in the woods quite near our house (about 5 kilometers away) were attacked. One of them, Kristine Luken, was killed. Kay Wilson was stabbed 15 times but first pretended to be dead and later found the strength to walk out of the woods and get help. 2-3 months after the incident, it was revealed that police had made arrests shortly after and arrested a group of Palestinians from nearby towns in the West Bank who were linked to another murder, a rape, and other crimes.
I was very impressed that such a short time later, Kay Wilson was able to address the approximately 2000 people gathered in Tzur Hadassah tonight. She is a native English speaker but spoke very well in Hebrew. She started out talking about what a beautiful day it was as they were walking near here in the Jerusalem Forest. She went on to talk about Kristine, how she loved Israel and supported the Jewish people although she was Christian, and how she was sometimes rejected for her beliefs. She talked about how although they were held captive that day, she believes that their captors were already imprisoned for years by their own hate. She talked about how difficult things are for her now - how every moment is full of pain and suffering, but how every moment is also infinitely precious. She quoted Sherry Mandell (mother of Koby Mandell who was murdered in 2000) about how her heart is broken and will never be the same, but how her new heart is open and enables her to feel greater compassion.
Kay said that she will never understand why Kristine was killed and why she survived, but that she knows that Kristine would want her to go on living life as fully as possible.
I had heard (on the radio) that Kay was a woman of great courage, and her speaking tonight showed that. She mentioned she recently took a hike to reclaim the woods in which they were attacked, and her speaking in Tzur Hadassah tonight also showed her great strength and courage.
I had been thinking of posting this song in memory of Lucas, and I also thought of it tonight:
Farther Along
(these are the lyrics found on the Dolly Parton lyrics site - I couldn't find her singing it but found these unusual very young girls singing it, and this Glen Campbell/Larry Gatlin version. Both are quite Christian - the lyrics below are a bit more parve.)
Tempted and tried, we're oft made to wonder
Why it should be thus all day long
While there are others living about us
Never molested though in the wrong
When death has come and taken our loved ones
It leaves our home so lonely and drear
Then do we wonder why others prosper
Living so wicked year after year
Farther along we'll know all about it
Farther along we'll understand why
Cheer up my brother, live in the sunshine
We'll understand it all, by and by
Faithful 'til death, said our loving Master
A few more days to labor and wait
Toils of the road will then seem as nothing
As we sweep through the beautiful gates
Tonight began Memorial Day - Yom HaZikaron - in Israel. Gabi wanted to go down to the town ceremony at the school and I'm really glad we did. After a few speakers, songs, poems, etc., Kay Susan Wilson was introduced. I was very surprised and impressed. I don't think I wrote about it here on the blog, though I meant to, but in December two women walking in the woods quite near our house (about 5 kilometers away) were attacked. One of them, Kristine Luken, was killed. Kay Wilson was stabbed 15 times but first pretended to be dead and later found the strength to walk out of the woods and get help. 2-3 months after the incident, it was revealed that police had made arrests shortly after and arrested a group of Palestinians from nearby towns in the West Bank who were linked to another murder, a rape, and other crimes.
I was very impressed that such a short time later, Kay Wilson was able to address the approximately 2000 people gathered in Tzur Hadassah tonight. She is a native English speaker but spoke very well in Hebrew. She started out talking about what a beautiful day it was as they were walking near here in the Jerusalem Forest. She went on to talk about Kristine, how she loved Israel and supported the Jewish people although she was Christian, and how she was sometimes rejected for her beliefs. She talked about how although they were held captive that day, she believes that their captors were already imprisoned for years by their own hate. She talked about how difficult things are for her now - how every moment is full of pain and suffering, but how every moment is also infinitely precious. She quoted Sherry Mandell (mother of Koby Mandell who was murdered in 2000) about how her heart is broken and will never be the same, but how her new heart is open and enables her to feel greater compassion.
Kay said that she will never understand why Kristine was killed and why she survived, but that she knows that Kristine would want her to go on living life as fully as possible.
I had heard (on the radio) that Kay was a woman of great courage, and her speaking tonight showed that. She mentioned she recently took a hike to reclaim the woods in which they were attacked, and her speaking in Tzur Hadassah tonight also showed her great strength and courage.
I had been thinking of posting this song in memory of Lucas, and I also thought of it tonight:
Farther Along
(these are the lyrics found on the Dolly Parton lyrics site - I couldn't find her singing it but found these unusual very young girls singing it, and this Glen Campbell/Larry Gatlin version. Both are quite Christian - the lyrics below are a bit more parve.)
Tempted and tried, we're oft made to wonder
Why it should be thus all day long
While there are others living about us
Never molested though in the wrong
When death has come and taken our loved ones
It leaves our home so lonely and drear
Then do we wonder why others prosper
Living so wicked year after year
Farther along we'll know all about it
Farther along we'll understand why
Cheer up my brother, live in the sunshine
We'll understand it all, by and by
Faithful 'til death, said our loving Master
A few more days to labor and wait
Toils of the road will then seem as nothing
As we sweep through the beautiful gates
Monday, May 2, 2011
In memory - Yom HaShoah and Lucas
Tomorrow is eight weeks since Lucas died.
It's been Yom HaShoah - Holocaust Remembrance Day - here and my kids know too much. Sasha came home talking about "Nazim". He called Gabi one. We tried to explain you don't do that. Later tonight Gabi told him that if he ever met a Nazi, they would be a million times meaner than she is. He said that a Nazi would not be mean to him because he would dress in brown and the Nazi would think he was his child. Gabi said that would not work. I said we'll talk about this more when you are older.
Help.
In the class I was teaching before Lucas died, we were talking a lot about a line from Psalm 115, "the dead don't (won't?) praise God." We read a paper about two poems that reference this verse - you can find the paper here. I've written out the more recent of the two poems - it's a bit less stark.
XI. (Dead Men's Praise) from Scattered Psalms by Jacqueline Osherow
Yakov Glatstein already
used this verse in a poem,
translated, in that book,
(Radiant Jews, 1946)
Dead Men Don't Praise God
and you can see how, then,
it must have seemed that, for years,
this verse had festered in its psalm
waiting to reveal its acrid heart.
I don't blame him if he thought
all praise had ended
but I wonder if it's heartless
after only fifty years
to think – again – the praise has just begun:
the dead don't praise God
or the ones who go down to silence,
but we'll praise God
from now on forever
hallelujah –
I'm not suggesting that we think about it:
just sing it, during Hallel
at synagogue, the next new moon
and get in on a little
of its stubborn bravado
its delirious proof
of itself – hallelujah -
The Glatstein poem is about how "We received the Torah on Sinai / and in Lublin we gave it back."
That notion of a broken covenant seems very real to me. I was talking last week about how I thought Hashem and I had a deal - I buckle my kids in the car and they are safe - and how I can't accept that Lucas died, buckled in his car seat.
Thanks to all who acknowledge my struggles with faith these days while maintaining theirs.
It's been Yom HaShoah - Holocaust Remembrance Day - here and my kids know too much. Sasha came home talking about "Nazim". He called Gabi one. We tried to explain you don't do that. Later tonight Gabi told him that if he ever met a Nazi, they would be a million times meaner than she is. He said that a Nazi would not be mean to him because he would dress in brown and the Nazi would think he was his child. Gabi said that would not work. I said we'll talk about this more when you are older.
Help.
In the class I was teaching before Lucas died, we were talking a lot about a line from Psalm 115, "the dead don't (won't?) praise God." We read a paper about two poems that reference this verse - you can find the paper here. I've written out the more recent of the two poems - it's a bit less stark.
XI. (Dead Men's Praise) from Scattered Psalms by Jacqueline Osherow
Yakov Glatstein already
used this verse in a poem,
translated, in that book,
(Radiant Jews, 1946)
Dead Men Don't Praise God
and you can see how, then,
it must have seemed that, for years,
this verse had festered in its psalm
waiting to reveal its acrid heart.
I don't blame him if he thought
all praise had ended
but I wonder if it's heartless
after only fifty years
to think – again – the praise has just begun:
the dead don't praise God
or the ones who go down to silence,
but we'll praise God
from now on forever
hallelujah –
I'm not suggesting that we think about it:
just sing it, during Hallel
at synagogue, the next new moon
and get in on a little
of its stubborn bravado
its delirious proof
of itself – hallelujah -
The Glatstein poem is about how "We received the Torah on Sinai / and in Lublin we gave it back."
That notion of a broken covenant seems very real to me. I was talking last week about how I thought Hashem and I had a deal - I buckle my kids in the car and they are safe - and how I can't accept that Lucas died, buckled in his car seat.
Thanks to all who acknowledge my struggles with faith these days while maintaining theirs.
Monday, April 25, 2011
In memory of Lucas - 7 weeks
Tomorrow is 7 weeks since Lucas died in a car accident. We're now counting 7 weeks from Passover to Shavuot. It seems like a long time and it seems like a minute.
I'm doing the suiting up and showing up thing at synagogue while not wanting to be there. I went by myself this morning without kids. After about 15 minutes or so of trying to connect or pray I realize how mad I am at G-d.
I read a book about grief - I'll post the name at some point, it's by Earl Grollman. He talks about something like trying to re-integrate life around a death - how nothing makes sense and then slowly we re-integrate or something like that.
I watched the kids on the beach this weekend and again just had this sense of unreality - how can someone be missing from our family? How can Sasha turn 5 and Lucas not?
This is one of the poems we read at the memorial last week:
Dirge without Music by Edna St. Vincent Millay
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, --- but the best is lost.
The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses.
Elegant and curled is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know.
But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
I'm doing the suiting up and showing up thing at synagogue while not wanting to be there. I went by myself this morning without kids. After about 15 minutes or so of trying to connect or pray I realize how mad I am at G-d.
I read a book about grief - I'll post the name at some point, it's by Earl Grollman. He talks about something like trying to re-integrate life around a death - how nothing makes sense and then slowly we re-integrate or something like that.
I watched the kids on the beach this weekend and again just had this sense of unreality - how can someone be missing from our family? How can Sasha turn 5 and Lucas not?
This is one of the poems we read at the memorial last week:
Dirge without Music by Edna St. Vincent Millay
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, --- but the best is lost.
The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses.
Elegant and curled is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know.
But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
In memory of Lucas
We had a memorial for Lucas here today and planted a tree - his family is also making a memorial for him today on the 40th day since he died.
Gabi read this poem:
Hold on to what is good
Even if it is
A handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe
Even if it is
A tree which stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do
Even if it is
a long way from here.
Hold on to life even when
it is easier letting go.
Hold on to my hand even when
I have gone away from you.
By Nancy Wood.
She did a very good job reading it. Afterwards (or it could have been before), she went into the synagogue because she was crying and did not want people to see her cry. She'll be a good Israeli.
I spoke in Hebrew about how hard it is to be so far from family especially at this time, and about how planting a tree also honors the memory of Lucas's grandmother, Alen's mother Sylvia, who worked so much to preserve trees and wildlife. Alen spoke in English about Lucas and what he loved. We planted a carob tree.
Our thoughts and prayers are with Eddie, Sophie, Kayleigh, Vlad, Jonny, Lynette, Lisa, Spencer, Cindy, and all those who loved Lucas.
Gabi read this poem:
Hold on to what is good
Even if it is
A handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe
Even if it is
A tree which stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do
Even if it is
a long way from here.
Hold on to life even when
it is easier letting go.
Hold on to my hand even when
I have gone away from you.
By Nancy Wood.
She did a very good job reading it. Afterwards (or it could have been before), she went into the synagogue because she was crying and did not want people to see her cry. She'll be a good Israeli.
I spoke in Hebrew about how hard it is to be so far from family especially at this time, and about how planting a tree also honors the memory of Lucas's grandmother, Alen's mother Sylvia, who worked so much to preserve trees and wildlife. Alen spoke in English about Lucas and what he loved. We planted a carob tree.
Our thoughts and prayers are with Eddie, Sophie, Kayleigh, Vlad, Jonny, Lynette, Lisa, Spencer, Cindy, and all those who loved Lucas.
Monday, April 11, 2011
In memory of Lucas
I've been thinking of this song a lot - especially the part about "I wake up in the morning and I wonder". The song is about lost love, but much of it fits with any loss, when the world keeps moving around us and we aren't there somehow.
Please keep our family in your prayers over Easter and Passover - they are having a memorial there and we are having a memorial here on Sunday, April 17. We'll be planting a tree in memory of Lucas.
I've linked the title to a video of Karen Carpenter singing the song. This is the first version of the song I ever heard, when I was about 11 years old.
The End Of The World
Why does the sun go on shining?
Why does the sea rush to the shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world
'Cause you don't love me anymore?
Why do the birds go on singing?
Why do the stars glow above?
Don't they know it's the end of the world?
It ended when I lost your love
I wake up in the morning and I wonder
Why everything's the same as it was
I can't understand, no I can't understand
How life goes on the way it does
Why does my heart go on beating?
Why do these eyes of mine cry?
Don't they know it's the end of the world?
It ended when you said goodbye
Please keep our family in your prayers over Easter and Passover - they are having a memorial there and we are having a memorial here on Sunday, April 17. We'll be planting a tree in memory of Lucas.
I've linked the title to a video of Karen Carpenter singing the song. This is the first version of the song I ever heard, when I was about 11 years old.
The End Of The World
Why does the sun go on shining?
Why does the sea rush to the shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world
'Cause you don't love me anymore?
Why do the birds go on singing?
Why do the stars glow above?
Don't they know it's the end of the world?
It ended when I lost your love
I wake up in the morning and I wonder
Why everything's the same as it was
I can't understand, no I can't understand
How life goes on the way it does
Why does my heart go on beating?
Why do these eyes of mine cry?
Don't they know it's the end of the world?
It ended when you said goodbye
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Last Shabbat and this one
I went away with my work last Shabbat, which was hard. I found two more prayers that were very difficult. The first was Tefillat HaDerech - the prayer for a journey. The rabbis on the bus were talking about exactly where the right place to say it was - you can't say it until you have traveled a certain distance. I was totally alienated from this - like if we say it here, not there, if we say every word exactly correctly, it will prevent our bus from having an accident??? And all those people in accidents, maybe they just didn't say it right??? Give me a break.
The second prayer is the one we say when the ark is opened: "Yehe raba kadamach, detiftach libi beoraita, ve tashlim meshalim delibi, ve liba dechol amach yisrael..." It means loosely - "may it be Your will to open my heart to Your Torah and fulfill my hearts desires and those of all your people Israel for good, for life and for peace." This prayer has been very important to me because before I had kids I prayed very hard during this prayer that I should have them, and since I've had kids, I've always been very grateful when I heard this prayer. Last week I found I just walked out in tears. One of the students very kindly came over to me outside.
I have found something I think is appropriate to say to people who ask "Are you feeling better," which is, "I really appreciate that you would like me to feel better."
Please pray for my mom, Bracha bat Nechama. She fell and bruised her ribs and broke a bone in her foot.
Thanks and much love to all who are reading this.
The second prayer is the one we say when the ark is opened: "Yehe raba kadamach, detiftach libi beoraita, ve tashlim meshalim delibi, ve liba dechol amach yisrael..." It means loosely - "may it be Your will to open my heart to Your Torah and fulfill my hearts desires and those of all your people Israel for good, for life and for peace." This prayer has been very important to me because before I had kids I prayed very hard during this prayer that I should have them, and since I've had kids, I've always been very grateful when I heard this prayer. Last week I found I just walked out in tears. One of the students very kindly came over to me outside.
I have found something I think is appropriate to say to people who ask "Are you feeling better," which is, "I really appreciate that you would like me to feel better."
Please pray for my mom, Bracha bat Nechama. She fell and bruised her ribs and broke a bone in her foot.
Thanks and much love to all who are reading this.
Monday, April 4, 2011
In memory of Lucas
I thought of this poem. Today is four weeks since Lucas died. I don't mean to say anyone shouldn't grieve - G-d knows we are all grieving. But this is a poem that has always spoken to me.
Unmarked Boxes
Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round
in another form. The child weaned from mother's milk
now drinks wine and honey mixed.
God's joy moves from unmarked box to unmarked box,
from cell to cell. As rainwater, down into flower bed.
As roses, up from ground.
Now it looks like a plate of rice and fish,
now a cliff covered with vines,
now a horse being saddled.
It hides within these,
till one day it cracks them open
Part of the self leaves the body when we sleep
and changes shape. You might say, "Last night
I was a cypress tree, a small bed of tulips,
a field of grapevines." Then the phantasm goes away.
You're back in the room.
I don't want to make any one fearful.
Hear what's behind what I say.
Tatatumtum tatum tatadum.
There's the light gold of wheat in the sun
and the gold of bread made from that wheat.
I have neither. I'm only talking about them,
as a town in the desert looks up
at stars on a clear night.
— Jalal al-Din Rumi (1207-1273)
"Unmarked Boxes"
translated by Coleman Barks,
The Essential Rumi (1995), p. 272
Unmarked Boxes
Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round
in another form. The child weaned from mother's milk
now drinks wine and honey mixed.
God's joy moves from unmarked box to unmarked box,
from cell to cell. As rainwater, down into flower bed.
As roses, up from ground.
Now it looks like a plate of rice and fish,
now a cliff covered with vines,
now a horse being saddled.
It hides within these,
till one day it cracks them open
Part of the self leaves the body when we sleep
and changes shape. You might say, "Last night
I was a cypress tree, a small bed of tulips,
a field of grapevines." Then the phantasm goes away.
You're back in the room.
I don't want to make any one fearful.
Hear what's behind what I say.
Tatatumtum tatum tatadum.
There's the light gold of wheat in the sun
and the gold of bread made from that wheat.
I have neither. I'm only talking about them,
as a town in the desert looks up
at stars on a clear night.
— Jalal al-Din Rumi (1207-1273)
"Unmarked Boxes"
translated by Coleman Barks,
The Essential Rumi (1995), p. 272
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Top 10 prayers I'm having a hard time with
So let's see if I can get to 10 here:
1. Shehehiyanu - I can't thank G-d for allowing me to reach this occasion. I so want to turn back the clock. When my best friend from high school whom I had not seen in 10 years showed up last weekend I had to say it, but I choked on it too.
2. Birkat Gomel - I don't need to say this but I can't stand listening to others saying it right now. How come G-d didn't save Lucas?
3. Mevarech HaShanim - this year has so gone down the tubes, how can I ask Hashem to bless it.
4. Mehayeh Metim - I noticed this is kind of a biggie in our tradition, and it's so familiar it rolls off my tongue, and Sasha seems to have total faith in Techiyat Hametim. I'm not sure what I think. I hope I won't be kicked out of the RRA for mentioning that I actually say the traditional version.
5. Ahavat Olam - G-d's love isn't so present for me right now.
6. Anything that uses the word Hesed - not feeling it from G-d so so much. We've seen a lot of it from people.
7. Thy will not mine be done - if you know me well, you know I say that quite a bit. I'm choking on it these days.
8. Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change - also well known by rote but not easy to swallow right now.
9. Alenu leShabeach - not so into praising Hashem right now.
10. Tov Hashem la col ve rachamav al col ma'asav - G-d is good to all and his mercy extends to all he does - Ditto on all of the above.
One line I've been looking at favorably - Psalm 90 verse 15 - Give us joy for as long as You have afflicted us, for the years we've seen bad.
English translations of the above available on request.
Please keep our family in your prayers!
1. Shehehiyanu - I can't thank G-d for allowing me to reach this occasion. I so want to turn back the clock. When my best friend from high school whom I had not seen in 10 years showed up last weekend I had to say it, but I choked on it too.
2. Birkat Gomel - I don't need to say this but I can't stand listening to others saying it right now. How come G-d didn't save Lucas?
3. Mevarech HaShanim - this year has so gone down the tubes, how can I ask Hashem to bless it.
4. Mehayeh Metim - I noticed this is kind of a biggie in our tradition, and it's so familiar it rolls off my tongue, and Sasha seems to have total faith in Techiyat Hametim. I'm not sure what I think. I hope I won't be kicked out of the RRA for mentioning that I actually say the traditional version.
5. Ahavat Olam - G-d's love isn't so present for me right now.
6. Anything that uses the word Hesed - not feeling it from G-d so so much. We've seen a lot of it from people.
7. Thy will not mine be done - if you know me well, you know I say that quite a bit. I'm choking on it these days.
8. Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change - also well known by rote but not easy to swallow right now.
9. Alenu leShabeach - not so into praising Hashem right now.
10. Tov Hashem la col ve rachamav al col ma'asav - G-d is good to all and his mercy extends to all he does - Ditto on all of the above.
One line I've been looking at favorably - Psalm 90 verse 15 - Give us joy for as long as You have afflicted us, for the years we've seen bad.
English translations of the above available on request.
Please keep our family in your prayers!
Monday, March 28, 2011
In memory of Lucas
It's three weeks today.
Death Is Nothing At All
Death is nothing at all
I have only slipped away into the next room
I am I and you are you
whatever we were to each other
that we still are
call me by my old familiar name
speak to me in the easy way
which you always used
put no difference in your tone
wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together
pray smile, think of me, pray for me
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was
Let it be spoken without effort
without the trace of a shadow in it
Life means all that it ever meant
it is the same as it ever was
there is unbroken continuity
why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you
somewhere very near
just around the corner
All is well
Henry Scott Holland
(1847-1918) Canon of St Paul's Cathedral
Death Is Nothing At All
Death is nothing at all
I have only slipped away into the next room
I am I and you are you
whatever we were to each other
that we still are
call me by my old familiar name
speak to me in the easy way
which you always used
put no difference in your tone
wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together
pray smile, think of me, pray for me
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was
Let it be spoken without effort
without the trace of a shadow in it
Life means all that it ever meant
it is the same as it ever was
there is unbroken continuity
why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you
somewhere very near
just around the corner
All is well
Henry Scott Holland
(1847-1918) Canon of St Paul's Cathedral
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
In memory of Lucas
"Strange is our situation here upon earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to divine a purpose. From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know: that we are here for the sake of others — above all for those upon whose smile and well-being our own happiness depends, and also for the countless unknown souls with whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy. Many times a day I realize how much my own outer and inner life is built upon the labors of my fellows, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received and am receiving." Albert Einstein
Thank you to everyone who has reached out to us. Please know our whole family is still in mourning and this week is especially hard for Alen at home - she returned Friday to a surreal few days of Purim and is now trying to get back into her "normal" world. Please keep her family in Trinidad in your prayers as well.
Thank you to everyone who has reached out to us. Please know our whole family is still in mourning and this week is especially hard for Alen at home - she returned Friday to a surreal few days of Purim and is now trying to get back into her "normal" world. Please keep her family in Trinidad in your prayers as well.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
In memory of Lucas
I'm posting these lyrics in memory of Lucas who died one week ago. The title to the song is linked to the youtube song:
BREATHS by Sweet Honey and the Rock
Refrain:
Listen more often to things than to beings.
Listen more often to things than to beings.
Tis the ancestors’ breath when the fire’s voice is heard
Tis the ancestors’ breath in the voice of the water.
Those who have died have never ever left.
The dead are not under the earth.
They are in the rustling trees.
They are in the groaning woods.
They are in the crying grass.
They are in the moaning rocks.
The dead are not under the earth.
So,
(Refrain)
Those who have died have never ever left.
The dead have a pact with the living.
They are in the woman’s breast
They are in the waiting child.
They with us in the home,
They are with us in the crowd.
The dead have pact with the living
So,
I also heard this performed by the gay men's a cappella group, the Flirtations, with Michael Callen, in the middle of the AIDS crisis. Hear their version here
BREATHS by Sweet Honey and the Rock
Refrain:
Listen more often to things than to beings.
Listen more often to things than to beings.
Tis the ancestors’ breath when the fire’s voice is heard
Tis the ancestors’ breath in the voice of the water.
Those who have died have never ever left.
The dead are not under the earth.
They are in the rustling trees.
They are in the groaning woods.
They are in the crying grass.
They are in the moaning rocks.
The dead are not under the earth.
So,
(Refrain)
Those who have died have never ever left.
The dead have a pact with the living.
They are in the woman’s breast
They are in the waiting child.
They with us in the home,
They are with us in the crowd.
The dead have pact with the living
So,
I also heard this performed by the gay men's a cappella group, the Flirtations, with Michael Callen, in the middle of the AIDS crisis. Hear their version here
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
What it is and isn't like
Leslea Newman had a great book of poems called "Love Me Like You Mean It". It looks like it's been republished as Signs of Love.
In it was a poem called something like "What it is and isn't like," or something like that, about lovemaking and what she wished it was and what it actually was. I love that poem.
So the tragic sudden death of Alen's nephew Lucas has me feeling a lot like I felt when Alen's mom died suddenly in 2003. A lot of things are the same, and a lot of stupid things people say are the same, and a lot of great support people are giving my family is the same.
When Alen's mom died some people said, "Was she close to her mom?" Yeah, uh, she lived inside her body once for nine months, you know? About as close as you can get I'm thinking.
I can't take in the fact that a four year old boy from our family whom we loved is dead and my son is walking around. And that's not because I'm not in Trinidad and it's so far away. It doesn't feel far away. The advent of facebook in the intervening years since Alen's mom died has made everything seem that much closer and it doesn't feel far from here at all. Even if Lucas's body were here in this room, I could not take this in.
I'm the same person I was - I have no experience of the sudden death of relatives from my side of the family and as when her mom died, I don't feel this is Alen's loss only. Someone said to me, "What happens to your partner affects you" and that felt totally wrong to me. This doesn't feel like something that's happening to Alen, it's happening to our family each in their own way. My inlaws are my family. I hope Alen feels that her inlaws, my blood family, are her family.
Some people think stoicism and not showing feelings is a really great thing. I should have more compassion and understanding for them - they obviously work really hard at not showing feelings or weakness and in many cases, culturally that is important to them. There's a wide gulf between them and me on this issue. I have it with Gabi - who prefers to tell few people about what is going on and the ones she tells she asks not to tell others. She doesn't want people knowing personal things about her. I don't know if this was acculturated for her in the education system, if they gave her something in the hospital when she was born, or if this is character and not culture, but it seems she's on her way to being an Israeli.
I'm having a normal grief reaction, which means that my usual variable ability to focus is way out of range. I have, however, managed to get Gabi to school, to get Sasha dressed, to get lunches made, to get laundry moving, and I'm now on my way to the next tasks, only about 45 minutes behind schedule.
Alen made it to London and flies out to Trinidad in about 4 hours. Please keep her, Lucas' parents, Eddie & Sophie, his sister, Kayleigh, his grandfather, Vlad, his grandmother, Lynette, his aunts and uncles Lisa, Jonny and Spencer, his other cousins, his caregiver Cindy, and all their family in your prayers.
In it was a poem called something like "What it is and isn't like," or something like that, about lovemaking and what she wished it was and what it actually was. I love that poem.
So the tragic sudden death of Alen's nephew Lucas has me feeling a lot like I felt when Alen's mom died suddenly in 2003. A lot of things are the same, and a lot of stupid things people say are the same, and a lot of great support people are giving my family is the same.
When Alen's mom died some people said, "Was she close to her mom?" Yeah, uh, she lived inside her body once for nine months, you know? About as close as you can get I'm thinking.
I can't take in the fact that a four year old boy from our family whom we loved is dead and my son is walking around. And that's not because I'm not in Trinidad and it's so far away. It doesn't feel far away. The advent of facebook in the intervening years since Alen's mom died has made everything seem that much closer and it doesn't feel far from here at all. Even if Lucas's body were here in this room, I could not take this in.
I'm the same person I was - I have no experience of the sudden death of relatives from my side of the family and as when her mom died, I don't feel this is Alen's loss only. Someone said to me, "What happens to your partner affects you" and that felt totally wrong to me. This doesn't feel like something that's happening to Alen, it's happening to our family each in their own way. My inlaws are my family. I hope Alen feels that her inlaws, my blood family, are her family.
Some people think stoicism and not showing feelings is a really great thing. I should have more compassion and understanding for them - they obviously work really hard at not showing feelings or weakness and in many cases, culturally that is important to them. There's a wide gulf between them and me on this issue. I have it with Gabi - who prefers to tell few people about what is going on and the ones she tells she asks not to tell others. She doesn't want people knowing personal things about her. I don't know if this was acculturated for her in the education system, if they gave her something in the hospital when she was born, or if this is character and not culture, but it seems she's on her way to being an Israeli.
I'm having a normal grief reaction, which means that my usual variable ability to focus is way out of range. I have, however, managed to get Gabi to school, to get Sasha dressed, to get lunches made, to get laundry moving, and I'm now on my way to the next tasks, only about 45 minutes behind schedule.
Alen made it to London and flies out to Trinidad in about 4 hours. Please keep her, Lucas' parents, Eddie & Sophie, his sister, Kayleigh, his grandfather, Vlad, his grandmother, Lynette, his aunts and uncles Lisa, Jonny and Spencer, his other cousins, his caregiver Cindy, and all their family in your prayers.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
All the lyrics to Blow Ye Winds
Blow, Ye Winds
Traditional - Lyrics from Songs of American Sailormen, by Joanna Colcord
'Tis advertised in Boston, New York and Buffalo,
Five hundred brave Americans, a-whaling for to go, singing
Blow, ye winds in the morning, And blow, ye winds, high-i!
Clear away your running gear, And blow, ye winds, high-o!
They send you to New Bedord, that famous whaling port,
And give you to some land-sharks to board and fit you out.
They send you to a boarding-house, there for a time to dwell;
The thieves they there are thicker than the other side of hell!
They tell you of the clipper-ships-a-going in and out,
And say you'll take five hundred sperm before you're six months out.
It's now we're out to sea, my boys, the wind comes on to blow;
One half the watch is sick on deck, the other half below.
But as for the provisions, we don't get half enough;
A little piece of stinking beef and a blamed small bag of duff.
Now comes that damned old compass, it will grieve your heart full sore.
For theirs is two-and-thirty points and we have forty-four.
Next comes the running rigging, which you're all supposed to know;
'Tis "Lay aloft, you son-of-a-gun, or overboard you go!"
The cooper's at the vise-bench, a-making iron poles,
And the mate's upon the main hatch a-cursing all our souls.
The Skipper's on the quarter-deck a-squinting at the sails,
When up aloft the lookout sights a school of whales.
"Now clear away the boats, my boys, and after him we'll travel,
But if you get too near his fluke, he'll kick you to the devil!"
Now we have got him turned up, we tow him alongside;
We over with our blubber-hooks and rob him of his hide.
Now the boat-steerer overside the tackle overhauls,
The Skipper's in the main-chains, so loudly he does bawl!
Next comes the stowing down, my boys; 'twill take both night and day,
And you'll all have fifty cents apiece on the hundred and ninetieth lay.
Now we are bound into Tonbas, that blasted whaling port,
And if you run away, my boys, you surely will get caught.
Now we are bound into Tuckoona, full more in their power,
Where the skippers can buy the Consul up for half a barrel of flour!
But now that our old ship is full and we don't give a damn,
We'll bend on all our stu'nsails and sail for Yankee land.
When we get home, our ship made fast, and we get through our sailing,
A winding glass around we'll pass and damn this blubber whaling!
Traditional - Lyrics from Songs of American Sailormen, by Joanna Colcord
'Tis advertised in Boston, New York and Buffalo,
Five hundred brave Americans, a-whaling for to go, singing
Blow, ye winds in the morning, And blow, ye winds, high-i!
Clear away your running gear, And blow, ye winds, high-o!
They send you to New Bedord, that famous whaling port,
And give you to some land-sharks to board and fit you out.
They send you to a boarding-house, there for a time to dwell;
The thieves they there are thicker than the other side of hell!
They tell you of the clipper-ships-a-going in and out,
And say you'll take five hundred sperm before you're six months out.
It's now we're out to sea, my boys, the wind comes on to blow;
One half the watch is sick on deck, the other half below.
But as for the provisions, we don't get half enough;
A little piece of stinking beef and a blamed small bag of duff.
Now comes that damned old compass, it will grieve your heart full sore.
For theirs is two-and-thirty points and we have forty-four.
Next comes the running rigging, which you're all supposed to know;
'Tis "Lay aloft, you son-of-a-gun, or overboard you go!"
The cooper's at the vise-bench, a-making iron poles,
And the mate's upon the main hatch a-cursing all our souls.
The Skipper's on the quarter-deck a-squinting at the sails,
When up aloft the lookout sights a school of whales.
"Now clear away the boats, my boys, and after him we'll travel,
But if you get too near his fluke, he'll kick you to the devil!"
Now we have got him turned up, we tow him alongside;
We over with our blubber-hooks and rob him of his hide.
Now the boat-steerer overside the tackle overhauls,
The Skipper's in the main-chains, so loudly he does bawl!
Next comes the stowing down, my boys; 'twill take both night and day,
And you'll all have fifty cents apiece on the hundred and ninetieth lay.
Now we are bound into Tonbas, that blasted whaling port,
And if you run away, my boys, you surely will get caught.
Now we are bound into Tuckoona, full more in their power,
Where the skippers can buy the Consul up for half a barrel of flour!
But now that our old ship is full and we don't give a damn,
We'll bend on all our stu'nsails and sail for Yankee land.
When we get home, our ship made fast, and we get through our sailing,
A winding glass around we'll pass and damn this blubber whaling!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
"I Come for to Sing"
Folksinging in Woods Hole always began the same way:
Some come to dance/some come to play/others come just to pass time away
Some come to laugh/their voices do ring/but as for me/I come for to sing
Some kids join in/others do not/
some like to talk about what I ain't got
But I don't care/it don't mean a thing/I'll keep on coming, coming to sing
Phyllis Switzer Goldstein z"l led folksinging at the MBL club in Woods Hole for 45 years. She was a shining light in my life, and living proof of how much influence one person can have through song. January took three wonderful Jewish women who loved singing from the world - Debbie Friedman, Felice Yeskel, and Phyllis. Phyllis was the one I knew longest - from my childhood through the incredible privilege of taking my daughter to sing with her in 2006 and 2008.
The photo is of her in recent years - take off 40 years or so and you'll see how I saw her as a child - she was beautiful. She always wore the same outfit to folksinging when we were kids - a navy blue shirt and white pants. The other place I would see her was on the tennis court - tanned and athletic, looking anything but femme in one of those cute tennis skirts women wore (wear?). I saw her with the adoring eyes of a child - she was larger than life - funny, charismatic, brilliant.
Phyllis taught us American History through music - sea shanties, spirituals (like Follow the Drinking Gourd), union songs, along with lots of humor. And she made up songs about Woods Hole. This is an old favorite of mine that she stopped singing the last 15 years or so:
Good to be in Woods Hole (to the tune of 'Tom Dooley')
Good to be in Woods Hole/I will never roam
Good to be in Woods Hole/I'm never ever going back home
Every day that's sunny/reckon where I'll be
Down at a beach called stony/swimming in the wide wide sea
The MBL club is our place/we make the rafters ring
On Mondays some of us come to dance/on Tuesdays we all come and sing
Last night I went to Joe's to eat/I wasn't wearing shoes
The sign said no bare feet allow/now I'm singing those fried clam blues
Another old favorite:
Take me back to Woods Hole, Take me back to Woods Hole, Take me back oh take me back oh take me back to Woods Hole
Oh to be in Old Woods Hole, that's where I'd rather be, than be bound in New York, suffering from humidity
One I've been thinking of lately that came with a story
A way down south in the yankety yank/a bullfrog jumped from bank to bank
just because he'd nothing better for to do
Well he stubbed his toe when he fell in the water
You could hear him yell for a mile and a quarter
Just because he'd nothing better for to do
Like much of Phyllis's teaching, that story came with a moral, which was about the pride of the bullfrog and how it got him into trouble.
Phyllis did a story and song Abiyoyo - I only later found out it came from Pete Seeger. This also had a moral, one we kids loved, that a boy with a guitar causing trouble could wind up saving his community.
When I was very young, we got to choose if we wanted Abiyoyo or Stewball. Here's one version of Stewball - there are a bunch online.
With my kids, I find myself singing more of the silly songs Phyllis sang in the last 2 decades: Black Socks, Slam the door on the doctor's nose, There was a man who had a goat. There were also gospel favorites like Good News, Chariot's a comin We sang this in a bunch of parts. And there were nonsense like songs or songs in languages that we did not understand - a ram sam sam
Phyllis directed musicals in Woods Hole and Falmouth for a number of years. You had to be a certain age, 8 or 9 maybe, to audition. When I finally reached the age I went to the audition. I had to sing something for Phyllis and I was very nervous. The song I chose to sing was one we sang at folksinging: Hey Ho, Nobody Home. I guess I must have seemed very nervous - afterwards Phyllis asked me how old I was and shook my hand. It was a big let down because I really wanted to be in the play but she clearly thought I was too young. And after that she stopped doing the plays, so I didn't get another chance. I remember though the production of Iolanthe she put on - it was beautiful.
Folksinging always ended with This Land is Your Land. There was a special harmony the cool teens sang: This land is your land, this land is mine, from Maine to Montana, desert to the shore, we sing that this land is your land, this land is mine, this land is made for you and me. And then "one last time"!
I had occasion to reflect on this song in one of my "driving questions" meditations, when I heard Bruce Springsteen on the radio singing it as I was driving home through the West Bank a few years back. The few times I was with Alen at folksinging, this song kind of stuck in our throats as we made our way into exile from the US. Phyllis taught me so much about the American dream and about how America could be a country for all of us - for Jews, for African Americans, for New Englanders.
I was surprised when I grew up and Phyllis treated me like an adult - I always felt like that small child in her eyes. I remember seeing her in 2002 and telling her I was living in Israel - it was the height of the intifada. I don't remember what she said but I remember her look - I came away with a sense of her pride in and love of Israel and understanding of the difficult and complex situation here. When I was a pulpit rabbi, especially when I got to work with children, I always felt that she was one of my true role models for how to be.
If you are reading this, don't hesitate to be someone in the life of a child. I read in recent years that people who consider themselves successful in life know who their role models are. Phyllis Switzer Goldstein was a role model for me, my siblings, and countless other young people. May her memory be for a blessing.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
carrot kugel & lace cookies
It's about time for more recipes.
I made this carrot kugel for a pot luck last week. I wish I had made two. No one in my family except me wants to eat it, but I thought it was great. I used a few different recipes I found online and elsewhere and did not measure much. There is a souffle version where you beat the egg whites, but I did not do that either. There are all kinds of versions, one where you cook the carrots first, etc., but I did it the easy way.
About 8 carrots chopped fine in the food processor - most recipes say 3 and a half cups - I think I was kind of heavy on the carrots, which might explain why it took so long to cook.
2 eggs
3/4 cup brown sugar was in the recipe, I used only about 1/4 cup. It could have been sweeter.
1/4 cup oil
1 cup flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
juice of 1/2 lemon - or more
cinnamon to taste
some vanilla
Mix it up, put it in a pan and bake it for a long time at around 375. I think it took like almost an hour. Cut it in squares and eat it. I think it's pretty healthy, does not cost much, and it definitely got eaten at the potluck.
I also made lace cookies on Friday when I was feeling low which were not very lacy but were delicious. Then coincidentally my mom send me a recipe for them. My mom's friend said she made them parve, but that sounded blasphemous to me. Here's what I did, modified from Fanny Farmer cookbook:
1 1/2 cups uncooked oatmeal
about 1 cup brown sugar
2 tablespoons flour
1/2 tsp salt
2/3 cup melted butter
1 egg beaten
1/2 tsp vanilla
I added some craisins (hamutziyot as they are called here) - about 1/4 cup
Mix all this and bake at 350 on greaseproof paper. Hide them so your family won't eat them up.
If you've read this far, I will tell you that the life of a Fanny Farmer cookbook in my house is about 10 years or less. Judy K. kindly gave me a new one when we were making aliyah to Israel, but it is now broken into two pieces. If you are coming my way and have room in your suitcase, please consider bringing one!
I made this carrot kugel for a pot luck last week. I wish I had made two. No one in my family except me wants to eat it, but I thought it was great. I used a few different recipes I found online and elsewhere and did not measure much. There is a souffle version where you beat the egg whites, but I did not do that either. There are all kinds of versions, one where you cook the carrots first, etc., but I did it the easy way.
About 8 carrots chopped fine in the food processor - most recipes say 3 and a half cups - I think I was kind of heavy on the carrots, which might explain why it took so long to cook.
2 eggs
3/4 cup brown sugar was in the recipe, I used only about 1/4 cup. It could have been sweeter.
1/4 cup oil
1 cup flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
juice of 1/2 lemon - or more
cinnamon to taste
some vanilla
Mix it up, put it in a pan and bake it for a long time at around 375. I think it took like almost an hour. Cut it in squares and eat it. I think it's pretty healthy, does not cost much, and it definitely got eaten at the potluck.
I also made lace cookies on Friday when I was feeling low which were not very lacy but were delicious. Then coincidentally my mom send me a recipe for them. My mom's friend said she made them parve, but that sounded blasphemous to me. Here's what I did, modified from Fanny Farmer cookbook:
1 1/2 cups uncooked oatmeal
about 1 cup brown sugar
2 tablespoons flour
1/2 tsp salt
2/3 cup melted butter
1 egg beaten
1/2 tsp vanilla
I added some craisins (hamutziyot as they are called here) - about 1/4 cup
Mix all this and bake at 350 on greaseproof paper. Hide them so your family won't eat them up.
If you've read this far, I will tell you that the life of a Fanny Farmer cookbook in my house is about 10 years or less. Judy K. kindly gave me a new one when we were making aliyah to Israel, but it is now broken into two pieces. If you are coming my way and have room in your suitcase, please consider bringing one!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Comments on Sisterhood
Comments that came to me from a reader via facebook got me thinking about this wonderful piece by Bernice Johnson Reagon and because of how the world works these days I googled her and when I couldn't find it I wrote to her and she wrote back (which is amazing, because she's one of my role models) and told me how to find the piece which is printed on someone's blog here, and found in an easier downloadable word format if you google Bernice Johnson Reagon Coalition Politics, and published in a wonderful anthology called Home Girls, which is a must read, and if you never read this article, read it now. It relates exquisitely to what I wrote in my last post but please don't think I am comparing myself to this amazing woman - she is light years ahead of me and her website is here.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Sisterhood, Coming out again, and lesbian mainstreaming
Here's a song I learned at the Seneca Women's Peace Camp in 1988 - suitable for Parshat Beshalach
Come come sisterhood, come joy eternal
Our love is mystical, our love is carnal
I'll dance nimble steps, I'll be a Miriam
Leading my people across the water
It's a rewrite of a Shaker tune. The Shakers, along with my grandparents pictured on the post below, roll in their graves when I sing it.
I came out in 1987, while working in the Battered Women's Movement. I was surrounded by women's community and much influenced by a close co-worker who considered herself a separatist. With her and a bunch of other women, I went to Michigan, the mythic women's music festival, in the summer of 1988, a life-transforming experience. I joined a women's mystery school around that time and went on six retreats with a group of women. I joined Achyot Or, a Jewish women's group that meets every memorial day weekend. I was surrounded by sisterhood.
This week Felice Yeskel, a guiding light and spirit in Achyot Or, a tremendous woman and role model for me, died. You can read more about her here.
On the day of Felice's funeral this week (and the day of Debbie Friedman's funeral), I went to give a talk to a small group of North American volunteers about same-sex Bi-national couples. I made a power point presentation and told them about Alen's and my story, as well as about how immigration is part of our family's stories. It was the first time I had done anything like this and it was very well received.
On the way home, I picked up a soldier who was on his way to Beitar Illit, the Haredi settlement near us. I said I wanted to support anyone from Beitar who serves in the army. As we drove up the hill I considered what I would tell him about myself, and eventually told him I have a female partner. He checked my language in Hebrew to be sure I meant Bat Zug and not Ben Zug. I could almost feel the change in him as he sat next to me. For him, an ultra-orthodox man, it's probably the first time he's ever met an out lesbian. We had a wide-ranging discussion that included his asking me some questions like how we had our children. Did I open his eyes? Does this make change? I don't know.
In 1990, a few years after I came out, I went to hear Starhawk talk on Valentine's Day. Those of you who know anything about her and anything about me know that our religious lives and directions are very different, but I definitely felt at this presentation that I was in the presence of a Holy person. One thing she said I remember - that it was time to work together - for women to work with men. I found that hard to accept, but in some level I took it as true, and have worked with men almost ever since, and for the past ten years, intensively. It's been a hard change for me to swallow, based on where I came from, but shortly after that time I let go of whatever separatist direction I might have gone in.
Yet and still. I miss sisterhood. I miss the intensity of the world I came out into. Alen and I ordered DVDs of the L word and we've been watching it. It's nice to connect with lesbian identity in some way. Our lives are SO mainstreamed - to the point where we have to work to find and be part of any kind of gay or women's community.
This is written in love for all my friends of all the years - especially in my heart are all the women who supported me when I came out, Lisa who went to the Starhawk talk with me (can that be true? On your birthday?), Felice's partner and daughter, and all my sisters from Achyot Or. Your thoughts and feedback are sincerely requested!!!
Come come sisterhood, come joy eternal
Our love is mystical, our love is carnal
I'll dance nimble steps, I'll be a Miriam
Leading my people across the water
It's a rewrite of a Shaker tune. The Shakers, along with my grandparents pictured on the post below, roll in their graves when I sing it.
I came out in 1987, while working in the Battered Women's Movement. I was surrounded by women's community and much influenced by a close co-worker who considered herself a separatist. With her and a bunch of other women, I went to Michigan, the mythic women's music festival, in the summer of 1988, a life-transforming experience. I joined a women's mystery school around that time and went on six retreats with a group of women. I joined Achyot Or, a Jewish women's group that meets every memorial day weekend. I was surrounded by sisterhood.
This week Felice Yeskel, a guiding light and spirit in Achyot Or, a tremendous woman and role model for me, died. You can read more about her here.
On the day of Felice's funeral this week (and the day of Debbie Friedman's funeral), I went to give a talk to a small group of North American volunteers about same-sex Bi-national couples. I made a power point presentation and told them about Alen's and my story, as well as about how immigration is part of our family's stories. It was the first time I had done anything like this and it was very well received.
On the way home, I picked up a soldier who was on his way to Beitar Illit, the Haredi settlement near us. I said I wanted to support anyone from Beitar who serves in the army. As we drove up the hill I considered what I would tell him about myself, and eventually told him I have a female partner. He checked my language in Hebrew to be sure I meant Bat Zug and not Ben Zug. I could almost feel the change in him as he sat next to me. For him, an ultra-orthodox man, it's probably the first time he's ever met an out lesbian. We had a wide-ranging discussion that included his asking me some questions like how we had our children. Did I open his eyes? Does this make change? I don't know.
In 1990, a few years after I came out, I went to hear Starhawk talk on Valentine's Day. Those of you who know anything about her and anything about me know that our religious lives and directions are very different, but I definitely felt at this presentation that I was in the presence of a Holy person. One thing she said I remember - that it was time to work together - for women to work with men. I found that hard to accept, but in some level I took it as true, and have worked with men almost ever since, and for the past ten years, intensively. It's been a hard change for me to swallow, based on where I came from, but shortly after that time I let go of whatever separatist direction I might have gone in.
Yet and still. I miss sisterhood. I miss the intensity of the world I came out into. Alen and I ordered DVDs of the L word and we've been watching it. It's nice to connect with lesbian identity in some way. Our lives are SO mainstreamed - to the point where we have to work to find and be part of any kind of gay or women's community.
This is written in love for all my friends of all the years - especially in my heart are all the women who supported me when I came out, Lisa who went to the Starhawk talk with me (can that be true? On your birthday?), Felice's partner and daughter, and all my sisters from Achyot Or. Your thoughts and feedback are sincerely requested!!!
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