tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30751004950729579752024-03-13T14:40:13.068-04:00JanetheWriter Writes... Musings, reflections and thoughts of a #grateful-for-every-day DJF in NYCJanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.comBlogger654125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-4286147530525786922023-05-29T15:52:00.004-04:002023-05-30T22:11:06.422-04:00This Memorial Day I'm Remembering Major Stuart Adam Wolfer, z"l<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnYh4QCi_1mj7R5H-C6kcMUR04NQtZmxw0-94fSuWIl9RRhKVQnfRvCEAnZjuYHObWIVvy8BJxNfA8MLKgI8FowedW-h12bGgbuStpvzemz52b1wcwi8P1FOTazggVBuTlL2lfL24yQoCKRzoH-4_kqT9ynQXdxNsmCEpPJoFkBVRozKqPyY79feLQbA/s450/stuart%20adam%20wolfer.webp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="435" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnYh4QCi_1mj7R5H-C6kcMUR04NQtZmxw0-94fSuWIl9RRhKVQnfRvCEAnZjuYHObWIVvy8BJxNfA8MLKgI8FowedW-h12bGgbuStpvzemz52b1wcwi8P1FOTazggVBuTlL2lfL24yQoCKRzoH-4_kqT9ynQXdxNsmCEpPJoFkBVRozKqPyY79feLQbA/w188-h195/stuart%20adam%20wolfer.webp" width="188" /></a></div>I first learned about
<a href="https://jcca.org/what-we-do/jwb/">
JWB Jewish Chaplains Council</a><sup>®</sup> (JWB) early in my tenure at the Union for Reform Judaism (URJ).
From time to time, its then-director, Rear Admiral Rabbi Harold Robinson,
would call to invite URJ President Rabbi Eric Yoffie to fly with him on a fighter jet that
would then land on an aircraft carrier at sea—or at least that’s what I remember
hearing about those calls in the executive suite at the URJ! Not
surprisingly, Rabbi Yoffie always had a
conflict.<p></p>
<p>
More recently I learned that the Jewish Welfare Board, the forerunner of JCC Association of
North America, was formed in 1917 as a coalition of organizations to support
young Jewish men headed off to fight in World War I. Over more than a
century, it has stayed true to its founding, and today its Jewish military
chaplains and trained lay leaders bring Jewish life and opportunities to
Jewish military personnel and their families wherever in the world they are
working to protect Americans and our many freedoms.
</p>
<p>
Last Thursday, JWB hosted Beverly Wolfer, who spoke to the staff of JCC
Association about her brother, Army Major Stuart A. Wolfer, <em>z”l</em>. A
Jewish day school graduate, ROTC-commissioned Army officer, and a respected
soldier, leader, and friend, he was active in “B’nai Baghdad,” the
military’s Jewish community where he served, until he was killed in action
there in April 2008. Major Wolfer was 36 years old and left behind his wife
and three children, his sister and her family, and his parents.
</p>
<p>
Throughout his military service, Wolfer’s family regularly sent him care
packages, and following his death, they established the
<a href="https://www.msawi.org/">
Major Stuart Adam Wolfer Institute
</a>
(MSAWI), a nonprofit organization that works to ensure that his legacy of
leadership, commitment to his country, and community service lives on and
inspires future generations of children, adults, and leaders. In addition to
continuing to send care packages to troops with help from volunteers of all
ages, MSAWI raises awareness about the sacrifices troops and their families
make to serve our country and recycles the stars on retired American flags
(those no longer fit to fly) into tokens of honor for members of the armed
forces and veterans.
</p>
<p>
Just days before Memorial Day, I was honored to learn about the life and
legacy of Stuart Wolfer, chat briefly with his sister, and join my
colleagues in putting together care packages that will bring some small
comforts of home to Jewish-American and American troops stationed on bases,
ships, and elsewhere around the world.
</p>
<p>
Today—and every day—may the soul of Stuart Adam Wolfer and all those killed
in service to our country find perfect rest in the shelter of God’s wings
and may their memories be for a blessing, now and always.
</p>
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-90583448492115145232023-03-04T14:19:00.001-05:002023-03-04T17:46:08.062-05:00Eight Tidbits for National Grammar Day<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimyWYVOwaf8BI24NK1X-IWpGQ9RnSC3O6NTsbSQkvl8kfPVAKCY6Y10BGFSuY8269IYTvoFgKFPhYgXL16LOMR0-QInicH7ObS0viP4UY1mvi42IB6OLtWuGwU0joLYIX41WPc4GXJPrkoLgZcUO10qL1nrIUHgDE6ydOQMhNimpsWH_6atAfFcsWDpg/s800/grammar%20books.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimyWYVOwaf8BI24NK1X-IWpGQ9RnSC3O6NTsbSQkvl8kfPVAKCY6Y10BGFSuY8269IYTvoFgKFPhYgXL16LOMR0-QInicH7ObS0viP4UY1mvi42IB6OLtWuGwU0joLYIX41WPc4GXJPrkoLgZcUO10qL1nrIUHgDE6ydOQMhNimpsWH_6atAfFcsWDpg/w400-h300/grammar%20books.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Photo: Wikimedia Commons</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>In honor of National Grammar Day, I present this year’s list of my grammar and usage pet peeves—some new ones, but a few old favorites, too. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>“Thru” is not a replacement for “through.” It is an informal, non-standard word and should be avoided at all cost. <br /><br /></li><li>“Below” is a preposition that means “lower than:” The subway runs below the street. It may also be used as an adverb, following a noun, to describe something that will be shown later: The chart below shows the difference between adverbs and prepositions. Although the tide may be shifting, “below” should not be used as an adjective, a usage that seems to be gaining in popularity: The below email… but sounds like nails on a chalkboard to me. <br /><br /></li><li>Use “unique” sparingly. If something is unique it is the only one of its kind. As my friend, Peter Schaktman, wisely advises, “Something is either unique or it isn’t. [It] cannot be ‘very unique.’” <br /><br /></li><li>Don’t confuse “ensure,” “assure,” and “insure.” The first means to make certain: Joe must ensure he is home by 6 p.m. to relieve the babysitter. Assure means to dispel doubts: Joe assured Mrs. Seligson he would be home by 6 p.m. Insure is related to “insurance;” Sue insured her new necklace with a rider on her homeowners insurance policy. <br /><br /></li><li>Although “deep dive” is (over)used informally to mean an in-depth investigation of a topic or scenario, in my book, it is what happens only when you jump off a high diving board or go underwater in scuba gear to see colorful fish and coral reefs. When you study something intently, you investigate, search, inquire, or probe. <br /><br /></li><li>Know the difference between “diffuse” and “defuse.” The former is to spread over a wide area: By the time Sergio left the office, the scent of his cologne had diffused into every corner of the room. The latter means to remove the fuse from an explosive or reduce danger or tension. The HR manager was responsible for defusing the tension between Tess and her supervisor. <br /><br /></li><li>As my paternal grandmother was fond of saying, “It bears repeating,” and so it is with this tidbit from a previous post on National Grammar Day: “Use” and “utilize” are not interchangeable and using the longer word in place of the shorter one doesn’t make you sound smart. “Use” is the correct word when employing an object for its intended purpose: Sally used a hairpin to keep hair out of her eyes during the exam. When describing an object used for other than its intended purpose, “utilize” is the correct word: After the exam, when Sally found herself locked out of her car, she utilized a hairpin to jimmy the lock.<br /><br /></li><li>Finally, keep an eye on your grammar (capitalization and punctuation, too!), even when texting. In other words, don’t send me a text like this: </li></ol></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zCo0V2F7K37tKoWiCe2UM6WNSIIv6A7sfRHsZPeH-Twfm4pTqPQBZpMIYiaNzLnxnDJPiPUGbBuLS0bT0nnuNndomk-frydymXBf0_uFN_UBuUSIsCfQv1YnXTvDHJZZMk-E_IpyvFgrJnVsQlHAT7fhWx2iPLtbLTQN8yh-gx1RQ4wOoMsLmrUIsg/s1174/ian.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1174" data-original-width="1084" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zCo0V2F7K37tKoWiCe2UM6WNSIIv6A7sfRHsZPeH-Twfm4pTqPQBZpMIYiaNzLnxnDJPiPUGbBuLS0bT0nnuNndomk-frydymXBf0_uFN_UBuUSIsCfQv1YnXTvDHJZZMk-E_IpyvFgrJnVsQlHAT7fhWx2iPLtbLTQN8yh-gx1RQ4wOoMsLmrUIsg/w227-h246/ian.jpg" width="227" /></a></div><br /><div>Happy National Grammar Day, friends!</div>JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-41736440044068560462023-01-23T22:52:00.004-05:002023-01-24T09:47:21.895-05:00Bless These Hands: Creating a Reform Chevra Kadisha in NYC<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3-i16-zazsWYWg2Qgm_TvQUzRCDEb3MpTCUX94RnMFPp-T34Gni5CKwoUgJN9WW8FLocZNvaaud1Hual2Pm5YJQuMuCWSvyX1gKYKj9vIAKomQr4BU1qkqIk8vlvkw5wlBXW_9T0zwUM7stqBKsu3AoUsQrpc9UEIjMIEEtLwcoEFAc0aa0mCHkDxsA/s1920/graveyard-7264217_1920.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1206" data-original-width="1920" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3-i16-zazsWYWg2Qgm_TvQUzRCDEb3MpTCUX94RnMFPp-T34Gni5CKwoUgJN9WW8FLocZNvaaud1Hual2Pm5YJQuMuCWSvyX1gKYKj9vIAKomQr4BU1qkqIk8vlvkw5wlBXW_9T0zwUM7stqBKsu3AoUsQrpc9UEIjMIEEtLwcoEFAc0aa0mCHkDxsA/w549-h345/graveyard-7264217_1920.jpg" width="549" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In 2010, our family spent 11 days in hospice, accompanying our mother and wife to the end of her life as the body that had held her soul for more than seven decades succumbed to disease after an excruciating seven weeks of illness. After she died, our rabbi asked if we wanted to arrange for <i>shmirah</i>—individuals to watch over her body until burial. Without missing a beat, my father, my sister, and I said “yes.” We knew, deep in our own souls, that our beloved “The Mums” would have appreciated the presence of <i>shomrim</i> during this liminal time. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What we did not know, was how comforting it would be for <i>us</i>. As we completed the necessary arrangements at the funeral home, we could hear, in a nearby room, the familiar voice of a longtime family friend reading Psalms as she sat with the body of our beloved. With the details handled, we returned home to wait out the time until the funeral. Throughout those long hours of disbelief and breath-stopping grief, we were consoled, knowing that <i>shomrim</i> were with The Mums. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Recently, when the rabbis of two New York City congregations—<a href="https://shaaraytefilanyc.org/" target="_blank">Temple Shaaray Tefila</a> in Manhattan and <a href="https://cbebk.org/" target="_blank">Congregation Beth Elohim</a> in Brooklyn—joined forces with students from the Reform Movement’s seminary, <a href="http://huc.edu" target="_blank">Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion</a> (HUC-JIR), and <a href="https://www.plazajewishcommunitychapel.org/" target="_blank">Plaza Jewish Community Chapel</a> to create a <i>chevra kadisha</i> to serve Reform congregations in the five boroughs, I signed on. Intrigued and open to the possibilities, I welcomed the opportunity to be in on the ground-floor formation and launch of the first sacred community that will not only prepare and guard bodies of the deceased before burial according to Jewish tradition but also will have the freedom and expertise to do this work in ways that extend beyond the customs of Orthodox <i>chevrot kadisha</i> (plural of <i>chevra kadisha</i>), which currently are the only option in New York City. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After an introductory meeting at Plaza in late October, I thought often about what we had seen and heard that evening, finding renewed appreciation for the Jewish rituals around death and burial and the ways they so intentionally honor the deceased and offer compassion to the living. Earlier this week, our fledgling group participated in hands-on training at HUC-JIR led by staff and volunteers from <a href="https://kavodvnichum.org/" target="_blank">Kavod v’Nichum</a>. Hebrew for “honor and comfort,” this non-profit organization provides education, support, and training around end-of-life rituals and practices in our tradition. For more than three hours, we learned about and then practiced the rituals to prepare a body for burial. We did so without water or the necessary equipment but with help from gracious volunteers who served as—<i>meit</i> (masculine), <i>meitah</i> (feminine), and <i>meiteh</i> (non-binary)—the deceased. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We began with the physical washing of the body, reciting passages from Song of Songs to remind us that we are created <i>b’tzelem Elohim</i>, in the Divine image, beautiful in body and spirit. Physical washing was followed by ritual washing. Known as <i>taharah</i>, purification, this spiritual cleansing restores the soul of the deceased to the state of purity it was in when the person entered this world. A prayer that highlights the power of water to purify and sanctify, <i>Amar Rabbi Akiva</i>, is recited as part of <i>taharah</i>. In addition, when the purifying waters washed over the body, we repeatedly recited, depending on the gender identity of the deceased, <i>t’hora hi</i> (female), <i>tahor hu</i> (male), or <i>t’horeh heh</i> (non-binary) to mark the moment of transformation to a state of ritual purity. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Finally, we dressed the body for burial in <i>tachrichim</i>, loose-fitting, white linen or cotton garments, including a <i>kittel</i> or burial shroud, a ceremonial, collared, knee-length jacket without pockets that some observant Ashkenazi Jews, mostly men, wear on Yom Kippur, when leading a Passover seder, or under the <i>chuppah</i> on their wedding day. The <i>tachrichim</i> are designed to replicate the clothing of the <i>Kohen Gadol</i>, the High Priest during Temple times, and to show that all are equal in death. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Although the how-tos of caring for the body and performing <i>taharah</i> are certainly important, the most valuable lesson in our training concerned our intention or <i>kavanah</i> in carrying out this holy work. Because none of the rituals performed by a <i>chevra kadisha</i> is rooted in <i>halacha</i> or Jewish law, it is not possible to do anything the “wrong way.” Twice during the process, once before the group begins its work and once after it has finished, the members recite the <i>mechilah</i> prayer, speaking directly to the deceased, to ask forgiveness for anything they might do or might have done that falls short of bringing honor and respect to body and soul. For these reasons, those who were present from Kavod v’Nichum assured us that we are ready to begin. (Initially, the Reform <i>chevra kadisha</i> will focus on preparing bodies for burial and will add <i>shmirah</i> later.) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the coming weeks, as we move toward February 15, the projected launch date, our <i>chevra kadisha</i> will continue to solidify itself by compiling a manual of readings and prayers to codify our own customs; organizing a notification system for members; and training individuals as leaders (<i>rosh</i>, <i>rosha</i>, <i>rosheh</i>) to ensure the physical and emotional safety of the entire team and that its members show honor and respect to the deceased; follow Jewish customs; and adhere to the desires and practices of the funeral home. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our training session closed with this blessing of the hands: “Bless these hands for the kindness they show, for the holiness they embody, for the mitzvot they enact.” I am honored to participate in this sacred undertaking but am not without trepidation. My heart is fully in, and with time, experience, and the camaraderie of others, I believe my hands, too, will faithfully enact the mitzvah of <i>taharah</i>.
</div>JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-13659831897937884232022-02-27T16:16:00.014-05:002022-03-04T14:09:45.733-05:005 Lessons for National Grammar Day…And Every Day<div style="text-align: left;"><p>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEim70Fqe_m28Gi2fpBIhvNfF1KkRQ-iLEh_-VUToh4LLTVyOwRDhfy7vhgxw8aRrS78j6VMCCdvhOny835VLlqvQE2Q3-s7M4L6XAEFjmIBy2iBX1ozfCEHhXQDJMJvFggwe6TKoewroAFTEXCUOxnSvpG33Bwg4I5jzADIaOgFZuqD2JHArzQHjhq8Ww=s1110" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="1110" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEim70Fqe_m28Gi2fpBIhvNfF1KkRQ-iLEh_-VUToh4LLTVyOwRDhfy7vhgxw8aRrS78j6VMCCdvhOny835VLlqvQE2Q3-s7M4L6XAEFjmIBy2iBX1ozfCEHhXQDJMJvFggwe6TKoewroAFTEXCUOxnSvpG33Bwg4I5jzADIaOgFZuqD2JHArzQHjhq8Ww=w400-h138" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">https://blog.cengage.com/six-best-grammar-websites-for-your-college-students/</span></td></tr></tbody></table>In less than a week, it will be March 4<sup>th</sup>, National Grammar Day,
the only day of the year that is a complete sentence. In its honor, I offer
you five grammar and word usage lessons you can use every day.
</p>
<ol style="text-align: left;"><strong><li>Don’t substitute “utilize” for “use.” It doesn’t make you sound smart.
</li></strong>
“Use” and “utilize” are not interchangeable and using the longer word in
place of the shorter one doesn’t make you sound smart. “Use is the correct
word when employing an object for it’s an intended purpose: Sally used a
hairpin to keep hair out of her eyes during the exam. When describing an
object used for other than its intended purpose, “utilize” is the correct
word: After the exam, when Sally found herself locked out of her car, she
utilized a hairpin to jimmy the lock.
<br /><strong><li>Don’t confuse “capital” and “capitol.”</li></strong>
Trenton, Albany, Sacramento, Tallahassee, Concord, Montpelier, and Austin
are state capitals. The gold-domed buildings in those cities, where the
state legislatures meet to conduct business, are capitols. Got it?
<br /><strong><li>Which is it: it’s, its, or its’? </li></strong>
“It’s” is a contraction of “It is.” It’s cold outside today. “ “Its” is the
possessive form of an inanimate object or an animal or child of unknown
gender. The Coca-Cola Company issued its annual report last week. “Its’” is
not a word. Please don’t use it—especially on National Grammar Day.
<br /><strong><li>Is it “lesser” or “few”? </li></strong>
I’m always annoyed by the signs for the supermarket express line that say:
“10 or Less Items.” Here’s why they should say “10 or Fewer Items.” When
talking or writing about discreet objects that can be counted individually,
use “fewer.” When talking about nouns that cannot be counted
individually, use “less.” Pamela had fewer coins than Rob, but her coins
were quarters and his were pennies, so Rob had less money than Pamela.
Here’s another one: Josephine had less flour than she thought, so she baked
fewer cookies.
<br /><strong><li>Why you should not say or write “Marci left the decision to Joe and I.
</li></strong>
”In this sentence, “Joe and I” are the objects of the sentence—the ones to
whom Marci gave the decision-making power. But “I” should be used only as a
sentence’s subject, not its object. The correct way to say or write this
sentence is “Marci left the decision to Joe and <em>me</em>.” To easily
decide whether to use “I” or “me,” take Joe out of the picture entirely.
Would you ever say, “Marci left the decision to I”? I hope not! I also hope
that it sounds so wrong that you know at once that the correct choice is
“me.”
</ol><p>
Happy National Grammar Day, my friends!
</p></div>JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-75734473664281323972021-10-02T20:56:00.004-04:002022-02-27T16:00:25.531-05:00October’s Arrived, So I’m on My Soapbox<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_ukpS3DNxisNT9wx4BBO72TM9WxVmnUR1RZbe6lbJSmL2FUTIS38qjjHoa2QiMqysO0E-WOWuZxSAi3yhoJ1TLUaSM2OQ26f-a9E28ekSOGhaWz1SOJ5x3Vd2uGz-fPKGzStYl3IFL2K/s1440/437937DC-2196-4D53-B352-B9F93675400A.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1440" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_ukpS3DNxisNT9wx4BBO72TM9WxVmnUR1RZbe6lbJSmL2FUTIS38qjjHoa2QiMqysO0E-WOWuZxSAi3yhoJ1TLUaSM2OQ26f-a9E28ekSOGhaWz1SOJ5x3Vd2uGz-fPKGzStYl3IFL2K/w513-h223/437937DC-2196-4D53-B352-B9F93675400A.jpeg" width="513" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Credit: benefits.com</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I didn’t know how I was going to write about Breast Cancer Awareness Month
this year, and then I saw this message on Facebook, posted by a guy I knew
in high school:</div><p></p>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">Lost my mother, grandmother (and both her sisters) and great grandmother to
breast cancer. I get checked every year by my doctor.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/getchecked?__eep__=6&__cft__%5B0%5D=AZXF3k6DZ6ZyXDBHwm3404mdpvMjBkVHPj9Q-N53Tk66A64zwJz3SbwQSeIqGLavZKAkBqr7fDObywHzZQ2D1IMCLC8lfN648_4mHIXb5jP8e1dn86tZiEVmbpw4aGZ1D7LCtuJZjaBaVLMf8T5osHNYt2PJiXq2Yl_FnwKtX_uqdw&__tn__=*NK-R">#getchecked</a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/protectthetattas?__eep__=6&__cft__%5B0%5D=AZXF3k6DZ6ZyXDBHwm3404mdpvMjBkVHPj9Q-N53Tk66A64zwJz3SbwQSeIqGLavZKAkBqr7fDObywHzZQ2D1IMCLC8lfN648_4mHIXb5jP8e1dn86tZiEVmbpw4aGZ1D7LCtuJZjaBaVLMf8T5osHNYt2PJiXq2Yl_FnwKtX_uqdw&__tn__=*NK-R"></a><a href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/protectthetattas?__eep__=6&__cft__%5B0%5D=AZXF3k6DZ6ZyXDBHwm3404mdpvMjBkVHPj9Q-N53Tk66A64zwJz3SbwQSeIqGLavZKAkBqr7fDObywHzZQ2D1IMCLC8lfN648_4mHIXb5jP8e1dn86tZiEVmbpw4aGZ1D7LCtuJZjaBaVLMf8T5osHNYt2PJiXq2Yl_FnwKtX_uqdw&__tn__=*NK-R">#protectthetattas</a></div></blockquote>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I immediately sent him a private message: “Have you had genetic testing for
BRCA and other mutations?”
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Guy: “My brother has since he had daughters. Was negative. But he and I are
vastly diff makeups. He’s def from my father’s DNA. And I’m sure I’m more
my mother’s. Never got tested since I only had boys.”
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
I couldn’t have asked for a better set-up!
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Me: “You should consider consulting with a genetic counselor because men,
not only women, can pass mutations on to their children. So, if you carry a
hereditary cancer mutation, each of your sons has a 50% chance of carrying
it—and a 50% chance of passing it on to their own kids, both sons and
daughters. Happy to discuss further if that would be helpful. I’ve learned
all of this the hard way, and I work hard to make sure other families don’t
have the experiences that mine did. Also, some of these mutations are much
more prevalent among Ashkenazi Jews than they are in the general
population. I’ll also butt out if you think this is none of my business.” </p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Guy: “I appreciate it! I will pursue it further.”
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
Me: “Excellent! Please keep me posted.”
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
If, in fact, Guy or either of his sons turns out to be a BRCA mutation
carrier (pfth, pfth, pfth), they’re at increased risk of male breast
cancer, prostate cancer, pancreatic cancer, and melanoma. So, I hope he
follows through, gets genetic counseling, and does whatever might be
necessary to protect his own health and that of his sons.
</p>
<p style="text-align: left;">
<em>
To learn more about hereditary cancer, visit
<a href="http://facingourrisk.org/">
FORCE: Facing Our Risk of Cancer Empowered</a>, a national non-profit organization solely devoted to providing
resources and support to the hereditary cancer community. To find a
genetic counselor in your area, visit the
<a href="https://findageneticcounselor.nsgc.org/?reload=timezone">
National Society of Genetic Counselors</a>.
<a href="https://jscreen.org/genetic-cancer-screening-service/">
Visit JScreen.org</a> to learn how you can test for hereditary cancer mutations from home and
consult with a genetic counselor about the results.
</em>
</p>
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-28178813355022897292021-09-18T22:37:00.004-04:002021-09-19T16:40:38.883-04:00King Reilly: A Treasured Gift From Our Hometown<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6dnQSCgG1xJjFHFnaEGf2dAVkpuI9m776ezTwagg8pCqiPhF9t_3L0fiV62adepiPcMPa8zRIoFzE8XCmNh7mxjzCXtQgGuIAwZWezV1EKE6SbGAJRRYOv1_Nti8mueUg72m5NCsGlt-a/s2048/835B47C7-B3E6-4091-A3AA-1E1E1357AE25.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6dnQSCgG1xJjFHFnaEGf2dAVkpuI9m776ezTwagg8pCqiPhF9t_3L0fiV62adepiPcMPa8zRIoFzE8XCmNh7mxjzCXtQgGuIAwZWezV1EKE6SbGAJRRYOv1_Nti8mueUg72m5NCsGlt-a/w400-h300/835B47C7-B3E6-4091-A3AA-1E1E1357AE25.heic" width="400" /></a></div><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>“Teaching is a very noble profession that shapes the character, calibre,
and future of an individual. If the people remember me as a good teacher,
that will be the biggest honour for me.”</p><p>-- Avul Pakir Jainulabdeen Abdul Kalam, 11th president of India, 2002 to
2007</p></blockquote>
<p>
Amy and I drove around Colonial Park a few times before we found the right
gazebo. When we couldn’t find it immediately, my sister wanted to head back
to <a href="https://www.somersetrun.net/home/">Del Boca Vista</a>, but I
insisted we persist. In the end, we were glad we did.
</p>
<p>
In the gazebo, we met Eileen and Kathy, Mr. Reilly’s daughters, and one of
his granddaughters, Kristen, as well as Chuck McCook, a fellow Franklin
High School alum from the Class of 1980. Lovingly placed on the seats
around the gazebo were the King’s FHS yearbooks from the 70s, 80s, and
beyond, together with snapshots of students his daughters told us they’d
found on the bookshelves in his basement “man cave.”
</p>
<p>
Immediately, Amy spotted me in the array of photos—wearing the same pink
velour turtleneck I’d worn at my Sweet 16. We quickly identified others,
rattling off their names as though we’d walked the high school’s halls with
them just yesterday—Tommy Kimball, Carolyn Holmes, Carrie Hamilton, Andrew
Schofer, Julie Goldman, Jimbo Allegro, Amy McGovern, Cory Nass, and Adam
Weintraub. There were others, too, familiar as the backs of our own hands,
but four decades have elapsed since the photos were taken, preventing us
from whipping their names from the recesses of our middle-aged minds.
</p>
<p>
To the pictures and the yearbooks, we added our own reminiscences: the
antics of “Reilly’s Raiders” and the classmates who participated;” hanging
with King Reilly in his classroom until the “late bus” took us home; the
outline sketch of the 13 original colonies on the chalkboard that began
many an early American history lesson; hosting the King himself for dinner
at 12 Webster Road on back-to-school night; and knowing, without anyone
saying so, that Reilly’s classroom was a safe haven, long before that even
was a thing. The kids who smoked in the courtyard, the hallway cacophony
between classes, and our love for a school that, at the time, had a less
than stellar reputation all made cameo appearances in our conversation.
</p>
<p>
From his daughters, we got a bit of the King’s prequel and sequel to our
own high school years. He began his college career as a business major.
However, after he was drafted during the Vietnam War and spent time as a
file clerk in Korea, he changed his major to education upon returning home.
Even though the switch meant lost credits and more time in school, his
wartime experience had taught him that business and office work weren’t for
him—and to our benefit, he acted on that knowledge. Kathy told us how,
eager to get out of school for the day, she accompanied her dad to an early
iteration of “Take Our Daughters to Work Day,” only to find herself in <i>his</i> classroom all day, listening to him tell the story of
<a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Hugh-Glass">
Hugh Glass’ mauling by a bear</a>—not once or twice, but <i>eight times</i> during the course of the school day. He was good at storytelling, she said, and no one was embarrassed or thought the tale was dorky or dumb.</p>
<p>
Following his retirement in the mid-1990s, he spent precious time with his
family; the Palmyra High School Band Parents, who, thanks to him, added
“and Grandparents” to the organization’s name; and the people of Ireland,
whom he met when he backpacked and hitchhiked across the country from
Galway to Dublin. All of them, like Amy, Chuck, and I, along with countless
other Franklin students, are better for having crossed paths with King
Reilly—and now members of his family—and will carry his life lessons and
his indomitable spirit in our hearts always. They are among a trove of
treasured gifts from our hometown whose value—and our appreciation of
them—only increases with time.
</p>
<p>
Rest in peace, Mr. Reilly.
</p><p>P.S. One the the High Holiday sermons I read this season connected me to <a href="https://www.npr.org/2005/08/08/4785079/always-go-to-the-funeral">this NPR story</a> from 2005. Although this wasn't a funeral, Amy and I were honored to share this special time and fond memories with King Reilly's loved ones.</p><p><br /></p>
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-92024994622839132502021-09-07T00:15:00.001-04:002021-09-07T21:32:40.814-04:00How Framily Made Our Visit to Ojai So Magical<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdFm_PdfyDkxllxQAG8l_DK2jzvZZWtrWsRdszEaAUvD54ZdKYF2PiekoTjTXDTg9ZOkGYDhY39sCCswEsAaH3I06yzIxhC2HBcLYWiZPhKQX-uRaXRpuS1ZC3wkggC73jqa-x_DP4jVVH/s800/C95A028F-0B85-4032-AF10-9D1FB6AB2908.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdFm_PdfyDkxllxQAG8l_DK2jzvZZWtrWsRdszEaAUvD54ZdKYF2PiekoTjTXDTg9ZOkGYDhY39sCCswEsAaH3I06yzIxhC2HBcLYWiZPhKQX-uRaXRpuS1ZC3wkggC73jqa-x_DP4jVVH/w400-h300/C95A028F-0B85-4032-AF10-9D1FB6AB2908.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Once upon a time, in 1968, two little girls (one still in diapers) moved
with their parents from New Jersey to Wheaton, Maryland. They didn’t know
anyone who lived in Maryland, but their scientist dad had a new job at NIH,
and the four of them lived in a garden apartment not far from Bethesda,
where his office and lab were located.<p></p>
<p>
Before long, their mom started to play bridge with other moms who lived
with their families in the garden apartments. She met one mom from
California who had three little girls, and the youngest was just a few
months older than one of her little girls. Their dad was an engineer and a
college professor.
</p>
<p>
The two families and the five little girls got to be friends. They
befriended another family with a little girl, but her mom didn’t play
bridge. They were from Baltimore, but had recently returned from Montana,
where they’d lived near a Native American reservation where the dad had
been a doctor with the U.S. Public Health Service.
</p>
<p>
The families did lots of things together, often riding into “The District”
in the California family’s 1960 dark blue Chevy Nova station wagon. On the
Fourth of July, they went to watch the fireworks on the National Mall; in
the winter, they drove to see the National Christmas Tree, and in the
spring, the beautiful pink cherry blossoms. The little girls from New
Jersey loved to ride in the “way back” of the station wagon, look out the
back window, and wave to the drivers behind them. It was much more fun than
riding in their own black Chevy sedan with the “D.C. Last Colony” bumper
sticker on the back.
</p>
<p>
The girls were in Brownies and Girl Scouts together, and when they weren’t
in school or extra-curricular activities, they hung out together—playing
Monopoly, Yahtzee, and hopscotch, riding bikes with banana seats, and
sledding down snow-covered hills. The biggest girl, who could be very bossy
(and hated raisins), sometimes bossed the littlest one around. The
California family had a black cat named Troubles, and the New Jersey girls
were afraid of him, especially after he scratched one of them on the nose.
The Baltimore family had a parakeet whose cage sat on an old TV cart, and
the little girl with the scratched nose liked to push the cart around the
parakeet’s living room.
</p>
<p>
The New Jersey mom was a pre-school teacher at the JCC in Rockville, where
the littlest girl went to school. Since the rest of the girls’ school day
ended at lunchtime on Wednesdays (for teacher in-service training and
development), the Baltimore mom watched the New Jersey mom’s older girl
each Wednesday afternoon. The families pitched in to help out in other
ways, too, like when one little girl had eye surgery and another had her
tonsils out. (The little girl with the tonsils brought them home in a jar,
and they sat on her dresser for a very long time.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOYE0fSjFuj_mvpajpaRTTOxRhcpIZvu_F93vWDNpNZRCMarsKIOiquy-V51vnrYonikAAtQ_l7TE8ycmU4dapm1AAPZg-6Dk9e3C_Al1645Ok73BJqry_yyq0y_dIyJfOdTWnRLSeJ4Gl/s1095/Once+Upon+a+Time-2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1095" data-original-width="1095" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOYE0fSjFuj_mvpajpaRTTOxRhcpIZvu_F93vWDNpNZRCMarsKIOiquy-V51vnrYonikAAtQ_l7TE8ycmU4dapm1AAPZg-6Dk9e3C_Al1645Ok73BJqry_yyq0y_dIyJfOdTWnRLSeJ4Gl/s320/Once+Upon+a+Time-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>When the families celebrated Hanukkah and Christmas together, there often
was homemade ice cream—from a hand-crank ice cream maker—for dessert. The
girls also ate a lot of Spaghetti-O’s and Butoni toaster pizzas, even
though the middles were always cold. <div><br /></div><div>One year, when the Baltimore family
was away—probably in Baltimore—the New Jersey mom and dad planned a
Hawaiian-themed New Year’s eve party. For days beforehand, they cooked a
lot of chicken and pineapple to serve over rice to their guests and
decorated their front door with travel posters for Hawaii, full of people
wearing leis and hula skirts. Unfortunately, it snowed so hard that night,
only the California mom and dad, who could walk from their building to the
next, actually made it to the party. After the New Jersey girls were fast
asleep and all the leftover Hawaiian chicken and rice had been packed away,
the two moms and dads smoked marijuana—probably for the first time, and
maybe the only time—that the California dad had gotten from someone at the
school where he taught.
<p></p>
<p>
In 1972, the New Jersey family moved back to New Jersey, so the dad could
teach at Rutgers. Shortly afterward, the California family and the
Baltimore family each moved to a townhouse in the same complex as the
garden apartments. When the California family moved back to California,
they visited the New Jersey family on their way to the west coast. When the
young lady (she wasn’t a little girl anymore) in the Baltimore family
became bat mitzvah, the New Jersey family drove to Maryland for the <em>simcha</em>. They returned each summer to visit the Baltimore family,
who by this time had moved into a house in Silver Spring, and so the little girl who had the
eye surgery could continue to see the same eye doctor in Washington, D.C.
In between visits, the Baltimore and New Jersey moms talked on the phone
every Monday night—beginning at 11 p.m., when the rates went down.
</p>
<p>
In the summer of 1979, the New Jersey girls flew for the first time, when
the family traveled to Los Angeles to visit the California family in
Manhattan Beach. Together the two families visited Disneyland and Universal
Studios, before the New Jersey family took off in their rented Datsun to
visit San Diego, Ojai, and the Mohave Desert for a few days. Later that
same year, the Baltimore family adopted a little girl, and the older New
Jersey girl got to meet the baby only a few months later when she was in
Washington, D.C. to attend a model United Nations conference for high
school students. When the younger New Jersey girl attended law school in
Washington, D.C., she visited the Baltimore family often. Her sister
visited a few times when she was in Washington, D.C. for work.
</p>
<p>
Weddings, cross-country business trips, and Ma Bell kept the families
connected throughout the 1980s and 90s, but never did all three gather in
the same place at the same time. In 2002, the elder New Jersey girl, who
lived in Los Angeles at the time, spent a lot of time with the California
family in San Luis Obispo, while she got untangled from her marriage and
prepared to return to the east coast. </p><p>In 2010, the New Jersey mom died,
followed in 2013 by the Baltimore mom. We like to think that wherever they
are, they’re together in a place that includes plenty of outlet malls and
deep discount warehouses and that they’re riding around in a big ol’,
gas-guzzling Chevy Impala with lots of room in the back seat and the trunk
for whatever glassware, placemats, or other treasures they pick up.
</p>
<p>
When the pandemic hit, three generations of the California family’s
girls—sometimes joined by a fourth-generation toddler—and the New Jersey
and Baltimore girls began meeting weekly on Zoom for Bi-Coastal Happy Hour
(BCHH). When the littlest girl, living in New York City, announced a
business trip to Ojai, California, plans for an in-person reunion kicked
in.
</p>
<p>
For a few days in mid-August, the California mom, the six little girls, and
a daughter of one of the California girls had a magical time together in
Ojai—catching up, celebrating, remembering, reminiscing, and planning for
the next reunion.
</p>
<p>
The end… but not really.</p>
</div>JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-10061228793124012422021-08-15T13:19:00.000-04:002021-08-15T13:19:02.218-04:00#BlogElul 5781: Understand
<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEAql8MkY5UwJ1xfQIFZEr8MAfM5dnrF7aMeOiIOS6HpG-QlHGjoFCwH5jvdpd8WvxBTmBdVbRbNJVHR80BVopVVzKXfFEm0QVcv59s3X_QSyQj5EYcQTLlsfX6vWJVBRmX_dPI9GP9X9f/s1920/danist-soh-5D47VsGV86c-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1275" data-original-width="1920" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEAql8MkY5UwJ1xfQIFZEr8MAfM5dnrF7aMeOiIOS6HpG-QlHGjoFCwH5jvdpd8WvxBTmBdVbRbNJVHR80BVopVVzKXfFEm0QVcv59s3X_QSyQj5EYcQTLlsfX6vWJVBRmX_dPI9GP9X9f/s320/danist-soh-5D47VsGV86c-unsplash.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Dear The Mums and Mrs. Steinberg,
<p></p>
<p>
I don’t completely understand where <em>olam haba</em> (the world to come)
is located or exactly what you’re doing there, but I hope it includes
plenty of outlet malls and deep discount warehouses and that you’re riding
around together in a big ol’, gas-guzzling Chevy Impala checking them
all out. I’m sure there’s lots of room in the back seat and the trunk for
whatever glassware, placemats, or other treasures you pick up. Maybe
there’s even a café or two that serves Lipton (or was it Nestea?) flavored
iced tea—orange for you, Mrs. S., and lime for you, TM,—so you can take a break from
the bargain hunting when you get parched. Of course, I’m guessing, too,
that the weather and the temperature are perfect, and there’s no need to
run the A/C at all, let alone on “frenzy.”</p><p>Amy and I, though, may be running the A/C just that way this week, and I
want to let you know where we’ll be and with whom we’ll be hanging out. She
has a business presentation in Ojai, California, and I’m going along for
the ride. Best of all, though, Barbara and three generations of the
Harrises—a total of nine of us—are going to meet there for a few days of
girls’ fun, including celebrating Amy’s birthday on Tuesday. I know—and you
know, too—that you’ll be right there with us in spirit, marking the first
time we will all have been together in person since, oh, maybe, 1972.
</p>
<p>
Like I said, I’m not so sure about the details of <em>olam haba</em>, and
even though that’s where you are, a piece of each of you is forever in my
heart.
</p>
<p>
xoxo
</p>
<p>
<em>
Inspired by
<a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2021/07/blogelul-elulgram-2021.html" target="_blank">
Ima on (and off) the Bima
</a>
, this #BlogElul post is one in a series marking the days of the Hebrew
month of Elul, which precede the Jewish High Holidays and traditionally
serve as a time of reflection and spiritual preparation for the new
year.
</em>
</p>
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-46092512315425813182021-08-13T21:34:00.007-04:002021-08-13T22:02:42.654-04:00#BlogElul 5781: Want<p> </p><p>
<strong></strong></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><strong>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4k2UgDIOkVTU-Z7I0ivAzED4ym8MjDYEhQhAEgujHycpoqp-BSaMPbUoT3WHLh-ICRG-D9xFb2bjLvH-qVHVQjm4zeb7A6nREx3zX82ru1T_Seh0Q7L2-HVOHtNvorxFSxmXdVvUV0Pls/s2048/brett-jordan-fMbRKk2la0s-unsplash.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4k2UgDIOkVTU-Z7I0ivAzED4ym8MjDYEhQhAEgujHycpoqp-BSaMPbUoT3WHLh-ICRG-D9xFb2bjLvH-qVHVQjm4zeb7A6nREx3zX82ru1T_Seh0Q7L2-HVOHtNvorxFSxmXdVvUV0Pls/s320/brett-jordan-fMbRKk2la0s-unsplash.jpg" width="320" /></a></strong></div><p>I intended to #BlogElul, I anticipated I would, and, most of all, I want to
do it.
</p>
<p>
Somehow, though, it took me six days into the month to get the ball
rolling.
</p>
<p>
And that’s okay.
</p>
<p>
Recently, to help me with my apartment move, I worked with a personal organizer, from
whom I learned this adage: Done is better than perfect.
</p>
<p>
I’ve heard a similar sentiment many times before as this maxim, most
commonly attributed to Voltaire: Don't let the perfect be the enemy of the
good.
</p>
<p>
No matter who said it or the exact wording, it’s an idea I want to carry
with me into the new year.
</p>
<p>
Sure, perfect is great—especially for this fusspot who’s hardest on
herself—but in 5782, I want to try to ease up, even just a little, and keep in mind that sometimes,
done is good enough.
</p>
<p>
<em>
Inspired by
<a href="http://imabima.blogspot.com/2021/07/blogelul-elulgram-2021.html" target="_blank">
Ima on (and off) the Bima
</a>
, this #BlogElul post is one in a series marking the days of the Hebrew
month of Elul, which precede the Jewish High Holidays and traditionally
serve as a time of reflection and spiritual preparation for the new
year.
</em>
</p>
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.com0Atlantic Ocean-14.5994134 -28.6731465-40.927227564917644 -63.8293965 11.728400764917641 6.4831034999999986tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-57738579160637728962021-07-08T18:10:00.002-04:002021-07-08T18:11:02.982-04:00Here's Where I Was "Strabunsing Harum"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihLy-Bk9xiB0Q0NmSpnpkk2HdFMg2SlwYAOjGFIEBS-YK8ITza9pVICVWJTbqLL_CO-019kcyRpY0spo1jUSARaHGv6JBxELkX0dQzFlM9wsmlbCYKH8Fnbs9bGhocOA6fsHO0Xm6KXfk1/s1095/Aunt+Claire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1095" data-original-width="1095" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihLy-Bk9xiB0Q0NmSpnpkk2HdFMg2SlwYAOjGFIEBS-YK8ITza9pVICVWJTbqLL_CO-019kcyRpY0spo1jUSARaHGv6JBxELkX0dQzFlM9wsmlbCYKH8Fnbs9bGhocOA6fsHO0Xm6KXfk1/s320/Aunt+Claire.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>July 8, 2021</p>
<p>
Dear Aunt Claire,
</p>
<p>
If you tried to call me yesterday and wondered where I was “<em>strabunsing harum</em>” (gallivanting about) as you always wanted to
know, I was with all the other people who gathered to celebrate you and
your life—and, at your request, not grieve your death. Although we’re
terribly sad, I hope your ears were ringing. So many people had lovely
things to say about you and your long, well-lived life. You would have
loved to chat with them all!
</p>
<p>
Marc and Ted each spoke lovingly of you and how you always managed to
balance your career as an occupational therapist—first working with stroke
patients and later starting the OT program at <a href="https://www.kean.edu/">Kean College of New Jersey</a>—with being
their mother, long before work-life balance was even a thing.
</p>
<p>
I recall visiting you in your office at Kean on several occasions, and I
remember this story that happened during your tenure there: You woke up in
the middle of the night and couldn’t remember if you’d turned off the
coffee pot in the office. Ever practical, you called the campus safety and
security office to see if someone could go check on the coffee pot. After
you made this request, the person on the other end of the phone said,
“Lady, we can’t do that right now, there’s a fire on campus.” Luckily, the
blaze wasn’t in your building and, as you discovered the next morning, you
had, in fact, turned off the coffee machine!
</p>
<p>
Marc and Ted also talked about your optimism, your knack for connecting
with strangers, and how your service as a trustee on the board of Beth
Sholom Reform Temple in Clifton (now a part of <a href="https://www.nertamid.org/">Temple Ner Tamid</a> in Bloomfield)
exemplified your commitment to Judaism.
</p>
<p>
I have a few distinct memories from your time in that congregation: I
remember how you nurtured the temple’s “Laura Fischer Memorial Library”
into existence after Tante Laura died and honored her memory by serving as
the librarian for many years. I wonder what became of all those Laura
Fischer Library books with the blue and white bookplates. Maybe some of
them made it to Ner Tamid…
</p>
<p>
At Ted’s bar mitzvah luncheon in the social hall, when the DJ told him it
was time to dance with his favorite girl, instead of picking you, he picked
Jodi Cook… and in the four-plus decades since, I’ve reminded him of that
faux pas every so often.
</p>
<p>
Lastly, although it happened long before I entered the Jewish professional
world, I knew that having a woman cantor, as that congregation did, was a
big deal. I’m not sure I realized back then that Barbara Ostfeld was the
first ordained female cantor, but I always knew you were quite fond of
her—and it was mutual. I connected with her during my time at the URJ, and
she wrote this to me earlier this week, “I'm sorry and think that this
particular loss is shared to one degree or another by so many. I count
myself among them. She was unforgettable.”
</p>
<p>
Unforgettable is an apt description. So many of my friends (and Ma’s and
Amy’s, too) remember you—and told me so on Facebook: “I remember your aunt
as a sweet, quiet, gentle soul,” said Rabbi Debbie Bravo; Ma’s friend,
Kathy Kahn, said, “I remember Claire so well. What a sweetheart she was...”
Amy’s lifelong friend, Maria, wrote: “Aunt Claire was a lovely person…” (I
love how she called you “Aunt Claire,” just like everyone called Uncle Irv
“Uncle Irv.”) Judy Tushman said, “Claire’s collection of Quimper was the
first thing she showed me in her apartment. It was amazing, and so was
Claire. A truly lovely person, and a pleasure to know.”
</p>
<p>
Speaking of <a href="https://quimperfrenchpottery.com/">Quimper</a>, I used
to love to scour the tables at flea markets and antique shows for the
familiar yellow and blue pottery and was so excited when, on rare
occasions, I spotted it. One year that happened a few months before one of
your milestone birthdays, and I was thrilled to purchase the two small
saucers for you, adding a small card that said that as aunts go, no one
could Quimper!
</p>
<p>
Even though it was a funeral, it was nice to see Marilyn and Phyllis (they
hadn’t seen each other since before the pandemic), Norma, Eddie, and Ellen
(and her husband), all of whom where there for you, as was Colleen’s sister
and her family, along with a few of their cousins. Phyllis told me that she
was so sad about you because, “Not only were she and your mom my cousins,
but they were my friends. As a matter of fact, Claire and Jash were
chaperones at my Sweet 16 party which was held at the China Doll in
Manhattan.”
</p>
<p>
Orit Simhoni came up from Maryland to be with us yesterday, and although I
spoke with her only briefly, she told me what a mentor you always were to
her in her own career as an OT. In some ways, you were an OT rock star. Our
family friend and also an OT, Jeanne Weisblatt, told me she “remembered
meeting your aunt a long time ago and being so excited that she was a
professor of occupational therapy at Kean College.”
</p>
<p>
I remember other things about your career—like how if you have to walk
steps with a bad foot or ankle, you’re supposed to start “up with good and
down with the bad.” I also recall how you often had a tape measure in your
purse specifically to measure the width of various public restroom stalls
to see if a wheelchair could fit within them—long before the ADA was
enacted into law. Mostly, I remember the story you told about sending pairs
of students from Kean to the mall to take turns being pushed by the other
in a wheelchair, gaining a new perspective about the real-life, daily
challenges people using wheelchairs face. When one pair of students
switched places in public, they reported back to you and the class that
they’d inadvertently caught the attention of other shoppers, who no doubt
thought they were witnessing a miraculous cure unfold.
</p>
<p>
Debbie Stone was there, too, and told me how you and Uncle Jash were in the
congregation the night she was installed as president of <a href="">Temple Beth Tikvah</a>, the community you joined after BSRT got
folded into Ner Tamid, and how nice it was to look out and see your smiling
face. Seeing a few pictures of you on Facebook, one of my friends wrote to
me: “I can see your face in her smile.”
</p>
<p>
Mrs. Marks and Cheryl Ronan from Brookshire Drive were there, too. Mrs.
Marks looks exactly as I remember her, and she told me that Phyllis’
daughter is pregnant, and she and Mr. Marks are very excited about becoming
great-grandparents in a few months. I wouldn’t have known Cheryl, but I did
remember that we’re nearly the exact same age (two days apart, it turns
out), and it was nice to chat with her. All the “kids” talked about your
backyard, the scene of so many cookouts and family celebrations of all
kinds. I can see it all in my mind’s eye as though it was yesterday—the
patio, Uncle Irv’s garden, home plate, the pitcher’s mound near the oak
tree, and all your turquoise and white napkins, serving pieces, and paper
goods that were specifically for outdoor entertaining. Someone mentioned
there were no fences between most of the backyards on the street, so we
probably could have walked straight through them all the way to Route 23.
</p>
<p>
I also spent time chatting with Beth, who drove to New Jersey from near
State College, Pennsylvania. She told me about your trip together to
Fallingwater (I remember when you went with her) and also about the place
(whose name I cannot remember) you visited with her when she went to see
you in Detroit a few years ago. She’s coming to NYC in October, and Amy and
I plan to do some museum-hopping with her while she’s here. We’ve never
spent time with her, and I’m looking forward to it. In an email I wrote to
her last night, I said, “No doubt, we'll bring Aunt Claire along with us in
spirit” and that is definitely true. I can’t quite believe you’re gone, but
I will carry you in my heart always.
</p>
<p>
xoxo,</p><p>Jane</p><p>P.S. Of course, I'll always be so grateful for your help after my surgery in 2011 and remember how you wanted to be the first one to stay with me because, as you said, you knew how to manage the drains. I could not have asked for better or more loving care during that week.</p>
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-9191951262571170492020-12-31T11:25:00.001-05:002020-12-31T11:29:51.079-05:00Even on the Reading Front, 2020 Was a Crappy Year<p>I set out to read 12 books during the year, but never clicked the “Start
Challenge” button on goodreads.com. Talk about foreshadowing…</p>
<p>
No excuses here but that the year sucked us dry in so many ways.
</p>
<p>
I started myriad books, but these three I actually finished. Interesting that all of them are fiction, not generally
my genre of choice. Whatever….chalk it up to 2020!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQAlCoH1kNxyPMCia7k8ec4fgHVGTTVRq1AwwEqAh_ANSLQKO2RpCO8N8X5RaCUxVzrv0r3m3XDf15wCZUXzim7RvyV3Ozu4jsjUqGq84pHwSTXBv9__zv-0MIJXY8ZcifMvuNQTTNEav/s1024/Ribbet+collage.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="1024" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQAlCoH1kNxyPMCia7k8ec4fgHVGTTVRq1AwwEqAh_ANSLQKO2RpCO8N8X5RaCUxVzrv0r3m3XDf15wCZUXzim7RvyV3Ozu4jsjUqGq84pHwSTXBv9__zv-0MIJXY8ZcifMvuNQTTNEav/w488-h292/Ribbet+collage.jpg" width="488" /></a></div>
<p>
May 2021 be a better year in every way.
</p>
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-68531067970649573912020-09-23T23:26:00.004-04:002020-09-23T23:43:36.123-04:00What Will They Have to Fight for in the Future?<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"></span></p></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg58QsAlF1b5MR2PF055LngXuDr3xeS-ocrfYmSIzv5KOeyNGwPUy8o5dO5toohwccCd8B3kotC4Oy-nbo3p00Lv9EVag1vmuaP5GApGb9ox2GfFzEQleem0ahMpf1mxIcs11EyFzDloFMi/s1920/tim-mossholder-UcUROHSJfRA-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg58QsAlF1b5MR2PF055LngXuDr3xeS-ocrfYmSIzv5KOeyNGwPUy8o5dO5toohwccCd8B3kotC4Oy-nbo3p00Lv9EVag1vmuaP5GApGb9ox2GfFzEQleem0ahMpf1mxIcs11EyFzDloFMi/w320-h213/tim-mossholder-UcUROHSJfRA-unsplash.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></blockquote></blockquote><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"> </span><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif;">“She changed the way the law sees gender."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif;">Abbe Gluck, Yale Law School professor and former clerk of RBG<o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><blockquote><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"></span></span></blockquote><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif">I <i>never</i> turn on the television during the day, but this morning, when my sister called and said, “Turn on MSNBC,” I complied.<br /></span><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"> <br /></span><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif">I cried as RBG’s flag-draped casket, her clerks as honorary pallbearers, made its way, ever so slowly, from the street, up the steps, and into the large entryway of the United States Supreme Court, coming to rest on Lincoln’s catafalque. Her own family and her Supreme Court family awaited her.<br /></span><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"> <br /></span><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif">I watched and listened as Rabbi Lauren Holtzblatt chanted the 23<sup>rd</sup> Psalm, spoke movingly about the justice, drawing parallels between the Torah and the U.S. Constitution, and then chanted the <i>El Malei Rachamim</i>—an only-in-America moment that RBG, no doubt, would have appreciated.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #050505;"><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"> <br /></span><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif">As the coverage continued outside, an MSNBC reporter queried people in line as they waited to pay their respects. Among them was a woman who had driven from Philadelphia with her 12-year-old daughter and the daughter’s friend. Hearing the masked girls talk (in their 12-year-old way) about RBG and her legacy and what it means for them was... right and precious and sad and wonderful, all at once. They reminded me of a <a href="http://www.janethewriter.com/2008/11/making-change-happen.html">battle I fought</a> for gender equality when I was not much older than 12, a battle I now realize RBG, though not yet a household name, was fighting right alongside me.<br /></span><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"> <br /></span><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif">Tonight, I told my sister about the girls with these bittersweet words: “</span><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif">They didn’t ever have to fight to join the Key Club, but God only knows what they’ll have to fight for in the future.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span face=""Calibri Light", sans-serif"> </span></p></div>JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-37821694841413809882020-07-18T13:55:00.003-04:002020-07-18T16:47:49.444-04:00Music and Memories: Where Do They Take You?<div dir="auto">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqvaFjQXVbT16HoGHTcZHqFGy-Ary7dwulUf8zFwua-Yy7TocGlNlkMGYksRwg9XqhuqcMyLlur_twc_8vxApy-kwIAGJ4jo6P0WhKVUB6N63Mj-kIwkE0YmEQzJZ9jb3a3DLrBRUTB8H/s1600/album+covers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="113" data-original-width="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqvaFjQXVbT16HoGHTcZHqFGy-Ary7dwulUf8zFwua-Yy7TocGlNlkMGYksRwg9XqhuqcMyLlur_twc_8vxApy-kwIAGJ4jo6P0WhKVUB6N63Mj-kIwkE0YmEQzJZ9jb3a3DLrBRUTB8H/s1600/album+covers.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
Recently, I started the New York Times 30-Day Challenge, and this past
week, one of the non-exercise day challenges was this:</div>
<div dir="auto">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Choose a song you love that you want to share with another person and
ask them to do the same. Tell them why you are sharing it — does it
make you think of them? Does it explain how you feel? Or does it bring
back a great memory? Don’t just listen and forget it. Take time to talk
about it. This is a great challenge to help you connect with children,
but you also can share it with a romantic partner or best friend.
</blockquote>
My first thought was this Facebook post from March of 2019:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The power of music: This morning Hall and Oates' "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYUdldNzLNA">Kiss on My List</a>" was playing in Dunkin Donuts while I waited on line. Without missing a beat, I was
back at Lafayette College, it was 1983...a Saturday night and Zete was spinning
disks. My shoes were sticking to the dance floor, friends were nearby,
and all was right with the world.</blockquote>
Then yesterday, during the weekly pre-Shabbat Zoom gathering of the JCC
Association team, one of my colleagues, a former song leader, chose “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Osbub_iTZg">Blowin’ in the Wind</a>” as this week’s song. He described how he first heard it at home as a
third-grader in 1989 and rightly noted that the sentiment and the
lyrics are as apt today as they were when they were written back in
1963. While he sang, accompanying himself on the guitar, I refrained
from typing into the chat that the song and I are the same age!<br />
<br />
In fact, there are many songs whose opening notes magically whoosh me
back to places and people from my past.
<br />
<br />
Play Billy Joel’s “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h3JFEfdK_Ls">My Life</a>” and
I’m immediately in Mrs. Ritter’s brown, two-door Plymouth Volare.
Susie, my friend Amy’s sister, is driving, and a bunch of us are
squished together in the back seat, heading home from the annual
Franklin-Piscataway homecoming game. The radio’s blasting, and it’s as
though Billy Joel is talking directly to us, high schoolers just
starting to find our voices and try out our wings:
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I don't need you to worry for me 'cause I'm alright<br />
I don't want you to tell me it's time to come home<br />
I don't care what you say anymore this is my life<br />
Go ahead with your own life leave me alone
</blockquote>
The same thing happens with “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5th39yLuJ0">Evergreen</a>,”
but instead of in a car, I’m in Bound Brook, one town over from home,
at my high school’s yearbook signing dinner, slow dancing with Ross
Ignall. (Ironically, that year, the yearbooks weren’t back from the
printer in time for the event, so we all signed staple bound booklets,
specially assembled for the occasion.)<br />
<br />
<span style="text-align: left;">The opening bars of “</span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXMDWfLclNY" style="text-align: left;">You Are</a><span style="text-align: left;">” by
Lionel Richie are from the same era, and those notes whisk me to
Easton, Pennsylvania. It’s freshman year and I’m in Ruef Hall, Room
307, with its matching comforters, curtains and rug—the most
coordinated room on our floor and maybe in the entire dorm. It’s
Saturday night, the music’s mellow, and my roommate Terry and I are
chilling, waiting for the clock to strike 11 so we can head out for the
evening—to Zete first, then maybe a stop at another fraternity house,
or, to my favorite spot, the basement of Marquis Hall, to sit in an
oversized faux leather booth at “The Leopard’s Lair,” for French fries
and diet Pepsi. </span></div>
<br />
Two musical pieces, though, predate Lionel, Billy, Daryl, John, and
Barbra.
<br />
<br />
Thanks to WQXR, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6kqu2mk-Kw">this one</a> came
blasting into the living room at 12 Webster Road when there was still a
stereo and speakers along the wall where a piano later sat. All four of
us were in the room at the time, and as if on a whim, my mother said to
the elementary school-aged Amy and me: “Does this song remind you of
another one?” A few minutes of quiet listening, and… “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tIEyMraLvl8">Hatikvah</a>!” I
shouted, surprised at having made the connection to a song from an
album of Israeli songs that played often on our stereo.
<br />
<br />
Naomi Shemer’s classic, “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PqxrwiY1TkI">Jerusalem of Gold</a>,” was another of those Israeli songs. It quickly became such a
favorite that I chose it as the closing song for my bat mitzvah
service. For many years, hearing its soulful refrain took me back to
that night more than four decades ago. More recently, it’s brought me
to the back patio of the King David Hotel from whence I caught a first
glimpse of the walls of the Old City in 2004—on the first night of my
first-ever visit to Jerusalem. A longtime URJ board member, Arthur
Heyman, <em>z”l</em>, had accompanied me to the spot, creating what
was then, and especially is now, a sweet memory indeed.
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-88993483140001492322020-04-11T16:12:00.001-04:002020-04-11T16:25:05.061-04:00Does Anything Quimper to This Small World Passover Story?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mR_bFi6vrG5fHgwjX9EpiB3dOFjUWTtgP5XqxBuRzwq6E2ETb4c3SEQHON2ZqnyoPrHoH777yJWv-gZUCnLqAfDpiKzV1WKyicyzjvOW10CjCARCb_Z4w4ejuywNtZQmEIAYVPxnczfU/s1600/quimper3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mR_bFi6vrG5fHgwjX9EpiB3dOFjUWTtgP5XqxBuRzwq6E2ETb4c3SEQHON2ZqnyoPrHoH777yJWv-gZUCnLqAfDpiKzV1WKyicyzjvOW10CjCARCb_Z4w4ejuywNtZQmEIAYVPxnczfU/s200/quimper3.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
For nearly as long as I can remember, my Aunt Claire has been collecting
Quimper French pottery (pronounced CamPear). It’s mostly yellow or white, round or octagonally shaped, and often includes a man or a woman standing in
profile, surrounded by a border of dainty, yet measured flourishes of blue, green, or
red paint. In addition to plates, bowls, and cups and saucers, my aunt has
collected, in the course of nearly 50 years, gravy boats, serving platters,
wall hangings, pitchers, vases, and more. Some out-of-the ordinary pieces are painted in
shades of green, but still are adorned with the distinctive French country
figures. A man on one plate, a woman on another.<br />
<br />
When she redecorated her kitchen, sometime in the 1980s, I’m guessing, she
made Quimper the centerpiece of the room, choosing wallpaper, fabric for
the window curtain, and plain blue everyday dishes—all to complement the
yellow pottery. She and I trekked to the Pierre Deux store in New York City
to find exactly the right wallpaper and fabric pattern.
<br />
<br />
Fast forward to this past Thursday evening.
<br />
<br />
As I scrolled through Facebook, admiring all the seder tables, adorned with
laptops to bring friends and family into our quarantined celebrations, this
photo caught my eye:
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxMWI7ukGWIC0_aPGSgotXlWsyciwRAicl3-N49KFqSAUTbBZy9-gAodYXrIDmfGUTHAgdniLUGrbXJ9-RHCRIvzLGDUsJYUdj5Fzq1KanoUHVbfg61BXFYbOUIDJTQ89BsQBRe-iD5lcn/s1600/Quimper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxMWI7ukGWIC0_aPGSgotXlWsyciwRAicl3-N49KFqSAUTbBZy9-gAodYXrIDmfGUTHAgdniLUGrbXJ9-RHCRIvzLGDUsJYUdj5Fzq1KanoUHVbfg61BXFYbOUIDJTQ89BsQBRe-iD5lcn/s400/Quimper.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Commenting on the photo, I said, “<em>Chag sameach</em>! And a weird
question: Do your yellow dinner plates have figures of men and women on
them? Are they Quimper?”<br />
<br />
In his reply, the poster of the photo, one-half of a couple I know through
a mutual friend (and, more recently, through my synagogue) wrote: “Yes, and
I don’t know!”
<br />
<br />
Me: “What does it say on the back of the plate? My aunt has been a longtime
collector of antique pieces of this French pottery, which is pronounced
‘CamPear,’ and she has an incredible collection of it. It seems her
collector's eye has rubbed off on me!
<br />
<br />
Adam: “I looked on the back of the plate and it does say Quimper.”
<br />
<br />
He then sent me this photo via a direct message and our conversation
continued from there:
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmTqkltCRC1hpHi0c2ai-iNXDUl2lzyNVIXcpCQyhT-XkzXjuzbja82a6tr6si4iSoIu7re7n0Z9QhMLPML751v82sH5OM-h_QPexM1DAEZkXukvOrLn8g4TJ5bRremrmt9kqfpcfufUp/s1600/quimper2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="762" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYmTqkltCRC1hpHi0c2ai-iNXDUl2lzyNVIXcpCQyhT-XkzXjuzbja82a6tr6si4iSoIu7re7n0Z9QhMLPML751v82sH5OM-h_QPexM1DAEZkXukvOrLn8g4TJ5bRremrmt9kqfpcfufUp/s320/quimper2.jpg" width="254" /></a></div>
<br />
Me: As I suspected! I foresee a blog post coming from this conversation.
Stay tuned....and <i>chag sameach</i>!
<br />
<br />
Adam: Ha ha! Ok. They belonged to Marla’s mom, Donna Newman, and after she
passed away they came to Marla.
<br />
<br />
Me: Are they your Passover dishes or do you use them year-round?
<br />
<br />
Adam: We use them on special occasions year-round.
<br />
<br />
It’s now Saturday afternoon, and I’m crafting this post—not only because
I love this story of an unexpected connection, but also so I can send it to my Aunt Claire
in Florida. She’ll love it, too!
<br />
<br />
Never again will a Passover come or go that I
don’t think of Adam and Marla and the Quimper dishes on their holiday
table.
<br />
<br />
Wishing everyone a <i>ziessen Pesach</i>!JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-63748733363033333672020-04-04T17:35:00.000-04:002020-04-11T16:13:44.601-04:00My Guilt-Free Pandemic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5v2Bv27DEYQ8LnfhXngh9PAAqCAj89ePe0hgHjL5JzVmM4CyEyBdvkkJoJnpKMcXYK52fwS-8gf7uXGfpktnPbROEYaMJjnNNKH6jyXpD30rhXKWvDvVtKBlZI_DuFYQa6qS0pMjygLsG/s1600/no+guilt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="300" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5v2Bv27DEYQ8LnfhXngh9PAAqCAj89ePe0hgHjL5JzVmM4CyEyBdvkkJoJnpKMcXYK52fwS-8gf7uXGfpktnPbROEYaMJjnNNKH6jyXpD30rhXKWvDvVtKBlZI_DuFYQa6qS0pMjygLsG/s200/no+guilt.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Sheltering-in-place is hard for everyone, but perhaps more so for those of us who live alone—even if we’re introverts. Sure, I love what my sister calls “bonding with my apartment,” but that’s usually after a week of work, working out, socializing, and dealing with the stuff that goes along with running a household: laundry, garbage, recycling, cooking, bills, and all the rest.<br />
<br />
Here are five things I won’t feel guilty about during the pandemic—and perhaps not ever again:<br />
<br />
<b>1. Not Cooking: </b>Although blizzards and pandemics send many people scurrying to the kitchen to produce huge quantities of comfort food, challah, brownies, and the like, I’m not one of them. In the three weeks I’ve been home, I’ve made one batch of chili and one chuck roast—most of which is in portion-size containers in the freezer. That’s enough. Cooking brings me no joy, no comfort, and I’m not going to do it anymore. I’m going back to salads, veggie burgers, and scrambled eggs. My kitchen and I will both be happier that way.<br />
<br />
<b>2. Not Reading:</b> There’s nothing that goes better with bonding with my apartment than curling up with a good book. There’s a problem here, though: I don’t have the bandwidth to read. No concentration. No attention span. No comprehension. Therefore, no guilt.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Not Tuning in to Minyan: </b>Prayer can be challenging in the best of times. These days it’s nearly impossible. I think I’ll stick to a <i>Mi Shebeirach </i>for each ambulance siren—and there are a lot of them here across the street from NYU/Langone Tisch Hospital—and for the people I know personally who are fighting COVID-19, including a friend from my hereditary cancer network who is hospitalized on a ventilator. Any more than that is… Just. Too. Much.<br />
<br />
<b>4. Not Observing Passover the “Right” Way:</b> In a year when my MacBook Air—not MetroNorth—is going to take me to the seder, does it really matter if all the <i>chametz</i> is out of the house or if I shake out the crumbs from the toaster-oven before Wednesday night? About some traditions, though, I say, “Pandemic, be damned.” Come the virtual seder, I’ll still want assurance that <i>shmorah</i> matzah tastes exactly the same as the box it comes in and that Elmo is going to make his usual guest appearance in time to sing “<i>Echad Mi Yodea</i>.”<br />
<br />
<b>5. Oreos: </b>Drastic times demand drastic measures, and if Oreos are my comfort food of choice right now, so be it.<br />
<br />
Stay safe, stay healthy, and wash your hands.
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-74661461117618928982020-03-28T18:30:00.000-04:002020-07-18T16:01:09.107-04:005 Things I Miss in These Crazy Times<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2vcvzUaL9YZXH-N0HI_2ZOQrXUFaqzWdiQPP4C9DlLCLrWbNl7_KNQPHucUH-s5FL6LoqXCOPMWUs2MBImM2U1wE7jzdtTRfpdCSxfA9gR7dC5YzvwO_ty5Rlnd7K8p4ASnJY5Z3HsblB/s1600/miss+you.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2vcvzUaL9YZXH-N0HI_2ZOQrXUFaqzWdiQPP4C9DlLCLrWbNl7_KNQPHucUH-s5FL6LoqXCOPMWUs2MBImM2U1wE7jzdtTRfpdCSxfA9gR7dC5YzvwO_ty5Rlnd7K8p4ASnJY5Z3HsblB/s200/miss+you.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Today it’s cloudy and rainy in New York City. In an earlier time (like,
maybe three weeks ago), I would have welcomed such a day to stay home and
hunker down. After two weeks of doing just that, though, here are five
things I’m missing in the age of COVID-19:<br />
<br />
<strong>1. Browsing for Books:</strong>
Even with shelves of unread books, browsing for new ones is one of my
all-time favorite activities. I can’t wait for libraries and bookstores to
reopen, so I can get lost in the stacks once again.
<br />
<br />
<strong>2. Hanging Out at Union Square:</strong>
Although it’s probably OK for my sister and me to hang out together as we
often do on weekends, we’ve refrained from visiting each other except by
video chat. Right now, I’d like nothing better than to stroll to Union
Square, spend some time in Barnes & Noble, and then visit with her in
Apt. U21F, which overlooks 14<sup>th</sup>Street on one side and south down
Broadway on the other.
<br />
<br />
<strong>3. Spending Weekends at Del Boca Vista:</strong>
Amy and I go out to New Jersey about once a month, and it’s a highlight in
our world. We have it down to a science: We meet at “our Dunkin’” in Penn
Station on Saturday morning just before 11 a.m.—in time to take the New
Jersey Transit 11:14 to New Brunswick. (We both purchase e-tickets on our
phones, but we activate them differently: one upon boarding the train and
the other when she hears the conductor’s ticket punch. Can you guess who’s
who?!) Our dad meets the train, and from there it’s on to Frank’s Pizza for
lunch and then home to “the new 12 Webster Road” in DBV. A trip to
Labyrinth Books in Princeton and dinner out are often on the agenda, as is
breakfast at the Somerset Diner. We’re nothing if not predictable!
<br />
<br />
<strong>4. Sitting in “My Pew” at Minyan:</strong>
No, my pew doesn’t have my name on it, and no worries if someone else sits
there, but when all’s right with the world, Isabelle is to my right,
Harriet and Albert are in front of us, and some combination of Sandra,
Laura, Jesse, and/or Charlie usually are behind us. From her voice alone, Joanne makes her presence known; I don't even have to turn around and look to know when she's there. I’ve been shunning virtual
services (and several invitations to “meet up” virtually with friends) thus
far—mostly because my eyes are so tired from a week of work that regularly
includes eight or 10 hours of screen time that I just want screen-free evenings and a screen-free Shabbat.<br />
<br />
<strong>5. People Watching:</strong>
This pastime of mine is right up there with book browsing, and except for
the little bit I can do while standing in the check-out line at Fairway,
it’s mostly off limits these days. Soon, I hope, I’ll be taking in lots of
good people-watching on my bus ride to minyan, browsing in Barnes &
Noble or visiting in Union Square after services, and that when we’re able
to find a weekend that works for all of us, Amy and I will be back out at
DBV, and I’ll have a chance to people-watch in Penn Station while I wait
for her in front of “our Dunkin’.”
<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.199999809265137px;">Stay healthy and safe, my friends—and if you’re so inclined, let me know what you’re missing in the age of coronavirus. </span>JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-10963704504117330392020-03-21T20:28:00.001-04:002020-03-26T15:08:15.481-04:005 Things I’m Grateful for During These Crazy Times<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhlj_Pk9I2LKLFP2uhnVrDRqV9QyD3XD3cRBjsD6mXqQms6jccVM5m-N82tfj9wza-3iRquCuTCCEP5QSjMzWUce74d7UFN3plFc__kmk2PxPC9cj54biK0woEU07JGIVK2lM5vCaXwFcq/s1600/gratitude.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhlj_Pk9I2LKLFP2uhnVrDRqV9QyD3XD3cRBjsD6mXqQms6jccVM5m-N82tfj9wza-3iRquCuTCCEP5QSjMzWUce74d7UFN3plFc__kmk2PxPC9cj54biK0woEU07JGIVK2lM5vCaXwFcq/s320/gratitude.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I’m tired of the word “unprecedented,” which has been overused in
recent weeks, so here are five things for which I’m grateful in these
never-before-seen days:<br />
<br />
<strong>1.</strong>
<strong>Dunkin’: </strong>
The Dunkin’ on the corner of 33<sup>rd</sup> Street and Second Avenue has
remained open thus far. Although the store has shortened its hours, I can
begin or end my daily walk with coffee—or occasionally a latte.
<br />
<br />
<strong>2.</strong>
<strong>I.M. Pei’s Garden: </strong>
I’ve always enjoyed the private, well maintained green space that separates
the buildings of Kips Bay Towers, but even more so now. Today, the space
bustled with couples, families, and others, out for a stroll, some fresh
air, or just a change of scenery. We maintained our distance and our
neighborly ways. It was lovely.
<br />
<br />
<strong>3. Technology: </strong>
I have new appreciation for technology beyond the phone and have used
FaceTime more in the last few days than ever before. As my sister said to
me earlier today, “Why did it take a pandemic for us to start
video-chatting?” A fair question…
<br />
<br />
<strong>4. Sunshine and Fresh Air: </strong>
I’m not sure I ever fully appreciated the feel of fresh air on my face and
in my lungs the way I do now, each time I step outdoors. Today’s brilliant
sunshine was an added bonus, its warmth a welcome complement to the brisk
spring air.
<br />
<br />
<strong>5. The Daily <em>Vort</em> </strong>
<strong>(Yiddish for word): </strong>
One of my new colleagues has been writing and sending a daily email to the
staff that he’s entitled the <em>Vort</em>. No more than three or four
paragraphs, each message contains timely Jewish content and a bit of
inspiration for these troubled times. Reading them brings routine and
comfort to days that don’t have enough of either.
<br />
<br />
Stay healthy and safe, my friends—and if you’re so inclined, let me know
what you’re grateful for as you make the best of your time at home.
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-92146991578727479682020-02-08T22:49:00.000-05:002020-02-09T11:27:18.156-05:00A Rundown on My New Job<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjonbU5BCTl0GjbnQSGNq7nzEsxsX9iLqcOcqvO1wdzzvu81f00kmXP9-rrxXEluSIs3VGLWCwNXogeVATRXJG09udJK5tHlW_sF2NmmLKckNynqBqtaAFQ7EvGIX9sBjI1NF52NvsGpm5r/s1600/5F9E02AB-612E-4461-9125-E9F376EA38EC.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjonbU5BCTl0GjbnQSGNq7nzEsxsX9iLqcOcqvO1wdzzvu81f00kmXP9-rrxXEluSIs3VGLWCwNXogeVATRXJG09udJK5tHlW_sF2NmmLKckNynqBqtaAFQ7EvGIX9sBjI1NF52NvsGpm5r/s320/5F9E02AB-612E-4461-9125-E9F376EA38EC.heic" width="320" /></a></div>
Dear The Mums,<br />
<br />
Remember when you taught nursery school at the JCC in Rockville, Maryland,
back when it was still called nursery school and not, as it is today, early
childhood education? I was reminded of that long-ago family connection to
“the field,” now that I’m working as a senior writer for <a href="http://www.jcca.org/">JCC Association of North America</a>, the
membership organization of JCCs, YM and YWHAs, and a network of summer
camps across the continent.
<br />
<br />
It’s only been two weeks since I started, but the welcome I’ve received has
been overwhelming and began almost from the moment I accepted the position,
which I’d applied for right before Thanksgiving and accepted just before
Christmas. From the signs and balloons that awaited me in my office to a
first-day lunch out with my team, I have been bowled over by the warmth of
absolutely every single person I’ve met thus far. What’s more, within a few
days, all the new-employee paperwork was done, I was enrolled in a pension
plan, my medical insurance card arrived in the mail, and my business cards
were printed. Lest I forget, I have a complimentary membership to the <a href="https://www.14streety.org/">14<sup>th</sup> Street Y</a>, and I
can’t wait to go swimming.
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8neMvM1ofy1ytDrCUVngcotz60v_O7uw1SbrDgrsWF0oPts5crceZtTzyedNnpZ_mv-LN5IP0Aia_8Lg2vZUQfPUrt6GpSvAAdBnPzAketpZn-o22MI7PFOHs803cG2FoLZclIdJulcWr/s1600/47610575-1BBF-4075-A363-E83C36B93CD2.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8neMvM1ofy1ytDrCUVngcotz60v_O7uw1SbrDgrsWF0oPts5crceZtTzyedNnpZ_mv-LN5IP0Aia_8Lg2vZUQfPUrt6GpSvAAdBnPzAketpZn-o22MI7PFOHs803cG2FoLZclIdJulcWr/s320/47610575-1BBF-4075-A363-E83C36B93CD2.heic" width="320" /></a></div>
I’d met the president and CEO, <a href="https://jcca.org/people/doron-krakow/">Doron Krakow</a>, during my
interview, but he was out of the office traveling until well into my second
week. When he returned, I heard him greeting people by name, asking how
each person was doing, catching up on projects, and demonstrating a warm,
leadership-by-walking-around style. When he stopped into my office (which,
it seems, someone vacuums nightly), I received a most enthusiastic, warm
welcome—including a hug—and we chatted for a few minutes. I told him, as I
have repeated so many times in the last two weeks, “I’m thrilled to be
here!”
<br />
<br />
As far as the work and my team goes, it’s all good. We meet weekly around a
table, face-to-face, to review the status of all our projects, which are
managed by <a href="https://jcca.org/people/angela-tranquille/">Angela</a>,
the marketing administrator. <a href="https://jcca.org/people/joanne-harmon/">Joanne</a>, the chief
marketing officer, heads up the team, and the other members include <a href="https://jcca.org/people/loraine-machlin/">Loraine</a>, the graphic
designer; <a href="https://jcca.org/people/morgan-weiss/">Morgan</a>, the
digital media marketing manager; <a href="https://jcca.org/people/ben-golden/">Ben</a>, the
photographer/videographer; and <a href="https://jcca.org/people/michael-rowland/">Michael</a>, who is a
marketing consultant to JCCs. (His wife is a Reform cantor, and the Jewish
geography as I am getting to know my new colleagues and they’re getting to
know me has been fun. One woman, <a href="https://jcca.org/people/yuliya-mazur/">Yuliya</a>, has a Gratz
diploma on her wall, which sparked a great point of connection for us. She
loves
<a href="https://www.gratz.edu/college-faculty/joseph-m-davis-phd">
Dr. Davis
</a>
the way you did!)
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9O9-Lb-rRKNQKmr_VKDbuKt2PPj46EVCvMmZUr_hyphenhyphen4iNVlQSOKpHrdQ0ydo8PxGcGsR9wIBtBu7-IZ7a1dBVAVX2m4IpIVVfQfybcw_AtDowea4V_oWslvUSaz0ApsHfD1fMaPdT_GPG/s1600/D8A7A500-49C5-4DDC-8776-873866821788.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9O9-Lb-rRKNQKmr_VKDbuKt2PPj46EVCvMmZUr_hyphenhyphen4iNVlQSOKpHrdQ0ydo8PxGcGsR9wIBtBu7-IZ7a1dBVAVX2m4IpIVVfQfybcw_AtDowea4V_oWslvUSaz0ApsHfD1fMaPdT_GPG/s320/D8A7A500-49C5-4DDC-8776-873866821788.heic" width="240" /></a>The marketing department functions as a service unit for all the other
parts of the organization, and in addition to reading lots of materials to
get up-to-speed, I’ve contributed to a few projects, including an update
about <a href="https://jcca.org/what-we-do/jwb/">JWB Jewish Chaplains Council</a>
activities. (JWB—Jewish Welfare Board—was established to support Jewish servicemen at the time
the U.S. entered World War I and eventually merged with The Council of
Young Men’s Hebrew and Kindred Associations, founded several years earlier,
becoming the national association of JCCs and YM-YWHAs.) I’ve helped with
Doron’s “Shabbat Shalom,” his weekly email message, drafted a joint letter
from him and the board chairman to Federation executives, urging them to
register for JCC Association’s upcoming biennial gathering, and also
drafted an article for a lay leader that spells out the importance of
attending this biennial event, known as
<a href="https://www.jccassociationevents.org/event/c9896ebb-99f3-498f-b3a8-792a58f14ee1/summary?5S%2CM3%2Cc9896ebb-99f3-498f-b3a8-792a58f14ee1=">
JSummit</a>. It’s scheduled for early May in Milwaukee, and I’m looking forward to
being there.
<br />
<br />
A few more details to paint as full a picture as possible about my new gig:
The offices, located on the fourth floor of an office building on Eighth
Avenue, halfway between Port Authority and Penn Station, are lovely – with
lots of oversized scenes from JCCs decorating the walls. It’s nice to be
surrounded by joyful images of kids at summer camp, seniors in water
aerobics classes, and preschoolers enjoying juice and challah in
anticipation of Shabbat. (Yesterday, the staff had its once-a-month <em>oneg</em>, which, not unlike the pre-school celebrations, included a
bit of singing; a micro <em>d’var Torah</em>; blessings over the candles,
juice, and challah; home-baked treats; and a few minutes of collegial <em>schmoozing</em>.) There’s a beautiful conference suite; a number of
offices leased to tenant organizations, including two in which the executive directors are former URJ/RAC employees; and a designated staff lounge,
where people gather for lunch—and, again, someone cleans the refrigerator
every single week.
<br />
<br />
All this by way of assuring you that I’m quite happy with my
professional life these days—the work, my colleagues, and the mission and values of
the organization—and, truth be told, proud of myself for (finally) having
made this much-needed change. I think you would be proud, too.<br />
<br />
Miss you…xoxo.
<br />
<br />
P.S. If <a href="https://jcca.org/people/brian-schreiber/">Brian’s</a> name
sounds familiar, you’re right. He and I were classmates at <a href="http://www.lafayette.edu/">Laf Coll</a>, and he preceded me as
president of Hillel. When I told
<a href="https://www.lafayettestudentnews.com/blog/2019/04/05/pen-bob-wiener-to-retire-after-50-years-of-teaching/">
the now-retired Bob Weiner
</a>
about my job and that Brian and I would be colleagues, he wrote back, “So
happy and proud. Good Shabbos. Hugs and love, Bob.”
<br />
<br />
P.P.S. The JCC in Rockville is now the <a href="https://www.benderjccgw.org/">Bender JCC of Greater Washington</a>,
and from what I can see online, it appears to be an amazing facility.
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-85819023691919166842019-12-31T13:10:00.002-05:002020-01-07T21:46:55.902-05:00I Think Everyone Read More Than I Did in 2019<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrG2Md7mP3EbY_vVhEloRq4SOzpxfCSHyCe4Quu-5TRez77WzWnlpTOAZcDgIQmEgoWW2cNDkmPeQ_ncQH_VmhaZfV1wlITfu-6ncJxynD8bGMnHoDIW0iQ0hqZfvD7m8ZFpycvbj-MyWG/s1600/55CA77B2-7854-4648-9E4D-C5E8C1ED078A.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1.9em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrG2Md7mP3EbY_vVhEloRq4SOzpxfCSHyCe4Quu-5TRez77WzWnlpTOAZcDgIQmEgoWW2cNDkmPeQ_ncQH_VmhaZfV1wlITfu-6ncJxynD8bGMnHoDIW0iQ0hqZfvD7m8ZFpycvbj-MyWG/s320/55CA77B2-7854-4648-9E4D-C5E8C1ED078A.heic" width="240" /></a></div>
In 2019, I aimed to read a total of 12 books – a modest goal, I thought,
after reading
<a href="http://www.janethewriter.com/2018/12/the-seven-books-i-read-in-last-12-months.html">
seven in 2018
</a>
and
<a href="http://www.janethewriter.com/search?q=four+books">
a mere four in 2017</a>. Although I didn’t hit that target, I enjoyed the books I read and, as
difficult as it was, actually stopped reading the ones that weren’t as
engaging.<br />
<br />
The first one I put down unfinished was “<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sapiens-Humankind-Yuval-Noah-Harari/dp/0062316117/ref=sr_1_3?crid=1ZU41ND955OOA&keywords=sapiens+a+brief+history+of+humankind&qid=1577807974&sprefix=sapiens%2Caps%2C151&sr=8-3">Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind</a>,” by Yuval Noah Harari. Despite its best-seller status, after 115 pages,
I’d had enough and moved on to something that better held my attention. “
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Morgan-American-Financier-Jean-Strouse/dp/0812987047">
Morgan: American Financier</a>,” by Jean Strouse, also didn’t do it for me. Although I was interested in
the historical facets of the man – his travels, family, and home, located
just a few blocks from my own apartment – the financial rigmarole of
stocks, bonds, banking, and railroads was more than I could handle after
plodding through more than 200 pages.<br />
<br />
Having put those two tomes aside, these are the four books I read from
cover to cover in 2019.<br />
<br />
1. When a beloved high school English teacher died suddenly in February, I
purchased a copy of Benjamin Dreyer’s “
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dreyers-English-Utterly-Correct-Clarity/dp/0812995708/ref=sr_1_1?gclid=Cj0KCQiAgKzwBRCjARIsABBbFujzPZtKKiDaqO8dkhCkQ2Aszet7Qcii8kG7Mpa4SolZa4vdGeKgOpgaAnSfEALw_wcB&hvadid=278040246637&hvdev=c&hvlocphy=9060351&hvnetw=g&hvpos=1t1&hvqmt=e&hvrand=17075766516634104104&hvtargid=aud-837858999240%3Akwd-469761391818&hydadcr=22535_9636730&keywords=dreyer%27s+english&qid=1577809442&sr=8-1">
Dreyer’s English: An Utterly Correct Gide to Clarity and Style</a>,” in his memory and was immediately smitten with the author’s – a copy
editor at Random House -- wit, wisdom, and irreverence around grammar and
language. By the end of the month, I was quoting from the book often.
Here’s one of my favorites: “One does not...use quotation marks for
emphasis. That is why God invented italics.”<br />
<br />
2. A random find at Labyrinth Books in Princeton, NJ, where we Hermans are
frequent visitors, “<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Rosalind-Franklin-Dark-Lady-DNA/dp/0060985089/ref=sr_1_1?gclid=Cj0KCQiAgKzwBRCjARIsABBbFuhUrZb-oYdOvTWcnPBGdN1aUg9f02OvG9S5VgUDVjZuq-CEeMTxaIcaAjFqEALw_wcB&hvadid=174251187308&hvdev=c&hvlocphy=9060351&hvnetw=g&hvpos=1t1&hvqmt=e&hvrand=15247219324053516777&hvtargid=aud-837858999240%3Akwd-422518175&hydadcr=22560_9636789&keywords=the+dark+lady+of+dna&qid=1577810041&sr=8-1">Rosalind Franklin: The Dark Lady of DNA</a>,” by Brenda Maddox, captivated me on all fronts. Here’s what I wrote on
goodreads.com upon finishing the book in May:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Before finding this book by accident, I had little idea about Rosalind
Franklin – who she was, what she accomplished, or how she was robbed of the
credit she deserved for her work at the time by the very men, fellow
scientists, who benefitted most from it and who went on to win the Nobel
Prize, thanks, in large part, to her Photo 51.<br />
<br />
An entirely different facet of her life intrigued me, too. Her family's
Jewish history and a relative's role in British-ruled Palestine, as well as
the possibility that she carried a BRCA mutation, which may have
contributed to her death from ovarian cancer at age 38, were fascinating
aspects of her life -- especially to a fellow BRCA mutation carrier.</blockquote>
I recently found a second book about her, "<a href="https://www.amazon.com/My-Sister-Rosalind-Franklin-Family/dp/0199699623/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=My+Sister+Rosalind+Franklin%3A+A+Family+Memoir&qid=1577810388&sr=8-1">My Sister Rosalind Franklin: A Family Memoir</a>," written by her younger sister, Jenifer Glynn, and I look forward to
reading that one as well.
<br />
<br />
3. Turning to something lighter during the fall, I got totally wrapped up in
Claire Lombardo’s debut novel, “<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Most-Fun-We-Ever-Had/dp/0385544251/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=The+Most+Fun+We+Ever+Had&qid=1577810534&smid=A1RY3N9HW34WKM&sr=8-1">The Most Fun We Ever Had</a>,” which my sister, a voracious reader, recommended to me. Over the course of only 11 days, I read the entire 532 page book that tells
a decades-long tale of the Sorenson family – Marilyn, David, and their four
daughters – from the point of view of nearly all the characters. “Real
people, real life, and a good read about one family's ups and downs that
will take you away from whatever nonsense you're dealing with in your own
life,” is how I described it after finishing the book in October.
<br />
<br />
4. My final book of 2019 also came from a recommendation from my sister, who lent me her
inscribed-by-the-author copy after she’d met him at an arts and medicine
event at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center: “<a href="https://www.amazon.com/End-Your-Life-Book-Club/dp/0307739783/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1VNHMMC5GZU2G&keywords=end+of+your+life+book+club+by+will+schwalbe&qid=1577811343&sprefix=end+of+your+life%2Caps%2C135&sr=8-1">The End of Your Life Book Club</a>,” by Will Schwalbe. This one, too, I read in short order, finishing it
just a few days ago, after which I wrote this “review” on goodreads.com:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Although the book initially seemed a bit slow to me, I grew to love the
author and his mother through the course of reading it. From the start, his
descriptions of the MSKCC waiting rooms – including the coffee and graham
crackers – were oh-so familiar to me, and I came to realize that I'd met
his mom’s oncologist, Dr. Eileen O'Reilly, M.D., when she spoke about
pancreatic cancer at a NYC FORCE meeting several years ago. For these
reasons, as well as having lost my own mom to cancer shortly after the
author lost his, I feel a connection to him. Of course, all the "book talk"
was wonderful, and I've added several volumes from the book's appendix to
my own to-read list.</blockquote>
This year, I purchased more books than I read, and my goal for 2020 is the
opposite: to read more books than I purchase.
<br />
<br />
Happy new year and happy reading, my friends.
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-62508392741327077032019-11-03T17:34:00.000-05:002019-11-04T15:49:26.498-05:00With Hereditary Cancer Syndrome, Every Month Is an Awareness Month<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Qqv9QCw5YCkTq_DHad4_SInznoJzfueIhhlKphUCm4TjBOOE28a8129thaUd3F1cWX1YPY1OJW3tTW2eUlVGMBnz86XJJptE1hmqxIz-AMiemctm1jDmBfQh3ie4zRYJ9oSwlpsFvgZU/s1600/agenda-3994562_640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Qqv9QCw5YCkTq_DHad4_SInznoJzfueIhhlKphUCm4TjBOOE28a8129thaUd3F1cWX1YPY1OJW3tTW2eUlVGMBnz86XJJptE1hmqxIz-AMiemctm1jDmBfQh3ie4zRYJ9oSwlpsFvgZU/s320/agenda-3994562_640.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Thank goodness it's November.<br />
<br />
It's taken me a long time to realize what a toll October, Breast Cancer
Awareness Month, takes on me each year, but last week, it hit me. At an
awareness event at <a href="https://shaaraytefilanyc.org/">my synagogue</a>, one of the presenters scribbled the word "metastatic" in all capital
letters on the flipchart at the front of the room - M-E-T-A-S-T-A-T-I-C - and I
thought I might lose it.
<br />
<br />
As though a time machine had whisked me away, it was Friday, April 2, 2010,
all over again; I was alone with my mom at the hospital. Just outside the
room where she'd been since the previous Monday (the night we were to have
hosted the first seder of 5770), amidst the constant bustle of the nurses'
station, her oncologist offhandedly said to me: "It's everywhere."
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
It's impossible to believe that fateful day was nearly a decade (a
decade?!?) ago, but in the intervening years, I've done everything possible
to protect my own health since I learned I carry the same BRCA2 genetic
mutation that we now know contributed to my mom's death. In addition to
significantly increasing carriers' lifetime risk for breast and ovarian
cancer, it also raises my risk of melanoma and pancreatic cancer - and in
men, the risk of breast, prostate, melanoma, and pancreatic cancer.
<br />
<br />
Although I'm glad to have turned the corner from October into November, the
latter is Pancreatic Awareness Month, and my vigilance is year-round, so,
here are a few statistics about the disease from the <a href="https://www.pancan.org/">Pancreatic Cancer Action Network</a>
(PANCAN):
<br />
<ul>
<li>
Pancreatic cancer is the third leading cause of cancer-related deaths
in the United States;
</li>
<li>
One of the deadliest cancers, it has an extremely low survival rate -
just 9 percent;
</li>
<li>
This year, an estimated 56,770 Americans will be diagnosed with
pancreatic cancer and 45,750 will die from the disease; and
</li>
<li>
It is estimated that in or around 2020 (just two months away), the
disease will rise to be the second leading cause of cancer-related
deaths.
</li>
</ul>
Of course, I'm grateful that my family doesn't have a history of
pancreatic cancer. At the same time, according to PANCAN, the cause of most
pancreatic cancer is unknown, and there are no early detection tests and
few effective treatments.
<br />
<br />
Having said that, with each passing year, I'm increasingly grateful to
<a href="http://www.facingourrisk.org/">
FORCE: Facing Our Risk of Cancer Empowered</a>, the grassroots organization that has done so much for me during the last
decade. In addition to introducing me to other BRCA+ women whom I
could learn from and lean on throughout my journey, FORCE has given me a
network of friends who are framily and a platform from which I can spread
awareness about hereditary cancer mutations, as well as share my knowledge,
gained through experience, to help women who are behind me - as thrivers,
survivors, and previvors - on their own hereditary cancer journeys.
<br />
<br />
Most recently, FORCE helped me uncover
<a href="https://www.facingourrisk.org/research-clinical-trials/research-studies-search/20/pancreatic-cancer-early-detection-/">
this clinical trial for pancreatic surveillance</a>, designed to collect enough data to allow the researcher to obtain funding to conduct a full study that may lead to early detection among individuals at
highest risk. Because it's open to individuals with BRCA mutations, but
without a family history of pancreatic cancer, it ensures that I can
continue to do everything possible to protect my health. For this and so
much more, I'm ever-grateful to my FORCE family.
<br />
<br />
With that in mind,
<a href="https://www.facingourrisk.org/get-involved/how-to-help/donate/index.php">
please consider making a donation to FORCE
</a>
- not only in gratitude for what the organization has done for me, but also
to ensure that it can continue to provide much needed support, resources,
and advocacy to others affected by hereditary cancer syndrome, <i>and </i>to help me fulfill my annual $250 fundraising goal as a
<a href="https://www.facingourrisk.org/get-support/local-groups/newyork-newyorkcity.php">
volunteer outreach leader for FORCE in New York City</a>.<br />
<br />
With deep thanks and appreciation,
<br />
~ Jane.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-8232793211477443702019-08-02T20:09:00.001-04:002019-08-02T21:30:03.943-04:00Why It’s My Business to Comment on the World Around MeNearly two weeks ago, somewhat tongue in cheek (but with no malicious intent), I
posted this photo that I’d taken during the hottest part of the day, when
the heat index in New York City hovered around 110 degrees:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivwwtTuWWsVE__A7cFK4c6TjFeVpE2m1xZbVFStl6KCC1YOznu0A26lf3wS2q1w0f65WSnuuDMWwEblV8XJTi2IhH1FPSj1Qvh9xqiUSpSkwQwKeQ7olrInGI9j6ChyvWjC8MEvrjPstk/s1600/chasid+in+black+coat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="423" data-original-width="314" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivwwtTuWWsVE__A7cFK4c6TjFeVpE2m1xZbVFStl6KCC1YOznu0A26lf3wS2q1w0f65WSnuuDMWwEblV8XJTi2IhH1FPSj1Qvh9xqiUSpSkwQwKeQ7olrInGI9j6ChyvWjC8MEvrjPstk/s400/chasid+in+black+coat.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>
<br />
The accompanying text said:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I think God would have forgiven this man if he'd decided to take off his
jacket today.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Update: Actually, I think he just should have taken off his jacket. It's
not God who commands him to dress as though he's still living in 19th
century Poland. Get with the weather, dude.
</blockquote>
<br />
A flurry of likes, loves, and laughs followed the post, along with comments
– some online and others by text.
<br />
<br />
By text, one friend asked: “Would say the same thing about a Muslim woman
in full garb?”
<br />
<br />
I responded: “I’m not sure. I don’t know enough about the ‘why’ of Muslim
dress.”
<br />
<br />
To which my friend said, “This feels to me a bit like MYOB.”
<br />
<br />
Is it?
<br />
<br />
Part of the reason I don’t know much about the "why" of Muslim dress is
because I’m not Muslim. I am, however, Jewish and this guy is one of “my
people.”
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.artfulperception.com/">
A proponent of talking openly and honestly about what we see</a>, my sister noted, “The ‘why’ of Muslim dress is modesty, which is not the
case for this man.”
<br />
<br />
So why do Hasidic men dress the way they do?
<br />
<br />
According to
<a href="https://www.seeker.com/why-do-hasidic-jews-dress-so-differently-1501524412.html">
seeker.com</a>:
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Hasidic Judaism was founded in Eastern Europe, primarily the Poland and
Ukraine regions, in the late 18th century. The traditional clothing stems
primarily from Polish nobility standards of dress during this time.
Contrary to popular assumption, Hasidic garb comes more from historical
context rather than specific religious texts like the Torah.
</blockquote>
As
<a href="https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/jewish-clothing/">
MyJewishLearning.com</a> notes:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The
<a href="https://www.myjewishlearning.com/texts/Bible/Torah.shtml">
Torah</a> says little about clothing, either descriptively or prescriptively. Without
explanation, it prohibits blending wool and linen in a garment (such
garments are known as
<a href="https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/shatnez/" target="_blank">
<em>shatnez</em></a>), in the same verse forbidding “mixing” different seeds and species of
cattle (<a href="https://www.myjewishlearning.com/texts/Bible/Torah/Leviticus/Holiness.shtml">Leviticus 19:19</a>). It forbids men from wearing women’s clothes and vice versa (<a href="https://www.myjewishlearning.com/im_looking_for/?k=44">Deuteronomy</a> 22:5), without specifying the characteristics of either. It also requires
Jews to put
<a href="https://www.myjewishlearning.com/practices/Ritual/Prayer/Ritual_Garb/Tallit_Prayer_Shawl_.shtml">
fringes on the corners</a> of a four-pointed garment (<a href="https://www.myjewishlearning.com/beliefs/Issues/Magic_and_the_Supernatural/Practices_and_Beliefs/Incantations/Names_and_Numbers/Numbers.shtml">Numbers</a> 15:37-41), both as a way of identifying the Jew and reminding the Jew to
observe the
<a href="https://www.myjewishlearning.com/im_looking_for/?k=134">
mitzvot</a> commandments].
</blockquote>
According to
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yu5sEAcBBI8">
this Aish.com video</a>, there are four reasons religious Jews dress the way they do: 1. It
effects the way other people see them; 2. It effects how they perceive
themselves; 3. It identifies them as members of a specific group; and 4. It
expresses their honor and dignity as humans, distinct from animals.
<br />
<br />
These explanations are all well and good, but none of them expressly
prohibits the man from removing his jacket if he’s bothered by excessive
heat and humidity – a likely scenario on the day in question.
<br />
<br />
Perhaps it’s not for me to suggest that he do so – and, of course, I meant
no offense in my observations – but, in these difficult times, it most
certainly is my business to observe and reflect upon what I see around me.JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-65801219796485821942019-07-13T16:17:00.001-04:002019-07-13T16:29:35.242-04:00When Someone in the Family is #TragicallyJewishMy sister sometimes texts my dad and me pictures of herself before she
heads out to teach <a href="http://artfulperception.com/">The Art of Perception</a>. I’ve
started to follow her lead – mostly to connect with them both each morning.<br />
<br />
Today, our thread started with this photo:
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbws0RAL6fJAIfW4B0YHAQiDqONQ3PCC_dyAheCIt19P8Fn9WHUTlDz50G66t6jWtHAlp8Djd5TRo_ANB7N93qaCSVddeZxcEokFTJDfhhJfCX_BZ0k9IGevRqcN62cqDHFQdHkYyAUL5B/s1600/AHWVLorIQPSCevP7rioIyA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbws0RAL6fJAIfW4B0YHAQiDqONQ3PCC_dyAheCIt19P8Fn9WHUTlDz50G66t6jWtHAlp8Djd5TRo_ANB7N93qaCSVddeZxcEokFTJDfhhJfCX_BZ0k9IGevRqcN62cqDHFQdHkYyAUL5B/s200/AHWVLorIQPSCevP7rioIyA.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong>Daddy:</strong>
Good morning. Fetching, as usual. Off to minyan? L.D.
<br />
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong>Me: </strong>
Yup. How was <a href="https://www.edisontemple.org/clergy" target="_blank">the new rabbi</a>?
<br />
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong>Daddy: </strong>
She conducted a lovely, low-key service. She is very effective & I
think only good things about her. Have a good day. L.D.
<br />
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong>Me: </strong>
So, I should plan to come for YK?
<br />
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong>Daddy: </strong>
If you wish, but we have time to talk about it. L.D.
<br />
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong>Me: </strong>
Indeed.
<br />
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong>My Sister: </strong>
I just woke up. Why are we talking about Yom Kippur? I am going to have
breakfast.
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrwRBoXJi5hx0nfCV2clAi7SGGQ03yuMi7u8vB_VnfoTQgI-PO0XY2099xG9AT3gTWy1KE6xjBeQ-LzYbAlsfTghGzbI-8O9HVnr3YXEue5cIiR-wU-896JXYlrC590RDG2faBAZPejUAH/s1600/lol+emoji.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>
<strong>Me: </strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhik8188vOGR5HiHp4E_L0JbP1MnLsGIFSa_8n5uwVBE1MHKhr6F_vJjfKilQYLWUsoaEb723VQwX7crQzldZI2usIQDmB1AhOqntqW582Vv-CFD1lYxbrHTo6JDGJsnTuEpBQyjmuP4OCf/s1600/lol+emoji.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="50" data-original-width="50" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhik8188vOGR5HiHp4E_L0JbP1MnLsGIFSa_8n5uwVBE1MHKhr6F_vJjfKilQYLWUsoaEb723VQwX7crQzldZI2usIQDmB1AhOqntqW582Vv-CFD1lYxbrHTo6JDGJsnTuEpBQyjmuP4OCf/s1600/lol+emoji.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<strong>Daddy: </strong>
I dunno. JEH likes to get her calendar in order early, I suppose. Have a
good day & stay cool. L.D.<br />
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong>Me: </strong><a href="https://shaaraytefilanyc.org/" target="_blank"> My temple</a> already sent info re: tix and choosing services. I’d rather fast
forward right to Columbus Day. (Yes, I admit this is not a terribly
#TragicallyJewish statement, but it is true. I would rather attend services
50 weeks of the year and skip the HHDs entirely. Anyone else?)
<br />
<strong><br /></strong>
<strong>Daddy: </strong>
YK is not until Oct. 9. (I wonder if he knew that off the top of his head
or if he had to look it up.) We can talk about it. Not to worry. L.D.
JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-30571844646420465032019-05-05T21:43:00.001-04:002019-05-05T22:27:56.348-04:00Here's What Makes an Amazing Jewish Leader<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6MEx5vaf0ZaTDJ6IPvEsNQNO-sofIgjE-jSgGzUqzcK3cDzshxLk_YftsGn-Z6aO3YEGYSjKg9SXSnHQnrRaoMd_j6npxSoGS-64MQ3ZhYtzQb9Kdj3L65ynBkHl3aAgZWWyX2ii9BcI/s1600/Ribbet+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="1024" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6MEx5vaf0ZaTDJ6IPvEsNQNO-sofIgjE-jSgGzUqzcK3cDzshxLk_YftsGn-Z6aO3YEGYSjKg9SXSnHQnrRaoMd_j6npxSoGS-64MQ3ZhYtzQb9Kdj3L65ynBkHl3aAgZWWyX2ii9BcI/s320/Ribbet+collage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This day, as a new crop of Reform Jewish clergy was ordained as rabbis and cantors, seems a most fitting time to publish thoughts about two of my own beloved Jewish teachers and leaders. I was honored to speak about each one recently -- although these words hardly begin to scratch the surface of my admiration, respect, and esteem for them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On Saturday, April 6, I introduced Rabbi Eric Yoffie, president emeritus of the <a href="http://www.urj.org/" target="_blank">Union for Reform Judaism</a>, who was this year's Diana S. Herman Memorial Scholar-in-Residence at <a href="https://www.edisontemple.org/" target="_blank">Temple Emanu-El in Edison, NJ</a>. Here's what I said that afternoon:</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Rabbi Eric Yoffie’s website describes him as “<span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">a bold, inspiring, and passionate speaker on Israel, interfaith dialogue, church-state issues, and American religious life.”</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">Wikipedia and the URJ’s website can fill you in on his educational background and the worship initiatives, social justice priorities, and other programs he championed during his 16-year tenure as president of the Union for Reform Judaism.</span><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">And that is all useful and important information. </span><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">But, I want to tell you briefly about the Eric Yoffie I know – the one who holds a special place in my heart. </span><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">The one who quietly thinks things through, turning them over and over in his mind, carefully examining every possible angle.</span><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">The one who states his positions unflinchingly and with bold, concise eloquence – never backing down, no matter how fierce the opposition.</span><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">The one who was never too busy to answer my Jewish questions, teach a bit of Torah, ask after my family, or where I would be for seder.</span><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">The one who, running into my mom in a crowded elevator at her first URJ board meeting, didn’t miss a beat in wishing her a <i>mazel tov </i>on her newly minted graduate degree – and never ignored a chance to thank her and my dad for “sharing Jane with us.”</span><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">The one who cares deeply about his own family, his friends, and, in his role as a Jewish leader, the people who worked with him and for him.</span><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">The Eric Yoffie I know is a <i>mensch</i>– humble, genuine, full of integrity, with a well-calibrated moral compass that always points north.</span><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="border: 1pt none; font-family: inherit; padding: 0in;">I’m incredibly proud and honored to have <i>this </i>Eric Yoffie in my world and to welcome him to Temple Emanu-El as the Diana S. Herman Memorial Scholar-in-Residence.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Earlier today, at a brunch honoring <a href="http://www.lafayette.edu/" target="_blank">Lafayette College</a> history professor and Hillel advisor Bob Weiner as he prepares to retire at the end of this year after 50 (yes, 50!) years on the faculty, I had the pleasure of sharing these reminiscences:</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I must have met Bob Weiner early in the fall semester in 1981. I lived in Ruef, and was just learning about pub night, “spinning disks,” and the fact that a roasted tomato sprinkled with parmesan breadcrumbs was the only vegetarian option in Marquis. </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Overwhelmed by the newness of it all, I yearned for something familiar, a pacing or rhythm I knew, something that felt a little like home. That yen landed me in Hoag Hall late on a Friday afternoon for Shabbat services. That’s where I first met Bob – </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bob, who, over time, recognized and nurtured a spark of leadership potential that gave me enough confidence to join the Hillel board and work my way through the ranks, ultimately serving as president and organizing a Passover meal plan in the original Hillel House on McCartney Street.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bob, who helped me design a Jewish studies minor – an offering that didn’t exist at Lafayette at the time. That cluster of courses led me to the Jewish non-profit sector, where I have spent the majority of my career. (And I’m not the only one. Following the synagogue shootings in Pittsburgh last fall, I reached out to Brian Schreiber, a fellow alum,….you know, that tall, lanky guy with the wide grin? He’s the executive director of Pittsburgh’s JCC and as he wrote to me at the time, “<span style="background-color: white;">Bob was really the catalyst for my journey into Jewish communal life.”)</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bob, whose family has always been an integral part of his life at Lafayette. I first met Mark, his eldest son, when, as a high school senior, he and one of his classmates became <i>my classmates </i>when they came to campus to study in a first-year Hebrew course taught by Professor Marblestone, <i>z’l</i>. And, Sandy? In my mind’s eye, she’s always there – with a smile, a hug, and a kind word. And if she’s not, no doubt she’s tootling around the Lehigh Valley in her pink Mary Kay Cadillac!</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bob, who, together with Sandy, of course, (and I think I’m remembering this detail correctly) trekked to New Jersey for a sukkah party at my parents’ house, when I was living there following graduation. As Bob told me at the time, but for the fact that the Weiners lived in the Lehigh Valley and the Hermans lived in central New Jersey, he was sure the two couples would have been the best of friends.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bob, who a few years later (and again with Sandy), attended my wedding and when the marriage dissolved,was still there with comforting words that validated the truly life-changing decision I had made.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bob, who more recently invited me back to campus to speak at Hillel about working in the Reform Jewish world. Somewhere along the way, though, that plan got nixed in favor of a talk to a wider audience about hereditary cancer genetic mutations and my experience as a BRCA mutation carrier.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bob, who is <span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">humble, genuine, full of integrity, caring, <i>menschlich</i>, <i></i>and what my grandmother would call a <i>gutte neshuma</i>.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bob, you and Sandy hold a special place in my Lafayette memories and in my heart. As you set off down this new path, my dad, my sister, and I wish you abundant joy, laughter, love, and all good things. Godspeed, my friend.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am blessed to have these two Jewish leaders in my orbit, and I was grateful for the opportunity to share with others the reasons each one holds a special place in my heart.</span>JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-44532209326714603082018-12-30T16:39:00.001-05:002018-12-30T20:25:59.232-05:00The Seven Books I Read in the Last 12 Months<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Last year was
<a href="http://www.janethewriter.com/search?q=four+books">
hardly my “readingest” year ever</a> and I’m glad to report that I’ve done better in 2018. Having set a modest
goal to read six books this year, I surpassed that mark and completed these
seven books:</div>
<ol>
<li><em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Weight-Ink-Rachel-Kadish/dp/0544866460">The Weight of Ink</a></em>, by Rachel Kadish: This is the kind of book you can't stop reading, but
you don't want to end. Filled with richly drawn (and flawed) characters,
the novel's story lines are heavily built around characters’ encounters
with their own flaws. The parallel stories – four centuries apart – were
equally compelling, and the mystery of how each would end propelled me
through. A fabulous read!</li>
<li><em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Marrying-Chani-Kaufman-Eve-Harris/dp/0802122736">The Marrying of Chani Kaufman</a></em>, by Eve Harris: To be honest, I was somewhat surprised this book was
long-listed for the Man Booker Prize because although I enjoyed it at the
time, I’ve not thought about it since turning the last page. Neither the
characters nor the story’s details have stayed with me, and, it seems,
there was little to ponder or chew on once Chani and her groom (I can’t
even remember his name…Ben? Jacob? Shmuel?) were actually married.</li>
<li><em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/How-Doctors-Think-Jerome-Groopman/dp/0547053649/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1546198474&sr=1-1&keywords=How+doctors+think">How Doctors Think</a></em>, by Jerome Groopman: I’ve eyeballed Groopman’s books many times, but only
read this one after picking it up at the annual <a href="https://bmandwbooks.com/">Bryn Mawr Wellesley book sale</a> in
Princeton. As someone who uses our broken medical system extensively in an
attempt to remain healthy despite heavy odds, I appreciated Groopman’s
perspectives and insights, culled from both his professional expertise and
his own forays into the system as a patient.</li>
<li><em><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mothering-sunday-graham-swift/1122454880?ean=9781101947524">Mothering Sunday</a></em>, by Graham Swift: “You must read this one,” my sister said emphatically,
our arms already full of treasures from our afternoon of browsing with our
dad at the Bryn Mawr Wellesley book sale. Heeding her advice, I found a
real gem: beautifully written, poignant, thought-provoking, and sad, with
more than a bit of staying power.</li>
<li><em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Internal-Medicine-Doctors-Terrence-Holt/dp/1631490877/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1546201023&sr=8-1&keywords=internal+medicine+a+doctor%27s+stories">Internal Medicine: A Doctor's Stories</a></em>, by Terrence Holt: Following in the footsteps of William Carlos Williams,
Michael Creighton, Robin Cook, Siddhartha Mukherjee, and other
physician-writers, Holt offers a collection of short stories that bring
heart and soul to the clinical side of becoming a doctor. The author is a
former literature and writing professor, and more than once I had to
consult the dictionary to look up words I didn’t know.</li>
<li><em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1250064449/ref=x_gr_w_glide_bb?ie=UTF8&tag=x_gr_w_glide_bb-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1250064449&SubscriptionId=1MGPYB6YW3HWK55XCGG2">Mercies in Disguise: A Story of Hope, a Family's Genetic
Destiny, and the Science That Rescued Them</a></em><b>,
</b>
by Gina Kolata: Given my interest in diseases caused by inherited genetic
mutations, this book, which details the Baxley family’s experience with
Gerstmann–Sträussler–Scheinker syndrome (GSS), caught my eye. The non-fiction
account reads like a novel and gives me renewed respect for
pre-implantation genetic diagnosis (PGD) and the tremendous hope it brings
to families whose mutations cause a certain and horrible death. May science
continue to search for answers around GSS and other prion diseases, and may
the efforts bear fruit quickly – for the Baxleys and other families
affected by these genetic mutations.</li>
<li><em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0307386716/ref=x_gr_w_glide_bb?ie=UTF8&tag=x_gr_w_glide_bb-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0307386716&SubscriptionId=1MGPYB6YW3HWK55XCGG2">Bellevue: Three Centuries of Medicine and Mayhem at America's Most
Storied Hospital</a></em>, by David Oshinsky: A soup-to-nuts biography of Bellevue Hospital, this book is
more accurately a sociological study of New York City, public health, and a
colorful cast of characters including physicians, research scientists, and
politicians. The early history of today’s behemoth medical center, in
particular, is filled with fascinating stories, including the “invention”
of ambulance service, which began with horses and buggies in the streets of
17<sup>th </sup>century Manhattan. A dense and wonderful read!</li>
</ol>
I’m currently about 100 pages into
<em>
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sapiens-Humankind-Yuval-Noah-Harari/dp/0062316117/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1546203387&sr=1-1&keywords=sapiens">
Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind</a></em>, by Yuval Noah Harari. A heavy, slow read (like so many other of my
choices) we may be well into 2019 before I finish it. Having said that, I,
once again, will aim to read six books in the new year, and hope they prove
to be as enjoyable and enlightening as the ones I read in the year now
ending.JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3075100495072957975.post-53715628963903708542018-11-23T12:44:00.001-05:002018-11-23T13:14:30.733-05:005 Things I’m Grateful for This Black Friday…and Always<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1kNvkphKR73Pk4ASO3MM2qPYm56-ueo_eK5AOhcazzyWs5wteMOdfl9HpFB1rkmsUnsMCGDjg1e_YSYQUgyWfJRsf61e2qtY9cBsDmnMu4BoHg90avp32IB9Rz4CAN60rQ8IOVPiPSY3/s1600/092716_msk-01018_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1kNvkphKR73Pk4ASO3MM2qPYm56-ueo_eK5AOhcazzyWs5wteMOdfl9HpFB1rkmsUnsMCGDjg1e_YSYQUgyWfJRsf61e2qtY9cBsDmnMu4BoHg90avp32IB9Rz4CAN60rQ8IOVPiPSY3/s320/092716_msk-01018_0.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo: Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
These people, places and things (but nothing with a SKU or UPC code) are
bringing me joy and gratitude this Black Friday – and all year long.<br />
<br />
<h3>
5. Living and working in New York City
</h3>
<br />
Despite my love-hate relationship with the city – its noise, crowds,
transit system, and other offerings, good and not so good – there’s nothing
quite like helpful New Yorkers, bodega coffee, or crossing 23<sup>rd</sup>
Street against the light on a holiday morning when New York shows us its
quiet side.
<br />
<br />
<h3>
4. William, my trainer
</h3>
<br />
From crunches to rowing, lifting to running, boxing to jumping, the two
hours I spend under William’s guidance each week make me a partner in
caring for my body, building physical and emotional strength, and expanding
my world with a small view into the life of an Ecuadorian immigrant family.
<br />
<br />
<h3>
3. Health and the insurance to help guard it
</h3>
<br />
A visit to the Evelyn H. Lauder Breast Center at Memorial Sloan Kettering
Cancer Center right before Thanksgiving each year not only reminds me not
to take my health for granted, but also to remember the hundreds of people
who, whether they know it or not, play a role in ensuring my inherited
genetics don’t determine my destiny.
<br />
<br />
<h3>
2. The <em>minyan </em>at Temple Shaaray Tefila
</h3>
<br />
In a large congregation, it’s a blessing to slip into “my pew” on most
Saturday mornings and to connect to the people around me, and the prayers,
music, and rituals that will unfold in the coming hours. Torah study, too,
connects me to my (ancient) people, unchanged by the millennia, but
ever-changing because of my own new perspectives, knowledge, and “ah-ha” moments.
<br />
<br />
<h3>
1. Family and friends
</h3>
<br />
More than an individual's presence, it is the love, support, joy, laughter, humanity, honesty, attention, time,
and more that we share with one another that makes my life rich and full. Thanks to the people in my village and in my world – near and far, new and not so
new, known and unknown – I truly have everything I need.JanetheWriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10939674499667620123noreply@blogger.com