A Rundown on My New Job

Dear The Mums,

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 JCC Association of North America, the membership organization of JCCs, YM and YWHAs, and a network of summer camps across the continent.

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 14^th Street Y, and I can’t wait to go swimming.

I’d met the president and CEO, Doron Krakow, 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!”

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 Angela, the marketing administrator. Joanne, the chief marketing officer, heads up the team, and the other members include Loraine, the graphic designer; Morgan, the digital media marketing manager; Ben, the photographer/videographer; and Michael, 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, Yuliya, has a Gratz diploma on her wall, which sparked a great point of connection for us. She loves Dr. Davis the way you did!)

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 JWB Jewish Chaplains Council 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 JSummit. It’s scheduled for early May in Milwaukee, and I’m looking forward to being there.

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 oneg, which, not unlike the pre-school celebrations, included a bit of singing; a micro d’var Torah; blessings over the candles, juice, and challah; home-baked treats; and a few minutes of collegial schmoozing.) 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.

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.

Miss you…xoxo.

P.S. If Brian’s name sounds familiar, you’re right. He and I were classmates at Laf Coll, and he preceded me as president of Hillel. When I told the now-retired Bob Weiner about my job and that Brian and I would be colleagues, he wrote back, “So happy and proud. Good Shabbos. Hugs and love, Bob.”

P.P.S. The JCC in Rockville is now the Bender JCC of Greater Washington, and from what I can see online, it appears to be an amazing facility.

Why It’s My Business to Comment on the World Around Me

Nearly 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:

The accompanying text said:

I think God would have forgiven this man if he'd decided to take off his jacket today.

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.

A flurry of likes, loves, and laughs followed the post, along with comments – some online and others by text.

By text, one friend asked: “Would say the same thing about a Muslim woman in full garb?”

I responded: “I’m not sure. I don’t know enough about the ‘why’ of Muslim dress.”

To which my friend said, “This feels to me a bit like MYOB.”

Is it?

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.”

A proponent of talking openly and honestly about what we see, my sister noted, “The ‘why’ of Muslim dress is modesty, which is not the case for this man.”

So why do Hasidic men dress the way they do?

According to seeker.com:

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.

As MyJewishLearning.com notes:

The Torah says little about clothing, either descriptively or prescriptively. Without explanation, it prohibits blending wool and linen in a garment (such garments are known as shatnez), in the same verse forbidding “mixing” different seeds and species of cattle (Leviticus 19:19). It forbids men from wearing women’s clothes and vice versa (Deuteronomy 22:5), without specifying the characteristics of either. It also requires Jews to put fringes on the corners of a four-pointed garment (Numbers 15:37-41), both as a way of identifying the Jew and reminding the Jew to observe the mitzvot commandments].

According to this Aish.com video, 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.

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.

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.

When Someone in the Family is #TragicallyJewish

My sister sometimes texts my dad and me pictures of herself before she heads out to teach The Art of Perception. I’ve started to follow her lead – mostly to connect with them both each morning.

Today, our thread started with this photo:

Daddy: Good morning. Fetching, as usual. Off to minyan? L.D.

Me: Yup. How was the new rabbi?

Daddy: She conducted a lovely, low-key service. She is very effective & I think only good things about her. Have a good day. L.D.

Me: So, I should plan to come for YK?

Daddy: If you wish, but we have time to talk about it. L.D.

Me: Indeed.

My Sister: I just woke up. Why are we talking about Yom Kippur? I am going to have breakfast.


Me: 

Daddy: I dunno. JEH likes to get her calendar in order early, I suppose. Have a good day & stay cool. L.D.

Me: My temple 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?)

Daddy: 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.

Laughing Uncontrollably in the Cemetery

Dear Nathan,

We owe you an apology. We didn’t mean to laugh with such abandon at your grave yesterday, so please let me explain.

It was my mom’s birthday and we were visiting her grave, just a row over from yours, when my sister noticed the back of the tall, sawed off tree trunk that is your gravestone. (To be honest, I don’t know why we never noticed it before, since we’ve been visiting at the site since the mid-1980s, when my grandfather was buried directly opposite where my mom’s grave is now. Of course, my sister says we have better Visual Intelligence these days, and she may be right.)

In any case, when we were finished visiting my mom and her parents, we wandered over to the front of your tree trunk, which my dad told us often symbolizes a life cut off before its time. In fact, you were a mere 28 years old when you died in 1943. We studied the stone which holds a black and white image of you, wearing a large fedora-style hat. Indeed, you were a handsome guy. My father told us in his experience, it’s often Russians who place photos on gravestones such as is on yours. Perhaps you were Russian…perhaps not.

In any event, I also noticed the pitcher and bowl engraved on your tombstone, which is when I said out loud, “I wonder what the pitcher means.”

My dad, despite his new hearing aids, thought I was asking about the picture and replied, “It’s Russian.”

“No, the pitcher,” my sister said, giggling, “not the picture! Jane’s the last person who would mispronounce in that way.”

With that, we all exploded into peals of laughter. It was the kind of laughter that makes tears run down your face and the more we laughed, the less we could stop. It’s a good thing it was Shabbat and there was no one around.

We truly meant no disrespect.

Back in the car, once the giggles finally subsided, I texted this to a rabbi friend: “What does it mean when there’s a pitcher on a gravestone? Today’s my mom’s b’day, so we were at the cemetery.”

The answer came in bits and pieces: “Levite.”

“They were the carriers of water in the ancient Temple and thus were symbolized by the pitcher. It was the pitcher of water used to wash the hands of the Cohanim.”

“Thus the bowl...”

“Here's a great reference doc... https://www.jewishgen.org/InfoFiles/tombstones.html.”

So, you see, that’s how we came to laugh so uncontrollably at your grave. In addition to our apology, though, I think we owe you our thanks, too, for bringing us a bit of joy on a gray, sullen Saturday.

I suspect we’ll visit your gravestone again whenever we’re in the cemetery and that it always will bring us a sweet memory. In the meantime, rest in peace Nathan Finkelstein.

~ JanetheWriter

Honor Thy Father and Mother

We are a people in whom the past endures,
in whom the present in inconceivable without moments gone by.
The Exodus lasted a moment, a moment enduring forever.
What happened once upon a time happens all the time.
-- Mishkan T’filah

At tonight’s Shavuot learning program at Temple Shaaray Tefila, the 10 Commandments were taught by 10 different teachers, each of whom had 10 minutes to make a presentation about one of the commandments. Cantor Todd Kipnis, in teaching about the fourth commandment – Honor thy father and mother – shared an essay his mother wrote about honoring her mother at a time in their lives when their roles largely were reversed. The daughter became the mother; the mother became the daughter.

His mother’s essay provoked in me a flood of tears, not only because of what she wrote and how she wrote it, but also because of the memories it evoked of how our family honored my mother eight years ago on this exact date, May 19, 2010.

It was on that date that I wrote two entries on my mother’s CaringBridge site. First, this one:

As many of you already know, the last few weeks have been difficult for my mother. During this last week in particular, her condition has deteriorated significantly, and she has, despite medication, been in considerable pain. Yesterday, acting upon recommendations from both her oncologist and her long-time internist, my father, my sister, and I agreed that it is now time to follow her wishes and make arrangements for her to enter a hospice facility. Accordingly, we met at length with a hospice nurse, and within the next few days, we expect that my mom will be moved to Haven Hospice at JFK Hospital in Edison (right across the street from her beloved Temple Emanu-El). In the meantime, she is resting comfortably in the hospital, and we, too, are comfortable knowing that we are abiding by my mother’s wishes.

Many of you know, too, that the Festival of Shavuot, which began last night, is my mom’s favorite Jewish holiday. As Rabbi Bravo wrote to a few of her own colleagues yesterday, “Diana would have wanted us to celebrate this holiday, just as she loved Torah and let it be her guide through life. Ironically, she went into the hospital on Pesach, and here we are on Shavuot. Her family and I decided that just as she lived her life by the Jewish calendar, so is she planning her end of days in a similar way.”

Later that same day, having accompanied her (thanks to two kind, young women paramedics) on the ride from the hospital in New Brunswick to the hospice facility in Edison, I wrote this penultimate journal entry:

This afternoon my mother was transferred from Robert Wood Johnson to the hospice facility at JFK Hospital in Edison. When we left her, she was (as she has been for the last few days) unresponsive, but resting comfortably and in no pain. The speed of her deterioration on all fronts during the last several days has been notable and somewhat startling, even to a longtime family friend who has been together with us frequently during the last seven weeks. Having said that, we have reassessed our earlier thoughts regarding visitors, and would prefer that only family, clergy, and close friends visit. We want your memories of my mother to be filled with laughter, happy times, and much goodness. We are, of course, grateful for your outpouring of care and love on this site and invite you to continue to share your thoughts with us.

I know that we honored my mother well on that day. I like to think, too, that excepting for a few teenage temper tantrums, I honored her well throughout all her days, and that for the rest of my own days, I will continue to honor her memory and her well-lived life.

#BlogExodus: Praise

Because there are no rules for #BlogExodus and because I often need time to process and percolate my thoughts, I believe it’s okay to write this last entry now, on the second day of Passover. If so, I wish to offer praise:

To the people who welcomed me into their homes over the last two nights for seder, in one instance for the umpteenth time, in another for the first time. In both cases, all of us who gathered, benefitted from gracious and generous hospitality, engaging company, wonderful food, lots of laughter, and the opportunity to retell the story of the exodus from Egypt, sharing and celebrating Jewish tradition together.

For growing and ever-intersecting and connecting circles of friends.

For musicians – cantors and professional singers – whose sweet voices enriched the journey from the narrowness of Mitzrayim.

For Rabbi Jim Rudin for his reminder that this year, 15 Nisan marked the 75 ^thanniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, and also for pointing out the beautiful full moon as we headed back into the city, following the first seder.

For MetroNorth trains that run relatively on time.

For Elmo and for his knowing 13, so he could, as has become his own holiday tradition, help with Echad Mi Yodea.

For my friend, Pamela, and our new-ish holiday tradition that affirms our decisions to choose life and confirms that some of what makes Passover Passover has little to do with brisket, matzah, or Manischewitz.

For the blessing of memory that allows us to remember with love those who live in our hearts, even if they’re no longer physically with us around the table and for the power of that first bite of wet matzah spread with sweet, whipped butter to open floodgates to the past – and decades of Passover memories as sweet as the butter.

For Elijah and his enduring ability to keep hope alive – for whatever our hearts desire and for a more equitable and just world that is our responsibility to help build and create.

Chag sameach, friends!

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima , this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nisan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Friday, March 30, corresponding to the Hebrew date 15 Nisan 5778. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #ExodusGram prompts .

Welcome Back, Hallway Kiddush

Dear Hallway Kiddush,

Back in January, our minyan was so sad when you abruptly stopped being part of our Shabbat minhag so we could instead go downstairs to the sanctuary at the end of our chapel service and greet Shaaray Tefila’s newest b’nai mitzvah and their families.

We missed the Manischewitz (yes, it’s true!), our schmoozing, and linking up to touch someone who was touching the challah before we recited haMotzi. Without these rituals that we all know and love, our Shabbat felt incomplete and…a little bit empty.

Thank goodness you’re back!

Now, we once again get to spend time with you each week and – if we want – also go downstairs to join the other part of the synagogue community. It helps to have a reserved row in the sanctuary, where we can sit until it’s time to ascend the bimah. And, it seems we’ve already started our own “downstairs minhag,” pointing out to each other young girls’ dresses whose hemlines are, as my grandmother would say, “up to her pupik,” and so tight around they can take only teeny-tiny steps. While we wait, it’s also interesting to see the families’ color choices for the yarmulkes. Having always enjoyed “assigning” names to particular hues, I dubbed yesterday’s yarmulkes “Shrek green,” with no malice intended. I call ’em like I see ’em -- and I love Shrek!

In any event, it’s nice to have you back and perhaps, with practice, we’ll get as comfortable with the downstairs part of our Shabbat as we are with the upstairs part.

Shavua tov…see you next week,
~ Jane.

Shechinah at #FORCE17

Last Friday afternoon, as I do each week, I texted a few friends a Shabbat shalom message: “Shabbat shalom from Orlando and #FORCE17 – annual hereditary cancer conference. 🌞”

One of them responded with this: “Shabbat shalom to you, too, in sunny Florida. Will there be a Shabbat service?”

Our conversation continued.

Me: “The place is crawling with M.O.T.s, but Friday night is reserved for “show and tell,” a different kind of ‘service’ for those facing tough decisions.”

My friend: “HaShem is found in many places and in many ways.”

Me: “She (Shechinah, the feminine divine presence of God) definitely is here. There’s something that feels very sacred about empowered women and pikuach nefesh (saving a life).”

My friend: “It will be a wonderful Shabbat, even if you are not in temple."

Me. “Indeed.”

#FORCE17 was this year’s annual hereditary cancer conference organized by FORCE: Facing Our Risk of Cancer Empowered , a grass-roots, non-profit organization devoted to providing support, research, resources, and advocacy to those affected by hereditary cancer. Approximately one in 400 people in the general population carries a BRCA mutation, significantly increasing their lifetime risk of breast and ovarian cancer (in women) and male breast cancer and prostate cancer (in men), as well as raising the likelihood for others, including pancreatic cancer and melanoma. Hereditary mutations can be transmitted from either parent to both sons and daughters. Among Ashkenazi Jews, the prevalence of BRCA mutations is 10 times greater than in the general population; approximately one in 40 individuals carries a mutation, and most are unaware of their status as carriers.

No Good Tweet Goes Unpunished

Today’s  Shavuot. As I have done every year for the past few, I’m participating in a collective social media effort to post enough tweets that include “#Torah” – pronounced “hashtag Torah” – that we “ tweet #Torah to the top ,” meaning it appears on the Twitter home page as a trending topic.

As far as I know, we have not ever achieved the goal. And this year, I’ve encountered a few stumbling blocks of my own…

Everything started out smoothly. Using  Hootsuite, a social media tool, I scheduled 80-some tweets to go live between 9 p.m. last night and midnight tonight. Because they appear as both tweets on Twitter and posts on my Facebook feed, I put this message on Facebook last night after two or three tweets had appeared:

It appears that all my #Torah tweets scheduled for the next 27 hours or so are going to show up in my FB feed.

For my FB friends who aren't familiar with Shavuot, it's a Jewish festival (The Festival of Weeks) that occurs seven weeks -- 49 days -- after the first day of Passover and commemorates the giving of the #Torah atop Mt. Sinai. According to legend, every Jewish person from every generation was there to witness the pivotal event in the life of the Jewish people. Today, the holiday is celebrated with late-into-the-night #Torah study sessions and dairy foods -- cheesecake and blitzes, most notably -- which serve as reminders of the Promised Land, which flows with milk and honey. It's also the season for confirmation, when young Jews (generally 16- and 17-year olds) who have continued their studies for several years after b'nai mitzvah commit to lead a Jewish life and help ensure a bright Jewish future.

OK, rabbi, cantor, and educator friends, did I leave anything out?

And then I went to sleep.

I awoke to this message from my sister, which she’d sent at 7:09 a.m.: “Why a million Torah posts?” It was followed quickly by this: “I just saw your explanation. You need to delete them. They filled everyone’s feed…message after message after message…”

Um, yes, that’s precisely the point.

Two hours later, when I hadn’t responded (because I slept in and then went to services), she sent another, less contemptuous message: “You look like a Jewish scholar who drank too much slivovitz and pressed ‘Post.’”

Meanwhile, in response to a tweet that appeared in my feed at about 1 a.m., a friend, who thought I was live-tweeting, commented with this: “Jane, I love you. I’m awake with you for at least an hour…” (I set her straight in the morning, sending a link to Hootsuite by way of explanation.)

When I returned from temple, I spoke to my sister and, concerned that I might indeed be looking like a schicker (Yiddish for drunkard), I reposted the explanatory message from last night.

Convinced all was then well, I was dismayed to receive another message late this afternoon – this one from a friend who, although not Jewish, is well-versed in Jewish holidays and traditions. She wrote: “I think you have been hacked… Twitter keeps giving the same status update over and over again…”

Yes, at that point, all the scheduled tweets had the same beginning – Blessed are You, Adonai, Sovereign of the universe who has… -- but ended differently. I responded to her with this: “LOL! They’re different. It’s Shavuot and I’m one of the people who is posting things with the #Torah hashtag to see if we can get Torah to trend in Twitter. Hope all’s well and you’re enjoying Ramadan.”

Thank goodness for Caroline, a high school friend, whose gracious response to one of my many tweets today made it all worthwhile: “I have enjoyed reading these posts.”

That Time I Did Hagbah at Minyan

Dear WilliamtheTrainer,

Since I don’t speak Spanish and as an immigrant from Ecuador, you probably don’t speak much in the way of “Jewish worship,” I’ll do my best to explain this thing that happened on Saturday morning that you helped make possible.

In the middle of Jewish worship services on the Sabbath and festivals -- and on Mondays and Thursdays in more traditional congregations – Jews read from a Torah scroll, which contains the Five Books of Moses – Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. The text is handwritten in Hebrew by a specially trained scribe on animal skin parchment and considering its contents, the scroll is treated with the utmost respect.

After the Torah reading has been completed, it’s customary for one person to come forward to “do hagbah,” which entails lifting the open scroll overhead so the congregation can see the text that was just read. This custom derives from a verse in the Book of Nehemiah that says: “And Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the people.”

So, back to last Saturday…

We were all standing around the lectern where the Torah had just been read and my friend Roz had finished her first-ever aliyah (reciting the blessings before and after the Torah reading itself), which she’d done in honor of her husband’s 93^rd birthday, coming up in a few days. Then, the rabbi invited me to help with hagbah, an honor usually reserved for a strong man because some scrolls are extremely heavy – and the last thing anyone wants is for a Torah scroll to fall or be dropped.

Thinking about those Hoist weight machines, the free weights, the rowing machine, the treadmill, the crunches, the running, the jumping, and all the other hard work I’ve been doing with your help throughout the last six weeks, I hoped I was up for the challenge. With guidance from the rabbi, I took hold of the bottom handles of the scroll, bent my knees to get some leverage, and to my incredible delight, lifted it and turned so everyone could see the text, although it wasn’t open very wide at all (and the rabbi was “spotting me” to ensure nothing bad would happen).

Returning the Torah to the lectern, I helped tie the two parts of the scroll together, replace its velvet cover, silver breastplate, and  yad (literally “hand”), the pointer that the Torah reader uses to keep his or her place while reading. Once it was safely on the shelf where it would remain for nearly the rest of the service, I returned to my seat in the pews, but not before the rabbi said that the expression on my face during hagbah was “worth the price of admission.”

Indeed, it was an incredibly exhilarating and powerful moment-- not only for the chance to give honor to the Torah in a way I never had done before, but also as a reminder that hard work, commitment, and pushing yourself in new and different directions often have unexpected, wonderful rewards.

Thanks for the reminder…see you in the gym!

~ JanetheWriter

#BlogExodus: Launch

Yikes! It's #BlogExodus again...already?! 

I suppose it's fitting that this year, 1 Nisan falls on the same day, March 28, that since 2010 has marked (and will ever more mark) for me the launch of the Pesach season. 

Here's how I described today's anniversary on Facebook:

Seven years ago today, I went out to the 'burbs to finish the cooking for "the Passover that wasn't." What happened during the seven weeks that followed fills me with memories bitter and sweet.

In response to an inquiry from Harriet, a friend whom I only met afterward, I wrote this: "My mom went into the hospital on the day of the first seder and into hospice on Shavuot." To which Harriet replied, "That must have been unbearable. Every year must be difficult. Some sorrows we never get over, we just learn to live with them."

It is true. I know I will not get over this sorrow, but I have learned to live with it...and to find the silver linings within it. 

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nisan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Monday, April 10, corresponding to 15 Nisan. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #ExodusGram prompts. 

"Never Again" Means Never Again for Anybody

Some days I get so annoyed with our people – especially when we  kvetch, we groan, we complain.

Today wasn’t one of those days.

Today, I was proud to stand in the sleet and freezing rain, alongside thousands of others at Castle Clinton in Battery Park, the very spot through which many of our parents and grandparents passed on their way to the American dream: a better life for themselves and their families.

As the hail pelted us, we stood in solidarity with immigrants and refugees who seek that same American dream today.

In the cold, we stood to oppose the administration’s efforts to extinguish Lady Liberty’s lamp by slamming shut our country’s golden door. Our people has a long memory and we remember all too well the fate of the passengers aboard the MS St. Louis, turned away from our shores during another dark time in our history.

Soaked to the skin, we listened to words and music from elected officials, community and religious leaders, and recent immigrants – ever cognizant that once upon a time, we were refugees, too.

Today we stood on the shoulders of those who came before us, unwavering in our commitment that “never again” means never again for anybody.

Hanukkah 2016

A Sampling of Sukkot

Which is your favorite sukkah? Why?

Which sukkah looks most welcoming? Why? 

Did you spend time in a sukkah this year?

Hope it was a chag sameach!

Temple Shaaray Tefila, New York, NY

Israel's smallest sukkah

Beit Frummie, Lehigh Valley, PA

URJ, New York, NY

Wikipedia

Anshe Emeth Memorial Temple, New Brunswick, NJ

What Feels Like Injustice May Be a Chance to Honor a Friend

Dear The Mums,

Yesterday in the minyan, we read from Ha’azinu, which, if I had to guess, is your least favorite Torah portion. Anyone who ever studied with you at this season in years past knows you were ever annoyed with God for telling Moses in no uncertain terms, “You may view the land from a distance, but you shall not enter it—the land that I am giving to the Israelite people.” (Deuteronomy 32:52)

The day before, we had a stark reminder of another of life’s injustices as hundreds of us gathered to say goodbye to Marcus Burstein, our friend, colleague, incredible mensch, and gentle soul extraordinaire. Marcus had died two days earlier, just after Yom Kippur drew to a close.

Like you, I want to be mad at God for allowing such an injustice, for letting an incredible, universally beloved human being suffer and die at 45. However, that would dishonor the memory of someone who had deep faith in God – in good times and bad. Instead, I’m going to try to honor his memory in ways that embrace the fullness of the life he crammed into those 45 short years.

I’m usually not one to dance, but I think a spin or two around the bedroom every so often with iTunes cranked would be a fitting tribute.

Unlike Marcus, I’m not a cook or baker, but perhaps I’ll bake a batch of magic cookie bars for Sukkot. (Another friend posted this recipe, one of his favorites, online and since they're "foolproof," I'm hopeful that even I can handle it.)

Smiling more, listening well, seeing the good in others, and embracing life and its blessings – those in plain sight and those that are hidden – are other ways I can try to honor his memory and his well-lived life.

I hope you’ve made peace with God over God’s injustice to Moses. I, too, will try to make peace with God over what feels like a huge injustice to Marcus, his family, and all the rest of us who knew and loved him. If he shows up in your Torah study group in olam ha-ba, I know you’ll be glad to see him – and that he’ll flash that wonderful smile at seeing you, too.

xoxo,
~ Boo.

P.S. In spite of the circumstances, it was good to see so many people I don’t see often enough anymore – lots of whom you knew, too, from the days of the New Jersey-West Hudson Valley Council.

Sure You Count, but Not for the Minyan

On my way to a break-fast tonight, I walked past what used to be Vintage Irving, a Union Square wine bar. The bar/restaurant, it appeared, had been converted into a shtiebel, at least for today. A kittel-clad man stood out front asking passers-by if they were Jewish; it seemed they needed one more for a minyan.

The man a few paces ahead of me said, no, he wasn’t Jewish, but wished the man a shana tova.

“You seem to know the lingo,” came the response.

“I’m not Jewish, but my mother was,” said the passer-by.

“Your mother was Jewish; you’re Jewish. Come on in.”

The man refused, politely, but stayed rooted to his spot on the sidewalk.

By now, I’d stopped, too, and without thinking said, “But you won’t count me…”

“Sure I count you,” the kittel wearer told me, “but not for the minyan.”

“Shana tova,” I said, continuing on my way.

#BlogElul: Return

Once again, we’ve returned to the end of Elul and sit perched on the brink of 5777.

May my accounting and assessments throughout this last month prevent me from returning to my old ways.

In the new year, help me to turn toward the good, the sweet, the positive; help me to be kind, generous, giving, to smile, to laugh, and to be gracious, to choose life, and always to be a good Jew trying to be a better Jew.

Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam for encouraging and enabling us to turn and to return, and may we be inscribed and sealed in the Book of Life for a good and sweet year.

Shana tova u'metuka.

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this #BlogElul post is one in a series marking the days of the Hebrew month of Elul, which precedes the Jewish High Holidays and traditionally serves as a time of reflection and spiritual preparation for the new year.

#BlogElul: Give

I’m not a big fan of new year’s resolutions, but, nonetheless, I resolve to give 5777 my all.

I resolve to give a damn about (and thanks for) the things that matter: the people I love, the causes to which giving time and energy make a difference in our world, and finding positivity and sparks of beauty, holiness, and meaning around me.

At the same time, I resolve to try not to give a hoot about the things that consistently and increasingly annoy me – and really don’t matter at all. You likely know what they are and since there’s nothing I can do about them, I’m not even going to give them a platform here.

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this #BlogElul post is one in a series marking the days of the Hebrew month of Elul, which precedes the Jewish High Holidays and traditionally serves as a time of reflection and spiritual preparation for the new year.

#BlogElul: Bless

Six years ago I learned that I carry a BRCA genetic mutation that significantly increases my lifetime risk of breast and ovarian cancer, as well as others. Although it did not seem so at the time, this knowledge has turned out to be a blessing many times over.

First and foremost, it enabled me to make decisions – yes, they were excruciatingly painful – not to allow my genetics to determine my destiny. Thanks to modern science, technology, and medicine, I underwent a series of surgeries that I believe saved my life. A blessing.

More than that, thanks to my BRCA mutation status, I’ve connected with a terrific community of fellow mutation carriers, healthcare professionals, and awareness advocates. This incredible network of people not only provided support and resources when I needed them myself, but constantly helps me give back to the many hereditary cancer mutation carriers who are behind me in their own journeys. A blessing.

Today, my own journey as a hereditary breast and ovarian cancer previvor took me to the New York Stock Exchange, where Invitae and its guests rang the closing bell, signaling the end of the trading day. It was an incredible experience and a blessing, too.

As my BRCA mutation status has brought me blessings and allowed me to bring them to others, may it be that I continue to receive and give blessings in the new year.

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this #BlogElul post is one in a series marking the days of the Hebrew month of Elul, which precedes the Jewish High Holidays and traditionally serves as a time of reflection and spiritual preparation for the new year.

#BlogElul: Create

I’m the first to admit it can be hard to create community in New York City.

But not tonight.

We saw the empty table in the small, crowded Starbucks at the same time. She needed the plug for her computer. I had paper, a pen, and a letter to write, so we agreed to share it, and we each got down to work.

I thought she might be a wedding planner or a personal shopper as she described a dress with bell sleeves to her “client” on the phone, noting that the store where it is available would be open until 8 o’clock tomorrow night and until 7 on Friday. Meanwhile, I was writing to my friend in hospice, telling him of times we’d spent together that hold special meaning for me. As I addressed the envelope for my letter, she finished her call and before long, we were chatting.

As it turns out, her mother’s getting married in the middle of October, but the dress the bride bought back in the spring no longer fits. Although her daughter seemed somewhat exasperated by the short timeframe in which to find a replacement, I reminded her to be grateful to have something as lovely as a wedding to celebrate. Pointing to my letter, I told her what I’d been writing.

“We’re each doing our mitzvah,” she said.

Our conversation continued, we exchanged email addresses, and by the time I got home after tonight’s Torah chanting rehearsal for the High Holidays, this email awaited me:

Hi Jane,

It was so nice talking with you this evening. I would love to meet you for a cup of coffee sometime soon. Like I said earlier, moving and meeting new friends is hard, especially as an adult woman.

My schedule is pretty flexible so give me a couple days and times that work for you.
Have a good night and I look forward to chatting again soon.

No matter what comes from this experience, it is a good omen for the new year.

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this #BlogElul post is one in a series marking the days of the Hebrew month of Elul, which precedes the Jewish High Holidays and traditionally serves as a time of reflection and spiritual preparation for the new year.