The Journey Continues...

Dear The Mums,

I know that sending yahrzeit notices is a routine administrative function in synagogues, especially when they’re as big as Temple Shaaray Tefila, but do they really think that I need a reminder about yours?  Really?!  Here’s the thing you’ll love, though:  The letter I received yesterday from Shaaray Tefila says that your name will be read at services on Friday, June 1, and the letter I received today from Temple Emanu-El says that your name will be read at services on Friday, June 8.  I guess it’s the same principle as celebrating two days of a holiday to make sure that you get the date right.  No worries on that front: I’ll be at Shaaray Tefila on June 1, and Daddy will be at Temple Emanu-El on June 8 so we’ve got you covered.  And you know Amy…she does her own thing when it comes to anything that looks or feels even remotely “religious.”

There are a few other things you might want to know – if you don’t already.  The "bridge ladies" are trying to find a date to get together again during mid-September, and when I wrote back to tell them which dates could potentially work for me, one of the dates that doesn’t work conflicts with a meeting of the TST Ritual Committee on which I now serve.  Like mother, like daughter...

Also, I assume that you know that Debbie Bravo’s leaving at the end of June to become the senior rabbi at Sue Feldman’s congregation.  I’m sad…but I’m sure this is a good opportunity for her, and hopeful that she and I will stay in touch.  Two years ago at this time, we spoke every day.  When I was in the city, she’d call after every visit with you to give me a report and check in on the rest of us.  I’m not sure how we made it through those long days, but I’m sure that we couldn’t have done it without her and everyone else who called, visited, cooked, texted, emailed, posted messages on Caring Bridge, and otherwise helped us absorb the shocks of that bumpy road.  I was just thinking the other day about the “concert” in your hospice room on one of the first days after you got there.  It might have been the day after Shavuot, but I don’t remember exactly.  What I do remember is the singing…  Jacquie on the guitar, Sally, Flo, Randi, Debbie and whoever else happened to be there at the moment.  We sang all your favorites:  Jerusalem of Gold, The Impossible Dream, America the Beautiful, We Gather Together and lots of others.  I hope you heard us and could enjoy the music.

Daddy’s going to the June 16 gala honoring both Debbie and David so you will be well represented.  I considered going, too, but I’m having “nip and tuck” surgery on June 19 so just want to lay low during the few days beforehand.  It’s a same-day procedure—under general anesthesia—to clean up the incisions and put the finishing touches on last year’s 12-hour surgery.  I expect that everything will go as planned and I’ll go back to work the following week.

In other news, Amy’s business has taken off like wildfire and she’s collecting clients faster than Albert C. Barnes collected art.  Ian is a Little League superstar with multiple games each weekend.  He plays catcher and when he’s at bat often hits well enough to bring a few players home.  He’s going to baseball camp this summer and, if Amy let him, would toss a ball around all day long. 

As always, there’s lots more to tell, but I need to go fix some dinner.  I’m sure you already know most of what I’ve reported here, but in case you didn’t, I just wanted to keep you up-to-date.  And, of course, you know I don’t need any reminders about your yahrzeit.  Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you, miss you, and wish you were here.

xoxo,
~ Boo!

P.S.  A “baby rabbi” will start at temple on July 1.  He was ordained a few weeks ago in New York and in my mind, he’s sort of like the new king in Egypt, with you playing the part of Joseph:  “A new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.”  But, as it says on the tee-shirts from the temple’s 40th anniversary:  “The journey continues…”

Kaddish d’Rabbanan: A Modern Interpretation

Since July, I’ve been going to Torah study weekly.  Needless to say, I’ve learned a lot of Torah, from both the other participants in the group and from the rabbis and cantors who lead the minyan and teach our class.  You can read a bit about each of these folks here and here, here, here and here.

I’ve learned a lot of other useful things from rabbis too:

From this one, I learned a multitude of things:  the proper way to don a tallit, the hows and whys of cleaning under your fingernails before immersing in the waters of the mikvah, and the best toys for a brand new aunt to buy her nephew. 

From this rabbi, I learned how to play mah jongg. 

From this one—who serves as my own personal “Ask the Rabbi” in the office—I’ve learned too many things to list.  The one that sticks with me most, though, and has been reinforced repeatedly in recent weeks is the unbearable anguish and pain that go along with being a gay teen. 

This one introduced me to the wonders of the iPhone, and from this one I learned that my father’s not the only person who thinks that peanut butter and Swiss cheese makes a good sandwich combo. 

This rabbi taught me the value of pondering a question from multiple angles before penning a reply, and this one reminded me, yet again, just how small is our Jewish world.  In light of this fact, she followed up with this oh-so wise gem:   Never, ever talk about someone while in a public restroom.  As she says, “you just never know how people are connected!”

Three summers ago when I found myself in Prague without any luggage, this rabbi taught me the secret of rolling wet clothes in a hotel towel and twisting it tightly to get most of the water out quickly.  More recently, he shared a trick he learned during his congregational days to get wax out of carpet:  cover it with a damp towel (but not the same one you used to dry your clothes!), run a warm iron over the spot and, voila, up comes the wax and the carpet’s as good as new (or at least as good as it was before the wax mishap).  Most endearing of all, he taught a mutual friend (who then taught me) to peel a banana from the bottom—the way it’s done in the jungle—instead of from the top, providing a convenient handle for the snack.  Needless to say, I’ll never eat a banana the same way again.  Whenever I start to peel one, I’ll think most fondly of this teacher and so many others from whom I've learned so much!

Eat a Falafel and Chips for Me

A number of my friends, in commenting about “The Schmuck Parade,” my escapades in the I’m-searching-for-a-good-guy-in-NYC quest, have told me that they’re happy to take a back seat and live the adventure vicariously through me.

Although I can certainly appreciate vicariousness in certain situations, if given a choice, it’s not the way I’d opt to visit Israel. However, since it doesn't appear that I'll have the opportunity to visit there anytime in the foreseeable future, it’s the only mode of travel I’ve got at the moment. Lucky for me, though, with 300-some Reform rabbis gallivanting around Eretz Yisrael attending a professional conference this week in Jerusalem, I’m certainly getting a good dose of virtual Israel through them.

For starters, every afternoon at about the same time a certain rabbi calls from the Inbal Hotel to check in on what’s happening back home in New York. Bizarre as it sounds, when we chat, some of the magic of Jerusalem comes right through the phone and lingers in my office until long after we’ve ended our call. Yup, that’s Jerusalem for you.

Others are posting regularly on Facebook and their blogs. And so it is that I know that today, many of the women visited the Wall, where, as part of the observance of Rosh Chodesh, they created quite a ruckus by singing, which, according to traditional Jewish law, women are forbidden from doing in places where it can be heard by men. Here's a first-person account from one of the women who was there. And here's another perspective from one of the men. Although I'm not a rabbi and although I wasn’t there to sing in person, I certainly was there with them in spirit.

And then there’s the falafel. Before they left, I asked a few of the travelers to eat a falafel and chips for me. One, a young rabbi from Minnesota, gave me, again with the help of Facebook, a delightful description of his culinary experience yesterday:

Young rabbi: “I wandered around Jerusalem this afternoon before the conference started and managed to find my favorite falafel place at the Mahane Yehuda market. I didn't take the most direct route, but I found it, and had falafel in a pita with chips and hot sauce for you!”

Me: “You're the best! Thanks...hope you enjoyed it.”

Young rabbi: “I did enjoy. My stomach, not so much. :) But I'm still glad I had one.”

Me: “Should I take a Tums?!"

Young rabbi: “I think we'll be okay. :)”

Me: “Great! Enjoy the rest of the visit.”

Another, who’s hoping to post a lot of photos and video during the trip said, “I’ll try and capture myself with a falafel and chips…or more likely a schwarma." (Mission accomplished...that's him over there on the right.)

To which I replied, “Schwarma’s good too…enjoy!”

Indeed, in addition to falafel and schwarma, I hope that all those rabbis eat and drink so generously of the indescribable electricity, magic and spirit of Israel that when they return safely home they've got plenty left to share with the rest of us.

Travel safely and Godspeed, my friends.