How Framily Made Our Visit to Ojai So Magical

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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. 

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.

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 simcha. 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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

The end… but not really.

#BlogElul 5781: Understand

Dear The Mums and Mrs. Steinberg,

I don’t completely understand where olam haba (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.”

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.

Like I said, I’m not so sure about the details of olam haba, and even though that’s where you are, a piece of each of you is forever in my heart.

xoxo

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 precede the Jewish High Holidays and traditionally serve as a time of reflection and spiritual preparation for the new year.

How I Spent My Two Days Off

I have a friend who regularly tells me I need to get out more.  He's right.

Last week, my sister had business in Washington, DC, and I went along for the ride.  I can't wait for a chance to go back.

Letter to Chicago

Dear Chicago,

As I noted in a recent post, "I've visited Barrow, AK, but never Chicago, IL, except to change planes at O'Hare."  I think it's time that we finally meet IRL, and I'd like to check your calendar to see if there are some dates later this winter or in the spring that might be good for a visit.
 
There are lots of things I'd like to build into my itinerary, but it certainly will come as no surprise that at the top of my list will be seeing Phyllis and her family.  Even if there's nothing to say but "Hinneni" (as thousands of us have been doing--from near and far--for the last 18 months), I can hold her hand, hug her close, share her pain. If the weather's OK, maybe she, Michael and the kids will be willing to show me some sights--the zoo, a museum, or the skaters at Millennium Park. Or, maybe we'll spend an afternoon just hanging out in the kitchen that her pictures always portray as so very warm and inviting.

I'm hopeful that the timing also will allow me to visit with Rachel Roth, Stacey Zisook Robinson, Janine Mileaf, Stephanie Fink, Barb Leibson Shimansky, and Kate Heilman--as well as include tourist stops at the Art Institute of Chicago, the John Hancock Observatory, Wrigley Field, and an authentic Chicago deep dish pizza spot, the specifics of which I'll leave to the locals. (When my parents visited Chicago in the mid-1980s for a cousin's wedding, my mom brought home a pretty bangle bracelet for me from Marshall Field's.  Too bad that's not still a tourist spot...)

So what do you say, Chicago?  Please check your calendar and let me know what might work for you.  I'll set up a fare alert for LGA to ORD, pull out a hat, warm boots, and my mittens (even though I'm at that stage of life that makes it totally unnecessary for me even to button my coat in New York City), and hope we can make this visit a reality.

I look forward to an opportunity to follow the "Ground Transportation/Exit" signs at ORD and to seeing you (and my friends who live near you) sometime in the next few months.

~ Jane.

Torah on the Farm

Last Thursday evening, I updated my Facebook status:

“Must go pack...my least favorite chore. The trade-off, however, is a weekend trip to Baltimore with teens from Temple Emanu-El - Edison, New Jersey and their rabbi, David Z. Vaisberg.”

One of my Torah study buddies commented:  “Have fun.”

“I'm sure it will be fun,” I said, “but I will miss the Temple Shaaray Tefila minyan and Torah study. See you next week!”

And, of course, I did miss my regular Shabbat study buddies and our “city routine.”  However, the Sunday morning our group of five recent Confirmands and two adults spent around the farm at the Pearlstone Center overflowed with hand-on Torah study. 

Under the guidance of Laura Menyuk, Pearlstone’s Education Programs Coordinator, we began by getting the lay of the land as it relates to water:  rain, run-off and filtration, before visiting the steamy greenhouse, the compost pile (pew wee!) and the outdoor fields of strawberries and still-green wheat.  The wheat stalks, once they’re fully grown and harvested, produce enough grain for about eight challot.  Finding and plucking a few of the ripe red strawberries, we recited the blessing for fruits that grow in the soil:  Baruch atah Adonai elohaynu melech ha'olam boray pri ha-adamah. Yummy…and absolutely nothing like those grocery store berries.

Moving on to the goats, our plan included milking and cheese-making.  As is often the case, though, der mentsh trakht un Got lakht (man plans and God laughs).  As we approached the goat pens, we learned that Hannah, one of the mama goats, had just given birth to a long-awaited baby…and that perhaps another was on the way.  We crowded around to watch Mimi, the goat doula, and Jane, a volunteer, do their thing.  Before too long, another baby did emerge, but this one wasn’t breathing.  Acting on instinct, Jane picked him up to be sure he was alive and, as she told me later, “Voila, he started to breathe.”  A truly holy moment in the circle of life…and a shehecheyanu occasion, indeed!

Reluctant to continue on, we were drawn to the older baby goats nonetheless and spent a bit of time getting to know them.  In this case, pictures tell a better story than words:

Our farm adventure continued back in the dining hall where we helped make a simple farmer’s cheese by pouring distilled white vinegar into simmering milk at just the right temperature.  Health regulations prohibit Pearlstone from using the unpasteurized goat’s milk for this activity so a gallon of whole milk from the grocery store had to suffice.  A few minutes later, we were enjoying warm homemade cheese curds on crackers.

While we waited for the milk and vinegar to curdle into cheese, Laura reminded us that many of our Biblical forebearers, including Moses, were shepherds, and she told us this story from the Mishnah:

Out grazing his flock of goats, Moses noticed a small, young goat that had wandered away. Afraid that it would get lost and die in the wildness he followed after it, only to find it drinking at a spring.  When the goat had had its fill, Moses picked it up and carried it on his shoulders back to the flock.  Only after God had witnessed Moses’ act of compassion toward the smallest and weakest of creatures did God select him to be the shepherd of the Israelites.

Our last stop on the farm tour was at the pile of hay and bupkis (goat poop) that accumulates when the goats’ pens are cleaned out.  The good news is that it’s the perfect ingredient for composting, so as these photos show, we shoveled and shleped it down to the compost pile where it will do its part in the circle of life:

Our farm adventure ended, as it began, with a blessing. This one was impromptu, with each of us focusing on an aspect of what we’d learned and for which we are thankful. 

Mine went something like this: Baruch atah Adonai elohaynu melech ha'olam for so many reminders and new knowledge about the interconnectedness of our world and our responsibility to cherish, preserve and protect it. 

Amen.

#BlogExodus: Leaving

Images from a New York City Day

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Hebrew month of Nisan leading up to Passover 5773.

Train Training

Dear Fellow New Yorkers:

I know this is a terrific city and that you’re a great bunch of folks, but your behavior in the subway (actually it’s just in the subway station) sometimes leaves a bit to be desired.  Although you’d never know it to look at me, I don’t have a whole lot of depth perception and as a result, walking down a flight of stairs (or even two or three of them) without holding on to the banister is tough for me. 

Therefore, I’d be extremely grateful if you would please refrain from:

• Standing on the steps to text your friends.

• Using the stairs to elevate you foot so you can tie your shoelace.

• Stopping in the middle of the steps to have a conversation with a long lost buddy.

If you need to do any of those things, please wait until you’re at the bottom of the stairs and then step out of the flow of traffic.  We’ll all thank you.

For those of you waiting in Penn Station for a train to the ‘burbs, I know there’s not a whole lot of seating there, but the steps aren’t chairs either.  Please don’t use them to rest your tush while you eat a bagel, drink your coffee, use your iPad or just stare off into space while you wait.  When you do these things, you create an unnecessary hazard for both of us since—unlike most people—I can’t just let go of the banister to go around you.  And, besides, you’re going to be sitting on the train in a few minutes anyway, so what’s a little standing around until your track is posted?!

Thanks, everybody…much appreciated.

Enjoy your ride,
JanetheWriter

P.S.  One more thing:  For those of you who take the bus, might it be possible for you to dig out your MetroCard while you wait for the bus instead of when you're standing in front of the fare box holding up the rest of the line?  Thanks!

Thirteen Things I Love About Israel: Reflections on Yom Ha’atzmaut

On this Yom Ha’atzmaut, inspired by fellow bloggers Ima on (and off) the Bima and Rabbi Paul Kipnes, I’ve compiled my own list of 13 things I love about Israel. Although I’ve been there only twice (both times within the last six years), and haven’t yet had the pleasure of a Dead Sea float, an Eilat mud bath or a sunrise hike to Masada, there’s still plenty I know and love:
1. The tarmac at the old Ben Gurion Airport: wet, oily, dirty, Israel!
2. Breakfast of briny olives, cucumber and tomato salad, thick yogurt, smoky cheese and crusty bread. Who needs Cheerios or Kix?!
3. The cool clear water of the Mediterranean. It’ll wash away whatever ails you.
4. Ben Yehuda Street. Thus far I’ve only had a chance to rush through right before Shabbat, as the shopkeepers were closing up, but someday (hopefully soon), I know I’ll stroll through leisurely on Motzei Shabbat.
5. Riding along the highway in a tour bus and feeling a chill with the sudden realization that I’m in Israel!
6. Waving to oh-so-many familiar faces during kabbalat Shabbat services at Kehilat Kol Haneshama.
7. Rolling a tiny note like a chiffonade before stuffing it into the ancient crevices in the Western Wall.
8. Standing at the Haas Promenade overlooking Jerusalem of Gold.
9. Israeli flags flying in crystalline skies.
10. The “only in Jerusalem” experience of bumping into people you know, but didn’t know would be there at the same time. (Yes, it happened to me the very first time I was there…and the second time, too!)
11. The peppery onion board sold by an unnamed bakery on Jaffa’s Razi'el Street.
12. The view from the patio of the King David Hotel.
13. The idea that my next visit isn’t too far in the future…and even if it is, I know that it’s definitely worth the wait.
Happy birthday, Israel….see you again soon!

When I Was a First-Timer: Departure

Six years ago today, I was in the El Al terminal at JFK about to set off on my first trip to Israel as a participant in the Union for Reform Judaism’s Lech L’cha: Go Forth and Discover Mission led by Rabbis Lenny Thal and Elliott Kleinman.

Here’s what I scribbled in my travel journal as our group waited at the gate to board the overnight flight:

Twenty minutes from home to the entrance to JFK. Arrived very early at the airport and had coffee with Ma and Daddy before meeting up with Elliott and some of the group. Ma’s words to Elliott upon leaving me in his “care,” were something like, “Here she is. If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.”

Security check-in was uneventful except for having to take my cell phone accessories from my suitcase for special x-ray. At the gate (B28) by 4:25 p.m., where I met and schmoozed with fellow travelers. A bit before 6 p.m. several men came through our group looking for minyan participants. Of course, they didn’t want me. Early on, Josh Goldstein earned my respect when he went to the minyan, but returned as soon as they had 10. Kudos to him for using his feet to vote for egalitarianism. Interesting to watch the others shuckle the ma’ariv service. More later…

Over the next few days I will, I know, read and re-read the entries from that journal a hundred times, remembering those incredible days and my whirlwind first visit to the center of the Jewish world. I’ve been back once since then, but I am, as always, trying to figure out how I might go again…this time for more than a handful of days.

Any ideas?

Christmas in Israel

My parents’ first and only visit to Israel—as participants in an American Jewish Committee mission for academicians—was during the Christmas season in 1987, right at the beginning of the first intifada. It was the first time they left my sister, a college senior home on winter break, and me, a live-at-home young professional, “home alone.” All was well except for the State Department’s travel advisories and warnings about which we read every day in the New York Times.

When they finally called to wish us a happy new year, we were—in classic parent-child role reversal—nearly frantic with worry. They laughed, I recall. Giddy with delight in their whereabouts, my mother exclaimed, “We’re perfectly fine…we’ve nowhere near the violence and we've never felt safer. And, with all the menorahs in the windows, I forgot all about Christmas!”

I was reminded of this exchange this morning when, as I do each day, I perused Facebook to see what my friends are up to. This week, many of them are in Israel and here’s what they’ve got to say:

A young colleague from the Union: just arrived in Jerusalem and completely exhausted. Kotel for shabbat! Completely forgot it was Christmas . . .

A rabbi from the Midwest: We are going to Tel Aviv beach to meet Talia and Moti and Lihi. It will be Lihi's first visit to the beach.

A colleague visiting his newly engaged son: is looking forward to our big simcha today. The engagement party is in a few hours and we're really excited. Thanks to all for your kind words and congratulations. Shabbat shalom to everyone!

A rabbi from Westchester: Thursday was: Pioneers' Cemetery on the Galilee; Synagogue mosaic floor at Beit Alpha; lunch at Beit Shean; arrival into Jerusalem.

A first-year HUC student: had an AMAZING Christmas eve - midnight mass at the Church of Dormition right outside of the Old City, and a trip to Bethlehem with Amanda with an incredible taxi driver who was born and raised in Bethlehem - truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience! Merry Christmas!!

Another first-year HUC rabbinic student: Spending erev Christmas in Bethlehem. Merry X-Mas from Israel!

And finally this from a nearly finished rabbinic student: Thought I would avoid the American Christmas day shutdown by being in Israel. Forgot to factor in Shabbat in Jerusalem. Nothing open!

There've been no Facebook updates from Debbie Bravo and the Temple Emanu-El confirmation class, but no doubt they’re having such a fabulous time that they're just too busy to share their adventures in real time. No worries...I look forward to hearing about their trip once they’re back.

In the meantime, to all of you lucky enough to be in Israel at this season: eat a falafel for me.

Safe travels, my friends.

From Dry Cleaning to Flight Delays

So I went to Tampa with only half my dry cleaning and now I can’t get home. We (four colleagues, two board members and I) were scheduled to leave Tampa on a 6:25 p.m. flight and to land at LaGuardia at about 9:15 p.m.

All was well when we boarded the plane, stowed our luggage in the overhead compartments and pulled away from the gate. Only when the pilot attempted to start the second engine -- and couldn’t -- when we were in line for take off did our troubles begin.

We returned to the gate, a maintenance crew checked out the plane and determined that a new starter was needed. Unfortunately, there isn’t one in stock here in Tampa. At that point, we unbuckled our seat belts, unstowed our luggage and returned to the terminal where we were given a choice: spend the night (on Delta’s nickel) and fly to LaGuardia in the morning or wait for one of two incoming flights (due to arrive near 11 p.m.), one of which will be reloaded with us and all our stuff for an 11:30 p.m. estimated departure.

We opted for the latter and here we sit at Casa Bicardi just beyond Gate 68 in Terminal E chatting, drinking and generally having a good time... Yes, of course I’d like to be home and unpacked, but all things considered, it could be a lot worse.

Taking the Train to Trenton

Earlier this week, as I was checking one of the New Jersey Transit monitors in a crowded Penn Station a young Asian man approached me with a scrap of paper on which were scribbled the following words: “Trenton, 2:07 p.m.” He then showed me his train ticket to Trenton, his body language telling me he spoke little if any English.

I nodded emphatically, showed him my own ticket to Metuchen and pointed back and forth, first and him then at me, then back at him, assuring him, I hoped, that we would be traveling on the same train and that he should follow me.

And follow me he did—down the steps to the crowded waiting area where we stood awaiting the posting of a track number. When that number flashed on the monitor, he stuck to me like glue amidst the mass of travelers funneling to the track, down the escalator (for once it was running in the right direction), onto the train and, after helping me get my suitcase down a flight of stairs on the double decker train, into a seat right behind me.

Once seated, it occurred to me that my seeming expertise in “Charades” had likely left this young man with the impression that he should follow me off the train as well. So, when the conductor came through to collect tickets, I told him the following: “The guy sitting behind me is going to Trenton, but he doesn’t speak a word of English and is probably going to try to get off in Metuchen, since I helped him get on the train. Just want you to know…” Without a word, he chuckled and moved on.

Indeed, when I stood, gathered my belongings and moved toward the exit at the end of the car, so did the young man behind me. As we awaited the Metuchen stop, I shook my head and pointed back at his seat, futilely telling him, “Trenton is the last stop, the end of the line.” Reluctantly, he returned to his seat as I alighted from the train.

I hope that young man made it to Trenton okay.