I Think Everyone Read More Than I Did in 2019

In 2019, I aimed to read a total of 12 books – a modest goal, I thought, after reading seven in 2018 and a mere four in 2017. 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.

The first one I put down unfinished was “Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind,” 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. “ Morgan: American Financier,” 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.

Having put those two tomes aside, these are the four books I read from cover to cover in 2019.

1. When a beloved high school English teacher died suddenly in February, I purchased a copy of Benjamin Dreyer’s “ Dreyer’s English: An Utterly Correct Gide to Clarity and Style,” 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.”

2. A random find at Labyrinth Books in Princeton, NJ, where we Hermans are frequent visitors, “Rosalind Franklin: The Dark Lady of DNA,” by Brenda Maddox, captivated me on all fronts. Here’s what I wrote on goodreads.com upon finishing the book in May:

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.

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.

I recently found a second book about her, "My Sister Rosalind Franklin: A Family Memoir," written by her younger sister, Jenifer Glynn, and I look forward to reading that one as well.

3. Turning to something lighter during the fall, I got totally wrapped up in Claire Lombardo’s debut novel, “The Most Fun We Ever Had,” 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.

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: “The End of Your Life Book Club,” 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:

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.

This year, I purchased more books than I read, and my goal for 2020 is the opposite: to read more books than I purchase.

Happy new year and happy reading, my friends.

The Bible Has More Books Than I Read in 2017

Even though I’m a slow, careful reader of what might be considered “heavy” books, much to my disappointment, embarrassment, and chagrin, I read only four books in the year just ended:

1. Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking, by Susan Cain: From the first page, the author was talking directly to me, and thanks to her wisdom, I try not to beat myself up for needing space and time to decompress, for despising video conference calls that force my brain to function in ways that it was not designed to work, and – now that I’m finally writing about the book – for not marking the many passages that resonated so powerfully with me.


2. Anne of Green Gables, by Lucy Maud Montgomery: Somehow this book slipped through the cracks until I finally caught up with it in 2017. Pure escapism to a simpler time and a true joy to read, the book's brief review on my page on goodreads.com says: “Now I understand why fans want to visit Prince Edward Island. Count me in!”


3. The Beautiful Possible, by Amy Gottlieb: Having learned from Amy Gottlieb, one of my instructors at “Beyond Walls,” the Kenyon Institute’s spiritual writing seminar, I was eager to read the personally inscribed copy of this book – and it did not disappoint. Her richly detailed characters came vividly to life and the intricate weavings of the tale have stayed with me in the months since I turned the last page.


4. The Gene: An Intimate History, by Siddhartha Mukherjee: At more than 600 densely, but incredibly well-written pages, this book, more than the others, accounts for this list’s brevity. A detailed, attention-grabbing exploration of every possible facet of genetics, Mukherjee seamlessly blends his own family’s personal narrative with the history of the gene and genetics. At the heart of the volume, are the richly drawn profiles of the scientists and researchers whose hypotheses, persistence, and discoveries brought the field to life – and whose work continues to shape this critically important field today.

I’ve just signed up to participate in goodreads.com’s 2018 Reading Challenge and, given my dismal number for 2017, have set a modest goal of six books for the year. I’m nearly halfway through the first, The Weight of Ink, by Rachel Kadish, which I started over Thanksgiving weekend. Stay tuned for updates and happy reading to one and all.

The Seven Books I Read in the Last 12 Months

Last year was hardly my “readingest” year ever 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:

1. The Weight of Ink, 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!
2. The Marrying of Chani Kaufman, 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.
3. How Doctors Think, by Jerome Groopman: I’ve eyeballed Groopman’s books many times, but only read this one after picking it up at the annual Bryn Mawr Wellesley book sale 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.
4. Mothering Sunday, 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.
5. Internal Medicine: A Doctor's Stories, 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.
6. Mercies in Disguise: A Story of Hope, a Family's Genetic Destiny, and the Science That Rescued Them, 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.
7. Bellevue: Three Centuries of Medicine and Mayhem at America's Most Storied Hospital, 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^th century Manhattan. A dense and wonderful read!

I’m currently about 100 pages into Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind, 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.

My Passover Match

Ever the optimist and not willing to let a corny, seasonal poem go to waste, I posted this personal ad on Friday morning:

Last night was the seder,
With friends I did dine,
Lots of good food,
And four cups of wine.
The seat next to mine was empty last night,
But other than that, my life is just right.

Where are you, my mensch?
Why can’t you see,
That I could be the one for thee?
I'm smart and I'm funny,
A really good catch,
Perhaps you are my
Passover match?

I live on the east side, have a job I adore,
Am seeking a great guy, not asking for more.
Neither too fat nor too thin,
I'm just the right size,
With auburn hair and nice brown eyes.

You are kind and gentle, Jewish and more,
At least 40-something and not a big bore.
You're seeking a woman, a smart one to boot,
To find her on Craigslist, wouldn't that be a hoot?

You read the Times to get the news,
You care about Israel, what's good for the Jews.
Your family is central, you sedered with them,
Some chicken and matzah and lots of flanken.

You've got your own place, it's filled with great books,
These things are important, as much as your looks.
Your job and your friends, they all are fulfillin',
The only thing missing's a wonderful woman.

You asked the four questions,
You opened the door,
You ate lots of matzah,
Swept the crumbs from the floor.

Now that the seder is over,
And you've had your fill,
Drop me a line,
I sure hope that you will.

Answer this post,
There's no time to waste,
If you're not a good typist,
Use Word’s cut and paste.

I hope that you’ll write and tell me the score,
Tell me your name and some things you adore.
Music? The city? Browsing for books?
Good food and wine or watching a flick?
Just what is it that makes you tick?

Who are you? What do you do?
What are your dreams for love so true?
Send me a post and tell me more,
For you, like Elijah, I'll open the door!

In less than 48 hours, I’ve received 20 responses, only a handful of which deserve a reply.

Here’s a small sample:

Guy #1, I’ll call him “Spero” because of his obviously Hellenistic name, wrote, “I am 24 and live in Brooklyn. Mail me back if you are interested.”

Guy #2, possibly a nice Jewish guy, lives in Philadelphia.

Guys #3 and #4 are married.

Guy #5 wants to know if I speak in rhyme.

Guy #6 wrote: “I’m 50, divorced, no kids, live in Brooklyn, nice to meet you, Happy Pesach.” While this message might be deserving of a reply, two weeks ago when this same “Romeo” answered a different ad of mine, he was 48. Funny how that aging thing works…

One more and then I must go do the laundry…

Guy #7, although not Jewish, sent what turned out to be the most promising response: “Hello, I'm not Jewish, but just had to say, really enjoyed your posting. The guy meant for you will be very lucky to have you in his presence. Good luck & happy holidays!!!!!!!!”

I responded with this: “Thanks for your note...much appreciated.
If you happen to run into that guy who's meant for me, please send him in my direction! :)
Thanks!”

And he came back with this: I have some Jewish friends, they're married, but I'll ask if family members are looking. Let's keep in touch!!!!!!!!!”

To which I responded: ”I'm a big believer in networking and serendipity so I'll take whatever leads you may uncover! You just never know... :)
Enjoy the holiday weekend.”

And, in fact, you do never know… Maybe Guy #7 actually will come through with a mensch for me.

This is, after all, the season of hope, rebirth and renewal.

A Passover Poetry Saga

At this season in 2007, I posted the following personal ad:

This night is the seder,
With friends you will dine,
Lots of good food,
Four cups of wine.
The seat next mine will be empty tonight,
So many good men have all taken flight.

Where are you, my mensch?
Why can't you see,
That I could be the one for thee?
I'm smart and I'm funny,
A really good catch,
Perhaps you are my Passover match.

I live on the east side, have a job I adore,
My hair is quite curly, my age: 44.
Neither too fat or too thin,
I'm just the right size,
With auburn hair and big brown eyes.

You are kind and gentle, Jewish and more,
At least 40-something and not a big bore.
You're seeking a woman, a smart one to boot,
To find her on Craigslist, wouldn't that be a hoot?

You read the Times, not the Post or the News,
You care about Israel, what's good for the Jews.
Your family is central, tonight you're with them,
Eating chicken, matzah and lots of flanken.

You've got your own place, it's filled with great books,
These things are important, much more than your looks.
Your job and your friends, they all are fulfillin',
The only thing missing's a wonderful woman.

Ask the four questions,
Open the door,
Eat some more matzah,
Sweep the crumbs from the floor.

When the seder is over,
And you've had your fill,
Drop me a line,
I sure hope that you will.

Answer this post,
There's no time to waste,
If you're not a good typist,
Use cut and paste.

I hope that you’ll write and tell me the score:
Who are you?
What do you do?
What are your dreams for love so true?
Send me a post and tell me more,
For you, like Elijah, I'll open the door!

As regular readers of this blog will be able to surmise, I received a number of responses – some in rhyme and quite creative – and had some initial, lively email exchanges. And then, as usual, the pool of possibilities evaporated and it was back to normal -- as dry and narrow as Mitzrayim.

Last year, unable to make a good rhyme with "forty-five," (jive, beehive and revive just didn't do it), I deleted the specific reference to my age in the third stanza and posted a slightly revised version of the ad. Again, the same results. Before long, just like the Israelites, I was wandering in a dry, narrow dating desert.

This year, inspired by some Purim limericks on Facebook, I posted this ad:

There once was a Passover seder,
Led by my dad from what he learned in the cheder.
He is a great dad,
For him I am glad,
But would love a new guy on the radar.

Happily divorced 40-something JF seeks age appropriate S/DJM for meaningful LTR.
I’ve been wandering in the dating desert way too long.
Maybe we can find the Promised Land together?!

Guess what? You got it…once again, the same results. And, in some cases, worse. Without meaning to sound judgmental (although I’m not sure it can be avoided), there’s no way that Shlomo from Brooklyn is a good match for me. Neither is 27-year-old Eduard who arrived from Germany last year.

Perhaps less is more and I should try a haiku?

Jewish girl seeks mensch
Coffee or drinks for to start
Sparks fly and we match

Maybe? Nah...not likely.

My Passover Match

It soon will be seder,
With friends I will dine,
Lots of good food,
And four cups of wine.
The chair next to mine will be empty that night,
But other than that, my life is just right.

We’ll retell the story,
Of fleeing the place,
Where we were held captive,
And Pharoah lost face.

The onslaught of plagues,
They were not so pretty:
Diseases and locusts,
Frogs, blood and some hail,
Oh how the Israelites wanted to bail.

Alas, I know frogs,
I’ve smooched my fair share.
But none has transformed
To a prince oh-so fair,
Just into warts, on my skin and my hair.

Of all of those kisses,
Not one’s been a hit.
I’m sad to report that most have been misses.
So I’m still alone,
And not part of a pair,
I don’t mean to kvetch,
But it doesn’t seem fair.

Where are you, my mensch?
I’m looking for thee…
Do you think you are the one for me?
I'm smart and I'm funny,
A really good catch,
Perhaps you are my Passover match?

I live on the east side, have a job I adore,
Am seeking a great guy, not asking for more.
Neither too fat nor too thin,
I'm just the right size,
With long curly hair and warm brown eyes.

You are kind and gentle, Jewish and more,
Somewhere near 50, and not a big bore.
You're seeking a woman, a smart one to boot,
To find her online, wouldn't that be a hoot?

You read the Times to get the news,
You care about Israel, what's good for the Jews.
Your family is central, you seder with them,
Some chicken, some matzah and lots of flanken.

You've got your own place, it's filled with great books,
These things are important, as much as your looks.
Your job and your friends, they all are fulfillin',
The only thing missing's a wonderful woman.

You’ll ask the four questions,
You’ll open the door,
You’ll eat lots of matzah,
Sweep the crumbs from the floor.

When the seder’s over,
And you've had your fill,
Drop me a line,
I sure hope that you will.

Answer this post,
There's no time to waste,
If you're not a good typist,
Use Word’s cut and paste.

I hope that you’ll write and tell me the score,
Tell me your name and some things you adore.
Music? The city? Movies and films?
Who are you? What do you do?
What are your dreams for love so true?

We’ll start with these, and if we’re lucky,
Things will go well and all will be ducky.
So send me a post and tell me some more,
And for you, like Elijah, I'll open the door!

9 Things I Loved About Biennial 2017

I recently attended my eighth URJ Biennial and in many ways, it was a positive experience. Here are nine things I enjoyed while in Boston:

1. Spending two long days answering questions – mostly about being a voting delegate – at the Solutions Center. The best collateral of this assignment was watching the crowds pass by, waving to people I know and getting up from behind the counter to hug others.
2. Meeting Cooper Boyar, the young man representing J Street at the organization’s table in the exhibit hall. A winner among small Jewish world stories, his mother was my genetic counselor when she worked at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and I needed a genetic counselor; today, she is my friend.
3. Breakfasting at a table for two in Dunkin’ Donuts, only to have George Markley, a longtime, long-ago URJ trustee, join me for some catching-up and a few laughs over coffee.
4. Entering Thursday night’s plenary just in time to hear Rabbi David Stern, president of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, deliver his exquisitely crafted speech, “We Have Company.” If he didn’t get an A in homiletics in rabbinical school, he should have! 
5. Chatting with Melissa Rosen, national outreach director for Sharsheret, at the group’s table in the exhibit hall about the possibility of doing some joint education programming with FORCE in the fall…and yes, a bit later winning an Amazon Echo Dot in a random drawing. Thanks, Sharsheret!
6. Having a picture of me and a few folks from my home congregation, Temple Emanu-El in Edison, NJ, land on the Jumbotron during erev Shabbat services. Thanks, Debbi Sager, for taking the photo!
7. Playing hooky on Shabbat morning for a first-time visit to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. It’s a gem! 
8. Returning to the Hynes Convention Center in time to hear Rabbis Sally Priesand, Rebecca Einstein Schorr, and Leah Berkowitz talk about their varied experiences in the rabbinate, an outgrowth of the CCAR Press book, The Sacred Calling: Four Decades of Women in the Rabbinate.
9. Enjoying several meals with friends and colleagues. The first was a delicious seafood dinner at Atlantic Seafood on Boylston Street with Deborah and Steve Rood Goldman. The second was a late Shabbat dinner at California Pizza Kitchen during which Elena Paull, Dan Lange, and I – all URJ colleagues – got to know each other better as individuals. (Shabbat dinner with my congregation, didn't pan out as I expected it would, but, thankfully, I get to see those folks more often than from one Biennial to the next!) Finally, on Saturday night, I had dinner with my mom’s longtime friends Debbie Stone and Sally Winter. For sure, The Mums was with us in spirit in every way.

I’m glad another Biennial is in the books, even as I am hopeful that the Biennial in Chicago in 2019 will bring me as many – if not more – wonderful encounters with friends and colleagues from all parts of my Jewish life.

Two Rabbis, a Book, and Lots of Names

During yesterday's "hallway kiddish" following Shabbat services, Marlene, a longtime member and regular at the minyan, handed me this article that she'd clipped from The Jewish Week after reading my recent Ten Minutes of Torah essay.  I had not seen Rabbi Wolpe's short piece, and appreciated that she had saved it for me.

Later, toward the end of Torah study, Rabbi Stein told the group that he's in the process of giving away the books in his library--he'll be retiring at the end of June--and that we were welcome to stop in to see what might be of interest.  Needless to say, many of us followed him down to his office, which is overflowing with shelves of neatly arranged and well organized volumes.

After a few minutes of browsing, I asked the rabbi about a book I've seen referenced many times that always sounds interesting, although I didn't know its exact title.

"It's about names," I said, which was enough of a clue for him to pull this well-worn red volume from the shelf:  Complete Dictionary of English and Hebrew First Names by Alfred J. Kolatch.

"I've been using it for 40 years," he told me.

Indeed, the binding is broken in a few spots, and a whole section of pages containing feminine names from Billie, a feminine pet form of William, to Elya, from the Syriac and Hebrew, meaning "dirge, elegy" is full detached from the rest of the book.

Nonetheless, after just a few minutes of flipping through the book's 400-plus pages (and a second, more scholarly work, also about names), I told him I'd take the former and thanked him for this unexpected gift.  I'm grateful not only to add this particular volume to my own collection, but glad to have it as a keepsake from a rabbi who has been exceedingly kind and caring to me, and from whom I have learned much during the last four years.

Only after I left the synagogue did I read Rabbi Wolpe's column as I waited for the bus.  Entitled "A Name, A Soul," it begins with this sentence:

The Book of Exodus, in Hebrew, is called "Sh'mot," or names.

Rabbi Wolpe goes on to talk about the value and importance of names, before closing with this paragraph:

The crown of a good name, teaches Pirke Avot, is the greatest of all crowns.  In a graveyard, whatever other inscription a stone bears, it invariably records the deceased's name.  Tyranny seeks to erase names.  Memory and love restore and preserve them.

I am honored to be the keeper of Rabbi Stein's copy of "Kolatch," into whose worn red cover I have slipped the clipping of Rabbi Wolpe's short essay.  I believe it's the perfect spot in which to keep it.

Here's Where I Was "Strabunsing Harum"

July 8, 2021

Dear Aunt Claire,

If you tried to call me yesterday and wondered where I was “strabunsing harum” (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!

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 Kean College of New Jersey—with being their mother, long before work-life balance was even a thing.

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!

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 Temple Ner Tamid in Bloomfield) exemplified your commitment to Judaism.

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…

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.

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.”

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.”

Speaking of Quimper, 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!

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.”

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.”

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.

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 Temple Beth Tikvah, 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.”

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.

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.

xoxo,

Jane

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.

So Little Time...Still

With my economics final just four days away, I've not had a lot of time to devote to writing for this blog. I do have a new post up on the Union's blog, though, and hope that you'll pop over there to read it.

Once the exam is over (9 p.m. on Tuesday night), I'm looking forward to getting back to more pleasant pursuits -- sleeping in on the weekends, soaking in some city sights and sounds, writing leisurely, checking out my new synagogue, and reading some good books. Any suggestions on that front?

#BlogExodus: A Roundup of Beginnings

Although it may seem odd to begin with a roundup, today, 1 Nisan, presents a confluence of beginnings.

Not only is it the first of the month of Nisan and the first full day of spring, it also is Shabbat Ha-Chodesh, which marks the beginning of one of the four new years on the Hebrew calendar. This day begins the liturgical year as was referenced in the Rosh Chodesh parashah we read this morning:  “God spoke to Moses and Aaron when they were in Egypt and said, ‘This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you’” (Exodus 12:1-2).  The liturgical year ties all Jewish festivals to the Exodus from Egypt so its beginning now -- less than two weeks before Passover -- is most apt. 

The Parade Marches On

Tomorrow night marks the beginning of Tu B’Av, a minor Jewish festival that is best described as the “Jewish Valentine’s Day.” Earlier today, in an attempt to help a colleague locate congregations that do creative programming for the 40+ singles set, I wrote a short post for the Union’s blog that incorporates information about this holiday. In it, I said, “…in this instance I'm actually not looking.”

As readers of this blog know, however, I’m always looking -- and so it was that over the weekend I posted this online personal ad:

Share and share alike - 46

Bright, sincere, attractive, fun, funny and down-to-earth (but certainly not perfect) 40-something happily DJF with no kids, manageable baggage, and a rich and balanced life seeks age appropriate, honest, gentle, kind, liberal Jewish guy for sharing long strolls, silly jokes, dessert, smiles and laughter, knowing glances, romantic dinners, time at home, bumps in the road, playful banter, meaningful conversations, walks in the woods, Scrabble games, hugs and kisses, lazy weekends, secrets, movie popcorn, time away, new adventures, favorite places, ice cream sundaes, books and music, ideas, Ferris wheel and subway rides, dim sum, the Sunday Times, hopes, dreams, wishes, and more.

Tu B’Av not withstanding I received the usual, predictable replies:

Guy #1 is 32 years old.

Guy #2 is Indian.

Guy #3 responded (for the seventh time to one of my posts) with the exact same text and photo he’s been using for the last year and a half. And, although he’s a perfectly nice enough guy (I know because we met for coffee after one of his first replies), he’s not the right one for me.

Guy #4 also has answered previous posts of mine (four to be exact) and, yes, like Guy #3, he’s done so with the exact same verbiage every time. Early on (more than two years ago), we traded a few emails and in that exchange he said, “Just wanted to know if you were specifically looking for a Jewish male as I’m not.” I replied thusly: “Alas, I am seeking a Jewish guy.”

Guy #5 is 62 years old and, although he, too, may be a perfectly nice guy, in my mind, he’s too old for me. My loss? Perhaps, but at 46 (and a youthful 46 at that), it’s a loss I’m willing to bear.

Guys #6 and #7 are modern Orthodox. One of them came to Orthodoxy by way of NFTY and Eisner. (All of this I learned from earlier exchanges with each of them following replies to previous posts of mine.) Again, my loss? No, I don’t think so. Like so many of the others, these two may be perfectly nice guys…just not right for me.

Guy #8 described himself as “50 years old, 5'6, slim, with brown hair and green eyes.” Having met this guy a little over a year ago, I can tell you that he’s been 50 for a mighty long time. And, although he may see brown when he looks in the mirror, I definitely saw gray. Don’t get me wrong…there’s nothing wrong with gray, but there is something wrong with his not being honest with himself or with others.

I could go on (and on and on), but I'm sure that by now you get the picture.

And yet, I'm not willing to give up entirely on the personal ads. I am, however, ready to add some new approaches to the mix.

Lucky for me, this coming weekend, I’ll be attending a wedding. A note on the carpool page of the couple’s website (yes, it appears they thought of everything!) says, “Putting compatible people together is, of course, one of the purposes of a wedding.”

Hmmmm….perhaps in addition to uniting the bride and groom as husband and wife, this event will indeed put other compatible people together?

You never know; you just never know…

Leslie Bruni and Panera Girl

Photo:  Panera Bread

This op-ed in today's New York Times about the several-hundred-mile car trek Frank Bruni's niece and her grandfather took together recently reminded me of the young girl I saw in Panera the other day.  Although Leslie has only four or five years on "Panera Girl," she's eons ahead of her in wisdom.

They were standing in line in front of me--a bat mitzvah-ish age young woman with, I surmised, a bubbe and a tante, out for breakfast together during spring break.  Surly, exasperated by their questions about what she might like to eat, and preoccupied with her phone, she could learn a thing or two from Leslie.  

Had it been appropriate, I might have made these suggestions to "Panera Girl" as we waited in line:

1. Smile, say cheese, and take some selfies of the three of you.  Bubbe and Tante will be amazed at what your phone can do, and someday you'll treasure those photos.
2. Give them your earbuds and let them listen to some of your favorite songs.  Tell them about the singer or ask them about their favorite songs.  
3. Tell them what you're learning in history class.  Ask if they remember that time; they just might be able to give you a first-hand, one-of-a-kind perspective that's not in any of your textbooks. 
4. Ask them what books they read in junior high school.  Jane Eyre?  Anne of Green Gables?  A Tree Grows in Brooklyn?  Try to find one or two of them the next time you're in the library or at Barnes and Noble.  You might be pleasantly surprised with what you'll find in the pages of these classics.
5. Ask where they went on their honeymoon.  How did they get there?  How long did they stay?  What did they see and do?  

As the three of them carried beverages and a small tray of goodies to a table, I left with my coffee.  I hope they enjoyed their breakfast, found some common ground for conversation, and created a few sweet memories to treasure.

Let the #Torah Tweets Begin

For a people with just one God, we Jews sure do a lot of counting. 

Three patriarchs, four matriarchs, six days of creation, eight nights of Hanukkah, 12 tribes, 40 years in the desert, 70 years in a life--80 if we’re really robust.  You get the picture…

In less than 10 days, we’ll reach Day #49 in the counting we’ve been doing since the second night of Passover.  Known as “counting the omer,” (an omer was a measure of barley used in ancient times for sacrificial purposes) we Jews literally count each and every day for seven consecutive weeks--from the first day of Passover all the way through to Shavuot, the pilgrimage festival that commemorates the giving and receiving of Torah atop Mt. Sinai.

On May 14, which is erev Shavuot, we will have finished counting the omer and (some—and hopefully many—of us) will begin “tweeting #Torah.”  Begun by Reconstructionist Rabbi Shai Gluskin in 2009, tweeting #Torah was designed to bring Torah to as many people as possible with a secondary goal to see #Torah trend in the top 10 on Twitter during the day.

Using hootsuite, tweetdeck or other social media tools, it’s easy to schedule tweets for the overnight hours—especially if you start now, lining up a few each day—and, later, to watch the flurry of #Torah tweets and retweets scroll by on the screen.

Here are a few of the #Torah tweets I’ve contributed to this effort in past years:

So many Jewish books open on my desk in prep for Tweet #Torah to the Top that I look like a real yeshiva bucher.

Behold, how wonderful it is for people to dwell together in unity. #Torah

Mah Tovu: How fair are your tents, O Jacob, your dwellings, O Israel. #Torah

Blessed are you Eternal our God, Sovereign of the universe, who has made me a Jew. #Torah

Thus the Eternal blessed the seventh day and called it holy. #Torah

Never again did there arise in Israel a prophet like Moses--whom the Lord singled out, face to face. #Torah

I’m certainly no Pollyanna, but Tweet #Torah is fun, easy, inclusive, and, most of all, does, indeed, bring people to #Torah and #Torah to people.

I hope you’ll join us in this year’s effort.  Although we can't count on it, wouldn't it be great if #Torah was a top 10 trend?!