Rabbi Guzik - A Bisl Torah

Last week, our clergy team stood on the corner of Wilshire and Beverly Glen, filming a pre-High Holy Day message for the community. Rabbi Taff blew the shofar. Loud, piercing, emotional blasts that caused the clergy to pause and stare. Not just us. Car by car, drivers rolled down their windows, unable to turn away, some with looks of awe, others with curiosity. One person yelled out, “Shana Tovah!” And as the blasts continued, I wondered if we are truly ready for Rosh Hashana to begin.

I am thoroughly enjoying the social media posts of children and grandchildren’s first day of school: The well-choreographed poses, clean shirts, and bright smiles. We’ll certainly post pictures as our children begin Sinai Akiba Academy next week.

In San Francisco, we received a great tip to visit the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory. Tucked within a decorated alley, we almost missed this hidden gem. A narrow door revealed fortune cookie wonders: All different flavors of cookies and best of all, the chance to write your own fortune and watch it get folded into a cookie.

As we flew home to Los Angeles from Philadelphia, we noticed a young girl sitting between an older man and woman.

Our family spent a morning playing Putt Putt. As someone with little patience during any kind of game, I am not an avid player. Unsure of whether it’s a universal rule, I was happy to learn that we’d have a limit of five turns per player before we moved to the next hole.

Another summer beach day. Sitting on the shore, I noticed two different kinds of people.

This week I finally have three kids under one roof. It feels as if summer can officially begin. As the three reunited, they ran outside to color the sidewalk with an array of chalk.

This week, our family spent a few hours at the beach. As we made our way to the sand, a woman was entertaining those on the boardwalk, singing lyrics from The Rolling Stones.

Our children are at sleepaway camp. So far, we haven’t received any letters in the mail. I sent each kid with pre-addressed, pre-stamped postcards. And each day, my husband and I visit the mailbox and stare at its empty container, a reminder that most likely, those letters aren’t coming our way.

I have a deep fear of bridges. More accurately, I’m scared of bridges that stand looming over large pools of water or busy highways. And in order to not extend my anxiety to the driver while I noisily breathe in and out, I request they drive as close to the middle barrier as possible (away from the ledge) and keep my eyes focused forward. Purely focusing on the end of the bridge.