There is a foundational element of love that continues to intrigue me. The Torah reads, “You shall not hate your kinfolk in your heart. Reprove your kinsman but incur no guilt because of him.” Meaning, hatred of another is avoided if we are willing to offer constructive feedback and criticism. A step further: love between two people is protected, sustained, and even nourished when we both offer and accept rebuke. So maybe the movie is incorrect. Love does mean having to say you’re sorry…and even letting someone know when they are meant to offer an apology.
A Bisl Torah
Storytelling
This past Sunday, our Sinai Temple religious school hosted a brunch honoring Holocaust Survivors in the Los Angeles community. This brunch, organized by Religious School Director, Danielle Kassin, and her team of wonderful volunteers, is a true highlight. For years, the ballroom was filled with the sounds of storytelling: survivors sharing their journeys with our seventh grade students and other community members. This year, stories were shared, but as I looked at the room, the difference was obvious. Survivors no longer filled the capacity of the room. Less people sat at the tables. Our children are reaching a time in which survivors will no longer walk this earth.
Every Word Counts
The past few days, I have been teaching our 5th and 6th graders. In one session, we discussed how an unintended mispronunciation of a Hebrew word might completely change a sentence. In another session, we discussed how someone’s tone might have a lingering, negative impact. Even if just one word is said sarcastically, it is often difficult deciphering what was heard versus what was meant. Our words matter—the ones we say and the ones we don’t.
Striking a Match
This past Sunday was my Nana’s unveiling. It was a small group, intimate and meaningful. In the days leading up to the ceremony, memories of Nana began to wash over me. Nana was superstitious and believed in signs. She firmly believed the soul could be revealed in the here and now. Just after she died, flowers bloomed in my garden; the first was a yellow rose. Yellow roses were her favorite. Once, when I was driving, I saw a shop sign that read, Nana Jackie. Clear indications that I am meant to feel her presence. But in the past few months, as I have been missing her more and more, it’s been harder and harder to pinpoint where and how she is reaching me from the world beyond.
Please, A Little Patience
The rain subsided and suddenly, I see buds emerging on my roses. After a cold winter with blustery winds and uncharacteristically frigid California weather, we are all looking for pockets of sunlight. I’m waiting for the roses to bloom.
To Heal and Be Healed
January marks the month in which we commemorate the death of beloved Jewish musician Debbie Friedman. I am deeply touched by her canon of liturgical compositions. Most notably, her misheberach, her prayer for healing, provides a space for pain to be expressed and courage to be accessed.
Let It Rain
There was a smile on the face of discerning congregants at shul while Cantor Feldman sang, “Mashiv HaRuach U’Morid HaGashem.” The words translate as, “The one who causes the wind to blow, and the rain to fall.” The Cantor recites these words during the Amidah, praying for wind and rain to come in its proper season. We smiled, because, well, this time, the prayer worked. Really well.
Have a Merry Life
My family spent Hanukkah and Christmas Day skiing in Big Bear. It was hard for me to watch so many people working on their holiday. From the people fitting us for our helmets to those helping us on and off the ski lifts, the mountain was filled with employees.
Which Miracle?
With the way the Jewish calendar falls this year, our family is traveling almost all of Hanukkah. We meticulously packed our Hanukkiah, candles, and matches, wondering where exactly our celebrations would take place. Would there be a window to let others see the dancing lights? Perhaps we’d witness other stealthy guests lighting their hannukiyot, hidden within their rooms.
No White Elephant
In our extended family, the “White Elephant” game is a fan favorite. The idea is to bring an undesirable gift from home and regift it, eventually leaving with something that is somewhat better than what you came with. As we left the family party, my son said to me, “Mommy, can we play White Elephant at my 7th birthday party?” Clearly, the tradition will continue with the next generation.
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