Murder of Three Israeli Boys: Intense Emotional Reaction as Seldom Seen

I'd just finished my morning prayers when I turned on my computer to learn of the horrific murders of three Israeli boys, Naphtali Fraenkel, Gilad Sha’ar and Eyal Yifrach, abducted 18 days ago near their schools in Gush Etzion.

My heart fell in my chest with shock and dismay over the loss. I'd written a post shortly after their disappearance describing the unity with which Jewry worldwide banded together in prayer--our natural reaction to such news.

Eighteen days is a long time of rallies, beseeching the Almighty and performing mitzvot--God-commanded positive acts--in the merit of the missing young men. Eighteen days was enough for a strong investment of emotion, as Jewish organizations of all types remembered the boys' plight and continued pleas to God for their safe return.

The young men became symbolic of Jews' requirement for freedom of movement, freedom from terrorist threat, freedom to pursue normal life. Instead of the outcry diminishing with time, it only increased in fervor, as more individuals and organizations fueled swelling concern.

With the awful outcome, families of the murdered children suffered the most deflating blow possible, but the Jewish family at large also endured injury.

Immediately, my email in-box crammed with statements of grief and mourning from dozens of rabbis and organizations. Every Jewish outlet that ever gleaned my email address, and many not connected to Israel or Judaism, made loud public expressions of horror, sadness and resolve to bring justice to the perpetrators and prevent further terrorist acts.

My husband's brother Jonathan, resident in Jerusalem for 25 years, spoke on the air with stirring emotion that reflected the intensity of response shared by the emails and internet-disseminated communications.

Given present worldwide Muslim violence and aggression, this animalistic attack engenders anger. Jews have never enjoyed comfort and acceptance, and today's sad outcome re-ignites solidarity in fighting anti-Semitism and thwarting aggression with strength.

The discovery of the three bodies inflames Jews' already smoldering ire against those who behave so contrary to God's rules, while claiming He supports their deathly morality. Viewing photographs of the young men wounds my spirit, but I believe the plethora of emails, statements, articles and discussion causes a cosmic consequence as powerful as anything military. Terrorists may harm bodies, but ultimately, positive spiritual unity will prevail.

Today's Jewish Fast-Day--History and a Dilemma

The Fast of Gedalia is one of the most puzzling of requirements observant Jews face. And here I sit, with three and a half more hours without food or drink to endure, trying to grapple with a related moral dilemma.

This fast day is one of six annually, and falls right after the intensity of Rosh Hashana, when we're told an evaluation of last year's deeds determines our fate for the coming year.  This decree by God is "written" but not "sealed," meaning we've got these ten days between now and Yom Kippur to sincerely repent and thus sway the way God executes His plan.

But we're not told to fast as a means of penitence, (as on Yom Kippur itself, when our growling stomachs are to raise our consciousness beyond physicality to encourage the singular focus of angels) but in mourning for a righteous man (Gedalia ben Achikam) appointed governor of the remaining few Jews in Israel after the destruction of the Temple. His leadership had inspired Jews' return from Babylonian exile to the land, and his success allowed the royally-connected Yishmayel ben Nesania to be goaded into jealousy by a neighboring king. Gedalia refused to believe Yishmayel would actually kill him, and considered warnings "lushon ha ra," or negative speech, which Jews are to disregard.

Well, his decision to think the best of Yishmayel cost his life, which caused Jews to flee Israel, fearful that Babylonian king Nebuchudnezzar would retaliate the death of his appointee.  The Talmud says this was a huge tragedy because the loss of a righteous person is equivalent to the loss of the Temple--and the actual destruction of the Temple is the source of most fast days' mourning.

Then we learn that it wasn't just that we lost a good guy--but that such a thing could happen right when we (inluding the jealous murderer Yishmayel) were supposed to be in repentance mode.  It showed how low we really could go. This was the tragedy. 

We take away that especially now, we really need to focus on repentance, and that if we really do become more dedicated, our value increases--and can even soar to where one person's death can have catastrophic impact.

So today--gorgeous, sunny, warm and beautiful in the Seattle area--we couldn't eat or drink. Lots of Jews joke that after two days of bounteous holiday meals, a fast is welcome. But as the day wears on...less so.

My fast-day moral dilemma: This morning, I spent some time with a Jewish friend who is becoming more observant. She now largely keeps kosher, and attends Jewish classes. But she nonchalantly sipped from a water bottle.

I was flummoxed.  Should I assume she had a medical reason to drink on a fast day? Or, more likely, that she just didn't know about it?  Was every sip she took another sin accruing to me for not saying anything? Or, does "derech eretz kadma l'Torah"--manners and concern for embarrassing her take precedence over letting her know that it was a fast day?

While with her--watching her occasional sip--I tossed the options around in my mind. She frequently asks me questions about observance, in her growing effort to come closer and do more. Wouldn't she want to know she shouldn't be drinking?  Or would I be simply serving my own misery-loves-company need, or even a desire to feel superior, by telling her?  On the other hand, was she needlessly sinning because I kept quiet?

I'm wondering what was the right thing. Your advice?

Visiting My Home in Los Angeles

Just got back from a visit to LA, my hometown. I get down there a couple times a year, but this time, I had a few hours to take a good look. Just like when you see someone you've known well after a span of a decade, I noticed how my dear city has aged.

Judging by its face, not so gracefully.

Ironically, Hollywoodland could use a shot of Botox. It was built up, but not cleaned up. Streets in neighborhoods where a modest three bedroom, two bath house built fifty years ago cost $2 million were lined with squashed fast-food cups and wrappers, and collected brown palmtree dirt like dust bunnies.

An area that had been a wetland now holds dozens of high-rise condos and the businesses to profit from them. But instead of the strip malls of the past, the stores were merely the lower levels of "multi-use buildings" that held more condos on top. The neighborhood where I'd lived--where we'd worked hard to build up a Jewish outpost on the beach--had never become upscale. The housing was the same, except that beat-up plywood-topped "RVs" now lined the thoroughfare we once walked every Shabbat, and the houses on my street all seemed to need paint.

Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of new Los Angeles is the traffic. Everyone we saw discussed it--or how they averted it. Some scotched a move, preferring cramped quarters to two hours daily on the road. Others described the circuitous routes they devised to avoid crowds. Some merely groused about it, employing distractions like lectures or books on tape, or using the time to make cell phone calls.

Jewish Los Angeles, however, is thriving. We were treated to dinner at Prime Grill--yes, the Rodeo Drive incarnation of the famous Manhattan restaurant. Loved it. Loved it even more because we didn't pay for it. Pico Boulevard felt much like Israel with falaffel and thickly Hebrew-accented English and in-your-face signage and stores wedged together.

The number of synagogues is growing; the Persian community burgeoning. New schools are opening; Touro College welcomed its first students to its west coast campus. Communities are blooming in far reaches of the San Fernando Valley, and the stretch between Century City and Hancock Park is becoming solidly observant. When I was a kid, the Orthodox had left Boyle Heights and clustered around Fairfax, huddled against Reform domination of the region. Now, the streets of Pico-Robertson are alive on Shabbat with families walking; you hear z'mirot (songs) through windows, and passersby greet each other, "Gut Shabbos!"

I believe God smiles on all this, as more and more Jews take His commandments seriously. However, I also see zealousness, division, and sometimes disdain toward those deemed "modern."

The best surprise for me was the winter weather. After two days of rain, and then wind, when my plane descended into LAX, I could see the entire region. The Hollywood sign to the snow-dripped San Gabriel Mountains; the tall buildings along Wilshire to Loyola-Marymount University in Westchester. I saw downtown with its clustered high-rises, and even the outline of the old City Hall. There's nothing more beautiful than a clear, sunny day, crisp and invigorating (while 65 degrees) in my home town. After enduring weeks of northwestern wet, sitting in the sunshine renewed and reinvigorated me.

And I did see many old friends. After ten years, some had indeed aged, but others seemed much the same. My dear friend from high school, our neighbors, our street, all felt embracing and homey. The house where I lived, once with a mezuza on its doorframe, now boasted a wreath on the portal and a twinkly Christmas tree in our dining room window. Still, it was the same house where I brought home my newborn babies, and where I welcomed hundreds--probably thousands--of Shabbat guests. It was the same gray-blue color, with its expanse of green grass in front, and the low brick wall where my preschoolers balanced, holding my hand.

Yes, I'm sad so much treasured time has passed; I miss those little kids who needed me so much. But like my town, there's too much new to face, too much to accomplish...and precious few clear days in which to savor the entire view.

Can a Jew Enjoy Christmastime?

I have a confession to make: I like Christmastime.

I'm a Jew through-and-through, and I love Chanuka--as well. This year it starts Tuesday night, quite a bit earlier than the other holiday. We'll have our annual white-elephant-exchange game at our party the first night, planned for that evening so my sorority daughter can then buckle-down in study for her quarter's-end finals that start the following week. Our party with its latkes and sufganiot and many games is a tradition we all love, and many of her sorority sisters will be joining the fun. We put up twinkling white lights and signs and blue and silver garlands. Last year, a monsoon windstorm hit the day before, meaning our entire party was by candlelight and guests kept their coats on in our 30-degree home. The blackout lasted eight days for us...just like Chanuka, and that storm was dubbed by the media, "the Chanuka eve windstorm."

But I still like Christmastime. I like the carols (not their lyrics, except for their message of peace and goodwill to men) and the glitter and bustle and smiles and the Salvation Army Santa bell-ringers to whom I always give a dollar. When I'm in New York, I like the fantasy moving store displays and Bryant Park ice rink and Rockefeller Center. Here in the Northwest, I like the carousel in Westlake Plaza, the nightly drummers and lightshow at Bellevue Square, Tacoma's amazing Zoolights animals, and the Bellevue Botanical Garden's astounding flowers made entirely from lights (above). Though I'm kosher, I love Coulon Park's Clamlights, sponsored by local restaurant icon Ivar's, the motto of which is, "Keep Clam." I can see that display in miniature across Lake Washington from my home, its huge cottonwood trees festooned top-to-bottom with strings of lights.

I like returning a "Merry Christmas" to checkers at Target. I like seeing eager children lined up at the mall for their moment on Santa's lap, and their equally pleased parents enjoying their little ones' anticipation. I squeal with delight when I see beautiful light displays on homes, "OOOOH! Beautiful!" And I used to enjoy the sparkles and glimmers on the Christmas trees at Seatac Airport.

Now the story gets complicated. Some in the Jewish world feel that because the entire purpose of Chanuka is to distinguish us as Jews who follow the Torah from our surrounding culture-- hearkening back to the defiled Temple in Jerusalem that Maccabean fighters seeking to restore God's law regained from Hellenistic, assimilationist Jews --we ought to completely withdraw from the Christian holiday around us. That would preclude appreciating seasonal carols, or viewing outdoor light displays, or wrapping gifts for non-Jews in red-and-green paper.

Last year, in an unfortunate misunderstanding, it appeared some Jews were offended by the traditional green Christmas tree display at Seatac Airport. The brouhaha caused the permanent removal of that decor, replaced this year, ironically, by silver-sprayed bare tree branches. No one can object to the theme of cold, leafless winter.

Now, I wouldn't consider any decorations at my own house that smack of Christmas. I wouldn't even come close--no holly, no fir wreath, no colored lights--because we are firmly and unequivocally Jewish and I would feel uncomfortable with them. And by providing my children a Jewish education, and living as Torah-observant Jews every day of the year, they have internalized a Jewish identity and are not at risk of confusion.

Without a Jewish life--daily prayer, eating kosher, Shabbat and yom tov, constant learning, watching us strive in our Torah knowledge--there might be an issue. They know the purpose of Chanuka, the root of which is "chinuk," education, but that also means "dedication," as the Temple was re-dedicated to its Godly purpose. With that basis, they can bring their friends to our Chanuka party, sharing with them our traditions. And at the same time, they can join me in thrilling to the beautiful light displays and musical performances and feelings of cheer that emanate in the larger culture.

There's lots of beauty in this dark time of year, especially with our "Festival of Lights." On Tuesday night, I'll once again use the heirloom menorah that my mother-in-law's parents spirited out of Nazi Germany among the very few possessions they escaped with. I will joyfully sing Maor Tzur with my husband and two of my three children (missing my absent daughter on that day especially!) and serve my home-made latkes with sour cream and applesauce.

I do not think it detracts from Chanuka, however, to enjoy as an outsider, the sights, sounds and happiness of the majority religion. For me, the ability to fully engage in Jewish life is primary--but the secondary colors and celebration that uplifts and reminds my neighbors of God--enhance this otherwise dreary time of year.

As I write, rain pelts onto my window, as it has all day. Over Shabbat, we had three inches of snow, fat flakes flying in a blustery breeze that gave way in the early morn to warmer drops pinging the skylights. We're supposed to get some more strong winds tonight as the storm becomes more fierce...I can only hope we retain our electric illumination on Chanuka eve this year as we add the spiritual component with the oil of our menorah.

The Jewish People Live...in Seattle

We Jews believe in "ahavat Yisroyal," love for our fellow Jews. (We certainly love others too.) Beyond that, in our tradition, we know God has always responded best when Jews as a people united in our commitment to the Torah and His commandments.

So when the Jews of the Northwest get together every year to throw a "Jewish Festival," you've got to "feel the love" and support it. That's what our family did this Sunday. My son volunteered several hours of his time to booths for Jewish youth organizations, and my daughter, husband and I decided that it was worth our afternoon to express our interest and caring for Jews of all ilk in our area.

Maybe you've heard that Seattle is famous for, OK, yes, Starbucks and Microsoft. Even before them, we had RAIN. But, supposedly, not now. "There are only two seasons in Seattle. August and the rainy season." Yep, but Saturday afternoon began a pelting summer storm that kept up through the night. You can get a battering from raindrops for five minutes, and then nothing for three minutes until another cloud decides its best target is you.

So, the Seattle Jewish Festival was a mud-field. The kind of soggy goo that feels like brown quicksand sucking your sandals when you pull up your foot to take a step. The rain was strong enough that we natives resorted to something we NEVER do: we used umbrellas. It was that bad.

The festival was basically rows of those famous white plastic pop-up booths, each touting a Jewish organization. We'd skipped breakfast with the expectation that finally, HERE was a festival with food we could eat--kosher--rather than the usual non-kosher elephant ears and lard-laced curly fries. There was but one food stand, yes, kosher, though we financially careful Jews wouldn't have considered it a mitseeah (bargain).

I do love my fellow Jews, and I wish the sun had shone on this event, in every way. But I did note that the official proceedings had a palpably political (liberal) undertone. Introducing the pro-Israel "march" around the park perimeter was a radio personality known for his anit-Israel views--he'd even met with Palestinians. The only shelter with audience seats offered one left-wing speaker after another. And right up front, next to the only music stage, was the booth of a Federation-sponsored gay, lesbian, bisexual, trans-gendered group. There were also two Chabad booths, the excellent Seattle Kollel, and my son's organizations, NCSY youth group, and "Friendship Circle," through which he and other teens volunteer in the homes of developmentally disabled children. Several synagogues of all types were represented, and a variety of social service groups, many of which did appear to have a liberal orientation..

The featured musical performer, David Broza, was described in event literature this way: "More than a singer/songwriter, David Broza is well-known for his commitment and dedication to several humanitarian causes, predominantly, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Beginning in 1977, Broza has been working to bring the message of peace to the masses by joining peace movements, and singing what is now the anthem of the ‘Peace Now’ movement, his hit song, Yihye Tov. A recent project has been writing and recording with the Palestinian music group, Sabreen, the song ‘Belibi’, which featured Broza, Sabreen’s Wissam Murad, and two children’s choirs, one from each side of the conflict."

We all want peace, and we all love the hope implied by the group hug of music performed together with enemies. John Lennon wasn't the first to plead naively, "give peace a chance." Motorist Rodney King (i.e. convicted felon who happened to get beat up in the LA riots) wanted to know, "why can't we all just get along?"

At Bellevue downtown park yesterday, (thankfully, as usual,) the Jewish community of Seattle got along. Everybody mucked from muddy booth to the next in good cheer. There were no protesters (that I could see) and nobody even took on the blatantly liberal speakers. Most heartening was the coming together of all sorts of groups that rarely interact in our Jewish community of 50,000. The "Kippa Lady" crochets colorful discs to be worn on any Jew's head (photo, top). Commercial and altruistic groups offer junkets to Israel, the place we agree is our homeland. The point was that everyone was there. Under dark skies and on dank earth, philosophically disparate communities of Jews let each other know of our presence, and reminded Seattle and the world that "Am Yisroyal Chai," the Jewish people live.

Mother's Day Tips for All Children of Any Age

Tomorrow's Mother's Day, and...oops, I guess I'M the mother. I still can't get past the kid stage, the "uh oh, I better get a homemade card sent in time to arrive on Saturday, and send flowers!" identity. But now, alas, my mother's gone, and my mother-in-law, too. If you keep reading, I'll give you this mother's tips for making any of my ilk happy.

But now I will divulge what my husband just said, disdainfully: "Tomorrow is Mother's Day. I bet you're expecting us to write all sorts of poems." Me: "You know I don't care about Mother's Day." Him: "But you'd be disappointed if we didn't write you all sorts of poems."
Me: "No. Have I even mentioned Mother's Day?" Him (making disgusted face): "No, but you want poems."

The culture has prevailed. I admit, when my birthday approaches, and my family asks what I want as a gift, I always answer, "Don't buy me anything. Just make me a card." They know I always write THEM poems. They know that on the occasions they DO write me poems, I always go wild with appreciation. Now, they dread even a downplayed Mother's Day because they're afraid that it means...dum-dum-DUM...writing a poem for me.

Hey guys. Mom to family: No poem required. Especially now that I know how sincere it is. No plant, no flowers required. Remember, my hubby---you bring me flowers EVERY day! Yes, world, my husband actually DOES bring me flowers every day. Flowers he picks out himself, at the supermarket, on his way home. Every day. Believe it.

I can HEAR you! You're saying "No, he doesn't actually bring her flowers EVERY day!" OK, just every day he comes home from work. Any hour. The only days he skips are when he's out of town or the Sabbath or Sunday, when we're together...unless he goes out somewhere, in which case, he includes Sunday. Many Sunday mornings he'll go out to Starbucks and bring me back my favorite coffee. AND flowers. And the day before he goes out of town, he usually gives me TWO bouquets, saying "the other one is because I can't get you flowers tomorrow."

Do I LIKE flowers? Does my daughter like her fake Chanel earrings? Does the Pope wear a yarmulke? The answer is: DUH. Flowers are my "love language." I love them. My house feels dull without them. I treasure all of them. Wanna make my day? Go to Pike Place Market and pick up one of those amazing bouquets arranged by the deft hands of the Korean vendors there. I did a small favor for friends, and when they surprised me with such a bouquet, with the grandest striated pink and cream tulips arranged with little purple and lemon flowers...well, I was nearly speechless.

Hint to guys: I'm not the only female who feels like this. Hint to all children: Give your mom flowers. Not tomorrow, when the price has been jacked up 100%, but before Shabbos, and when you come home, unexpectedly. Write her a POEM for tomorrow. Tell her how you feel. Give her a big hug. And, most importantly: LET HER TAKE YOUR PICTURE. Smile and be pleasant about it, please? And be in several WITH her.

DO NOT buy Mom a teddy bear or any other stuffed animal. Do not buy her a figurine or a little box. Do not buy her candy because even if it's the kind she likes, she feels guilty eating it. Do not buy her clothing, because even if she doesn't care for it, she'll wear it. Do not give her purchased schlocky jewelry, though shlocky jewelry made by anyone under age 12 is most welcome and will be worn, you can be sure, every Mother's Day hence.

My daughter away at college sent me something cute. A "monk-e-mail" Mother's Day greeting. You pick out the chimp, dress him or her, pick out the background and then can either have a voice simulate your written message or you can phone in your own voice for the ape to, well...ape. I'd never seen this before, and everyone in the room was wailing with laughter. Especially to hear the simulator say "naches" and "bachorah." Make your own message: http://www.careerbuilder.com/monk-e-mail/

I have lots of friends who are mothers, but it's not an obligation of one mother to send mother's day greetings to others in the same boat. Well, I must say, my dear twinnie-friend, who is the role-model of chesed, and about the most generous person on the planet, of COURSE put me to shame and gave me two dozen of the most breathtaking marbled roses AND a big bar of daaaaark chocolate. Flowers and candy from a friend, WOW.

Now that we've dispensed with the Mother's Day advice, I must address the fact that Mother's Day is not Jewish. I've heard rabbis I respect say we do not observe Mother's Day because "every day is Mother's Day" for Jews. That's a cop-out. "Honor thy father and thy mother" does not let you out of participating in our cultural celebration, sorry. Jewish mothers are not exempt from reading the Sunday advertising supplements that have been SCREAMING for the past two months, "If you love your mother, you better buy her something good!" And she knows YOU'VE seen those ads, and heard them on the radio and TV, too. It's like the Fourth of July--we love Yom Hatzmaut, but we still shoot off fireworks for American Independence Day. Treat Mom like a Queen every day, but...well, write her a poem for Mother's Day.

Purim Gifts

We have the remnants of received shaloch manos (Purim gift baskets of food) all over our kitchen. For dinner tonight, I ate...I'll confess it...twelve hamentashen. That's all, just the hamentashen, nothing else.

Purim is past; can't believe it. What an intense weekend, with Shabbat, then immediately, Purim. The holiday in which we remember that God is hidden but constantly in control; where we are hidden in costumes, and can deceive via externals for either good or ill. Purim: The celebration where we get slightly inebriated (reminds me of the Almost Live skit of "songs of the slightly inebriated," my favorite of which is, "I'm gonna beat that train!") until we no longer perceive the difference between curse Haman and praise Mordechai. Or, we drink some, fall asleep, and while in dream-land fulfill the mitzvah by being basically unconscious.

So festive! So happy! Then what was the stress I felt? Could it have been...shaloch manos???

The task of making my shaloch manos started last Tuesday, when I spent all day combing my fave cheapo stores for ingredients to put in the baskets. And my ultimate happy hunting ground of all stores is Big Lots--does anybody else (beside my partner in crime Doubletee) love BIG LOTS like I do? This is the store where everything is cheap and some things are CHEEEEAP (stupid ideas that nobody should have manufactured in the first place) and a LOT of things are good-and-cheap.
This store has zero ambiance. Maybe negative-two ambiance. The premise of Big Lots is to sell stuff that is repackaged, discontinued, got on the wrong train, or purchaser couldn't pay--and so carloads of respectable and weird goods get shlepped to this bargain store that is, in itself, slightly akimbo.
And so I approached Big Lots with the noble mission, nay, MITZVAH of filling shaloch manos! And indeed, goodies were laid in wait for me...candy, cookies, tea, condiments...and of course I would only stuff my shaloch manos with ingredients that I myself would love to receive! Two Hundred Thirty dollars later, I emerge from Big Lots, shopping cart overflowing with expensive-looking treats bought a fraction of their worth. And a floor lamp that uses full-spectrum bulbs (see previous post about searching for bright light) and face cream with Dead Sea Minerals and band-aids and two kinds of shampoo and a fiberglass pot for the garden...
Then, a stop at DOLLAR TREE! Such glee at the 'Tree! Where everything costs..what do you think? Where I find computer paper with swirls of turquoise and hot pink, goop to clean grease, aisles of fringed and ribbon'd gift bags, aluminum pans and shaloch manos ingredients galore! No, this is NOT shlock manos! It's great stuff, like jars of salsa, sundried tomatoes, roasted red peppers, hot sauce, tortilla chips! All kosher! And gaily-colored wire wastebaskets to hold it all!
The final destination--do I dare? TRADER JOE'S! Wild for that kosher selection! And, since I eschew the brown paper lunchbag, or paper plate with a napkin-type shaloch manos, I go for the gold--KOSHER FRENCH WINE! A full-sized bottle, not those whussy mini-sized ones--of merlot, chardonnay, cabernet sauvignon! And granola, coffee, chocolate-covered pretzels, kalamata olives, soup and cheeses! Heart be STILL! Gimme that hot, hot, hot SHALOCH MANOS!!
Wednesday...Thursday...it's the Fast of Esther, but I must get those Shaloch Manos ready to go, because tomorrow I cook for Shabbat!
The family room is the staging area. To do: Twenty big baskets for the "A" list and 10 for the "B" list (no wine for them!) Make the assembly line: separate piles of jars of sundried tomatoes, Twizzers, boxes of fruit rolls, the cases of wine, the salsa. The cluster of unusual ingredients for the special baskets--the rabbi who needs all pareve, the friend with an allergy.
THE TAGS! Run up to my computer and call up the template saved from last year with the wacky font; print on canary yellow paper, cut out the tags with crazy-edged scissors; affix three colorful star stickers to each one.
Now get out the ladder to retrieve the bag from the top of the closet with the shredded straw to pad the baskets! The straw saved from the big cellophane'd fruit gift tray with a foot of filler-straw at the bottom topped with three pears, two apples and an orange. The straw pulls apart, sticking to the front of my clothes with magnetic force, shredding further to become irremovable stick-lint in my carpet.
Time to fill each basket, and now my hands and my heart focus on the task at hand...and the recipients of each basket. I think of each person, each family for whom I carefully craft an assortment....her child can't eat peanuts...she gets two pounds of Starbucks coffee since she hosts my Thursday class...that family likes health food...this family loves chocolate...he likes olives... Each of them is special, and as I balance the wine upright, and arrange the jars and bottles and packages, each collection is about the individuals who make up my community, who make up my context. The people whose kindness, sincerity, effort and generosity elevate our little world with sweetness, with cohesiveness.

I enclose each heavy basket in a white plastic bag, and cut lengths of gold, turquoise and magenta ribbon. I tie each in a bow, and pull the ends past opened scissors to make cascading curls, twisting the ribbon so it falls just so, with the shiny side out, the happy side out.

And that is the essence of Purim. We hide our selves, our gifts, in costumes, and offer from our inner selves gifts to others--money as charity for the poor, and shaloch manos to our friends. And this way, perhaps with a bit of lubrication, we allow our shiny side, our happy side, to face outward.

Have a Heart

Jews don't believe in Valentine's Day. Not even if the "Saint" title is obscured. Not even if the entire culture is rife with red hearts, silver foil, expensive bouquets and urges not to forget the beloved lest that love be lost. Jews don't believe in Valentine's Day not because we're a curmudgeonly lot, determined to fly in the face of the surrounding culture, though indeed we often are just that. In fact, expression of love is well-rooted in Jewish culture...and in fact prescribed by Jewish culture. There are actual Jewish laws that command husbands about their intimate duties to their wives--how often their services are to be offered at a minimum, determined by the profession of the husband. More well known might be the habit to bring the wife flowers on the eve of the Sabbath. Equally important are traditions to treat one's husband like a king, and one's wife like a queen.
So why, then, are religious Jews so obtuse about Valentine's Day? Well, largely because of that well-camouflaged "Saint" origin. Jews don't care much for Easter, either. Ramadan isn't observed as well.
Jews have plenty of holidays as-is. Some might even secretly think, "too many holidays." Rosh Hashana, Yom Kippur, okay, everyone knows those. And Chanuka, yes, the Jewish answer to....NO, exactly the opposite, the Jewish answer to Jews assimilating. But what about those lovely four days for Sukkot and Shimini Atseret? "The time of our rejoicing." Four days for Passover. Shavuot, the giving of the Torah. Seven weeks of counting the Omer. Three weeks of mourning Jewish tragedies in the summertime. The birthday of the Trees. SIX, count 'em, SIX fast days. And they call the one month without holidays "MAR Cheshvan," bitter because it has no celebrations.
Well, I'll confess to those few who read this: I like Valentine's Day. I enjoy those hearts, I enjoy the idea of professing love. I enjoy the cheerfulness of the rows of flowers at the supermarket, and the sweetness of the sappy cards. I (big confession for a Jew...) make Valentines for my children. With construction paper, doilies, stickers, silver markers, and lately, even heart-cropped photos of me with each of them. I send a Valentine to my aunt, who's 100 years old. Another to our adoptive brother/uncle/household helper. The ones to my children say "I love you to the MAX," the ones to others say, "Happy Valentine's Day," but really say, "I appreciate you. I remember you. I care about you."
There's plenty to say against Valentine's Day, now that it's become so commercialized. But then again, nobody buys a bouquet of roses against his will. Nobody gets a mylar balloon or a Vermont Teddy Bear or even a box of chocolates ("you never know what you're gonna get") without caring about the recipient. And all the merchants and florists and balloon inflaters and Teddy Bear-stuffers are happy and the economy prospers and the free market system scores another victory. But this time, it's doing so because of love. Because our culture has embraced the idea of expressing affection and caring. I just find it tough to argue with that.

Blogging as Procrastination

This is my very first blog posting--and, as a Jewish woman who feels like a Jewish child--or at least a girl--I'm almost giddy with the thought that someone other than the recipients of my copious emails might be read my musings. My husband, who is a rather famous person with blogs that millions of people read, posts ponderous articles every night, and gets paid for his punditry. But me....well, I am on deadline for a book, and instead of writing am persisting in the time honored past-time of...PROCRASTINATION.
Has anyone out there ever procrastinated by going on the internet? To look up things that fascinate or lure you (I don't mean lurid lures, either--I happen to enjoy finding flatware on Crate and Barrel and other such mundane pursuits--or cameras that I am hesitant to commit to but really should just go ahead and buy...) Well, instead of looking up items, leaping from site to site, comparison to comparison, I am now procrastinating by posting my very first blog.
I am feeling anxious about spending time doing this but continue to write. I have a deadline for my book of only a few months, and I am afraid of being judged, and therefore hesitate to even write it. I have written five books previously, one of which actually went to number ONE on the Los Angeles Times best seller list, really. Nonfiction. And yet, now, I want to do anything BUT write my book. So I start this blog, and I will check if anyone has read it, as a means to...shall I euphemize? "take a break" from my "work." I do work; I do write. But avoidance is nearly as consuming. Phone calls that must be made. Errands that cannot wait. Must check email. Must clean the kitchen, do the laundry...oh, I've only got 15 minutes till I have to pick up my son, so I can't possibly start in with something NOW.
Procrastination. Isn't that another word for "BLOG"???