Ilan becomes Bar Mitzvah at the end of March, 2014. We recently read the Torah portion he will be reading. It's called Tazria (not a double portion next year due to the leap year), and it is a difficult parsha - both in leining (reading) and in the complexity of its content.
Many commentaries focus on Lashon Hora - or evil speech - rather than the spiritual impurity that sends an individual apart from his or her community. A spiritual impurity that was often - and incorrectly - referred to as leprosy. Tzaraat, as this infliction is known, is a physical ill-showing due to the sin of speech.
Whatever my son chooses to speak about one year from now, I have decided that we will spend a good deal of time within the next year reading commentaries on this parsha and learning about speech and communication.
Tonight, we read one short commentary to kick our learning off. It is a commentary that shares lessons for parents to teach their children each week, and this lesson - of course - was lashon hora. We talked about how it is easier to be mean to people in your family than it is to be mean to your neighbor. We talked about how painful and damaging words can be. And we decided that if we started to learn and to talk about speech, that it would help us to have fewer moments of negative speech in our home.
At that point, Aaron noticed a book that I had brought in with me. It is Martin Seligman's The Optimistic Child. Both boys became excited by this (which surprised me) and wanted to know more. I said this was a book that I thought was related to Ilan's Torah portion and to good speech because if we were optimistic people - felt good about ourselves and had good tools for dealing with conflict and other bad things - then we would also be more prone to use good speech instead of bad speech, lashon hora, or evil tongue.
So, we delved into the book and learned about the ABC's. A is adversity, the problem that triggers a belief. B is the belief - the self talk - that occurs due to the problem or situation. C is the consequence of those beliefs - the way you feel because of how you talk to yourself about the problem.
We went through several situations (I kept saying 'last one' and they kept saying 'nooooo. can't we do more?'). For example, when your best friend doesn't pick you first to be on his team - you always pick him to be on your team. What is it that you say to yourself when this happens? Do you say "My friend doesn't like me anymore"? Do you think, "I'm such a loser - even my best friend is not picking me."? Do you say, "That's ok that he didn't pick me first. It might be fun to be on different teams for once." or "I know my best friend was talking about making the new kid feel welcome. I'm glad he remembered to pick him to be on his team." The "C" - the feelings - will be different depending on the talk you give yourself.
Situation after situation, we learned that by altering the way we speak to ourselves, we also change the way we feel.
My boys didn't want to stop, and they are eager to do more. My hope is that by the time we get close to Ilan's bar mitzvah next year, he will have a good idea of what he wants to speak about. My greater hope is that everyone in our family will learn to communicate more kindly, bringing us even closer and making us even stronger.... and optimistic.
April 25, 2013
April 21, 2013
Cashews and Dates
Cashews and dates, when soaked, can be transformed into tasteful and magical delicacies.
Mine provided me with a sense of purpose when I saw that I had way too many in my refrigerator drawer. I soaked them - for almost too long - and then realized I better do something with them.
So, I looked for recipes requiring soaked cashews and I made cashew hummus and curried cashew cream cheese. I liked the cream cheese so much that I used up the rest of my soaking cashews and made more cream cheese.
I made several of my favorite soaked date recipes - peanut butter cups, chocolate frosting (I thought my children might like but it didn't turn out to be frosting, so I froze it in balls and made cookies - vegan, gluten free and sugar free), and raw 'chocolate chip cookie dough'.
Purpose. In this case, something to take me away from the things-to-do that are bogging me down, sucking my energy, and keeping me way too busy.
I contemplate purpose frequently. I think about my life purpose, and I think even more intensely about the purpose of life.
Especially when there is pain, tragedy, and deep deep sorrow.
"Look for the helpers", Mr Roger told us. Put more good in the world so we can wipe away the bad. Peace not war. Keep moving forward. When you fall, get back up.
These are all wise and helpful sentiments. And we should. And we do. But those who are directly touched by tragedy, loss, and devastation - it's not so easy for them. There is much to do before they can begin to put good back into the world. Grief and healing are permanent, and the world is an eternally changed space.
Devastation and tragedy are not overcome with purpose. Tragedy thwarts purpose. Finding comfort within purpose is inconceivable.
And, yet, we must "put one foot in front of the other" and find a way to bring good back into our lives and into the world. We must find new ways to live from a place we never thought we'd have to consider. We have to find a way to be in a world that is forever changed.
And while those of us not directly impacted by the loss, or the tragedy, or the utter devastation begin to move forward and do good and help where we can - we are not forgetting you. We are continuing to remember you - each and every day. And we pray for your strength and your healing as you continue to wage the battle before you.
May we all continue to take what we have - even if it's just cashews and dates - and transform it into something good.
Mine provided me with a sense of purpose when I saw that I had way too many in my refrigerator drawer. I soaked them - for almost too long - and then realized I better do something with them.
So, I looked for recipes requiring soaked cashews and I made cashew hummus and curried cashew cream cheese. I liked the cream cheese so much that I used up the rest of my soaking cashews and made more cream cheese.
I made several of my favorite soaked date recipes - peanut butter cups, chocolate frosting (I thought my children might like but it didn't turn out to be frosting, so I froze it in balls and made cookies - vegan, gluten free and sugar free), and raw 'chocolate chip cookie dough'.
Purpose. In this case, something to take me away from the things-to-do that are bogging me down, sucking my energy, and keeping me way too busy.
I contemplate purpose frequently. I think about my life purpose, and I think even more intensely about the purpose of life.
Especially when there is pain, tragedy, and deep deep sorrow.
"Look for the helpers", Mr Roger told us. Put more good in the world so we can wipe away the bad. Peace not war. Keep moving forward. When you fall, get back up.
These are all wise and helpful sentiments. And we should. And we do. But those who are directly touched by tragedy, loss, and devastation - it's not so easy for them. There is much to do before they can begin to put good back into the world. Grief and healing are permanent, and the world is an eternally changed space.
Devastation and tragedy are not overcome with purpose. Tragedy thwarts purpose. Finding comfort within purpose is inconceivable.
And, yet, we must "put one foot in front of the other" and find a way to bring good back into our lives and into the world. We must find new ways to live from a place we never thought we'd have to consider. We have to find a way to be in a world that is forever changed.
And while those of us not directly impacted by the loss, or the tragedy, or the utter devastation begin to move forward and do good and help where we can - we are not forgetting you. We are continuing to remember you - each and every day. And we pray for your strength and your healing as you continue to wage the battle before you.
May we all continue to take what we have - even if it's just cashews and dates - and transform it into something good.
April 11, 2013
Pieces of Grandma
I know they say - and I surely believe them - that things are not what matter. I have jumped on the bandwagon with many others - trying to clear out collections of stuff. Stuff that clutters our homes, our minds, and our life.
But, today a box arrived. And in it was stuff - stuff that was once my grandmother's ob"m (died on December 16, 2012 at 98 years old) and even my grandfather's who died well before I became bas mitzvah, more than 30 years ago.
And this stuff means something. This stuff brings tears to my eyes. This stuff connects me to my grandmother. I see these things in her house. I recall memories of these things being a part of her and a part of my childhood. I love this stuff.
I want to put this stuff behind glass windows. And I envision passing it on to my grandchildren and letting these pieces continue to travel within our family.
These pieces contain pieces of my grandma, pieces of my grandfather, pieces of their life and their extended families. They are more than just things.
Receiving things takes me to the very edge of my sorrow. And I feel the pain looming within me, but I dare not cross the line. I cannot imagine what one feels like when they lose a child. The sorrow and emptiness of a long life I can barely endure.
I now have the recipe boxes that belonged to both of my grandmothers. My maternal grandmother passed away right before I became bas mitzvah. I will - most likely - make very few of the recipes that make their home in these boxes.
But, I see the writing. The writing is a memory of my grandmothers. What they collected is a story of their time. (Boy, when someone reads through my recipe books one day, they are going to think I was crazy - gluten free, dairy free, egg free, sugar free, meat free... )
I see one recipe - cottage cheese pancakes. Probably my most vivid and cherished memory of being with my grandma. She would make them and I would eat them. Slathered with grape jelly. Even in my dairy free, egg free, wheat free escapades... I will always have space for cottage cheese pancakes.
The index card where she wrote out her recipe will go on the plate - a piece of my grandma - a memory of my grandma's kitchen. It is a round plate with a thick olive green border. In the center of the plate are yellow, white, and blue flowers. I guess in the sense of home fashion today, this plate is quite tacky. One might ask if I really need one plate from a set of dishes that no longer reside on Lockwood Avenue.
This plate is a thing I need. I will place the cottage cheese pancake recipe atop this plate and I will frame it in a shadow box frame (like I have done with a serving spoon) and put it in my kitchen.
This thing is humbling. This thing has energy. This thing connects me with a generation I no longer have the opportunity to speak with. I need these pieces of my grandmother.
But, today a box arrived. And in it was stuff - stuff that was once my grandmother's ob"m (died on December 16, 2012 at 98 years old) and even my grandfather's who died well before I became bas mitzvah, more than 30 years ago.
And this stuff means something. This stuff brings tears to my eyes. This stuff connects me to my grandmother. I see these things in her house. I recall memories of these things being a part of her and a part of my childhood. I love this stuff.
I want to put this stuff behind glass windows. And I envision passing it on to my grandchildren and letting these pieces continue to travel within our family.
These pieces contain pieces of my grandma, pieces of my grandfather, pieces of their life and their extended families. They are more than just things.
Receiving things takes me to the very edge of my sorrow. And I feel the pain looming within me, but I dare not cross the line. I cannot imagine what one feels like when they lose a child. The sorrow and emptiness of a long life I can barely endure.
I now have the recipe boxes that belonged to both of my grandmothers. My maternal grandmother passed away right before I became bas mitzvah. I will - most likely - make very few of the recipes that make their home in these boxes.
But, I see the writing. The writing is a memory of my grandmothers. What they collected is a story of their time. (Boy, when someone reads through my recipe books one day, they are going to think I was crazy - gluten free, dairy free, egg free, sugar free, meat free... )
I see one recipe - cottage cheese pancakes. Probably my most vivid and cherished memory of being with my grandma. She would make them and I would eat them. Slathered with grape jelly. Even in my dairy free, egg free, wheat free escapades... I will always have space for cottage cheese pancakes.
The index card where she wrote out her recipe will go on the plate - a piece of my grandma - a memory of my grandma's kitchen. It is a round plate with a thick olive green border. In the center of the plate are yellow, white, and blue flowers. I guess in the sense of home fashion today, this plate is quite tacky. One might ask if I really need one plate from a set of dishes that no longer reside on Lockwood Avenue.
This plate is a thing I need. I will place the cottage cheese pancake recipe atop this plate and I will frame it in a shadow box frame (like I have done with a serving spoon) and put it in my kitchen.
This thing is humbling. This thing has energy. This thing connects me with a generation I no longer have the opportunity to speak with. I need these pieces of my grandmother.
April 6, 2013
Occupied Mind
I think it will be an official disorder in the DSM 2014. Think about it. I did (think about it) in the midst of a quick yoga practice the other morning. Suddenly, I had the urge to rid myself of the iphone (I know - scary thought).
I had an image of my phone moving with me from the bedroom where it woke me up and I had the opportunity to immediately check in with the world - to the 'exercise' room where it pulled up the video I needed on the Apple TV - to the bathroom where it would transition with me until we reached the kitchen where - at 7:30am - it would play Modeh Ani and wake up the rest of the house, one child would ask to check the weather, and one child -ready for school early - would ask to play a game.... all of this flashed through my head in a moment, and I decided I wanted a simple cell phone. One that cannot be used for anything else but making phone calls.
Do I really need to check my email in the five minutes I sit waiting for the school bell to ring? Do I really need to be available by text messaging while I am out running errands? Do I truly need to be connected?
What was it like in the good 'ole days? Those good ole' days were not even from my parent's experiences but my own. Even ten years ago, I did not wake up with a desire to check email. I did not rely on my phone to nudge me about of bed. I was not available any time, anywhere.
Before the smart phone craze, I sat in a carpool line and talked to other mothers or read a book or just looked at the world around me and thought about things.
The world has evolved so quickly to a space where there exists no down time. Our minds remain occupied no matter what we are doing. No matter how much time there is - how little we have to do - or how fully packed our calendar is - we do not have time. Our time is consumed. Our minds are occupied with this consumption.
It's time to slow down. To live mindfully. To take breaks. To focus on what is important and essential. It's time to narrow our focus, not do too much, and be present for our children. It is time to release the occupied mind.
We are stuck in a crazy time. Where much of the world is becoming absorbed with technology, our dependence on it, its ability to speed life up but still not be able to provide us with more time. Where the other half of the world is fighting to avoid succumbing to the cultural norms, to instill strong values of peoplehood, connectedness, and face to face conversation.
Time is what we want most, but... what we use worst. ~Willaim Penn
I had an image of my phone moving with me from the bedroom where it woke me up and I had the opportunity to immediately check in with the world - to the 'exercise' room where it pulled up the video I needed on the Apple TV - to the bathroom where it would transition with me until we reached the kitchen where - at 7:30am - it would play Modeh Ani and wake up the rest of the house, one child would ask to check the weather, and one child -ready for school early - would ask to play a game.... all of this flashed through my head in a moment, and I decided I wanted a simple cell phone. One that cannot be used for anything else but making phone calls.
Do I really need to check my email in the five minutes I sit waiting for the school bell to ring? Do I really need to be available by text messaging while I am out running errands? Do I truly need to be connected?
What was it like in the good 'ole days? Those good ole' days were not even from my parent's experiences but my own. Even ten years ago, I did not wake up with a desire to check email. I did not rely on my phone to nudge me about of bed. I was not available any time, anywhere.
Before the smart phone craze, I sat in a carpool line and talked to other mothers or read a book or just looked at the world around me and thought about things.
The world has evolved so quickly to a space where there exists no down time. Our minds remain occupied no matter what we are doing. No matter how much time there is - how little we have to do - or how fully packed our calendar is - we do not have time. Our time is consumed. Our minds are occupied with this consumption.
It's time to slow down. To live mindfully. To take breaks. To focus on what is important and essential. It's time to narrow our focus, not do too much, and be present for our children. It is time to release the occupied mind.
We are stuck in a crazy time. Where much of the world is becoming absorbed with technology, our dependence on it, its ability to speed life up but still not be able to provide us with more time. Where the other half of the world is fighting to avoid succumbing to the cultural norms, to instill strong values of peoplehood, connectedness, and face to face conversation.
Time is what we want most, but... what we use worst. ~Willaim Penn
April 5, 2013
It Can Always Be Improved
Yesterday I observed an increasing frustration when one of my boys was having difficulty hitting a ball (with a shinny stick) that was being pitched to him. A tangle of conflict erupted as I tried to encourage another son to pitch it underhand, making it easier to grasp the concept of 'bat meets ball'. My pitching son was trying to explain that it was all part of the game and missing the first three pitches was what happened to everyone. But everyone hit the ball on the fourth pitch.
I think it pisses some people off. After an event or a meeting or an idea brainstorm or anything - I look to see how it can be improved. I'm not being critical, merely seeking the next step, the way to take it to the next level. This thinking allows me to consider how every individual may have viewed it, how we can reach out to one more person, how we can make the least happy person happier.
Which is exactly what did not happen on the fourth pitch. This was all taking place as I was trying to get everyone inside, but we obviously couldn't end the experience with a fourth missed pitch.
I stepped in to pitch and - lo and behold - said son hit the ball, whacked it actually. Really well. Mom's mission accomplished!
Well, not exactly. The moments remained tense as I tried to hurry them along, the pitching son took the scenario and thought I was angry and telling him he was doing it wrong, and - of course - the other son wanted to keep hitting the ball.
Well, that was yesterday. And this morning, I was trying a new workout. INSANITY. Yes, because I'm insane. I figured you don't get anywhere in the world without kicking butt. So, by kicking my butt with a strenuous physical workout, I would also be able to kick it in other areas of life. Step it up a notch. Not just glide along but make things happen. Overcome fear. You know.
I did the fit test yesterday and today was my first workout. Son who learned to hit the ball yesterday came in mid-workout. "That looks too hard for you, mom," says he.
Thanks for such a great seque.
"Well, I responded. I didn't do as well as the people on the video, and I took a lot of rests. But, I did my best. And when I keep doing this video, I'll get better and better. Kind of like with you and hitting the ball. You didn't decide not to play (well, you did, but I talked you out of it) just because you couldn't hit the ball. You kept trying. And you finally hit the ball. And, then some of the balls you hit and some of the balls you missed. But, if you keep trying and working at it, you can get better and better. That is what I am going to do with this exercise."
It can always be improved.
That's my philosophy.
I think it pisses some people off. After an event or a meeting or an idea brainstorm or anything - I look to see how it can be improved. I'm not being critical, merely seeking the next step, the way to take it to the next level. This thinking allows me to consider how every individual may have viewed it, how we can reach out to one more person, how we can make the least happy person happier.
This is a mother ever-analyzing herself, always trying to improve, and always knowing what needs to be fixed.
“How noble and good everyone could be if, every evening before falling asleep, they were to recall to their minds the events of the whole day and consider exactly what has been good and bad. Then without realizing it, you try to improve yourself at the start of each new day.” ― Anne Frank
April 4, 2013
Dreams Before and After Children
When I was single, I had dreams of changing the world. I had many opportunities to do so, although I did them somewhat effortlessly. I didn't have the fearless motivation observed by many who make big waves and provoke world changing results. I fell into opportunities, and I did my job.
I worked with teen moms and helped one in particular through some difficult moments. I worked with incarcerated teenagers who openly laughed at the system's efforts to help them, and I continued to do my best at understanding them and giving them hope. I worked with a pre-teen drug prevention program and witnessed one young man dispose of his drugs in the creek running through town.
I wanted to make the world a better place.
I provided play therapy to homeless children and abused children. I supervised state and national hotlines whose sole purpose was to reach out to those in crisis and provide them with a solid grounding that could help them move through and move on. I worked in a residential treatment center for children who had been removed from their homes. In a fit of anger, one of the boys once pulled my hair so hard I saw stars. We had to learn how to passively restrain our children so that we could control them when they were unable to control themselves. I worked with runaways on a national hotline and my first call was a suicide call. It doesn't matter that it was a prank, your first call is your first call.
I wanted to change the world.
I recently came across a retreat coming up in December by a rabbi whose retreats I have attended in the past. I have read Rabbi David Cooper's books and they have had long lasting impact on my life.
As I thought about seeing him again after all these years, I envisioned him asking me how life was. (He probably won't really do so because it's a silent retreat. And, the first retreat I attended with him and his wife, Shoshana, was a silent Passover retreat).
Nonetheless, my daydream caused me to think about how I might answer that question. How does someone with the plans that I had and the eagerness that I felt and the confidence that I would do it - how does someone answer the question of "how's life"? What have I done in the decade (+) that has passed since that last retreat?
Well, I suppose I haven't changed the world in quite the way I intended. And, I still dream of ending poverty, curing cancer, and preventing child abuse, but I'm not doing much about it. But, I have changed the world with the addition of my four children - each of whom brings great gifts to this world.
I work - and work is not even a worthy word to describe what it really is - to make a Shalom Bayit - a peaceful house for my children. And when I say work - I mean internally. The external stuff we do? Well, that's 'easy' compared to the internal stuff we do.
I spend my thinking moments contemplating how I can be better, what I can do differently, and what I must to accomplish for my children. Countless hours go into planning and thinking about what I'm teaching them, what I'm modeling for them, and what things they need that will come from outside of our home.
My angst in life revolves around my children - whether I'm doing enough, where I'm slacking, where they are lacking. I worry if I'm building a strong enough foundation. I worry if I'm letting them experience their own experiences, make their own mistakes, and explore their own paths. I worry if I've exposed them to enough choices, if I've nudged them adequately, and if I'm teaching them too many bad words.
When I - G*d willing - see Rabbi Cooper in December for the retreat, will I yearn for my dreams of earlier years? Will I feel a twinge because I haven't pursued them? Or will I be able to come into retreat a different person than I was back then. A person ready for new insight and enlightenment. A person whose answers will be different now than they were then.
What dreams remain within me? What dreams will I pursue? The biggest dream of all - the one to be a mother - that one has been fulfilled.
I worked with teen moms and helped one in particular through some difficult moments. I worked with incarcerated teenagers who openly laughed at the system's efforts to help them, and I continued to do my best at understanding them and giving them hope. I worked with a pre-teen drug prevention program and witnessed one young man dispose of his drugs in the creek running through town.
I wanted to make the world a better place.
I provided play therapy to homeless children and abused children. I supervised state and national hotlines whose sole purpose was to reach out to those in crisis and provide them with a solid grounding that could help them move through and move on. I worked in a residential treatment center for children who had been removed from their homes. In a fit of anger, one of the boys once pulled my hair so hard I saw stars. We had to learn how to passively restrain our children so that we could control them when they were unable to control themselves. I worked with runaways on a national hotline and my first call was a suicide call. It doesn't matter that it was a prank, your first call is your first call.
I wanted to change the world.
I recently came across a retreat coming up in December by a rabbi whose retreats I have attended in the past. I have read Rabbi David Cooper's books and they have had long lasting impact on my life.
As I thought about seeing him again after all these years, I envisioned him asking me how life was. (He probably won't really do so because it's a silent retreat. And, the first retreat I attended with him and his wife, Shoshana, was a silent Passover retreat).
Nonetheless, my daydream caused me to think about how I might answer that question. How does someone with the plans that I had and the eagerness that I felt and the confidence that I would do it - how does someone answer the question of "how's life"? What have I done in the decade (+) that has passed since that last retreat?
Well, I suppose I haven't changed the world in quite the way I intended. And, I still dream of ending poverty, curing cancer, and preventing child abuse, but I'm not doing much about it. But, I have changed the world with the addition of my four children - each of whom brings great gifts to this world.
I work - and work is not even a worthy word to describe what it really is - to make a Shalom Bayit - a peaceful house for my children. And when I say work - I mean internally. The external stuff we do? Well, that's 'easy' compared to the internal stuff we do.
I spend my thinking moments contemplating how I can be better, what I can do differently, and what I must to accomplish for my children. Countless hours go into planning and thinking about what I'm teaching them, what I'm modeling for them, and what things they need that will come from outside of our home.
My angst in life revolves around my children - whether I'm doing enough, where I'm slacking, where they are lacking. I worry if I'm building a strong enough foundation. I worry if I'm letting them experience their own experiences, make their own mistakes, and explore their own paths. I worry if I've exposed them to enough choices, if I've nudged them adequately, and if I'm teaching them too many bad words.
When I - G*d willing - see Rabbi Cooper in December for the retreat, will I yearn for my dreams of earlier years? Will I feel a twinge because I haven't pursued them? Or will I be able to come into retreat a different person than I was back then. A person ready for new insight and enlightenment. A person whose answers will be different now than they were then.
What dreams remain within me? What dreams will I pursue? The biggest dream of all - the one to be a mother - that one has been fulfilled.
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