Where is everyone??
I did anticipate a drop in my readership now that the voting for this year’s JIB awards has been completed. But my goodness, it’s really been down the past couple of days. And it can’t be in reaction to the lack of a good posting because (a) one would have to visit the site in the first place and (b) I’ve had some pretty good postings this week.
I mean…with just family alone I should be getting about two dozen hits a day 😉
Sydney Taylor
On my way to lunch today, I was thinking about books. Typical since I am almost always thinking about books. It so happens that I was thinking about what book I will start reading next. Strange, I know. But I worry about this. What if I finish a book and I don’t already have another title lined up and ready to go? Of course, this makes it seem as though I only read one book at a time and that’s simply not the case. I am generally in the midst of several books simultaneously.
As I was considering my next read, I thought back to one of my favourite childhood books and decided it is time to revisit Sydney Taylor’s series. Poppyseed is still to young to enjoy them and I don’t want to wait another 5 years to reread them. That got me to thinking about the author herself. I know nothing about her! All I know is that I love her books and that a Jewish literary award is named in her honour.
A wonderful essay about Sydney Taylor appears on the Nextbook.org website. How ironic (?) that it should appear just this week — the same week that I was thinking about this very thing. It turns out that Sydney Taylor’s given name was Sarah and that she is the middle sister…with four sisters named Ella, Hennrietta, Charlotte, and Gertrude. Just like the book! There were four brothers, but, for reasons the article does not clarify, only one brother appears in her stories. These tales were originally conceived as stories that Mrs. Taylor would share with her own daughter and only became public when Mr. Taylor clandestinely entered one of his wife’s manuscripts in a writing contest.
The essay, by author Melanie Rehak, is a particularly well-written and interesting one. It brings to light, however, a fact I found disheartening; Sydney Taylor had come out of this joyful childhood only to become an assimilated Jew. How does this happen? What hope do we have to raise children who will remain engaged and commited Jews when the childhood we offer is not steeped in Judaism as in earlier generations?
Maybe my angst has just been furthered by the valentine-incident of two days ago. Who knows. I mentioned it to the classroom teacher who wasn’t exactly clear what the problem was. [Um…Jesus in the public school? Problem seems pretty clear to me.] Maybe I just worry that despite my best efforts to expose my children and their contemporaries to an exciting, meaningful, and beautiful faith and heritage, it just won’t be enough. And I will have failed.
Much to say…no time to write!
So I’ve got three entries I’m in the midst of crafting. However, I was slammed with a migraine (nasty things, I tell you) and PC finally returned after a 5 day business trip to NYC. Don’t worry — Frume Sarah will share her thoughts tomorrow 😉
Spreading the Good News
Since I’ve already mentioned that I’m not a huge fan of Valentine’s Day, I won’t go into detail. Feel free to read about the origins of the holiday and draw your own conclusion as to why Frume Sarah might have an objection. PC is out-of-town and it didn’t phase me at all. He gave me a card. I gave him a card. But if there had been no exchange of cards that would have been OK too.
Beernut brought home a bag filled with valentines, candy, stickers, and other chazzerai. It was not a mandatory event. Kids were given the option whether to distribute valentines or not. The only guideline was that the valentines were not to be addressed to the classmates. The teacher explained that in order not to take out too much time from the lessons, distribution would go more rapidly if the room moms could just put the valentines into the bags without worrying about which one belonged to which kid. OK — so not the most meaningful valentine exchange in the world, but I appreciate the teacher not wanting to waste classroom time on this.
Beernut was so excited to go through his goodies. There were stickers, notepads, pencils, and candy. And he shared commentary on either the classmate or the particular valentine as we made our way through the loot.
“Scooby Doo! I love Scooby Doo.” “Oooo…Spiderman. He is so cool.” “Nicole is so nice.” “Sponge Bob…he is my favourite” [OK, we’ve never watched Sponge Bob in our house. How did he fall in love with that yellow sponge?]. “Cool basketball one.”
Except, silly little unathletic boy, it’s a soccer ball not a basketball. And it says “God’s Love. The Ultimate. John 3:16. Established in the beginning.” On the back, it has the John 3:16 quote. The first part of the quote, that is. [For those who are unfamiliar with this particular quote, I encourage you to take a look the next time you stay overnight in a hotel.]
I don’t subscribe to this theology. Beernut doesn’t. Our family doesn’t. I am not making a judgement statement about this theology. Just acknowledging that it is someone else’s and not ours. And though I know that spreading the good news (this is the definition of “gospel” after all!) is a key tenet of the Christian faith, it blows my mind that any parent would think that a valentine with a strong theological message is an appropriate one to pass out to a bunch of five and six year old children — in a public school!
Do I say something to the teacher? The room moms? The principal? Do I place a call to the ADL? Is this a battle worth fighting? Is this the price I must pay for sending my son to public school?
At what point do we just sit back and try to blend in with the majority culture? We believe strongly in the public school system, and feel fortunate to live in an area filled with superior school districts. Learning to be a part of the larger community and how to reconcile one’s Judaism with the host culture are important life skills. We expect Beernut and Poppyseed to live in America (though they are mostly free to make their own choices!) so it will be imperative for them to know how to live as Jews in a Christian majority.
That being said, I am just left with a bad taste in my mouth.
I knew I didn’t like this holiday!
The Scent of A Woman
I love perfume! The bottles are so pretty. And I find that my mood matches the scent I’ve chosen on any given day.
When I was younger, I thought that I would one day find a signature scent. After all, my mother wears Shiseido and my Tante H wears White Shoulders. To this day, smelling these scents conjures up a vision of either woman. I’ve searched long and hard and yet that one perfect scent has eluded me.
I started out, like most teenage girls of the ’80’s, wearing Love’s Baby Soft. Tante H gave me Nina Ricci’s L’Air du Temps for Chanukah one year and I really loved that. It was my first “grown-up” scent. Chanukah 5750 — my parents gave me Anais Anais. Ah…I fell in love with this scent and really felt that this was the one. As it so happens, I had fallen in love with a certain young man and felt that he was the one too. However, the scent didn’t do it for him…and one of them had to go. I married the young man…and ditched the perfume.
The certain young man had selected a wonderful scent for me in celebration of our wedding. We really thought that we had come upon “the” scent with Jessica McClintock. Oddly, this beautiful scent takes a nasty turn when it hits my skin. Sadly, this was not to be.
The next several years saw a number of scents come and go: Sunflowers, Tommy Girl, Tommy Girl Freedom, Clinique Happy, Clinique Happy Heart. All lovely scents. And though PC enjoyed these, they just haven’t felt right to me.
There had been a certain scent that PC had long admired and finally after unsuccessfully trailing after women in public places, he finally got the name!
Estee Lauder Beautiful Sheer. A sweet, floral fragrance. He loves it…and I think that it is fine.
So here’s the question: for whom am I wearing perfume? If the purpose is to be alluring to my beloved, than does it really matter what I think of the scent??
“Yes!” scream my feminist friends. “No!” shout my traditional friends. What does Frume Sarah say?
“On the one hand, it is important to captivate my husband. After all, as a Jewish woman, the creation, growth, and stability of a family is my paramount responsibility. On the other hand, if wearing a particular scent makes me feel good about myself, is it not to my advantage to select something that I really love?”
And so the search continues. A recent stop at the frangrance counter yielded the following recommendations [and more importantly, samples!]:
Donna Karan Cashmere Mist
Chanel Chance
Valentino V Absolu
Dolce & Gabanna Light Blue
Ralph Lauren Pure Turqoise
Stay tuned for the results.
Four Recent Experiences That Made Me Feel Like My Mother
They say that at some point we are keenly aware that we have become our parents. Over the past 48 hours, I have had not one, not two, not three, but four experiences that brought me back to my childhood. Except now, I am the mommy and not the child.
1. Taking Beernut to the Pediatrician.
For a variety of reasons, we have decided to switch the kids to my childhood pediatrician. Since they are healthy, it seemed like a good idea to take a trip to the practice under calm circumstances. When Dr. P came in, he drew a face on a tongue depressor. I had totally forgotten that Dr. P and his partners do that. I can’t tell you how many of those sticks we must have had around the house. In fact, I am confidant that ACE (PepGiraffe explains the monikers here.) probably still has a stockpile of decorated depressors hidden in the ole’ homestead somewhere. It just felt so comforting to see that some things never change.
2. Wearing Bangle Bracelets.
Certain sounds just take you right back to days of yore. When I was little, my mom used to wear four gold bangle bracelets. My dad had given her each one to celebrate each birth of their children. Do you think that it was weird to just wear one? After all, PepGiraffe didn’t show up until I was two. Did my mom only wear one? One bangle doesn’t make any noise so I’m not sure I would have noticed. Whenever I wear my bracelets, the sound reminds me of my mom. It’s a mom sound. Hey, I make a mom sound now…
3. Poppyseed Watching Me Get Ready for Work.
I loved to sit and watch my mom get ready for receptions or any of the other rebbetzin things for which she would get farpitzed. I thought she was so beautiful. “One day,” I thought, “I’m going to get dressed just like her.” One day is here…and Poppyseed tell me that I look pretty.
4. Beernut Zipping Up My Dress.
If my dad was already finished getting ready and my mom needed help with the zipper, then I got to help. I couldn’t reach my zipper as I was getting ready for the Hall of Fame dinner last night. PC is in NYC for business (and poker with my sibs) and I needed some assistance. Beernut, who is growing more every day, still needed to stand on the bed in order to zip me up. He felt like such a big helper…and I felt like such a mom.
Will my children remember? Will they look back on days like this and remember these moments?
What Do I Know From Sports?
Nothing, actually. I can think of fewer rabbis less qualified to deliver an invocation than I. And yet, radio personality Vic “The Brick” Jacobs called me up to the dais to deliver the opening remarks at the Inagural Orange County Jewish Sports Hall of Fame Dinner of Champions just a few hours ago.
I’d never actually heard of Vic the Brick. When our Board of Directors asked me if I’d ever heard him, I responded “he’s not on NPR is he?” I know…and I don’t mean to sound like a radio snob. It’s just that the only stations I listen to with any regularity are KPCC (89.3) and KCRW (89.9) — our local NPR affiliates. Neil Conan, Terry Gross, Lakshmi Singh, Robert Siegel — these names I know. Vic the Brick? Never heard of him. Until tonight.
The Merage Jewish Community Center honoured the following individuals this evening:
Shawn Green, Leigh Steinberg, Jason Lezak, Rami Zur, Steve Bisheff and Merton Isaacman.
Out of this list, I’d only heard of two of these guys. [Can you guess which two?] And honestly, I couldn’t have picked any of them out of a line-up if my very life depended on it.
So how, you might ask, of all the rabbis in the world did they pick me to deliver the invocation?
The guy they wanted was unavailable. Yep — I was the pinch hitter. [See…I might not be athletic but reading the sports pages at least gives me the right vocabulary!]
I figured that at the very least I would have the opportunity to remind a bunch of Jews that a very important Jewish holiday began tonight — Jewish Arbor Day 😉
There once was a man named Honi. He was walking along one day and saw a man planting a carob tree. Honi asked the man, “How long will it take for that tree to grow?”
The man replied, “Seventy years.”
Honi looked shocked as he asked, “How do you know that you will live another seventy years?”
“I don’t, but just as my grandparents and parents planted for me, I am planting this tree for the generations to come,” replied the man.Tonight, on this eve of Tu B’shvat, our celebration of trees, we celebrate these outstanding individuals whose accomplishments are known throughout the world. Providing inspiration to young athletes across the globe, we will dedicate this wall tonight and for years to come will honour those who are planting the seeds for the next generation of athletes.
The poet Zelda wrote, “each of us have a name given by God, given by our parents, and given by our stature.”
The world knows these athletes by their physical strength and glorious achievements. This is reason enough for these gentlemen to be recognized. But for our community, they are known to us for yet another reason. In addition to their athletic triumphs, they have continued to remain true to our faith, to our people, and to our God. For our children who will pass by this wall each and every day, these amazing individuals will be a constant reminder that one can climb to great heights while still embracing Judaism. And for that, we are thankful.
Baruch Atah Adonai ozeir Yisrael beeg’vurah.
Blessed are You who girds this people Israel with strength.May you go from strength to strength and may this be God’s Will! Amen.
A pretty solid invocation, I thought.
Not one of these guys said a thing to me afterwards. Harumph! Like they meet a female rabbi every day.
Nothing to Say…
Well, this is not entirely true. I always have something to say. But PC is on a business trip, my darling children were rather nightmarish today, I’ve got a pie in the oven (not a euphemism but an actual pie), and my house is a disaster. Plus the Olympics are on 🙂
So I’m calling it a night and will return (b’li neder – my intention but not actually an oath) with more Frume Sarah-isms tomorrow night.
Incidentally, on the way home from Bubbe and Zayde’s tonight, Beernut wanted to know if they are done having children. “Is four all you get?” he wondered. I told him that four is all the Bubbe and Zayde got but now, thanks to some nuptials, the count is up to six children and two grandchildren. I then asked him how many he thought we should have. He thought for a minute and said “five. Five is the right number for us.” Once I finished laughing, I explained that I didn’t think that five children are in our future.
I also felt like pointing out that after their behaviour today, Beernut and Poppyseed can be secure that they won’t have to share their rooms with any future sibs.
Cute kids.
35-40?
I love surveys.
Isn’t that funny?
Whenever I’d run across a survey statistic in a magazine or newspaper article, I would wonder, “who’d they ask? They didn’t ask me. Why doesn’t anyone ever ask me?”
So now, in my nonexistent spare time, I answer surveys. Not as a second career — they’re not that lucrative — but as a hobby. Strange, I know.
I’ve answered questions about furniture, travel practices, shampoo, and granola bars. I’ve product tested conditioner, body lotion, and facial moisturizer. And in every case, I answered as a member of the 29-34 demographic.
But today…today was different. No longer could I automatically put an X in the 29-34 spot. I’ve moved up in the world, as they say. [Who are they anyway??]
Let’s hear it for 35-40!!!
Mentchlikeit – the code of behaviour that involves acting like a mentch. Living an honest and compassionate life.
Expressions of mentchlikeit can be found in the most surprising of places. Take the Sports section. Though we might expect examples of sportsmanship to be elucidated in the tales of games and competitions that fill the pages of the D section, I have found most articles focus on statistics, accounts of athletic prowess, and the all too frequent fan-incited riot.
This past weekend — the one when I got to read the paper cover-to-cover — I came across one of those feel-good stories that one might see as a made-for-TV movie on the Lifetime channel. Even without any overacting and hyperbolic dialogue, this story moved me to tears.
Responding to the cries of the crowd (“Put Kevin in! Put Kevin in!”), and with just five minutes remaining in the last home varsity game of the season, the coach put team manager Kevin Cogan on the court. The ball was passed to Kevin, who dribbled up to the basket and made the layup as he had done so many times in practice. The gym exploded with cheers from both sides of the court. Why the overwhelming response? This team manager has cerebral palsy.
The story in-and-of-itself is heartwarming. The line that really got me, however, was a quote from the team captain, J.J. Hernandez. “We played hard defense to get a lead and get Kevin in.” This didn’t just happen because a coach instructed his guys to give the poor disabled kid a chance to fulfill a dream. This happened because a compassionate group of young men saw an opportunity to help a teammate and embraced it. They fought hard to ensure the lead necessary to bring Kevin onto the court.
Is mentchlikeit of this order rare? I’d like to think not. I believe that the world is filled with people who are compassionate, kind, and giving. People who respond to the Divine Spark in others by extending themselves in ways both large and small.
But for those times when we lose hold of our optimism, we can remember Kevin, J.J. and the boys from Fullerton Union High.
Frume Sarah is Shabbos-observant -- in a Reform way, that is. Please note that from Friday afternoons until one hour after sundown on Saturday evenings, Frume Sarah will be unavailable, in observance of the Jewish Sabbath.
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Thank you for your understanding...and gut Shabbos!!! 
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