Book Review: Blessings and Baby Steps: The Spiritual path of Parenthood
Courtesy: Behrman House
Full Disclosure:
- I have known the author, Rabbi Ilana Berenbaum Grinblat, for the past few years, including the time we served together on the Board of Rabbis of Southern California.
- I have been meaning to write a book about Jewish parenting.
When I was asked to review Rabbi Grinblatt’s book, my initial reaction was: aw, man…I was supposed to have written that book.
How is that for transparency?
I was determined to put aside my feelings of jealousy, as well as personal feelings for the author, and approach the book with as close to perfect objectivity as I might muster. [Did I succeed?]
Blessings and Baby Steps: The Spiritual Path of Parenthood is not a parenting manual. Unlike other “Jewish parenting” titles currently available, one does not come away from this collection of vignettes with a prescription for making one’s parenting journey more spiritual. What Rabbi Grinblat shares with us is her very personal parenting journey and weaves Torah around and through these experiences, revealing a lush tapestry where the (seemingly) ordinary and sacred intersect.
So expertly does Rabbi Grinblat tap into the rich vault of Rabbinic literature and intersperse it into each chapter, that this book is poised to give new insights into familiar texts, as well as introduce the reader to new ones. Not surprising, given that this is Rabbi Grinblat’s area of expertise. In addition to teaching Midrash at the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies (at the American Jewish University in Los Angeles), she is pursuing a Ph.D. in Rabbinic literature at UCLA. The mixture of textual knowledge and practical experience comes together in a natural and unassuming voice. One that is filled with awe at the meanings that can be gleaned along the path of parenthood.
[As for the jealousy, it soon abated. Once I’d read this book, it became clear that the right rabbi wrote it.]
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One lucky reader will win a copy of Blessings and Baby Steps: The Spiritual Path of Parenthood, courtesy of Behrman House!!
What part of parenting has been (or you imagine might be) of particular spiritual importance to you?
Leave your response by 12:00am PDT on Thursday, 28 July, 2011. Winner to be announced later that day…b’li neder.
Changing of the Guard
A man and a woman had a little baby,
Yes, they did.
They had three in the family,
And that’s a magic number.
~ Bob Dorough
The house seemed so big for our little family. In addition to our room and Beernut’s room, we had a guest room and a study. It seemed impossible that a time would come when we would outgrow our little home.
A year after we had moved in, our family of three had grown to a family of four. We lost the guest room to Lil Miss Poppyseed, but I still had my study.
A few more years passed, and with the addition of Peach, our family was complete. Beernut gained a roommate…and I retained my rights to the study. It did not take long, however, for us to realize that we now needed more space.
We talked about moving closer to the shul. We talked about it for so long that one of the kids’ (non-Jewish) teachers actually called at the start of the new year to confirm where she ought to send our Rosh HaShanah card.
And now the time has come for us to say goodbye to our little home. We’ve celebrated some of our happiest moments as a family in this home. It has served us well. And now, with full hearts, we turn it over to its new little family.
Take good care of them…
Subjective Meaning
And just like that…all that remains of my study at shul is this ephemera:
- a meditation that sat on the desk so that I could see it every day — Live in the Light of the Spirit. See the Divine spark in the eyes of all those you encounter this day…Become aware of all the beauty both within and surrounding you…& as you journey this day, and through the night, may your path be one of peace & healing, of harmony, love & light…
- the sign that informed people that they had found me. It was affixed to the door in advance of my first day at the shul.
- a bumpersticker — HaAm Im HaGolan The Nation is with the Golan. I had it taped to the door of my study, along with some other Israeli bumperstickers, as a way to keep Israel everpresent in my daily life
- a small metal sign proclaiming October to be National Donut [sic] Month (not to be confused with National Doughnut Day which is observed on the first Friday in June)
- the original key ring given to me on my first day of work. Look closely…see what it says? Xtra Rabbi I always got a kick out of this. (BTW, it was the extra key to BossGiraffe’s study. Hence the name.)
- a Small Sign that has my name in Hebrew. Ordered prior to my ordination, it remained wrapped, safely squirreled away until that one perfect moment in May of 1999
Though not the only momentos, these were the final items once the dust had settled and movers cleared out. The Frumettes were shocked at how bare the room was without my things. Poppyseed couldn’t get over the colour of the walls. Walls she had never seen because the room contained wall-to-wall bookcases.
One last look.
Then we walked downstairs, without looking back.
Take that, Lot’s wife.
Not the Same
iStockphoto
Ten weeks.
In any other year, I would already be feeling the pressure.
Ten weeks.
Ten weeks until the start of the Jewish New Year.
Ten weeks to prepare pages and pages of liturgy.
Ten weeks to build stamina and vocal strength.
Ten weeks to craft sermons.
Each of the ten weeks with outlined tasks.
And with every passing week, an impending sense of responsilibity. Responsibility for creating a meaningful and introspective religious experience.
At times, a crushing, suffocating responsibility.
Everything starts to sound as if it is sermon-worthy.
Headlines.
Conversations.
Status updates.
Anything.
Everything.
That is how a rabbi views the world. At least, that has been my experience.
One hour of vocalizing. Daily. Minimum.
Talking through the sung liturgy until it feels familiar.
Singing through the sung liturgy. Again. And again.
Singing through the read liturgy in order to find each passage’s rhythm.
Talking through the read liturgy. Again. And again.
Selection of pulpit attire.
Sending tallis and robe to the dry-cleaners. (Outsourced to BossGiraffe)
Sephora.
Surprised? Surprised that there is a worldy, less-elevated aspect to my preparation? I would take special care with my appearance if visiting the Oval Office or Buckingham Palace. Kal v’chomer, would I do any less when coming into God’s Presence on the holiest of days?
The final thirty days include daily meditations.
Daily reflections.
Internal inspections.
Ritual immersion.
And then…in the blink of an eye…the Days of Awe.
Our annual opportunity to meet God on the way to ourselves.
Our annual opportunity to meet ourselves on the way to God.
Not this year.
How different summertide feels without the pulsating tempo to define it.
Its absence is palpable.
Should I feel relief?
Should I relish the calm?
Enjoy the languid cadences of these weeks?
Because I don’t yet feel those things.
I keep thinking that I am behind in my High Holy Day prep.
Like the nightmares dreams I have each year during these ten weeks.
That the Holy Days arrive…and I am woefully unprepared.
Instead
I keep wondering…
Will I feel Your Presence this year in the pews?
Remembe(RED) is a memoir meme. This week’s prompt was to write about a time that rhythm, or a lack thereof, played a role in your life. And don’t use the word “rhythm.” Well under the 600 word limit, an exploration of how I am acclimating to life off the pulpit. As always, constructive criticism is welcomed!
Counting for Something
Photo courtesy of Duncan (Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 Generic (CC BY-NC 2.0)
Only five people were expected. Which is why I was surprised to see an assemblege of a dozen or so, gathered by the side of the road.
“My mother wanted this to be a simple, low-key sort of thing,” remarked the grieving son, when offered condolences from this group of strangers.
“We can leave…if you would prefer the privacy,” replied one.
“We came to offer comfort,” said another.
“We came so that you would have a minyan for Kaddish,” rejoined a third.
That is what it means to live in community. To know that your presence counts. To know that if you are need, someone will come to your aid. That you will not grieve alone.
And this is what we are leaving behind…
Summer Wish List: A Jewish Mama Meme
Photo courtesy of iStockphoto
So I was recently tagged by Amy, over at HomeShuling, to participate in a summer to-do list. Though I must admit that it contains experiences that are so far beyond my parenting skills as this point in time that I can’t imagine getting my family to participate, I love and admire her list.
We just aren’t there (yet) as a family. Maybe next summer???
We have a different must-do list this year. With The Big Move just three weeks from now, there are things that must be done before we leave.
- Walk along the beach
- Well-kid check-ups
- Prep kids’ backpacks for the plane
- Break down and order prescription sunglasses
- Make a tea date for Poppyseed and Tante B
- Forward mail from our temporary address to our permanent address
- Eat at Wilma’s Patio
- Hair appointments for the kidlets
- Spa day for me (hey, I’ve got a gift card to use!)
- Write post for Smartly
- Write post for Modern Jewish Mom
- Write post for Jewcier
- Roll down the hill in Central Park (HB) with the kids
- Spend time with SuperMom and her fam
- Finish training staff on Facebook
- Take a tour of old haunts
- Bid farewell to BubbeGiraffe and ZaydeGiraffe
- Say goodbye to our little home
Not nearly ambitious as some other lists I’ve seen. But if we are able to cross off each of these items in the next three weeks, our leavetaking will be just a little sweeter.
A Lifetime of Preparation
Courtesy Microsoft Office
People have been laughing at me for as long as I can recall. In response to a question or comment in class. Or some social faux pas in middle school…high school…college…. You get the idea.
I once worked for a guy who summed it up this way: “hey, we’re not laughing with you.”
Terrific.
Imagine, if you will, a particularly tense moment in a duet when suddenly…a costume malfunction.
Not that kind!?!
Purim 5771. Grease — The Megillah. Ahasuerus Zuko and Vashti poignantly recall better times in “Palace Nights.” It is my final Purimshpiel with Congregation B’nai Fill-in-the-Blank. As the duet reaches its highpoint, I feel movement; my wig has begun to creep across my scalp. Slowly….slowly. Imperceptible movements, at first. Until, finally, it comes off completely and falls to the ground.
Merde.
Laughter from the congregation. A kind castmate attempts to replace it. But the damage, as they say, is done. And as I move into my powerhouse solo, I have two choices. I can get upset that my moment in the spotlight has been completely overshadowed by a runaway hairpiece. OR. I can use the lifeless postiche as a prop, as if it was a blocking choice. I chose the option #2. Which left the audience in complete hysterics to see a wigless heroine play it straight, with wig in hand.
My children were sitting in the congregation. They witnessed two hundred people laughing — hard — at their mother. It was one of my finest moments as a mom. As if a lifetime of being laughed at was in preparation for this one teachable instance. I had a roomful of folks in stitches — and it was OK. The power of being hurt was in my hands, not theirs. And as I long as I didn’t abdicate that power, I could manipulate a potential hurtful experience into a successful, comedic one.
You can believe that it my wig was the topic of conversation on the drive home. Beernut was concerned that everyone was laughing at me (they were) and Poppyseed wanted to know if my feelings were hurt (they weren’t). We talked about the difference between the biting, caustic laughter meant to deflate a person’s sense of worth and the good-natured guffaws as a result of something very, very funny. Had I not been mid-lyric at the time, and if it didn’t mean breaking from character, I might have laughed as well.
Though my reaction was concealed, on this night, they really were laughing with me.
Remembe(RED) is a memoir meme. Know what’s NOT funny? People laughing at you. This week, we’ve been asked to recall an embarrassing moment in our lives. Did someone embarrass me or was it a result of my own actions? Am I still embarrassed or am I able laugh at it now? So many, many, MANY moments from which to choose…and with the usual limit of 600 words. As always, constructive criticism is welcomed!
Desperately Seeking Shabbat
Is it bad that I don’t remember the last time that I made a Shabbos dinner?
Seriously.
Prior to last night’s festive meal, I cannot recall the last Shabbat dinner that I made for my family.
But it’s not quite as pathetic as it sounds. You see, for the past five or six years, the kids and I have spent most Shabbos dinners with BubbeGiraffe and ZaydeGiraffe. Partially because it took a great burden off of my plate. To cook dinner and get ready for services in enough time for me to get on the freeway and get to shul is simply not so very doable. Additionally, how many kids have the opportunity to share Shabbat with their grandparents?
Now that I am, as BossGiraffe recently coined, an “Ima Off the Bima,” I have no excuse reason not to make a proper Shabbos table for mein kinder.
Last week ought to have been my first go of it. Feeling blue at the prospect of my first Shabbat no longer on the pulpit, I couldn’t bring myself to prepare Shabbos at home. Instead, the kids and I went out for an early dinner, came home, did blessings, and went to sleep. I readily admit that it was not my preferred way to welcome Shabbat. I also knew that anything else would simply highlight a profound loss in my life.
Fast-forward to this week. A dear friend from Reform School, and his young daughter, were flying into town to visit family and asked to come for Shabbos. Perfect! Because things could not get any crazier with The Big Move rapidly approaching, having company makes a bunch of sense.
The Menu:
Sweet-and-Sour Chicken (super-simple recipe from PC’s mom, using Gold’s Cantonese Style Duck Sauce)
Sticky rice
String Beans
Watermelon Slaw
Challah
and a lovely Merlot
And, honestly, on Friday afternoon I was questioning my sanity in inviting them to dinner. PC had just arrived, we have scads of things to do, and I was just exhausted. The idea of pulling together a Shabbat dinner for the first time in ?????? seemed like a bad — very bad — idea.
Except…
Had I not taken on the obligation of providing a Shabbos meal for our friends, I might have put it off. Again. Shabbat would have been a hurried, obligatory act. Instead, we adults lingered over good food, and even better conversation, while the kids ran wild through the house. It was, I believe, the first time that I ever blessed our children while another parent was blessing his. I don’t know if my kids noticed, but I wanted them to notice. I wanted them to think, “oh, this is something that other families do on Shabbat.” That being blessed each week is a normal activity.
A blessing, as it turns out, in the shape of an invitation. Thank you, Holy One, for placing the opportunity in my path, and bringing some healing as I stumble to find my footing on this new path.
Labour of Love
Are those footsteps? Yay! She is coming. The Missus is coming!!!
A pulling sensation. Then. Whoosh.
Brrr…. that water sure is cold. Mmm…I love that scent. Lavender-eucalyptus, I think I heard her say. Ooo — fabric softener. When did she discover liquid fabric softener? Oh look at the lovely colours. Yellow stripes. Teal Stripes. Hawaiian prints of all hues.
My lips close.
Swirling colours. Round, round, round and round. Looks like Junior has grown this year. And Little Love too. And the baby. Oh, the baby is such a big boy now. Round, round, round and round.
I love this time of the year. The Missus comes to visit every day. With the same inventory. Three towels. Three bathing suits. Shorts. Shirts. Cover-ups. Round, round, round and round. Except for swimming lesson days. Additional items on certain days give away the schedule. Junior and Little Love take lessons on Sundays and Tuesdays. The baby takes his on Tuesday and Thursday. Needless to say, I spend a lot of time with The Missus on Tuesdays.
Drenched with the irresistible scent of sunscreen, salt, and chlorine. Round, round, round and round. The colours swirl and twirl in my belly. The excitement of the day, tears shed over imagined slights, sweat, dirt, glitter. All washed away. Round, round, round and round.
I know all of their secrets. Who has grown. What new treasures they have squirreled away in pockets deep. Legos. Candy wrappers. Love notes. Rocks. Round, round, round and round. Noisy, thumping rocks. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes is the amount of time I have to prepare my family for another summer day. Round, round, round and round.
And round and round.
And round.
And…
Red Writing Hood is a writing meme. The most frequent advice given to amateur writers is, “Write what you know.” This week’s prompt asked us to take what we know out of our comfort zones. Try a new genre, a new time period, a geography you’ve only dreamed of, fantasy or historical instead of contemporary fiction, try the male POV if you usually write women. Or vice versa. Or, in this case, from the perspective of my trusted, dependable washing machine. As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.
Getting Ready
© Royalty-Free/Corbis
OK — so things are getting a bit on the crazy side with the move date getting closer and closer. Though we aren’t leaving until the first week of August, our stuff is shipping out in two weeks. And we will be out of the house then as well. Just got my marching orders from the moving company.
SO, my posts are going to be a little less frequent for the next couple of weeks. I’ll still be here, but there is no way to continue with my current writing load. Be patient, dear reader…
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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