These Small Lights

We have polished the silver menorahs until they gleam. My bubbe’s menorah is tall and majestic with wide branches spreading out of a silver trunk, the holder filled with pools of golden oil. The children’s are homemade of clay, and tile with colorful candles. We hang the crayon sketches of draidels and latkes, and gold coins.  We display all of this proudly in the front window where those who know can look and see. My children beam with pride and anticipation.

But the whole scene isn’t very big. You have to look for it to know that it is there. And who will look for it? The season outside is so very big, so exaggerated and all encompassing. Their holiday has music and peppermints and men standing outside of stores ringing bells. They have emails and catalogues and matching striped pajamas.

And we have these small silver lights.

I think of this as I stop myself from humming in the car along with songs that are not my own. I think of how it must seem to our children. How it sometimes seems even to me. I wonder how our holiday has been made to seem small, insignificant, a momentary aside in the glitzy false cheer of this advertising extravaganza. How we have been sidelined in our own homes.

The evening approaches and I tend to the lights, filling and refilling, cleaning out old wicks and as I do I think again of the privacy of our song and our celebration. And I suddenly realize that this is right. Isn’t that, in fact, what the story was all about? They were many and we were few. Their culture was appealing and inviting. It desired to swallow up the small remnant of Judaism, to make them all part of a large whole, the same as everyone else. And that small band of Jews, those stubborn Maccabees refused. Faced with a life of hardship, hiding and privation they insisted. We don’t want what you have. We would rather live in caves, in battle, on the run, than accept the sameness you offer us. We want only to be what we are, what we have always been. Separate, different, other.

It was ridiculous, really. A scraggly band of untrained guerrillas waging war on a superpower. It could never succeed and they knew it. It must have seemed like a death wish to anyone logical. But it wasn’t a death wish and they weren’t being logical. They were being faithful. They were proving with action their passionate belief that God would not let them fail. That we Jews were meant to be what He told us to be when He said, “Be holy and pure as I am holy.” They believed with the pure faith of the righteous that if they showed Him their yearning He would stand with them. And with God on their side, they knew that the few could overcome the many, the weak could overpower the strong.

And so because of their faith, the Jewish people survived. Our culture, our pride, our stubbornness all survived. And all these years later we, their descendants, find the faith to defy our surroundings. Not for us the glitzy cheer of tinsel, not for us the big red man. Our menorahs are small but beautiful, our tiny flames light up the darkness of this long lonely night.

 Stepping back from the table, I think of our insistence on maintaining customs that must seem antiquated; our way of dress, the Jewish names we give our children, our careful Shabbos observance. I think of our refusal to be assimilated, our insistence on maintaining the purity of our line, our pride at our differentness. I think that maybe our tiny lights might be a signpost to someone who has lost his way in the darkness of this exile, who needs to know where home is.

 

I think of all this as I fill the candles, as I grate the potatoes, as I ready myself for the night, preparing the scene so my children can see and they can learn what we Jews have known all along.

Life Lessons from Full House

Nostalgia is a funny thing. Everyone has memories, special recollections from the past. But it takes a special memory to make something nostalgic. I think the difference is that nostalgia is the intangible way that you miss something - the way that sometimes, often unexpectedly, a memory pulls at your heart strings and in my case usually triggers uncontrollable misty eyes.

On a vacation about three years ago, I experienced a surprising longing for the past and found myself reliving flashes of vivid memories that rolled through my mind like a movie reel. On this trip, I visited San Francisco with my Sorority Sister. Both of us are products of the mid-eighties and fondly remember the sitcom, "Full House."  We wanted to see the memorable “painted ladies,” a row of Victorian homes that are featured in the picnic scene in the opening credits of each episode. This was easier said than done. I guess we both assumed that there would be signs posted all over the city pointing us toward, what we thought was a huge attraction. Low and behold, after some relatively extensive Google searching and a serious calf workout, we found ourselves in an area called Alamo Square, a beautiful city park featuring the “painted ladies.”

The "Painted Ladies"

So there it was. A scene I have viewed my whole television viewing life was right in front of me. Surrounded by tourists, I immediately felt a rush of memorable scenes from the show. I could picture myself at home, on my bedroom floor, with a crimper in one hand and the remote in the other, watching the program that defined my childhood. Ever since seeing the “painted ladies,” I have been thinking about that show. I took something away from each episode and somehow, looking back, I used Full House to measure the expectations I had for my own life.

Others may not understand the friends we choose. 

Known for being irritating and having smelly feet, Kimmy Gibbler was D.J.’s funny best friend that no one particularly cared for. But many times she proves to be a truly loyal friend to D.J. This relationship demonstrates then idea that opposites attract, and that it is okay to be different than your friends - a simple lesson that I found to be valuable time and time again. I have a few Kimmy Gibblers in my life and while not everyone always understands their value as a friend, I do. I am grateful for the unique friendships I am blessed with and the unique role each friend plays in my life.

There is no “normal” family.

Well this sure goes without saying in this family. Danny, a single parent, is raising three daughters and asks his brother-in-law and best friend to move in to help. Then they never leave. As a kid growing up with a single mom, grandparents, and my siblings, I remember valuing the idea of having a non-traditional household. Now, don’t get me wrong, some aspects of the Full House family were sickeningly unrealistic, but I remember finding comfort in the fact that they were different.

Confrontation is not easy.

No matter the conflict, big or small, the Tanner family managed to solve any problem in a 30 minute episode. Even at a young age, I grew to recognize the cheesy dramatic music which likely signified a touchy moment that usually involved an apology and a hug. While I knew that not every conflict in real life could be handled so easily, I valued the simplicity of the show’s typical arguments because it taught me to remember that life is not a television show. Hurt feelings do not always mend quickly and conflict can take a great deal of nurturing. I learned to value healthy confrontation, but to also accept that it is not as easy as the Michelle and Stephanie could make it look.

Great couples can still break up.

D.J. ad her cute boyfriend Steve had the relationship that every girl pictures. Together for about two years, they have their ups and downs, but in general it is a picturesque high school love story. Steve is older and during D.J.’s senior year she realizes that she needs a change and the two have drifted apart. They break up after a hike on a hill top and I vividly remember it being a calm conversation that ends with D.J. sitting on a rock and looking out at the beautiful San Francisco landscape. At a young age, watching them experience feelings that I did not yet understand, I was very disappointed with their break-up. But, seeing D.J. feel relieved and content with her decision, I learned a lesson in relationships. It showed me not to expect that my first boyfriend and I would be together forever, and allowed me to learn that sometimes, in relationships you have to do what is best for you. Okay, I may not have realized all of these things at the time, but certainly was able to channel D.J.’s emotions when I experienced break-ups later in life.

Change is hard.

I can still sing the words to the song “Michelle’s Smiling,” written and sung by Uncle Jesse when he is moving out and into his own home. That was a tear jerker, but the lesson is that just because a relationship may change, doesn’t mean that it has to end. Now, he didn’t end up leaving so perhaps this was a backwards lesson in getting what you want. But regardless, I took away the idea that relationships are always evolving. It can be a challenge, but if it is a relationship that you value, it is worth the work to maintain.

It’s funny the lessons and ideas that we can take away from something that seems so simple. Even when we do not realize it at the time, something as simple as a television show can certainly contribute to values we attain and the expectations we have for our own lives. What from your childhood makes you nostalgic today? What makes you long for the way things once were? And on a more challenging note, what is part of your life now that you want to make sure you cherish in the future?

THE Full House House!

Being Bridget Jones

Love. There are a million blog posts which can be written about love. It's a four letter word which can either make you cringe, go all mushy, cry (post break-up) or think of the "Big Day". It's perhaps the only word which can bring every emotion known to mankind alive. And its a pain.

The problem is simple. Ladies, we all seem to fall very easy. The issue, the guys generally don't. Now it would be fabulous to pin point the exact reason for this. Simply so we could have something to go by. Or a guidebook - that would have its uses too. Sadly, these resources are not currently on the market so we have to figure out the male brain for ourselves. The majority of men have the beautiful ability to be emotionally unavailable, and the good ones we rarely find and are usually taken. It's enough to drive any self respecting girl to that tub of Ben and Jerrys. (Or 5)

Whilst growing up, my experience of boys went a little like this:

When I was 10. Boys had "couties". They were not to be associated with under any circumstances. Covered in mud, ate with their mouths open, and were always very mean.
When I was 15. Boys had nice smiles. They needed to notice me just that little bit more. One boy in particular. The crush. But all the girls liked him. And he liked all the girls.
When I was 18. Boys had no feelings. The problem was; I did. They still liked lots of girls, and I became attached too easily.
And Now? I get caught up to easily. I look for a movie script romance. I watch too many romcoms, listen to too many soppy songs, and quote things far too much. I think I am Bridget Jones. And the boys? They are too stubborn. 

Girls grow up surrounded by romance novels, magazines telling us "how to bag the perfect man" and beautiful boys with guitars who sound like they are singing to just you (Ed Sheeran I am pointing at you). Is this really any good for us? I am now always looking for that one person to sweep me off my feet. And it has yet to happen. All I ask for is a bunch of flowers, a few thoughtful words, and guy who likes me for me. Like Miss Bridget Jones, my Mark Darcy is being far too stubborn.

But what I am beginning to realise is you can't go out searching for that four letter word. I'm beginning to think it happens when you least expect it. I'm learning, as I'm sure most of you will as you grow up, that movie script romances are not real. But one day you will meet someone who makes you smile. That day, may not be today though. Don't go looking for something, be content with yourself first and wait until boys your age can chew with their mouths closed.

So for now, I think I will be quiet content snuggling up with a few DVD's, nights out with my girls and the two guys I can always rely on....

Ben. And Jerry.

Upcoming Radio Interview

I will be interviewed on Friday, September 23rd, for a talk radio station here in Los Angeles. The woman interviewing me is getting me all the information to promote when I see her on Tuesday. I am so used to being the interviewer, being the interviewee will be completely different!!!

Meet Mikey! :)

I met Mikey a few weeks ago at the Andy Grammer/Lonestar concert at The Grove in Los Angeles a few weeks ago ... He is a video blogger & just a fun guy! Here's his video of the concert we met at & belo this is when we were at a flash mob earlier this week! :)

QUOTE OF THE DAY

Ask not what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive ... then go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.

~~Howard Thurman

 

 

 

Happy Birthday! Possible?

From all the clothing I wore as an eight-year-old, I remember the silver-and-jean dress clearest. It’s not surprising, considering the fact I wore it solidly, every non-school day, for about seven months. I loved the glittery “adult” belt, though possibly my real attachment to it was due to the love and attention behind the purchase. It was on my special birthday shopping trip with my grandmother that I had gotten it. With the taste of my bakery birthday treat still on my lips, it was the sweetest, best thing to happen to me.

My real attachment was due to the love and attention behind the purchase. Similar birthday highlights throughout my childhood years come to mind: alone time with a parent/grandparent, splurging on fun accessories or toys, and always a “pick anything that you want” bakery treat.

A little older, and the silver-and-jean dresses got replaced with real jewelry, up-to-date gadgets, and gift certificates at expensive stores. And that’s what made my birthday special. Sure, I kept in mind that this was my birthday, and accordingly, I added in my good deeds. A trip to an old-age home or giving extra charity was always on that day’s agenda, but it wasn’t the focus per se. Personal happiness was.

Happy Birthday, get it?

Like in the classic birthday song, “Happy Birthday to You.”

I graduated high school, and for the first time I was learning because I wanted to, and not because I had a report to write or a principal standing over me. Insights, dulled after having been heard tens of times, suddenly seemed brilliant. Pertinent. Traditions weren’t test material nor listless rites of habit. They were tools to uncover the deep-set connection between puny little me and my Outstanding Creator.

You can be sure that my next birthday was not spent in the bakery or in the mall. I spent my twenty-four hours secluded in the safe walls of prayer and psalms, and let me tell you, it felt darn good. That’s how a birthday should be spent . . . !

Continuing to learn, I took to heart the idea that I was created intentionally to make a positive difference to my surroundings. I couldn’t be selfish anymore; life was about blasting the world with my mission. And that year’s birthday meant I would have to come up with the biggest, grandest outreach scheme ever. We're not talking everyday stuff here; we’re talking about a birthday charge. I have power, and I better use it! I would bless every single person in my city; I would visit all the Jewish patients in the hospital; I would attend three or four lectures (and give one myself); I would give away for free anything someone complimented me on; I would let the entire supermarket ahead of me in line; I would march into the public schools and tell them all about G‑d; I would cook dinner for my block; and, of course, still wake up at the crack of dawn so I can recite the entire Tehillim (Book of Psalms). Yeah, I know that sounds like a lot, but it’s not every day that it’s your birthday. We say the word all the time, but do we really understand what we’re talking about here? The day I was born! It's huge!

Happy Birth-day, we say.

Like in the classic birthday song, “Happy Birthday to You.”

Yeah, it’s really huge. And really stressful, turns out. I barely managed a small fraction of that before getting burnt out (not to mention my dinner burning). Moreover, I was so concentrated on my “change the world” goal, that I couldn’t manage to phone-chat past the “happy birthday” blessing, I couldn’t bother being patient with my little sister, and I definitely didn’t have time to rummage in my pockets for some stranger who needed change for a dollar. No time for smiles, no time for cake, no time for laughing, and only time for blasting the world with my birthday mission.

No time for smiles, no time for cake, no time for laughing, and only time for blasting the world with my birthday mission. Ugh, who wants such a stressful birthday?

The classic birthday song references a “Happy Birthday,” not a “Stressful Birthday.”

So we’re back to “happy”? But happiness, fun and gifts didn’t make me feel great either. They left me feeling empty. So now what? No “happy” and no “birthday”! What’s left?

What’s left is the next part of the song, “To You.”

“Happy Birthday to You.”

To me? Of course, to me. It’s my birthday.

Well, let’s see who I really am.

I’ve already learned that I was created and put into this world in order to fulfill a purpose. My grand purpose, like that of every other human being here, is to spread light everywhere I go. No, not through praying a whole day, and not, grand as it seems, through cooking dinner for my block. That’s what cooks are for. And my resume doesn’t mention anything about cooking.

Well, then, how do I spread light?

Let’s go back to my resume.

I’m someone who likes to write, to take photos, to read, to teach, to massage, to laugh, to talk, to travel and to experiment.

So . . . I should spend my birthday just doing regular everyday stuff?

Yes. But, with one small footnote. Do all my regular everyday stuff, but do it for G‑d.

Take photos? Of appropriate subjects. Teach? For need, not fame. Laugh? Never at someone else. Travel? Experiment? In ways that will get me closer to G‑d.

But wait, it’s my birthday! Why should I do it for G‑d?

True, but my real me, the one my inner resume is all about, consists of a piece of G‑d. When G‑d put me into this world, He first blew life into me. From where? From His innermost Essence. And now, my essence is a flaming piece of G‑d.

On my birthday, the day I celebrate my birth, I ought to capitalize on the day’s meaning and power by making sure my every deed is a perfect union of my whole self.

Yesterday, I celebrated my 39th birthday.

I didn’t run off to my room, I didn’t run off to my rabbi, and I definitely didn’t run around cooking dinner for the universe. I walked around, on those special 24 hours, just being me.

So now what? No “happy” and no “birthday”! What’s left? 

But my real me.

I was excited for my new smoothie flavor, but my real me would be more excited that I not embarrass my brother-in-law, who drank it. So I didn’t.

I have no problem getting up at the crack of dawn to pray, but it sure was a struggle giving that up for the crying baby for whom I was babysitting. Praying a few hours later, with the right concentration, was the real test. And the test that my inner me wanted to see me pass.

The adrenaline of preparing a lecture for an audience of 120 is not present when preparing for a class of seven-year-olds. But am I a lecturer or a kindergarten teacher?

Is my birthday about stopping my life, or about living my life?

Oh, going along with my inner me is a lot less grand than the “me” I generally see on birthdays. No fanfare, no massive productions and no pious hermit lifestyle.

It’s also a lot more work.

But that’s just the point. G‑d didn’t leave me in heaven as an angel; He sent me down here to work. Furthermore, I’m here to work with what I have, not with what Moses or the guy down the block has. That’s why I was given my limbs, my talents, my instincts. They’re mine to use, to choose, and ultimately, to refine.

And, at the end of my birthday, I realized it had honestly been my happiest in years. I was being true to myself, and the peace and confidence it brought gave way to deep happiness.

There is a custom, on a birthday (whether Jewish or secular), to accept upon oneself a good resolution for the upcoming year. This year, my resolution was to continue my birthday for the next twelve months. How? By remembering to utilize every minute and experience I am blessed with, by just being me.

It’s not as easy as it sounds, but it definitely is the most rewarding.

And now? Now I can finally sing the birthday song, the entire birthday song, as it ought to be sung.