Grief, Grand-parenting and Gratitude

I know it's not obvious without a guide, but there and 3 generations plus an SBD (small, black dog) in this photo.  On the right is my left thigh, with Waldo resting his chin on my knee, 3B is sleeping on Waldo and that's Michelle's right leg on the far left.

Grand-parenting is a pretty awesome pursuit, as long as one understands that this is the time in your life when you switch who is in charge in the parent-[adult] child dynamic.  This person who more or less has been following your lead for the last two and a half decades becomes the boss of the baby, and as long as you understand that you are not the boss of that new parent or their charge, and you do what you're told, grand parenting is pretty great.  I think I've been doing an ok job taking direction so far.  I get my time with the little smush, I've been whispering all kinds of wisdom and singing some pretty silly songs to him.  It's a fun gig.

I'm about a third of the way through my year of mourning my mother.  She would likely be surprised (as maybe I am too) about how faithful I have been about getting to minyan at least once a day, almost always in the morning.  Since I wasn't always particularly attentive as a son, it is a little surprising that I've rarely missed a day, unless I've been traveling.

A quick word about that minyan time and what it does for me.  Not every prayer experience is transcendental, but some are.  It is good to kind-of put my feelings inside of a 30-45 minute window each day, whether those feelings are sadness or annoyance or amusement, close the window and move on with my day.  I feel like I'm honoring a lifelong relationship with the dedication of time - I don't think about my mother the whole time, but I rarely go a whole service without thinking of her at some point.  The schedule, the regularity of fixed prayer has given me a place to think about and put my feelings, and I rarely think about them any other time of the day.  It's working for me.

When I see people I haven't seen in a while, and they remember what I've written, either on Facebook or in this blog, they usually respond with something like "that's quite a roller coaster ride", but really, its just what life is.  Bad stuff happens and good stuff happens.  Sometimes consecutively (like your grandson being born and your team winning the world series within a matter of a couple of weeks) and sometimes alternately - you lose a job, you get a new job, you get a cold, you get really good chicken soup. I'm not a huge fan of roller coasters, but I'm rather fond of life.  Sometimes there is either a streak of bad and then some good, sometimes the other way around.  I don't really keep score.  I perceive that more good stuff happens than bad because I choose to focus on the good.

Which I guess leads to this time of year and feelings of gratitude.  I have a good life.  I have a great family with good people in it, and a dog who likes me and is happy to see me, and work that I enjoy and that I find rewarding and challenging, and colleagues who I like to spend time with, who hire me to get to the stuff they haven't gotten to, or want my experience to fix something in their school or program or congregation.  I get to teach Torah, to kids and adults and I know that's a privilege. People pay me to drink wine with them and tell them about it. I have friends who keep in touch and friends who don't always keep in touch, but when I need them, they're generally around to be found.  I think that's about all we can reasonably expect.  

So I think it's good to pause and recognize the good in your life.  It can be in a house or worship, or on a trail or in your home at your table on Thursday.  It can be directed at your deity of choice, to a life force, to George Lucas' Force, to the fates or to yourself.  I'm thankful for who I have and what I have and for what I do. Amen.

Riding the Roller Coaster - Highs and Lows of the High Holiday Season converge with the Highs and Lows of the Life Cycle

 

Since the story has a happy ending, let's start there.  Our teacher, the Rabbanit Brachah Kapach zt"l taught us by modeling, to call God "HaShem Yitbarach", the name that should be praised.  As she figures in the telling of this story I will use her vocabulary to state that with gratitude to HaShem Yitbarach, Michelle gave birth to a healthy baby boy on Friday afternoon, October 4 at 3:53 PM EDT, 5 Tishrei 5780.  Mat and Judy were there playing active roles and Abby and I arrived soon after 3B (Baby Boy Barkan).

3B (he will get a name before next Shabbat, so this is what I'm calling him for now) was born on the day following his great grandfather's (my father's) seventh yahrzeit, while I'm in the year of saying kaddish for his great grandmother who died in July.  If not doing something can be difficult, then not being able to call them to share the news was something that was mildly painful during this very joyful 40 hours so.  It's just as Naomi Shemer, z"l described it in song - the sweetness of the honey comes together with the bee's sting. My father was also a professional mentor to me, so I feel his absence nearly daily.

3B is 7.5 pounds, 20 inches long, and as you can see in the photo above where I am holding him with his mouth open, we already started learning a few cantellation notes for his Torah reading.

Being born in Tishrei, especially between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur has its own set of merits and challenges.  His birthday parties will always be tricky to plan as its a busy time of year in a family of Jewish professionals. Saba (my chosen title - his other grandparents are still figuring it out, but I didn't struggle in the least) is often working and traveling during this week, so this guy will have to be flexible from the start.

We already have a lot in common:  we both like his parents, we both like being fed every two hours and then being put down for a nap, we don't particularly like being in hospitals.  Now that Mat, Michelle and 3B have gotten home and made things Facebook official, I'm able to post about being a Saba at will.

3B made things particularly difficult for his mom for most of the last 9 months, which is why I think he is trying especially hard to ingratiate himself to her now.  Michelle was sick, nauseous almost constantly, since February.  We got to see a lot of Michelle in the winter and spring, because our house was a convenient place to be sick and refuel on her way home to Silver Spring from Brunswick 5 days a week.  Michelle continued to work every day, ran a day camp during one of the hottest summers on record, started a new job as a lower and middle school administrator in a special needs day school, all while being pregnant and sick every day.  I really don't have words to describe her strength and courage.  I'm very proud.

Being married, helpful and supportive to someone who is pregnant, sick and exhausted all day everyday is also a big job.  Michelle came home every day exhausted giving her all to her students, campers and colleagues. Mat never once complained.  He never once asked for help, though he knew he had back up.  He did everything he could to make Michelle as comfortable and cared for as possible.  Michelle did a lot of pushing, but Mat did a lot of heavy lifting.  I'm very proud of Mat too.

3B already has a pretty well-oiled and experienced village to join.  He is already so loved, so showered in kisses.  Even before reaching home, loads of laundry had been done, furniture had been assembled, his shul friends already had his house decorated for him.  Judy had a car seat base professionally installed at the car dealer "just in case".  I hung the mezuzah on his room a couple of weeks ago, made by his great grandmother Marie, so HaShem Yitbarach would know exactly which room to protect.

Erev Pesach 2010, when Michelle was a senior in high school, the 4 Kerbels were in Jerusalem and went to the home of the Rabbanit Kapach, zt"l, to bring a donation of thousands of dollars that we had collected to help fund her Pesach project of providing Passover food staples to over 7,000 families in Jerusalem.  I had spent 5 summers studying and volunteering with the Rabbanit Kapach, among others, and I was a regular guest in her home. At the end of that visit the Rabbanit gave both girls a brachah, asking that HaShem Yitbarach grant them a lifetime of chen, chesed and rahamim, grace, kindness and empathy.  It's particularly satisfying as a parent to see that blessing fulfilled.

A Shanah Tovah u'Metukah, indeed! A happy and sweet new year to everyone.

Shloshim Reflections - Suggestions for Comforting Mourners and some thoughts about North American Shiva

                            

                Before                                                       After

I know I've kept a few of you at cliff's edge since my last post, about mourning and moving forward.  Also, I don't want to tip my hand too much about what I've written for Yizkor on Yom Kippur, so I'll just share a few comments here about the mourning process (one of the few Jewish rituals that makes so much sense) about how I've found comfort, and a few suggestions for all of us to think about in the process of comforting mourners.

My Shloshim for my mother ended Shabbat morning, which was a sufficiently convenient time except for the whole shave and a haircut thing.  I'm not so fastidious about my haircut schedule, but I was about 10-14 days past my normal comfort zone (think Sheldon Cooper of Big Bang Theory) and I really wanted to shave, at least my neck.  That waited until Sunday morning, before Shacharit.  Thank you to everyone who came for the Shloshim service, breakfast and study that followed in my Mom's memory.

I've let go of most of the negative stuff; I had a good head start in Israel, and then some friends wrote some really thoughtful notes about kind, funny, even ridiculous stuff my mother did and so I've found focusing on those things have helped me move past the negative stuff that I think I felt more or less exclusively to a broader more forgiving image of my mother as social connector at Cedar Village, lifelong student, gift shop lady at Knesset Israel and regular hostess of many Shabbat and holiday meals.  Time and distance do have healing qualities, at least they have for me.

In trying to be self reflective about what I have found most useful when people come to offer words of comfort here's what I have to say:  hugs, followed by enough silence to allow the mourner to speak first, are what have been most comforting to me.  If you know me well enough to know about my baggage (I have trouble packing light - I always bring stuff "just in case" even though I've rarely needed stuff that I couldn't just get at my destination) just giving me a hug and waiting for me to speak have been the most helpful encounters - let me decide what I want to share, how I want to share it, and decide what I find to be a blessing and what I don't - I've already, perhaps overly harshly, critiqued our traditional words of comfort.  Some friends and colleagues have tried really hard to show me how the traditional greetings are really okay.  I think if you have to work that hard to justify them, there could possibly be a problem, but as I said earlier - I understand you are invoking 2000 years of tradition and appreciate the intention of your words of comfort.  Just understand they may not be appropriate in every situation.

Now, if you don't mind (if you do, you can stop reading here), a few words about what we have done to shiva in North America and some suggestions to perhaps reign it in a bit:

1. Shiva is exhausting for the mourner.  The emotional strain, whatever the relationship with the met, especially if the death follows a final, even prolonged illness and the physical act of receiving guests, sometimes throughout the day, or mornings and evenings for minyan, is very tiring at a time when the mourner is already emotionally drained and perhaps not sleeping well. We do a disservice to the healing intention of shiva when we turn the shiva house into a week-long social event complete with catered meals and the expectation of feeding the visitors - more about this below.  By all means come and be present, listen to the mourner and follow their cues.  We may need to think about holding back on the chit chat a bit.

2. The Food.  Enough food should be provided so that the mourners don't have to provide for themselves during the week.  Period.  End of sentence.  There is no obligation, nor should their be an expectation that the mourners feed the community giving them comfort during the week.  I can't count the number of shiva houses I've visited where I'm commanded to eat because "there is so much food and we have no place to put it anymore, so please, everyone, eat."  I know that when we are uncomfortable in a situation, when someone is sad and we want to be supportive but we really don't know what to say, a babka, or a platter of cheese and fruit or a box of cookies can be a substitute for the words we just don't have.  Resist the urge to substitute cake and bagels for a hug, love and concern.  The food, and putting out the food, and storing the food safely between services and figuring out what to do with all the uneaten food when shiva is over, all place burdens on mourners and those closest to them taking care of their care and feeding.  Those closest to the family, and usually we can all figure out who those people are, know just what the family needs, and in what amounts and are just overwhelmed by the volume of food that comes into the American Shiva house.  I am so grateful that I didn't have this issue (and that Judy wasn't forced into a position to manage this despite her logistical prowess) by sitting Shiva in Israel.  I put out some fruit and cold water for the people who came while I was sitting. Somehow, that was sufficient.  There is so much to get rid of after shiva, food shouldn't be added to the equation.

3. Other mitzvot that flow from mourning - I am really finding comfort in my return to morning minyan, and I hope I can maintain it as an ongoing habit.  I know it's not for everyone, and there is certainly nothing wrong with becoming a regular at evening minyan if you're not inclined to be a morning mourning person (get it?), and I know I started from a point of being comfortable and facile with our liturgy.  I'm enjoying the rhythm, the comfort, the companionship of the men and women (some who come once a week, but they're there each week when their day comes around) who regularly attend with the added appearances of those who come when observing a yahrzeit. Also by my being there, I am helping others who are seeking a minyan, so it's not just about my needs.

Donations to a tzedakah, whether at my suggestion or your choosing is a great way to let me know you're thinking about my family.  I'm glad some good and needed help flows to others in need to honor my family member.  I'd rather a food bank feeding truly hungry people get what they need instead of a dozen bagels for my freezer.

So, since I get asked almost every day, I'll tell you, I'm really doing okay.  I have very few and brief minutes of sadness, really just passing moments, every 2-3 days, more from getting emotional by the support and friendship I've been shown than anything else.  I don't see a problem from fixed daily prayer being part of a routine - saying kaddish four times during the morning service, I think its okay if some of them are a bit more automatic and some are more meaningful.  You can be an All Star with a .325 batting average and that's good enough for me.  Like Nora McInerny said (you really should watch her TED talk if you haven't yet) I'm moving forward with my grief, not moving on from it.  My mother, the positive and negative traits, will always be a part of my life.  How I act based on that knowledge seems to be what really matters most right now.

Mourning, Grieving and Comforting the Mourner - It's Time for Us to Find New Words

I need to start with with an expression of Hakarat HaTov (expressing gratitude):  Those of you in my village, and yes, by necessity it has been a very geographically spread out and diverse village inhabited by the very best people have shown great concern, sympathy, love, support, caring, sensitivity - all of the feels.  I appreciate every word, intention, note, message, donation, call and visit.

My big language issue when my Dad died almost 7 years ago (I can't use the term "lost my Dad".  He's not lost; I know just where he is), was the part of Psalm 30 in the morning service after the preliminary blessings, where the closing verse is (and I'm paraphrasing because somehow I don't have a siddur with an English translation handy, but I know the Hebrew well enough) "you turned my mourning into dancing, your turned my sackcloth to happiness".  I was leading shacharit in my parents' apartment building with my sister's friends around me, and leading the service I was required to say those words.  I know that there are parts of the liturgy that aren't said in a house of mourning - why isn't that phrase one of the ones left out?  It made me angry, and I discussed that anger with the rabbi at Cedar Village, Rabbi Yuden, with my Rabbi, Mickey Safra, with my teacher and doppleganger Avi West, and I never came up with a reason why we make mourners say that.  Oh look, I guess I'm still a little angry about it, because I'm not at a point where my mourning has turned to happiness. I do smile daily when I think about my dad.

That rant was just to introduce my current rant, with all love and respect for the loving and noble intentions of the people who used these words to comfort me, because the words are those that our tradition teaches one is to say to a mourner.  There are two phrases that are bothering me, and leading me to think we need to change our language about mourning in the same way we are changing our ways of talking about race, gender and ethnicity.  The two phrases are:

May you be comforted [by God, literally HaMakom, the place] among the remnant of those mourning for Zion and Jerusalem; and

May your mother's memory be for a blessing (this one bothers me a little less and I'll explain why).

Why are these the words we say?  I'm a 21st Century Jew.  My Zion and Jerusalem are rebuilt, a beautiful, crowded city filled with hundreds of thousands of Jews who have returned from exile and call this place home.  Jerusalem is not in ruins; I don't need to see the Temple rebuilt.  I'm not a messianist.  I don't enact the ritual of kri'ah (tearing one's clothes as a sign of mourning) on the rare occasions I visit the Kotel (it's one of those synagogues I don't go to). So the people here are not a remnant.  The Jewish population of Israel is the single largest population of Jews in the world.  A modern miracle, as it were. So why should I be comforted among those who mourn for Zion and Jerusalem? Those who still mourn what was destroyed 1950 years ago, in my opinion, need to adjust their world view and be open to the miracle that is the modern State of Israel, even with all its imperfections (I note that at 243 years old, the USA has a few imperfections of its own).  I'm sorry, and please don't be offended, because I know your intentions were loving and sincere, but I don't find those words comforting.

Next, I would like for my mother's memory to be a blessing, and I'm working very hard right now to make it so, while I have some alone time in a peaceful, rural (even biblical - I'm near the site where David bested Goliath) setting.  To be honest, my mother wasn't very nice to me.  She could and did hold grudges for decades and she talked about me negatively to her friends, my siblings and my children.  I'm working very hard to declutter these negative feelings about my mother and leave them here, maybe buried in the hole I dug to plant a tree in her memory in Be'er Sheva. 

Years ago, at a therapist's suggestion, I asked my mother to stop using me to complain about others and not to complain to others about me; even with a masters degree in Social Work, she was not able to discipline herself and filter her words.  For my own health, I tried to keep a little distance between us, so I wouldn't have to be on the receiving end of so many hurtful words.  So right now, it's hard for those memories to be a blessing.  My daughter Abby, in her eulogy, found several positive ways to remember my mother - her love of yiddishkeit, her fascination with the Shoah, her desire to keep learning as she aged.  These are the memories I'm trying to turn into a blessing. But it isn't easy, it's going to take time, and I appreciate your sentiments, sincerely expressed.

I want to urge those of you, well versed in text and better with words than I am: let's find new language to comfort the mourner.  Unless we know about the relationship between the mourner and the met (the person who died) closely, let's not assume that the memories all bring blessing.  Let's try to find other words, that share our relationship to the mourner, something like, "As a life created in God's image I'm here to listen and be with you as you mourn" or "I'm here to share and help you manage the burden of your grief". Let's see if we can make progress with this.  I'm willing to put it on my Sanhedrin agenda (yes, I've been drafting it for years) somewhere between doing away with the second day of yom tov and definitely after making chicken parve.

At the very early part of my college career I had a friendly relationship with the University of Maryland Hillel Director, Rabbi Robert Saks. He was, for a short time, my landlord as well.  He wrote a meditation for Yizkor that appears in the margins of Mahzor Lev Shalem.  My mother was not abusive, though she could be hurtful, but I have found this meditation helpful in my process of grieving over the last two weeks.

Dear God,
You know my heart. Indeed, You know me better than I know myself, so I turn to You before I rise for Kaddish. My emotions swirl as I say this prayer. The parent I remember was not kind to me. Her death left me with a legacy of unhealed wounds, of anger and of dismay that a parent could hurt a child as I was hurt.

I do not want to pretend to love, or to grief that I do not feel, but I do want to do what is right as a Jew and as a child.

Help me, O God, to subdue my bitter emotions that do me no good, and to find that place in myself where happier memories may lie hidden, and where grief for all that could have been, all that should have been, may be calmed by forgiveness, or at least soothed by the passage of time.

I pray that You, who raise up slaves to freedom, will liberate me from the oppression of my hurt and anger, and that You will lead me from this desert to Your holy place.

— Robert Saks, Mahzor Lev Shalem

Wining (and very little dining) around Israel

These are some amazing, and close to harvest Cabernet Sauvignon vines at the vineyard of Gvaot Winery at Givat Harel, about 850 meters about sea level.

Finally after about 16 days in Israel, I got to visit 4 wineries (all new to me) in Israel.  As this is a big objective of my travel here, and I usually try to get to around 10 and I don't know that I'll get to many more this time, I can definitely say that the quality of these 4 wineries makes up for the quantity.

Unfortunately I didn't take any photos during my delightful midday visit to Zafririm on Tuesday.  Winemaker Lori Lender was a most gracious host and her winery is producing about 8,000 bottles a year of some very unique and very local wines.  She is sources her grapes from very nearby in the Ela Valley, and starting to plant her own vineyards with the help of her son, who is an agronomist.

I tasted 3 great wines: The Adulam, a Cab-Merlot blend (vintage 2016) which drinks like a lighter red - a sangiovese or a pinot noir, and not the really strong, astringent Cabernet a lot of Israelis are used to.  This is a great wine for local food, dairy or meat.  Then I tasted an outstanding Zinfandel - there is not a lot of it in Israel, which has a small amount (15%) of Petite Syrah - really enjoyable, really soft tannins and a beautiful color, Finally what Lori considers her flagship, Lavnin, a blend of Syrah, petite Syrah and just a hint (7%) of Cabernet.  I really enjoyed our conversation about the market, the region, the climate and the grapes.

On Wednesday Yossi and I continued a tradition of many years and spent a day visiting wineries together.  As we tend to share a hyper-geekiness about our passion for Israeli wines, it is a highlight of our time together and a great aspect of our (gulp) 40 year friendship.  We try to pick an area where we will both find something new - as Yossi is here and visits wineries on his own, this can sometimes present a challenge.  This year we chose to visit the Shomron, the northern part of the West Bank, and three wineries neither one of us had ever visited.

The first of the day (sometimes Waze isn't perfect) was the Gvaot Winery at Givat Harel.  Out host, Moshe Veiner, (pictured below) gave us an overview of the winery and the view.  The winemaker, Dr. Shivi Drori, is a professor at Ariel University and has been identifying (to date, over 60) indigenous varieties of grapes of which about 20% can be used for wine and also been doing DNA analysis on seeds and stems found at archeological sites in ceramic jars to identify what wines were made in ancient times, and whether it's possible to recreate those varietals.

Most winemakers I've met with say that making white wine is a bit more difficult, and it doesn't command the prices that red wine does, so they mostly decide not to bother.  I know the second part is true, even from my own experience.  I tend not to pay more than $20 for a white wine, where my budget can occasionally tolerate paying up $35 for an exceptional red.  Gvaot is making a lot of white wine and its selling well.  We tasted three whites:  a very unique blend of two indigenous grapes, Haamdani and Djadali (unique, light in color and taste, but not very complex or flavorful - a bit bland), a blend called Dancing in White (related to the festival of Tu B'Av) of 65% Chardonnay and 35% Gewertzstraminer, the Gofna series Chardonnay-Cabernet blend (if you separate the juice from the skins at crushing, then even Cabernet Sauvignon can be a white wine, but its labor intensive and almost no one does it - it did give a nice structure to the wine) which I preferred the most of the whites.  At 100 shekels a bottle (around $28) it would definitely be a splurge purchase, in my opinion.

We then drank 2 reds. Vineyard Dance, a blend of petit verdot, cab and merlot that was very nice and would age nicely for a few years, and a Cabernet Franc varietal, 2017 which was very flavorful, a lot of black plum and sour cherry at first taste, and then kind of a leathery, mineral flavor on the finish.  I liked it a lot and for an Israeli red, at 13,5% alcohol, it's an unusually fine combination of flavor and body.  It's too young to enjoy fully now. This wine will probably reach its peak around 2022 or 23.  I doubt there will be much around then, so you have to buy now and store it properly.  I don't think most people buying wine are that patient.

Our next stop was maybe 5 minutes away, across the road to the Shiloh Winery in the industrial zone of the village of Shiloh.  In the Tanakh, Shiloh is the tribe of Benjamin's regional religious center, the site of a tabernacle (where Samuel the prophet lived and presided over Israel),  I've wanted to visit Shiloh for a long time, because of my love for the Books of Samuel and because the winemaker, Amichai Lourie is such a character.  Amichai has a large Facebook presence, he is passionate and exacting (he says obsessive and compulsive, but I can tell you, his attention to detail pays off big time) about his winemaking, and he is so carnivorous that I risk looking like a vegetarian next to him.

Amichai's wines are definitely a cut above; carefully working with his vintners throughout the growing season to make decisions about leaves, shade, cluster size, ripeness; he is very intense.  We tried 4 wines: a delightful Chardonnay and 3 of his secret reserve wines:  The Petit Verdot, Cabernet Franc and Petite Syrah.  All were magnificent.  The Cab Franc is likely one of the best of its type in Israel.  Shiloh doesn't really encourage visitors or have a tasting room; there focus is on the wine making, so it's not an easy place to get in.  We consider ourselves very lucky.


                                                           


After an ok lunch in Shiloh at a restaurant called Merlot, we headed to Tura.  Vered Ben-Sa'adon and her husband Erez started a beautiful winery in the village of Rechelim, about 15 minutes from Shiloh in 2003.  Again, this winery features a lot of attention to detail.  They're making about 100,000 bottles a year (sort of the upper limit to be considered boutique - Shiloh is making over 200,000 a year).  About 40% of the wine from Tura is exported.  We were short on time as our host had other responsibilities so we tasted 3 wines.

A very nice, lightly oaked Chardonnay - more oak on the nose than on the palate.  It was really nice, round, no real citrus notes.  Kind of pricey for a Chardonnay, but a nice wine (I view wine prices through the prism of an educator, so I have my price range and its difficult for me to stretch it much with a clear conscience).

We drank a lovely Cabernet Sauvignon - soft tannins, light on the oak, nice notes of black plum and ripe fruit with some minerality on the finish.  We finished with one of my favorite varietals, the Shiraz.  It was spicy, not too heavy for and Israeli Shiraz (14% alcohol) and really rich.  It sells for around $36-37 which is more than I would typically spend, but its a great wine for a special occasion.

So that was the big trek, through picturesque stoney hills, dotted with small villages, vineyard and farms, herds of goats and really great wine.  A really happy Steve was the result.

Settling into Moshav life, Getting things done in Jerusalem - Not sure what's "Normal"

       

Wow; a whirlwind couple of days - taking it easier today. Sunday I moved to the home of friends in Emek HaEla to house sit and take care of their cat, Cloud (who seems to appreciate me as her meal ticket and then promply heads outside to resume her life, which is just fine with me - I'm a dog person).  Living here on a Moshav is a really different view of Israel, very different from city life and even from village life last week in Binyamina (where not so very much happens, but there is the train station).   There is a very short wikipedia entry for Aviezer:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aviezer.

Remember, especially when we travelled to Israel in the 90's and early 2000's during the Intifada's and we had to check in by phone after a pigua (incident) to tell everyone in the US that we were ok? Everyone was worried about what was happening in Israel; now the tables have turned. I remember one of the first urban terror attacks in Jerusalem, July 4 1975 near Kikar Tzion. I was rising 10th grader, my first time in Israel, and because I was exempted from the group Hebrew class I was running errands in town with our trip leader, Avi Brown, and we had to call my dad, who was the Federation director in Denver, to tell him everyone in the group was ok (I was actually the only participant anywhere near the danger zone - everyone else was safely at the Givat Ram campus of Hebrew U). We woke him at about 2 am in Denver.  

Yesterday, I was again in Jerusalem, completing about a week's worth of meetings and errands in one day (it was a 16 hour day, which is how I got so much done), and now I'm wondering how all of you are staying safe in the US? Too many idiots with guns. I have friends who safely and responsibly use firearms to hunt and for sport and I support their right to do so. But there must be some way to limit and restrict access to firearms to keep people safe at festivals, malls and schools. Here there are single entrance points for malls and festivals, you got through metal detectors at the train stations and some malls, locked gates at schools. America, you need to get serious about keeping people safe.

I forgot to take pictures, but the day's meetings included breakfast with Arnie Draiman, spending a couple of hours at Hacker Camp with my friend and role model, Shaiel Yitzchak, lunch with Rabbi Paul Freedman, meetings at the Jewish Agency with the incomparable Pnina Agenyahu and even a quick conversation with Deputy Director General David Breakstone. Then it was a short bus ride to the office of Ramah Israel to catch  up with Betsalel Steinhardt, Adin Rodman and Meir Holzman.  It's amazing to have a great group of colleagues in Jerusalem.  We talked a lot about the conservative movement (everyone seems to want to talk to me about it).  After a few errands for the family I finished with dinner at Tmol Shilshom with my Temple Sinai colleagues Max Antman and Kelly Whitehead. I strongly recommend the Cacio e pepe.

After minyan this morning at 5:30 am (photos above are of the synagogue), it's still relatively cool out, so I set out to harvest a few figs and table grapes growing in the yard.  After coffee I started to do some writing, my printed High Holiday message for Congregation Emanuel in Statesville and the beginnings of my first High Holiday sermon.  Soon I'll be leaving the house for a bit to do my first visit to an unfamiliar winery of this trip - it took until the second day of the third week to reach this milestone, but I have an appointment at Tzafririm, a Moshav about 15 minutes away, soon.  Hopefully that will earn a wine related post - Wednesday I'm planning on more wine research..  More about that later.

Shiva on the Go - Day 6 and my Israel Innovation

A few thoughts on my last full day (6) of Shiva.

I want to start by stating that I have a lot of respect for our tradition.  I've often said that our mourning rituals are actually one of the few traditions that are rational, reasonable, psychologically effective and even logical.  To move through a succession of states of grief where first all responsibilities other than burying the dead are suspended, then a week of intense grieving where (in an ideal or normal) situation the mourner intensively and immersively grieves without even leaving the house (more on that to come), then a slightly less intense period of another 23 days to ease your re-entry into community outside of your home and finally, for a parent, 10 more months of daily recognition that someone elemental to you, accounting for 50% of your DNA (and in my case, my freckles) is gone.

I am a serious, conservative Jew.  I observe Shabbat and holidays, and kashrut.  I go to synagogue nearly every shabbat (as I get older I take the occasional week off and sometimes allow the weather to dictate my attendance).  I usually enjoy praying.  I study and teach Torah.  The unofficial motto of our movement is Tradition and Change; that's in part where I find comfort, and yes, some wiggle room, to modify tradition and try to observe those things in spirit that I cannot observe to the letter.

My shiva has had, by necessity, to be adaptive. I did not have Judy's logistical expertise to arrange things in the house or Abby and Michelle and Mat's insights and observations on my complicated Mother - Son relationship and how I did or didn't navigate it effectively.  My rabbi has been available by phone as have many other rabbis (including, during the JNF seminar my new friend Moshe Schwartz, who really was a comfort).  I did not have my B'nai Israel community to fill my home and my life with their presence (though they have done a great job digitally to stay in touch).  I did not have my colleagues from JEA (except for Teri Hochberg, who gives great hugs) or my DC hevra of colleagues to accompany me on this journey, I did not have my CIE family here. Thankfully, I was not buried under an avalanche of food, I have only 2 siblings, but as best as I can can figure out, there have been at least 3 locations for shiva in the US. But I've more or less figured out a shiva that has respect for tradition and flexibility to deal with my unique problem of being away.

I am fortunate to know my way around Israel and have pockets of friends and support around the country.  I was able to find a morning minyan at at reasonable hour (0700) at a shul I had visited before with friendly people in Pardes Hanna, only 10 minutes from where I am staying in Binyamina, so I have left the house every day to attend minyan.  Evening minyan has been more of a problem.  Starting Monday I will be in Aviezer, and I understand that there is minyan at 0530 in the moshav.  At least I'll have an early start to the day.

A few brave souls have managed to come and sit with me, and it's been great.  More of you have called on WhatsApp or FaceTime, I zoomed with some of you, and have read hundreds of Facebook Messages and comments on my posts, emails.  There may be some merit to social media, the interwebs and digital communication if a person can be comforted by their use while sitting shiva - that has certainly been my experience.  I will think about this more, and I may even write some of this up, for the CIE blog or eJP or some other publication where I can share with the right kind of audience.

By the way, two Israelis, close, long time friends who have been spending large chunks of time outside of Israel have been in touch about my last blog post to say I'm wrong about the rudeness (but one is Canadian-by-birth so he may be ultra sensitive since they're all so nice up there) issues, and that its evident when you spend a lot of time outside of Israel, you really see the contrast and how rude Israelis are.  I'm just saying, this trip, I'm seeing it differently, but I am willing to admit I have a small sample size and could just be lucky.  I'll take it.

So, a little less than 24 hours of shiva remain - then on with my travels, hopefully to include some wine research and some work on the elections.  As my dear teacher in many things but particularly in the art of grieving a mother, my rabbi Jenna Turow said so well last week, I won't move on, but I will move forward with my grief, hoping that it gets lighter as time passes, as I declutter the needless stuff that surrounds my relationships and I get used to my status as a public mourner and my place in my community and the world.

Israel - Observations and maybe even some myth busting.

As I've mentioned, I'm here in Israel fairly frequently.  I've taken tours, been part of workshops and missions, taken university courses at both campus' of Hebrew University. I've stayed in hotels, hostels, caravans, apartments and houses.  I've stayed in cities (primarily Jerusalem, where I feel I know the center really well and some suburbs/neighborhoods not at all), towns, villages, moshavim and kibbutzim.

I've prayed with almost every kind of Jew (except the very Hareidi (ultra Orthodox or Hassidic)) and prayed from dozens of versions of the prayer book.  If you've just come on an organized trip for two weeks, you probably saw a lot more of the country than the average resident sees in 6 months, but you saw a different Israel than the one they see every day.  Staying in residential neighborhoods, both alone and with friends, I want to share a few observations about what other parts of Israel you may not see from the lobby of your hotel or the window of your bus.

Israeli rudeness: I think it may be waning (but I'm sitting shiva so I may be inclined to make allowances for people). Last night I was walking home from trying to see if there was a minyan at the local synagogue to see if there was a minyan (another example of my innovative mobile shiva).  There wasn't.  Behind me on the sidewalk there were two boys on bicycles (no helmets: really?) about 12-13 years old - they rang their bells, I moved over, and as they passed, they each said, Todah (thanks).  That hasn't always happened here.  I have a theory that maybe as security improves, at least away from the borders, that people feel less anxiety and they take the effort to be more polite.  I still see people over 60 pushing to get in line, pushing to get on the bus, the way they always have.  The younger generation may be just a little more chill.

Religion/Prayer: There are a lot of religious people here.  If you go to Jerusalem or Beit Shemesh or a religious community like Beitar Ilit you will say, wow, there are a lot of religious Jews here.  There are about 6.5 million Jews in Israel, maybe a million more than in the USA.  The ultra orthodox percentage of the population is growing, because they have a much higher than average birth rate, but still its likely in the 18-22% range of the population.  Right now I'm not in a religious area, I'm near the coast, north of Hadera and south of Zichron Yaakov.  I am driving 10 minutes south to join a morning minyan and I'm still looking for an evening minyan (it's a matter of availability for a car because there isn't one within a 30 minute walk of where I am).  Just because the media likes labels and stereotypes and likes to take photos of the ultra orthodox because they are immediately identifiable as Jews in a photo, don't think they are everywhere or that there is a synagogue on every corner.  Even if there is, don't think of it as a 7 day a week operation - it's just as likely as not to have services only on Shabbat.

Transportation:  In the early austere days of the State of Israel, the economy suffered, Israel struggled as she absorbed Jews from all over the world, doubling its population during its first 3 years of existence and then again by around 1956, growing from 600,000 to 2.5 million in the first 8 years of Statehood.  Privately owned cars were a rarity.  As late as the mid 1970's, I knew one person with a car here and that was provided by his employer.  Everyone else used public transportation.

The network of buses and trains here is exceptional, its relatively inexpensive (a bus ride in Jerusalem is around $2; intercity maybe $5-6).  When you consider that gas here is around $7 a gallon (give or take, based on about 6.8 shekels a litre, 4 litres to a gallon and 3.5 shekels - feel free to check my math - I'm estimating).  In Tel Aviv or Jerusalem, you're much better off on foot, in a bus or a train than driving.  The roads are packed and parking is a hassle.  Outside of the big cities having a car is a plus for things like winery visits or seeing national parks.  They keep building transportation infrastructure, a light rail in J-lem, building a light rail in Tel Aviv - bike and scooter sharing (and electric bikes) are also popular options here. NOBODY BUT A FEW SHOWY BEDOUIN RIDE CAMELS.

Food:  Those hotel buffets are not how regular people eat here.  Portions at older more established restaurants are indeed huge.  Even informal dining places in malls will give you 4-8 different types of salads or spreads to eat while waiting for your main course, even it its only a skewer or two of protein or a sandwich.  Generally though, people follow a pretty classic Mediterranean diet.  Many employers provide lunch, so that tends to be the largest meal of the day with a protein, side dishes (vegetable and carbohydrate - so much rice!) salad and fruit.  People at home often eat an egg or salad for dinner - no Brady Bunch/Ozzie and Harriet three course meals unless you are eating in a restaurant, it Shabbat or a holiday.  Last night I had a carrot, a couple of crackers and butter for dinner after having had a piece of chicken for lunch (my current hosts don't eat any grains or flour or most carbs, even fruit.  I bought some fruit for myself).  People often splurge on Friday Brunch since that's the closest thing to their Sunday.

So that's it for now - you'll have to wait for next week for the wine portion of the trip (for me it's part of my work, so I will try to make a few winery visits. More to follow,

Bubbe - Refusal to Adapt - Cultural Relic and Master Technophobe

At my father's funeral I read a very meaningful Hebrew poem by the Israeli poet,  Zelda, Every person has a Name:

Zelda Everyone Has a Name Everyone has a name given to him by God and given to him by his parents Everyone has a name given to him by his stature and the way he smiles and given to him by his clothing Everyone has a name given to him by the mountains and given to him by his walls Everyone has a name given to him by the stars and given to him by his neighbors Everyone has a name given to him by his sins and given to him by his longing Everyone has a name given to him by his enemies and given to him by his love Everyone has a name given to him by his feasts and given to him by his work Everyone has a name given to him by the seasons and given to him by his blindness Everyone has a name given to him by the sea and given to him by his death. (Translated from Hebrew by Marcia Falk, quoted from "Generations of the Holocaust" by Bergmann and Jugovy) Like Madonna, Cher and Prince, for the last 30 or so years, my mother was known by one name: Bubbe. I stopped calling her mom and called her Bubbe, my friends and my kids' friends knew her as Bubbe, and while many people knew her as Ruth or Ruthie, for me, it was always Bub or Bubbe. Like Jeff Foxworthy's definition of a Redneck, my mother lived her life in with a delightful and amusing lack of sophistication regarding all things technological.  As if society stopped all forms of creation and innovation after about 1956.  It's not that my mother was ignorant of technology - she both denied and refused to be bothered by any tool other than a television with a screen, and certainly nothing with a keypad or touch pad. This led to many situations and stories about my mother's interaction with both technology and the people who use it.  While my friends' parents were using smartphones, and Kindles and joining Facebook to keep up with the lives of their children and grandchildren, my mother wanted letters mailed with printed photos inside, and always wanted to know how we each knew what our siblings, nieces and nephews were doing if she hadn't told us yet. I'm not sure how far back I want to go - sometime in the early-to-mid-eighties we bought my parents an all-in-one stereo with phonograph, cassette and AM/FM Stereo Radio (it was new then, but everyone under 30 is thinking, "WTF, did Steve deliver it to them in his Model T?").  I showed Bubbe how to use it maybe 10 times.  She could play records on it, but nothing else (her parents had a hand cranked Victrola - my Aunt Wilma may still have it).  Every once in a while, when they were still in Silver Spring I would go over so she could listen to newer music on a cassette; that's just to warm you up. In the 80's, we got our first computer with a dial up modem, and since Judy was expected to log on from home, we decided to get a second telephone landline (again, WTF Steve, did the installer come over on his dinosaur like the Flintstones?).  We bought a couple of two line phones in our house (yes, we can and did put people on hold, and yes we did swap out the computer with a fax machine every so often). With two phone lines it was easy to do three way calling.  I don't remember what the issues was, but one day I was speaking with my sister and we decided to conference in Bubbe - I was in Maryland, Debbie was in New York and I guess my mother was in Wilmington.  You've never heard such a confused person in your whole life.  "Steve where are you?"   "At home in Maryland." "And Debbie's in Maryland?" "No, She's in New York." "So if Debbie is in New York, how is she on the phone in Maryland?" "Debbie's not on the phone in Maryland, she's on the phone in NY.  I called Debbie on one line, and then I called you on the other, and the phone can put the two calls together into one call." "I don't understand, I'm hanging up." as if we were involved in some kind of sorcery or devil worship, and she wanted no part of it. If only my mother didn't understand three way calling, Dayenu. My paternal grandparents lived in North Miami Beach, and they died about 11 weeks apart.  My father, an only child, went down to clean out the condo and consign the furniture, etc.  He came home with a few pieces of silver and my grandparents' various televisions in my Grandfather's 2nd hand 1974 Plymouth Fury (think about a car that would need one of those OVERSIZED LOAD signs on the highway).  As my father carried the TV's into their house in Wilmington, my mother, who could be critical of an angel of God, said with derision, "Bob, why did you bring those televisions here?  They only get Florida stations!" meaning when she went to watch her shows while visiting in Florida, nothing was ever on the "right" channel.  That was Bubbe. My mother and I went to college at about the same time and we finished with our respective graduate degrees (My JD and her MSW) at just about the same time.  By my count, she spent a total of about 10 years between her AA, BSW and MSW while I did my BA and JD in about 8 (I worked for a year in between).  She finished at age 51. We had a lot of time to talk about papers and reading.  Thankfully, she had an MSW/LCSW (my dad) in the house as her private tutor.  But in college she learned to "like the gays" as she would say and at least had to appear to have a pretense of being tolerant of people who were different from her (which was a real effort for her).  She did like hanging out with her younger classmates, though I don't recall her staying in touch with any. So what's in a name?  When I think of Bubbe, these are the stories that make me smile.

זלדה לכל איש יש שם לכל איש יש שם  שנתן לו אלוהים ונתנו לו אביו ואמו לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו קומתו ואופן חיוכו ונתן לו האריג לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו ההרים ונתנו לו כתליו לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו המזלות ונתנו לו שכניו לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו חטאיו ונתנה לו כמיהתו לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו שונאיו ונתנה לו אהבתו לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו חגיו ונתנה לו מלאכתו לכל איש יש שם שנתנו לו עונות השנה ונתן לו עיוורונו לכל איש יש שם שנתן לו הים ונתן לו מותו.

Not the trip I was expecting to take - An Israel innovation and more

https://scontent.fhfa2-2.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/67422235_10155443184457706_9150007845045927936_n.jpg?_nc_cat=104&_nc_oc=AQnjdkXoZrX7A1e9nb-iNcB_6_awzOATp-QHgosxMIC5PaAFUEwvbCArCKfgq_I-y3M&_nc_ht=scontent.fhfa2-2.fna&oh=d73b306450c93edd0e9b1adebde8e98d&oe=5DEA05AE

Hi blog readers, friends, framily and family. This is a pretty long post - turn around don't drown if you don't have a few minutes.

Blessed is the true judge.

I've honestly lost count of my Israel trips. At first it was easy: 1975 Israel Study Tour at age 14, post bar exam trip with Judy in the summer of 1986 (which included my first winery visits here), 1995 with my teacher Dr. Elliot Prager and the faculty of CES-JDS to study teaching Hebrew as a second language and the Joseph narrative of Genesis with Nechama Leibovitz.  Then I started coming almost every year for one thing or another, occasionally twice a year.  I don't know if I've been here 20 times or 25.  I came on the first NACIE (later renamed MAKOM) Educators mission in 2001 or so and studied with the outstanding Rabbi Alan Odess from AMHSI.  - Between 2006 and 2012 I think I spent 7 consecutive summers helping Danny Siegel with US groups and making distributions for our own small Mitzvah Heroes Fund that we ran from 2008-2012. We were here as a family for Pesach in 2006 and 2010.  2013 I was here with Judy, and Abby and Michelle tag teamed their time with us.  I was here in 2017 to see friends and drink wine, research from history for CIE and do some advance work for the JEA conference in the winter of 2018, which Judy also shared with me.  For a north american, I'm in Israel a lot.  Every trip is unique.  That being said, this is a very different time in Israel, and not the trip I was expecting.

This is a small tangent from where I was planning to go (my students know tangents are a specialty of mine).  I don't think it's a secret that I always hoped to live here.  Many Israeli friends have said to me, "Steve, if only you would move here, you wouldn't have to spend all your vacations here."  I know that that is true.  I think it's possible that the market for Jewish educators here is kind of saturated, so I have never been sure how I would make a living here.  I have not sufficiently professionalized or monetized my wine knowledge to earn a living in the wine industry ( somehow loving and tasting wine isn't something you can make a living with).  None of us knows the future.  Judy and I have certainly talked about it, and I'm happy to say we've never fought about it.  If you have heard or seen me teach in the last 20 years it's probably very clear how much I love Israel, with all its love and beauty, and with all its trash and faults.  I'm not perfect, the US is not perfect and Israel is not perfect.  I can see myself here, but I know my family feels its love for Israel differently than I do.  I suppose I've become ok with that.

Back to my trip - my plans (my theology doesn't include the whole "man plans, God laughs" thread) to get here included joining a JNF Educators mission.  I have enjoyed a very good relationship with JNF (and now that it also includes Alexander Muss High School in Israel of which I'm a big supporter) over the years, primarily through JEA and I'm hoping to create strong connections between JNF and my Israel Education work with the Center for Israel Education, which is why I chose to join this seminar.  I was not their target audience, and I knew they were making an exception of sorts to take me.  I expressed my gratitude to them then and now.  It was an outstanding experience.

For me to come to Israel and do things I haven't done before - especially as a part of a group is pretty special, and yet that's exactly what happened.  I spent time learning about Kibbutz Harduf and their holistic model (kind of a Waldorf model for you Education theory people) for including people of varying abilities, skills and challenges in their community. I got to know Acco, about the amuta (NGO) Lotem and Nahal HaShofet, I got reacquainted with Harel Stanton and he taught us to capture better images and stories with our phones.  I took my first jeep ride through the Hula valley and saw a Jungle Cat at Hula Lake at sunset.  I got to Katzrin for the first time in years and visited the Talmudic Park (for a comparable educational experience, think Williamsburg, Virginia but 1400 hundred years earlier).  I learned about a new model for afterschool STEAM education in Nof HaGalil at the KKL Center for Excellence - I don't think there is anything like it, at least not in the Greater DC area - think about a Boys and Girls club for High School Students merged into a High Tech Start up and you can start to imagine it. I met Jerusalem Mayor Moshe Leon by happenstance in shul on Shabbat and heard his beautiful voice as he was ba'al maftir and led Musaf.  I conducted a Shabbat afternoon wine tasting in the park at Yemin Moshe for 50 of my fellow travelers.

But that's not what wasn't expected - on the third day of the workshop, between the Jeep ride in the Hula Valley and the trip up the mountain ridge to Katzrin in the Golan Heights, I learned than my mother had died, peacefully, in her sleep sometime Tuesday night or Wednesday morning in Cincinnati. My mother and I had a relationship that can best be described as challenging; as I posted on facebook on Thursday, I’ve learned that being hard on each other is a fairly normal condition between mothers and sons, and while I’m certain I was rarely the son my mother wanted me to be, I’m equally certain that I was usually the best son I had the ability to be. I think that’s all any one of us can do.

I could have, and some will probably say should have decided to try to return to the US, and bury my mother.  I trusted my brother and sister to fulfill that responsibility, and maybe it's wrong that I didn't come to help.  But I chose to stay in Israel.  I told a couple of people close to me what had happened, I called my rabbi, Mickey Safra and let him know how I was thinking of handling things, and I started navigating the rather murky Jewish tradition of mourning while all the time adapting the tradition to my personal needs and situation.  While very aware of what halacha more or less required me to do, I gave myself the room to make some less than halachic decisions to try and match my situation to what I believe would both honor my mother and honor our tradition.

I remember my mother being surprised that I got up at 6:15 every weekday morning to go to minyan for a year (and longer) after my father died (cynically, I don't think he could have tolerated shul enough to do it for me - but then there isn't such a clear cut commandment about honoring children as there is about honoring parents).  So I don't know what my mother would have wanted me to do, though she likely would have liked to think that I would drop everything for her, and then she would share with everyone her disappointment that I didn't.  While my community here is different, I do have a community here, and I feel, in the spirit of Israel innovation, I have created the new permutation of Mobile Shiva.

I was traveling.  With a group.  The funeral would start in Cincinnati as I was preparing for Shabbat in Jerusalem.  I delayed Kri'ah (tearing of my clothes as a symbol of grief and the person "torn" away from you) and went to shul for my first kaddish of the year.  We started Kabbalat Shabbat with 7, by Lecha Dodi an 8th arrived, and the 9th not until the Ma'ariv amidah.  I was very anxious that I would be denied my first kaddish of shiva.  I am not exaggerating - someone, probably Elijah the prophet, walked into the synagogue at yigdal the closing hymn) and I was able to say Kaddish - you can't make this shit up.

Shabbat morning I got up early and went to the Turkish synagogue in Yemin Moshe (very close to the hotel - I wasn't in the mood for a lot of singing or crowds) and it turns out it was packed for a bar mitzvah, and the Mayor of Jerusalem, Moshe Leon, was a guest of the family.  Apparently Mr. Leon trained as a Hazzan - he has a beautiful clear voice which I found very comforting (and I'm not a huge fan of hazzanut) and he chanted the maftir and led musaf. We finished at about 10:10 (Oh B'nai Israel, if only ...).

By Shabbat, more of our group of 80 knew of my situation.  I got hugs and warm wishes, appropriate for a mourner you've only just met the previous Monday (even if the 5 days seemed like 2 weeks because KKL crammed 2 weeks of programming into 5 days).  I said Maariv with the French participants and other Aidot HaMizrach (Jews from Arab countries) in the basement synagogue of the hotel and made havdalah with some of the participants.  I skipped going to the sound and light show at David's Citadel and going out Saturday.  It was the first time I truly felt like a mourner.  

I did kri'ah Sunday morning, and at our first stop of the day, the JNF River Park, Anne Greenspoon (a long time friend but also my parents' rebbetzin in Pittsfield Mass 15 years ago) arranged with JNF USA Tour Director Shahar Heremelin for me to plant a tree in my mother's memory near the amphitheater in the park (for those of you with us at JEA 2018, on the opposite side of the theater where we planted trees for Larry Brandspeigel's father and Rabbi Barb Moscow, z"l). That physical act of burying something that will grow and live was very cathartic for me, and for those who know how weepy I can get at such moments, I kept it together and read the eulogy Abby wrote for my mother's funeral to our group.  

My mobile shiva continued throughout the day as we went on to Sderot (a favorite destination of mine here) and then on the the Diaspora Museum (rebranded as the Museum of the Jewish People in Tel Aviv).  From there I made my way by train to Binyamina where I will continue my (slightly less) mobile shiva with my dear friends Yossi and Dina David.  I am davening shacharit at the small shul on Achuza St in Pardes Hanna that I have visited many times in the past.  I have a few hours still to figure out Ma'ariv.

So that's the update of where things are.  Next I will share some Bubbe stories.  They will not all be appropriate, but then I'm not writing this for children.  Since most of you are not here, you will have to imagine my voice as I tell theses stories.  Or maybe I'll learn how to make a podcast.  But telling stories about the person who died is one of the things we're supposed to do during Shiva, and we threatened my mother with these stories for the last 40 years.  Payback can be hell.