There is no such thing...

B"H

...as a part-time person

Ready or not here you are, a brand new baby plopped into my arms. 

You looked up at me with those big dark eyes scrutinizing every attribute of me.  You were wide awake.  After twenty five hours of labor I was exhausted, thirsty, and very hungry. You were hungry too.  You were always hungry during the day but at night you always slept, thank G_d!

Two years later your little sister was born.  The miracle of you is that you always treated her as the complete person she has always been. ... perhaps more complete than most.  And that little baby girl with Down Syndrome, our Rachel, showed you another way to experience life.  

Everywhere...

B"H

...acts of life

She did not look very strong.  Her steps were tiny and deliberate.  Most people who need oxygen constantly either wear the canister in a back pack or roll it on wheels.  This older lady was holding her metal canister like a beloved baby.  I understand.  

Oxygen is smooth and comforting.  It is the breath of G-d, the elixir of life when the lungs are filled with fluid.  Oxygen keeps the body at peace while the siphon drains liters of fluid from the pleura.  Then the pleasure of coughing begins.  It is important to puff up the lungs so they may work again.  There is nothing boring about breathing.  

There is nothing boring about any aspect of life.  Miracles are multi-dimensional and have nothing to do with that little purple and pink wand with the star and the ribbons and the glitter that sings a song when you tap or whack someone.  Miracles assign many responsibilities.  It is difficult business to rise to the occasion of this gift.  

The Letter

B"H, 

From a Desperate Realm

(early 20th century)

Oak Park, Illinois:                         There it sits... on my desk next to my bed.  Tante Sara has kindly placed it in my room while I was at work.  She even left writing paper, ink, a pen, a blotter, and an envelope to answer it.  The author is my sister Avigail.  I look at it sitting there.  We never enjoyed each other.  Why is she writing me?  I always felt that she was glad to see me leave her presence forever when I left Minsk behind me. 

Minsk, 1917, To my dearest sister, full of wisdom, overflowing with love and compassion, I write to you with humility in my heart, emptiness in my body, and fear in my soul.  Oh, my beloved Rishkeh, father writes to you that we are hungry because he does not want to scare you.  The truth is more frightening than we could ever have imagined.  We are starving.  The new buds on the evergreen trees are edible and make a sweet/sour broth only if you harvest them before the dried, brown cap falls away.  Then it is pure bitterness.   Why do we know such a fact?  I am begging you to help us.  My heart cries at the memory of every intentional pain I created especially for you.  Why did I receive pleasure from your pain and suffering?  You never did anything to harm me.  When you were old enough and thoughtful enough you simply avoided me... which made my unkind schemes ever more difficult to carry through to completion.  Perhaps our beloved mother mentored you.  Perhaps our housekeeper, Anya.  

My tears of regret fill oceans.  I beg your forgiveness in the same breath that I beg you for food.  We are starving.  ...

What's the difference?

B"H

After all these years...

It does not matter...

His name was Peter White.  

A brand new file showed up at the Jewish Family Services...  Peter White, the photographer?  Was he even Jewish?  After being a devoted member of the local Unitarian Church for over fifty years you might think, "no."  But his given name was Peter Weiss.  The son of an old Jewish family from Berlin.  They made it to the States before WWII.  

His girl friend of fifty years wanted to get married.  She told him that she would do anything for her husband.  He told her that she already did everything for him so, why bother.  He missed the point.  At seventy years old, Ruth had been with Peter since she was twenty.  She loved him but she was tired.  First she spoke with the social worker at the Jewish Family Service office.  They should know what was about to happen.  She left them a few phone numbers of his living relatives.  And then she left. 

Who am I?

B"H

O R 

My Summer Vacation

It is an old story, I suppose.  An old rabbi is sitting in his study in the middle of the night learning with Eliyahu HaNavi.  What an amazing study partner!  Or perhaps it is the peach brandy.  They read, they argue, they question, they challenge.  They finally come to the point.  ...  Who is the greatest general of all the generations of their people?  Eliyahu knows.  And he will show the old rabbi this amazing soul just after morning prayers when the market place comes to life.   The old rabbi is overcome with honor that the greatest general ever lives in their midst.  

If You Wear The Uniform...

B"H

...Are You Able to Practice What You Preach?

Why now?

A good shidduch is a good shidduch.  This is a very good young man and he is interested in meeting someone now. 

My neck is falling apart with these three ruptured discs.  I'm walking around in a Philadelphia collar.  I'm in pain.  Pain makes me grumpy.  What's the point in meeting someone when I'm grumpy?

Reality is honest, it is good.  Do you really believe that people can stay on their best behavior for an entire marriage?  Of course not!  There are times when you want to kill your spouse.

Are you trying to recommend or to discourage marriage?
***

The Attic

B"H

Dream World of a Different Era

Golden hair with gentle waves, she looked like a Russian princess to me.  Not that we learned any great love for the czar and his family.  All that I heard was that G-d should keep him far from us.  But this Russian princess had her own chest of clothing and her own dressing table and chair with a perfect little brush that matched it all.  I spent hours playing with the attic doll.  My sister, on the other hand, found an exquisite wooden horse.  That is who she wanted every time we visited Uncle's big old attic in the big old green house.      Cereal and milk was the food of choice for the horse.  Bailah said that horses eat oats and this cereal had oats.  I don't know about the milk.  My princess had tea and cookies.  And so did I.    

How long did we spend in that attic?  Who knows?  Untethered by time we spent our summer afternoons with Uncle.  When the fall began to find us, life stirred, it hustled and bustled, and carried us to a New Year with a New Book of Life where good, healthy, safe lives were supposed to be inscribed therein for us all.