Tuesday, November 08, 2005

"Hello? Is This the Person To Whom I'm Speaking?"


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Sometimes "progress" is actually really backwards. So many children these days do not understand the simple days of yesteryear: rotary telephones, AM radio, b & w television, NO REMOTE CONTROLS, getting up to answer the telephone (not having a machine picking up the call) REGARDLESS of who was on the other end. The list of course goes on and on.

Yesterday, en route home from work I made a stop that set me behind schedule. So I called home to let the family know when I was nearing our neighborhood.

My daughter answered in her eight-year-old sultry voice. "Hello."

"Hi." (I sounded more or less like myself, no need for a sultry voice here)

"Hi."

"What are you doing?"

"Homework."

"Who's there with you? Where's your father?" (at this point, I disguised my voice somewhat)

"He's here, helping us do homework."

"He is? So... where's your mother? Let me talk to your mother please!" (further disguising my voice to more of a bass tone, trying to throw my daughter off and let her think it's a man on the line)

Pause. Laugh. "Hi Mummy!"

"What? (trying to sound gruff) Let me talk to your mother!"

"Hi Mummy. I know it's you," she says, laughing.

(back in my regular voice) "Did you recognize that it was ME putting on a fake voice?"

"No...I didn't have to. I saw the phone number!"

Ha, so the joke was on me. Call display will get you (almost) every time!

"Andy Hardy" Comments on "Dorothy"

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Please click on the linking title.

Danny Miller, whose writing I discovered around the same time that I discovered Neil Kramer's Citizen of the Month blog, is brilliant. He is eloquent, he is bright, he is well-immersed in cultural and entertainment trivia. He'd probably be a rather wonderful guest to have at a dinner party or at a casual gathering with friends, with his tales of department stores, old theaters, old houses, public figures and rubbing shoulders with movie industry types.

Picture a dog who shows surprise. What does the dog do? He sits, looks and holds his head askew, as if asking, "What? What was that you said/you did? What exactly was that all about?"

Picture Pearl. Picture Pearl reading Danny Miller's blog. Picture Pearl, her head askew. Picture Pearl smiling. Picture Pearl typing furiously to let others know about Danny Miller talking about THE WIZARD OF OZ.

Picture yourself hurrying to his blog. Picture yourself reading his latest post. Picture yourself smiling. Picture yourself singing:

SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW
(Dorothy)
When all the world is a hopeless jumble
And the raindrops tumble all around
Heaven opens a magic lane
When all the clouds darken up the skyway
There's a rainbow highway to be found
Leading from your window pane
To a place behind the sun
Just a step beyond the rain...

Somewhere over the rainbow way up high
There's a land that I've heard of once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true
Some day I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

Somewhere over the rainbow blue birds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why can't I?
If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow
Why oh why can't I?

Soul Light


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Soul Light


I place the tin candle holder on the tray,
light a match
and hold it steadily at the candle’s wick –
watching as the flame slowly comes to life,
rising higher and higher.

This candle, this soul light,
will burn for at least twenty-four hours.

A small window of opportunity
To bring you back to life.
To recreate for others all that you were.
To share with them all that you represented.
To give your neshama a spark once more.

I say a silent prayer and remember.


A Writer's Anxiety Dream...Comes True

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Last month, I posted about an odd anxiety dream I had. This evening I found out that the dream more-or-less has come true.

The launch for the annual Canadian Jewish literary journal, Parchment, is this coming Sunday morning. A fellow poet had told me that she'd already heard before Rosh Hashana from the editor that she was to read some of her accepted poetry at the launch. But she hadn't been told which poems to read. In other words, the literary project had grown quite scattered this year...

As I hadn't heard anything about whether or not my poetry was accepted, and it was so late in the game, I made the assumption that it's not. Especially too, since I hadn't been contacted about providing an updated bio. But I was sort of planning to go to the launch anyhow to hear those writers/playwrights/poets whose works HAD BEEN ACCEPTED. But could a rejected poet like myself feel comfortable amidst published ones? So it was truly going to be just a spur of the moment decision as to whether or not I'd go on Sunday.

Tonight, out of curiosity, I went on to the journal's web site. It had gotten updated since the last time I checked, and now referred to the 2005-2006 new edition...complete with an index. And MY name was in the table of contents and bio listings. I was curious to see what was written, as I hadn't been informed that a poem of mine would appear in the journal, and as I'd never been asked to submit a bio this year. The bio said that it was my third appearance in this journal, and then the rest of the blurb was the same I'd submitted last year. Okay, so they made something up. Not exactly what I'd have said AGAIN, but it's still something, I guess.

The problem is that (at least online, but probably in the actual book too) the index lists my current married name (I think I must've submitted the poem under it), but the bio (already pseudo-set from last year) lists my maiden name and married name, which is what I prefer for my published writing.

So...had I not by fluke looked at the web site earlier, and just gone this coming Sunday to the book launch, the complete dream would have come true: going to the venue, being handed a book and being told that I do have stuff published in it, seeing that they got my name wrong...or at least partially wrong.

In spite of these "kvetches" of mine, I'm once again honored to have had a poem accepted in this prestigious publication. I had submitted two, but this accepted one has never been published, while the other one already appeared in the Canadian Jewish News and in The Book of Ariel, Robert Avrech's two-year-long project memorializing his son, Ariel Chaim Avrech.

My published poem is entitled Soul Light and is about the ner neshama/memorial candle.

Monday, November 07, 2005

A True Story

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Unlike today's vista of decrepit buildings, dilapidated housing and rusting junked cars, the South Bronx in 1950 was the home of a large and thriving community, one that was predominantly Jewish. Today a mere remnant of this once-vibrant community survives, but in the 1950's the Bronx offered synagogues, mikvahs, kosher bakeries, and kosher butchers -- all the comforts one would expect from a traditional Jewish community.

The baby boom of the post-war years happily resulted in many new young parents. As a matter of course, the South Bronx had its own baby equipment store. Sickser's was located on the corner of Westchester and Fox, and specialized in "everything for the baby," as its slogan ran. The inventory began with cribs, baby carriages, playpens, high chairs, changing tables, and toys.
Mr. Sickser, assisted by his son-in-law Lou Kirshner, ran a profitable business out of the needs of the rapidly-expanding child population. The language of the store was primarily Yiddish, but Sickser's was a place where not only Jewish families but also many non-Jewish ones could acquire the necessary paraphernalia for their newly-arrived bundles of joy.

Business was particularly busy one spring day, so much so that Mr. Sickser and his son-in-law could not handle the unexpected throng of customers. Desperate for help, Mr. Sickser ran out of the store and stopped the first youth he spotted on the street.

"Young man," he panted, "how would you like to make a little extra money? I need some help in the store. You want to work a little?"

The tall, lanky African-American boy flashed a toothy smile back. "Yes, sir, I'd like some work."

"Well then, let's get started." The boy followed his new employer into the store.

Mr. Sickser was immediately impressed with the boy's good manners and demeanor. As the days went by and he came again and again to lend his help, Mr. Sickser became increasingly impressed with the youth's diligence, punctuality and readiness to learn. Eventually Mr. Sickser made him a regular employee at the store. It was gratifying to find an employee with an almost soldier-like willingness to perform even the most menial of tasks, and to perform them well.

From the age of 13 until his sophomore year in college, the young man put in from 12-15 hours a week, at 50 to 75 cents an hour. Mostly, he performed general labor: assembling merchandise, unloading trucks and preparing items for shipments. He seemed, in his quiet way, to appreciate not only the steady employment but the friendly atmosphere Mr. Sickser's store offered. Mr. Sickser learned in time about their helper's Jamaican origins, and he in turn picked up a good deal of Yiddish. In time young Colin was able to converse fairly well with his employers, and more importantly, with a number of the Jewish customers whose English was not fluent.

At the age of 17, the young man, while still working part-time at Sickser's, began his first semester at City College of New York. He fit in just fine with his, for the most part Jewish, classmates -- hardly surprising, considering that he already knew their ways and their language. But the heavy studying in the engineering and later geology courses he chose proved quite challenging. Colin would later recall that Sickser's offered the one stable point in his life those days.

After signing up for an ROTC program and serving two tours of duty in Vietnam, the young man quickly rose to the top ranks of the U.S. military. In 1989, under President George Bush, Colin Powell was sworn in as the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

In 1993, two years after he guided the American victory over Iraq in the Gulf War, Colin Powell visited the Holy Land. Upon meeting Israel's Prime Minister Yitzhak Shamir in Jerusalem, he greeted the Israeli with the words Men kent reden Yiddish -- "We can speak Yiddish."

As Shamir, stunned, tried to pull himself together, Colin Powell -- now U.S. Secretary of State -- continued chatting in his second-favorite language. He had never forgotten his early days in the Bronx...

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Bad Habits Be Gone!



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Okay, so what are some of your bad habits? Smoking, leaving the toilet seat up, twirling your hair, snapping your gum, leaving dirty dishes in the sink, biting your nails, never letting a person get in a word edgewise...? The list is endless, isn't it? There are some habits you might've kicked since you were younger; you might have acquired new ones along the way to adulthood.

Whatever the habit, I'm pretty sure you've tried to quit, tried to come clean, tried to go cold turkey... But these suckers aren't too easy to distance yourself from.

Take the case of a youngster I know. Said youngster is all-boy, part baby and very endearing. He can hang out with older kids and be "one of them"; he can also interact well with younger children. He's pretty well immersed in society, save for one flaw, one bad habit if you will.

BLANKIE -- aka "Blanka" and "Shmatta Blankie."

Blankie, the culprit in this scenario, is a longtime friend of this child. They go w...a...y... back to... Well, way back. Blankie and said child have been bosom buddies through good times and bad. Of course, Blankie was put through the wringer quite a number of times, but child stood by his side, hanging on for dear life. After all, Blankie has been a true friend all these years.

Although a friend, Blankie has become a bad habit. Too much of a good thing turns out not always to be a good thing -- we all know and recognize that, don't we? Try telling that to a young child!

There's a beautiful children's book called "Something From Nothing" about a blanket that wears out through the years, diminishes in size, changes format. Well, I think Blanka (name changed here to protect identity of Blankie) heard that story one too many times, clutched in the hand of said child. Blanka thought that she, too, could have a story...or a blog...written about her, and tried to change over the years. Not as colorful, washed-out with time, feeling tattered around the edges -- time took its toll on Blanka and soon she became Shmatta Blankie.

Was young child fed up with Shmatta Blankie? Nope, but parents were somewhat disturbed, and tried to use "child psychology" to break the cling-on habit that child displayed.
Didn't work too well...until child came up own personal Piaget-Adler-Freudian theory:

"I'll have Blankie for one night; you take it away for two."

What a theory! What a five-year-old to come up with it! Actually, consciously trying to wean himself off his bad habit!

"One night on, two nights off." Great idea, kid. Now if only we could all adapt it to our own bad habits...

Friday, November 04, 2005

How Smart Is Your Right Foot?

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This is so funny that it will boggle your mind. And you will keep trying at least 50 more times to see if you can outsmart your foot, but you can't.

1. While sitting at your desk, lift your right foot off the floor and make clockwise circles.

2. Now, while doing this, draw the number "6" in the air with your right hand.

Your foot will change direction.

I told you so... And there's nothing you can do about it.

Make sure you pass this on to your friends...they won't be able to believe it either.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

If You Can't Beat 'Em...Share 'Em


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And so, I've had to change my philosphy. After blogging for nearly a year and being told "If you blog, they will come," early on when I asked someone who'd been in the "business" for a while, and seeing that isn't quite so, I've opted to change my ways.

Perhaps I have some interesting things to say, but apparently not that many of you agree with me. My readership might have gone up since last December, but the number of comments haven't. If I'm "lucky" I might average a couple a day. If I'm "very lucky" and post something about wanting to perhaps quit the blogging scene, I might see 15 comments that day.

Yes, envy runs through our veins alongside our blood. Isn't it a blogger's dream to see 25 and 50 comments a day...and exclusively from other people, not mixed in with a commentary dialogue of yours!

Well, I know someone who gets those daily averages of 50+ comments, who gets honorable mentions in other blogs, yet in fact deserves none of it. He deserves SO MUCH MORE...such as his own syndicated column.

We thought that Jerry Seinfeld had a wonderful run on his "show about nothing" -- it captivated us and kept us glued in front of our TV sets every Thursday p.m. We lived with the characters, we were eager to watch their weekly interaction.

Well, not too long ago, I found that certain blogger who has inched his way into my heart -- he has moved me to tears, he has had me rock in gales of laughter, he has had me roll my eyes in disbelief and sometimes disgust. His blog is about nothing while at the same time, it's about everything.

Some of you discovered him before I did and I'm sorry for missing the boat the first part of his run. But now that I'm on that boat, I don't want to get off. And I want you all to get on that boat with me. The captain of the boat is Neil Kramer, his on-again-off-again co-captain is named Sophia, and the boat is named "Citizen of the Month".

Pick random posts of Neil's to read. I guarantee that you will be caught off balance by some of his worldviews, by some of the comments that go with his posts, but that you will be most entertained.

I found a good thing -- and I'm sticking with it!

"Last Dance"

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World Jewish Digest out of Chicago features a very beautiful and poignant essay this month. It was written by Rochelle Krich, a bestselling and award-winning author of mysteries and suspense fiction.

I've been corresponding with Rochelle since the spring, and had the good fortune to meet her and spend a couple of hours in her company this past June on my trip to L.A. Not only is she a bestselling author, but she is also a very gracious one -- I explained to her that due to my work in publishing, I have difficulty reading for pleasure and so, have not yet read any of her books. She did not reprimand me because she knows that even though I myself might not be reading her books, I'm spreading the good word to others about them!

Rochelle is a mother, a grandmother and a very spunky and bright gal. She does her research and it shows in her creativity. She is also a very warm and loving person, and it definitely shows in this essay, "Last Dance" -- a very moving tribute to her late father.

I urge you to reach for your copy of the newspaper if you get it; if not, get on the web site and do read her piece. After you do so, if it's still possible, go call your father/mother, or even better, visit with him/her. You will be very glad that you did...

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Open for Business


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Now... a sign like this one is what I'd like to see more of.

For the most part, we live in a 9 to 5 world, sometimes 9 to 6; if you're lucky, 9 to 9. Open Saturdays 9 to 6; open Sundays 12 to 5.

My weekday work life fits into the 8:30 to 5 world (by the time I'm home, it's 6:00), my home life (considering kids--feeding, homework, entertaining) fits into the 6:30 a.m. to 9:30 world. My personal life fits into the 9:30 to 1 a.m. world.

Hello...do you see something in this pattern? Where is the time slot that fits with MY life?

I know in the States there are 24 hour Super Wal-Mart stores and supermarkets open for the late-night, early-morning needy folks, but we don't really have that here. The one time I went rather late to an all-night local supermarket, there was one cashier working, or should I say, talking on the telephone, and there was a lengthy lineup. When I go to the store at 11 p.m., I do not want to stand in a lineup. I do not expect to stand in a lineup. If I wanted to stand in a lineup, I would have gone to the supermarket at 5:30, on my way home from work!

We have to wait till the 3rd week in November to have malls stay open late on Saturday nights. Being Shomer Shabbat, I cannot seek out a mall from Friday p.m. through sunset on Saturday p.m. But I don't want to have to wait till the end of November to be able to pop into the mall late on a Saturday for the next 4 Saturdays! (this bonus mall feature ends with Christmas)

How about starting some new societal arrangements? Yes, let's have more supermarkets and stores of all kinds stay open till midnight, or better yet, all night! And while we're at it, let's open up hair salons, public libraries, doctors' offices, government services, etc. until midnight...or even later.

Do your grocery shopping at 9:30 p.m., pop into the library at 10:30 p.m.to pick up a couple good reads, and hit the salon at 11:15 p.m.. I mean, who wants to wake up with "bed head"? Get your hair done, and maybe your nails while you're at it, and if time allows (of course time allows -- this is my fantasy post) , have a 90 minute Swedish massage. Okay, it's now 3 a.m. and you're on a roll. Go to the optical store and try on some funky frames; even better, pop in at the walk-in Lasik (tm) Eye Center and do some minor work on your left eye. Next week, your right eye will have its turn.

Sleep? Who needs sleep? But I do need to take the kids for flu shots, have my annual checkup, get the car tuned up and checked out for winter, return some clothes I bought, have a meeting with a particular teacher and buy some small hostess gifts. Do you think I can manage all that between 11 p.m. and 7:30 a.m., when I have to leave for my day job?!

(People, let's try to make this fantasy post a reality. C'mon now. Run with it. After all, instead of having to take 1/2 a day off work and shlep for 40 minutes of traffic to make an appointment, wouldn't it be nicer to sit in your gynecologist's or cardiologist's waiting room at 4 a.m. and hear: "The doctor will see you now...")

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Blogger Notes...No Relation to Monarch Notes



It occurred to me this evening that we bloggers are also commentators, whether in our own posts or in the comments sections of our blog and those of others. We are not unlike the famous commentators of Jewish history: Rashi, Rashbah, Onkeles, etc. These men extracted from the main messages of Torah and Talmud to post their own thoughts on the matter at hand. We do that, as well.

We do it to blog strangers, we do it to blog friends. And if we're lucky, sometimes some other blogger cites our words or gives a link to our message.

Many of us think through our comments before writing them, while others take them lightly and toss them off easily. Like the famous rabbis and Talmudic and rabbinical students of yesteryear who were called upon to respond to Halachic questions, we are sometimes consulted upon to give opinions, rationales and elaborations. In essence, we, like the great thinkers, are providing "responsa".

Perhaps we can take that a step further. Will our responsa, our blogs in essence, be discovered in great warehouses in Cairo, in "genizahs" hundreds of years from now? If so, what great words of wisdom and commentaries will you be remembered for?

Monday, October 31, 2005

Me Time/We Time

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I came up with an idea this a.m. en route to work, and thought it to be a good one.

My late-August - September "free" time was taken up by two freelance projects. When I was offered these copy editing assignments, I was pleased, because it was new clientele I'd be working for and like most anyone thinks: "Maybe this gig will lead to another one..."

In any case, many of September's Sundays were beautiful days; I should have been outdoors with my children, taking them to parks and other venues. But what was I doing? Sitting at the dining room table, papers, Post-Its, reference books and red pencils spread out around me. And the excuses tumbled out one after the other: "Sorry, I can't play with you now. Sorry, it's so nice out but we can't go anywhere. SORRY, SORRY, SORRY." (the lyrics to "Cat's in the Cradle" kept running through my head as I thought of this imbalanced parent-child relationship)

After my deadlines, I said to my husband, "It was so not worth it. Even a thousand dollars for both projects would not have made it worth my while... I should have been with the kids."

So, I decided that when I get my two paychecks for these assignments, for the few hundred dollars that it will be, I will take the money and plan for a weekend or even overnight family getaway at a family-oriented hotel. The "Me" time that I spent last month will become the "We" time that it should have been.

Sunday, October 30, 2005

The Way You Do the Things You Do



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I know that Pearlies of Wisdom has several readers who are parents of young'uns--PsychoToddler, A Simple Jew, Doctor Bean, Stacey, Tuesday Wishes, to name a few.

Have any of you ever stopped to really look at your kids as they throw little hissy fits and full-blown temper tantrums? Have you ever stopped to wonder how it would look if we adults emulated our children when we were just a wee angry? I think about it a lot and often demonstrate for my children what they look and sound like.

Luckily, my kids don't throw themselves down on the floor or bang their heads against something when they're angry (thank G-d that's long outgrown), but they do: stare me down with daggers shooting from eyes, yelp in frustration, whine incessantly, bark out noises of disgust, stomp in their shoes or in bare feet (I call that "slap happy"-- their footfall slaps against the hardwood floors), arch their backs as they stand on tiptoe and screech for a moment or two.
Of course, when I stop them and say, "What if I would do what you're doing when I'm angry?" and proceed to demonstrate, it looks comical. But when they do it, they're in the heat of the moment and oblivious to how they look or what they sound like.

There have been times when one of them is ranting about something or other, and I hush them up, saying, "Please be quiet. I can't even hear the voices in my head." They look at me quizzically; yes, my offbeat sense of humor works on them and they lower their tone.

A child is lively; a child represents life. Yes, we all would like to have perfectly, well-behaved children, but sometimes these "sparks" that they emit are what we need as parents to remind us of why we chose to be parents. We wanted to help mold a child's life and leave our marks on the world. Okay, so in their anger, some kids prefer to leave marks on the wall or on the furniture or floors, but it isn't really anything we can't handle...right? [as she arches her back, stands on tiptoe and screeches in frustration]

"If I Could Save Time in a Bottle..."



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"If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I’d like to do
Is to save every day
Till eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you

If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I’d save every day like a treasure and then,
Again, I would spend them with you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them..."

AND THEN MAN CREATED DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME...

Saturday, October 29, 2005

That's the Way -- Uh-Huh, Uh-Huh -- I Like It



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I was born in 1961, so I never quite know what to call myself. People say about themselves, "I'm a child of the sixties...or seventies." I guess I'm more a child of the seventies and eighties, but give me any kind of music -- the thirties, the forties, for the most part I can skip the fifties (except early Elvis), I'll rock'n'roll with the sixties, I'll boogie with the seventies, and I'll get down on the dance floor with the eighties. (In the nineties, I was listening mostly to children's songs!)

It is such a pleasure to be in the kitchen on Saturday night, cleaning up after Shabbat, the radio playing in the background. On one station I have "golden oldies" of the sixties playing; a small turn of the dial takes me to Disco Saturday Night.

If my kids are around, they get such a kick out of watching me let loose with the dance moves and the vocals. I'll lip sync for their pleasure and exaggerate facial expressions. Or I'll belt out song lyrics while sliding around the kitchen floor.

Perhaps it's sad to say that I know nearly every word of every song played from the disco era...'cause back then, on Saturday nights, I was probably in my bedroom listening to the radio when the songs were current. I'd get down, I'd boogie, and I'd shake my groove thing whenever the lyrics called for me to do so.

These days, though, when I get down, it's hard to get up; when I boogie, it's because I'm running late, and if I shake my groove thing, it's because gravity and leftover baby fat (from giving birth!) are helping.

I don't mind if "It's Raining Men"; I'll be glad to "Do the Hustle"; I know "I Will Survive" -- just give me some music, give me a dance floor and give me a spotlight.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

L.A. Revisited -- Again, and Again, and Again...


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The other night, while at the dinner Yom Tov table, I was relaying some story about my trip to California this past June. My oldest child piped up: "If you were there almost 5 months ago, why are you still talking about it?"

His reaction definitely made me think. Yes, I've talked about the trip before, but not excessively, because a few short days upon my return home, we left for a family road trip to Florida. My children had their own memories to make and their own stories to tell.

But had my son been right in his perception of why continue to talk about something if it's long past, then we could take that rationale a step further. We would just have experiences that were self-enclosed, lived for the moment and then close the book on them and shelve them for permanence, not to take the book off the shelf and skim through it from time to time. What kind of life would that be?

My son sees me telling California stories or details I might've forgotten to mention earlier, but does not realize that he himself reminisces, as well. He and his brother and sister continue to remind one another of certain rides at Universal Studios, or the day they watched a young shark being caught off a pier, or the afternoon we spent swimming in the Atlantic Ocean at Cocoa Beach, or the magnificent public fireworks we witnessed on July 4th. These children relish the moments, relish the memories, and their excitement over remembered details is still very evident.

Yes, I will relive my California trip again and again...at least until I make a return trip there and create new memories and have new stories to tell.

Blogger Spell Check Needs Some Lessons in Judaism


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Doesn't Miss Spell Check (c) look like a nice Jewish bubby? She'll cook some chicken soup with lokshen (noodles) or knaidlech (matzah balls) for you and will sit you down at her kitchen table to eat while she goes over your work.

I use spell check in some of my work for work, in my writing of articles, etc. I don't use it for blogging (actually forgetting that it's available for use) normally, but yesterday I used it for my Simchat Torah entry when I noticed a typo once I'd already hit "publish"-- I corrected the error, then reviewed the rest of my work with the spell check service.

It is very clear to me that Blogger needs to be updated and informed re. Jewish references. Here in black is what I typed, followed in red by what was suggested to me as a change. My comments follow in brackets.

Get ready for a few potential laughs or rolling of the eyes.


simchat -- smacked (Simchat means "happy" ; "smack" can make you very happy, thus adding to the joy of Simchat Torah.)

chagim -- chasm (Boy, did the chagim this year, September-October, create a chasm at my workplace between my boss and I.)

shuls -- souls (Shuls/synagogues are filled with countless souls, some more lost than others, but all gathered together as a community in service to G-d).

shteibel -- satiable (The shnapps and herring and egg kichel found in shteibels help ease congregants' most satiable appetites for "Kiddush, kiddush!")

shul -- Saul (I guess that at least one Saul can be found in every shul.)

minyan -- Minoan (A minyan/quorum goes back centuries, but I'm not certain if all the way back to the Minoan age.)

Torahs -- Tories (Torahs and Canadian politics--what a mix!)

hagbah -- highboy (Blogger spell check misses the mark, but gets a point for trying. "High" is the commonality; hold the Torah high.)

daven -- deafen (Is this subliminal suggestion? When members daven/pray in certain congregations, it can be rather deafening, can't it?)

mechitzah -- necktie's (Are these what separate the men from the women in a shul? Blogger spell check couldn't even get the spelling right--how good a spell checker can it be?)

*aliyah -- Allah (What a bizarre suggestion as a word replacement. You know what? You keep your Allah, and we'll keep our aliyah -- to the Torah and to Israel!)

********

Happy Birthday to my lovely, sweet and gentle mother. Bis 120!

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Simchat Torah Memories


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Rejoice with the Torah! Such is the proclamation for the holiday that finished this evening...and so mark the end of our chagim until Chanukah.

I've seen Simchat Torah in many forms, in many shuls throughout my years.My earliest memories are of the shteibel we attended till I was about eight years old. Young and old alike in the basement of a house dancing in glee and carrying that glee upstairs and out of doors onto public property...proclaiming to any and limited passing car and foot traffic that the Torah is ours and it's here to stay.

My next memories are of the family shul, also an Orthodox minyan, where I could still join the men downstairs because I was not yet bat mitzvah age. Or else I stood with my mother and the other ladies and young girls in the balcony, looking down below and watching as certain shul members overexaggerated everything, helped by a little -- or a lot of -- liquor in their systems.

There was one year that I was with friends and we were downtown (the Lower East Side area of Toronto, called Kensington Market) at a shul that just happened to be egalitarian. Now that concept was far beyond me and what I was used to. Yes, we danced outside on the shul property with the Torahs, but when someone offered to hand me the Torah to dance with, I declined. And back inside the shul, when someone offered me hagbah, and then an aliyah, I declined again. It was so foreign to me, so far removed from the environment I was accustomed to, so NOT ME.

One of my loveliest memories of the holiday is about 10 years ago -- I was married and our oldest was about 6 months old. He was wearing a beautiful white and blue plush velour sleeper and was dancing in the arms of my husband, back in a shteibel setting of the shul my husband attended when we married and where we continued to daven until we moved northward. That memory of that baby being held is likened to a Torah in its mantel being held -- lovingly, adoringly and carefully -- and displayed for all to see.

Before a move a couple years ago we attended another small Orthodox shul and the last year we were there, one of the women pseudo-begged the rabbi for the men to pass the Torah over. Reluctantly he and the menfolk agreed and this woman held and danced with the Torah, crying like a baby. She said she'd been trying for over 20 years to get to hold a Torah. She truly rejoiced as she held the Torah like it were her baby and embraced it lovingly. Yes, I finally took the Torah where it was offered to me, but it wasn't as if it were a great achievement for me. I was indifferent, but not as against holding it as I'd been almost 20 years earlier. I just remember being v...e...r...y cautious when I held it.

The shul we attended for the past two Simchat Torah celebrations is very lively -- Bnai Akiva teens come from far and wide and add to the spirit with their singing and dancing. As well, in this shul, also Orthodox, the Torah gets passed over the mechitzah to the women. Women come from far because they know this shul gives women the right to hold and dance with the Torah.

It is clear that the glee shown on the faces of these women and teenage girls as they dance with the Torah is the same glee and wondernment that shone on my face when I was a little girl in that first shteibel my family attended. Then, I stood on the outside looking in on the men; these women stand on the inside and get to look out.

There is a great joy in knowing that each of us is part of something bigger, of a community, of a people. And the Torah is our inheritance, our heritage.

May we all merit to share in the joy and dancing of Simchat Torah next year again.


(cross-posted on THE JEWISH CONNECTION)

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Roll that Film!


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I discovered a great Web site, Jewish Impact Films, that offers brief, entertaining films to help promote Jewish concepts: Shabbos, Kashrut, Sukkot, etc.

It's fun, it's insightful and it's Jewish!

Jewish Impact Films -- click on it!

Friday, October 21, 2005

I'm a Wuss for OnStar (TM)

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No, hubby and I don't own GM vehicles and so we don't have OnStar in our cars, but next best thing to having OnStar access in your vehicle, is listening to the OnStar radio spots.

I'm such a sucker when I hear these three minute ad pitches: it's like a soap opera for the airwaves -- Will the "victim" get through to the OnStar person? Will OnStar get through to the emergency services? Will OnStar be receptive to compliments following the crisis?

I like hearing the disparate accents of callers and the OnStar reps. I like knowing that usually there will be a happy ending. If not, I think the company has their advertising means a little mixed-up.

Sometimes the desperate voices pierce my heart though...as was the case this a.m. just as I drove into the parking lot at work. In this scenario, a 48-year-old man thought he was having a heart attack, emergency personnel were contacted and by the end of the commercial, they'd arrived on the scene. But by the end of the commercial I was also suddenly weepy. I could actually hear the pain in the caller's voice, the tightness, the clenching in his chest, and I actually hoped that he, too, received a happy ending.

Need directions? Call OnStar. Need help unlocking your vehicle? Call OnStar. Car won't drive? Call OnStar. G-d forbid you need emergency medical treatment? Call OnStar.

Need a laugh? Link to BlondeStar.