A Final Resting Place

My beloved father passed away last Sunday, March 8, 12th Adar, at 5:55 a.m. and his funeral service was at 3:00 that afternoon. Shiva was held this past week at my parents' house, and we got up midday Friday because of the onset of Shabbos.

There is much to say about the week of shiva, about my father's last days, and about the man himself, but now is not the time. Suffice is to say that Jacob Adler was a loved, respected and admired man by all whose path crossed his.

Life works rather mysteriously. I've written in the past about my father's early years and the fact that he lost his father when he was only 6 1/2, and a baby sister was born two months after the father died. There were also two other sisters between my father and the baby.

Unfortunately, one sister died of acute appendicitis in a neighboring town during the Holocaust, and the youngest sister died along with my grandmother in their hometown, slaughtered by the Nazis. My father and one sister were sole survivors.

A number of years ago, my parents traveled to Israel together for the first time and went to Yad Vashem. My parents thought that they should register my grandmother's name at least, but lo and behold, when they looked up her name, it had already been registered, by a former neighbor. To say my father was emotionally moved is an understatement. He so wanted to be able to seek out that former neighbor and thank her for remembering his mother, but she had already passed away.

About a year or so ago, after seeing several reminders in Jewish newspapers for people to register names of those who perished in the Holocaust, my mother and father decided that my father's two younger sisters should also be remembered at Yad Vashem. My mother completed the form, sent it in and was told it had been received, but it could take up to a year or more to actually do the formal registration.

Every few weeks while I thought of it, I checked the Yad Vashem website for the names to see if they were already listed. Deep down, I always hoped that the names would appear in my father's lifetime so that he could be at rest knowing that his sisters also had a final and proper resting place...in an archives at least, if not in real life.

When my father passed away on Sunday, I even checked the website, and was disappointed to not see my aunts' names. If I recall, I even checked on Thursday evening, when I came home from the shiva house to sleep in my own home.

I just looked at the website before I began to write this post, and lo and behold there were my aunts' names and brief description of when they died. I started to weep.

The shiva is over; the neshama (soul) of my father was said to be hovering in the home for the week. Tonight we went back to my parents' house after Shabbos to take the customary short walk that some people do after getting up from shiva, the neshama (soul) then taking its leave, rising toward the heavens.

How timely for these Yad Vashem listings to appear now, at the end of shiva, with my father's neshama departing. I am grateful as well as awestruck.

Indeed a sign of Hashgacha Pratis at work.

My father can now rest in eternal peace, his soul reunited with those of his loved ones.

May my father, grandmother, grandfather and aunts be united in a better place.

Amen.

Living for the City/Sity (thanks, Stevie Wonder!)

My verbosity comes with velocity

and I definitely have a curiosity...with words.

and a generosity...with words.



Hopefully I'm not a monstrosity...with words.



I prefer to be considered a Travelocity...with words.



Is this poem a pomposity..with words?

Oh, Isn't It Nice To Dream?

Do any of you ACTUALLY know anyone who was written up in the New York Times' wedding/social pages?

I like to look at them from time to time to see how people present themselves to the world and to their intended spouse and future in-laws.

Of course, I could never have appeared in there.

Pearl Adler, of Toronto, Canada, is to wed Ron Saban on December 19, 1993 at the Paradise Hall, with Rabbi J. Burak officiating. She will gladly take on the Saban name as her own, even if it means a hassle with having to change all official documentation and her nameplate at work.

Mr. Saban, who was born in Israel and raised in Winnipeg, Canada, is a controller for a medical lab. Ms. Adler, who was born and raised in Toronto, is a copy editor with Harlequin Books, Inc.

The couple met briefly in synagogue when Mr. Saban was dating one of Ms. Adler's friends. A year later, someone officially set them up. The rest is history.

The not-so-young couple will reside in Toronto, and will honeymoon in the early part of 1994...their destination being wherever they get the best sell-off vacation!

The couple's parents prefer not to be mentioned on this page; they are extremely modest people. Suffice it to say that they are very happy with the upcoming nuptials and with their children's choice of spouse.

Interesting Meme I Spotted

Album cover meme

1 - Go to "wikipedia." Hit “random”or click

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random

The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to "Random quotations"or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3

The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.

3 - Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days

Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4 - Use photoshop or similar to put it all together.

Keep It? Toss It? Keep It? Toss It?

I am what one would call....how do you say it?...a PACK RAT! I hoard items for what I deem sentimental value or because I think they might prove to be needed at some time in the future.

In my parents' house, there is a place for everything. In my house, there is everything and no place to house it!

I used to collect all, and I mean every single one, of my kids' art pieces when I lived in our last house. One day, I figured, one of them might grow up to become an artist, and they might want to review the chicken scratch artwork they did in preschool. It wasn't even as if I was displaying their drawings, but I was boxing them and drawering them scattered throughout the house.

One day, before our intended move, my husband insisted I toss much of the artwork. "Save a few pieces from each child" was his suggestion. Believe me, when I say it was difficult to do.

When I think about what I saved, it was probably the same piece done by each of the kids when they were each in that same grade. So it might've been a Purim megillah (times three) that I saved from senior kindergarten, and a Rosh Hashanah letter written to the family saved from grade two.

Since we moved over five years ago, I have cut back on some of the collected artwork, but I have still saved many other items.

Yesterday, I spent a few morning hours going through my armoire drawers -- normally meant for clothing, but not in my case! -- and gathering all types of cards I've collected over the years. All the birthday cards for each child and for my husband and myself, anniversary cards, our engagement cards and wedding cards. I categorized them in large manila envelopes and put them together in a clear box, which I'll shelve in another bedroom cupboard.

I have other boxes such as this in my walk-in closet. They house other written collections: an entire five year or so letter collection from a pen-pal I had in Long Island from the time I was about twelve; a collection of earlier b'day cards and postcards and mail that I wanted to keep over the years. I truly don't need all these bits and pieces of my past, 'cause I don't even make the time to take these boxes down from the shelves and give up three hours to read through their contents. I'm just afraid that if I do toss them, I'll be sorry.

I've learned through experience, though, and from hearing stories, that it's easier to do the tossing yourself than somewhere, years down the road, having some family members just dump everything because the contents of such boxes have no meaning to them.

Sometime last year or the year before, my mother handed me an envelope. It was filled with congratulatory cards she'd received when I was born back in September 1961. I'm so glad she never tossed those cards, but knew exactly where in the house she could retrieve those cards from to pass along to me. I'd like to think that one day I might do the same for my children.

"Here, Avi/Adina/Noam, here are all the birthday cards you ever received from family and friends."

AVI: "What am I supposed to do with these?"

ADINA: "Thanks." And she'd probably proceed to look through them, laugh and remember friends' names and personalities.

NOAM: "What am I supposed to do with these?"

Sometimes I wish I weren't so sentimental. But then again, I volunteered, doing archival work for many years, and I think that all my collections -- which might not really mean much to others -- tell a story and reveal who I was, who I am, and who I might (still) become.

All those journals, letters I wrote while spending six months in Israel, snippets of ideas that never yet became literary pieces, reveal more about me than just what's on the surface.

Anybody want to learn more about me? My archive hours are Monday thru Friday from 9:00 a.m. to 12 noon. No sign-out privileges.

Worthy of a Smile

I received a comment today on a blog post of mine, and the person also told me this wonderful little tidbit, that is worthy of being shared.

When my niece Sarah was 2 (she is now 20), and was put on the phone to talk to her Nana (my Mom) and give her a Sabbath greeting, little Sarah says, in a sweet and earnest voice: "Good Shopping Nana".

Camp...for the Non-Camper

I've never been to overnight camp...or I believe in America it's called sleepaway camp. But I did recently sort of get to go to camp and experience it through the eyes of Mindy Schneider, in her wonderful book NOT A HAPPY CAMPER.

Although the book came out in 2007, I, the quintessential "late bloomer" recently discovered it.

The book became, for the most part, my Shabbos reading for a couple of weeks. It helped pass the hours, as I lived -- can't even say "re-lived" -- a Jewish overnight camp experience in Maine.

Not just any camp, but Camp Kin-A-Hurra. Isn't that just the best name!? I kept wondering if it was real or made-up. Saul Rattner, the camp owner, must've really tried to ward off the evil eye as best as he could, but once you begin reading this book, you'll discover that the camp and the campers don't have the best mazel!

Do take the time to sit back, put some bug spray on your arms, suntan lotion on your nose and wear a wide brimmed hat as you prepare to delve into Mindy Schneider's camp world of yesteryear -- the early seventies.

You'll laugh, you'll smile, you might even cry...from laughing so hard. Mindy has captured the culture of being a young teen in the 1970s, hoping to have her first boyfriend by summer's end, and making some new friends along the way.

There are photos, camp songs, and secrets tossed the reader's way throughout the book. All together, they make for a fine nostalgic walk down memory lane...if you can avoid the poison ivy, that is!

When News Items Are Within Reach

We all know of the tremendously tragic airline crash that happened last week in the region of Buffalo, New York. It is a horrible news item that just makes peoples' ears and eyes open.
We read about the victims, we read about where they were coming from and where they were going to, we read about their accomplishments and their families and their personal lives.

In their deaths, each one comes alive.

My family and I traveled this past weekend to Buffalo and Niagara Falls, Ontario. It was a long weekend in Ontario -- Family Day on Monday -- a government's excuse to break up a long, dark winter. It was also President's Day in the U.S.

We went for shopping in Buffalo and for waterpark fun in Niagara Falls.

And in spite of the spirited, fun and relaxing reason for this family getaway, it was marked by a harsh type of reality.

We checked in to our Buffalo-area hotel late Sunday afternoon, and I noticed several men in the lobby. Each time we went back down to the lobby for whatever reason, I noticed these men wearing fire and ambulance service jackets. I had a thought surface at the back of my mind, and on Monday morning, when I went to the lobby, that thought was firmed up.

There, in the lobby sitting area, were tables filled with about a dozen people eating breakfast -- most of them wore jackets with American Red Cross identifying them, and there were others with NTSB -- for National Transportation Safety Board -- on their jackets and bags. They were casually eating breakfast and watching the TV screen from time to time. When the news reporter started talking about the memorial services and the counselling services and news items about the airline crash, they were all attentively watching and listening to the TV screen.

I spoke to one of the Red Cross women: "I guess you're here dealing with the horrible crash."

Her: "Yes."

Me: "How far is it from here?"

Her: "About 5 miles."

Me: "It was truly horrible, and must be so difficult dealing with this incident. You must need counselling yourself afterwards."

Her: she laughs and says "You're right...and I'm a mental health worker myself."

I wish her strength and offer up my hope that she will not have to deal with such a tragic ordeal for a long, long time.

While checking out, I spoke to the desk clerk and told her how I noticed all the emergency personnel staying at the hotel. Our hotel was in a semi circle with about 3 other hotels surrounding it. I said, "These hotels must be filled with more of such personnel."

The clerk said yes, then told me that the families of the victims were staying in the hotel across the driveway from ours.

We can choose to listen to news items or we can look away from the TV screen details as they're described and depicted repeatedly. But when you're in the area of such a tragedy and tangible hints of it surround you, you really can't avoid the harsh reality.

My thoughts and prayers go out to the family, friends, co-workers and communities of all the victims of Continental Airlines Flight 3407...those on the airplane and the one victim on the ground, in whose home the plane crashed.

May they all rest in peace.

The Tushie Lady Is Born

Okay, so I'm fortysomething these days...edging slowly but surely to fiftysomething.

But when I was twentysomething, I was enjoying "thirtysomething"...with all its family dynamics, friendship dynamics, work dynamics and a wonderful cast.

I was a fan of Polly Draper who played Ellen, and Melanie Mayron, who played Melissa Steadman, a great photographer.

Turns out that aside from being an actress and director, Melanie is an enterprising businesswoman who, together with her father the chemist, has come up with a line of products -- diaper cream and a barrier cream for adults.

This line called Mayron's Good Baby has a cute intro story "behind" it. You can read about it at Melanie's blog.

A clean bottom is a happy bottom, so ...bottoms' up...with Mayron's Good Baby.

Whining about Wine

Got a mailing into the house from a wine/beer/liquor outlet and was perusing it today.

Even if these wines were Kosher, you would not see me buying any wine product that is called FAT BASTARD!

Could you imagine me hosting a dinner party and serving wine, handing a glass to a cherished friend and saying, "Here you go, Fat Bastard!" Don't think that friendship would last too long thereafter.

Nor would I be supporting DAN AYKROYD's label with his name on it. Is that supposed to sell me on his product? Yes, I know he's become a vintner, but I associate him with comedy, with Second City, with Saturday Night Live, with the Blues Brothers. Not with grape stomping and corks and bouquets.

I would find his vintage more appealing if his name were hidden in tiny print on the bottom of the back label, and if he just had a catchy name for his libation: Smooth & Rich. Okay, so maybe he is also smooth and rich as a person, but I'd never automatically assume that name is associated with Dan Aykroyd unless I read it somewhere.

A few years back I read about a wine that came in cartons. CARTONS? My kids' juice comes in cartons, milk comes in cartons. How could wine come in cartons? French Rabbit Wine? Merci, mais non. Pas pour moi.

Believe it or not, I'll settle for the old and familiar Manischewitz at times, Bartenura Moscato at other times or Rashi Joyvin. You can leave the Fat Bastard out of my wine cellar!

Slap My Wrist NOW!

I think I'm being punished from above.

I'm quite a nitpicker about typos and have begun to point them out to people more freely...but in a nice and "creative criticism" way.

Okay, I'm tired right now; the phone woke me up at 7:30 this a.m. from a deep sleep, and there's lots of stuff on my mind. But that is no excuse for this typo I just saw that I wrote...and that I have no way of retracting.

I found out about someone's father passing away and wrote in a guest/memorial book on a chapel website just now. I hit send, then reviewed my words.

"...may your father rest in peach."

Oh. My. G-d.

Not only is it a typo, it is a glaring, hideous error that thoroughly has embarrassed me. What will the mourners say when they read it?

I've looked through this guest/memorial book many times and have spotted lots of typos here and there and have silently wrist-slapped the person for their mistakes.

OYYYYY. I've become one of them.

I could go on and make jokes, nervous jokes about that particular typo I made, writing "peach" instead of "peace". But I won't.

Suffice it to say that I'm publicly embarrassed. My name is perpetually in that memorial book, assigned to what was supposed to be words of comfort. Turns out they became words of advice re. fashion colors!

Inspired...

A few days ago, someone I'm in touch with via Facebook, wrote little snatches of a message to me. Those snatches held some wonderful imagery and information and I told the person that maybe I should write a poem...for that's how much I was inspired.

So I did.


i. MORNING GLORY

The day, featuring a violet-blue sky
has beckoned.
With white designer umbrella clouds
dotting the washed blue,
and playing peek-a-boo
with the sun's brilliant rays.

The glimmering Pacific weaves its magic
as frothy, white caps bounce
up and down
up and down
as the waves dance into shore.

Overhead, the gulls circle,
crying, crying
"Yee-haw, Yee-haw" -- extras in an old Western.

I pick up my pace.
"Huh, Huh, Huh, Huh."
Deep, panting breaths
in time to my footwork.
Left, right, left, right
"Huh, Huh, Huh, Huh."

I feel alive.
Revived by this healthy air,
by the way my lungs are
expanding and contracting
expanding and contracting.

This is my meditation.
This is my balm.

Over sand, warmed by the sun.
Over millions of sparkling granules
my legs carry me away.
Farther and farther
from the daily bump and grind
I call "a life."

ii. AFTERNOON DELIGHT

Stretched out on the chaise,
sketchbook and pencil in hand,
I stare off into the distance,
a slight frown on my lips.
I lift my hand and begin to draw.

Bold lines this way,
Slashes that way,
Shading at the edges.

I put down my pencil
and look at the page.
What was once blank,
pure linen white,
now plays host to
a drawing of a man,
stretched out on a chaise,
sketchbook and pencil in hand,
a wide smile on his face.

What's Green, Very Versatile and Can be Shipped to You?

Just discovered this site: http://www.avocadoofthemonthclub.com/ and thought it was a joke at first. But I checked it out and was somewhat surprised by all its offerings.

Do people really buy into these services? Hmmm...."I need my fix of avocado for February. Can't wait till Fed-Ex delivers my next shipment."

And maybe while you're waiting for that next shipment, you can use up your last avocado in this way:

AVOCADO MILKSHAKE

1 avocado
1/3 quart whole milk
3 tablespoons sugar
2 scoops vanilla ice cream

Blend. Drink.

Something to Kvell About

A week ago, on Shabbos morning, my nearly 9-year-old son gave a d'var Torah on the parsha, after davening...the youngest member of our shul to have ever done so. He'd prepared the d'var Torah for his Hebrew class the day before and was willing to repeat it in front of our congregation.

What a pleasure to see! My daughter, who sat beside me, asked, "Eema, are you crying?" I think my eyes just naturally teared up, but I wasn't overtly crying.

"Yasher Koach" was the common refrain to Noam and "Mazel Tov" is what Ron and I heard. What a pleasure.

Later in the day, at seudat shlishit at shul, it was I who gave a d'var Torah. I did one about two years ago about the Ner Tamid. This time my talk was about the Shechina, the Divine Presence.

I am absolutely not one to talk Torah off the cuff; it took me several days to research and prepare my drasha, and in doing so, I felt as if I'd been transported back to my university days, when I was preparing essays for any one of my Jewish courses.

I've thought about the topic of the Shechina for quite a while...my eyes have been drawn to it in the siddur during the Yizkor service, when it talks about "Al kanfei haShechina --On the wings of the Shechina." The wording and imagery always captures my imagination, and that is what triggered this d'var Torah.

It was well-received by my audience, and I look forward to finding another topic in the future that will stir my curiousity enough to do research and will give me some "food for thought."

One of the shul members approached me later with his favorite part of the d'var Torah: "The Kotzker Rebbe, Rebbe Menachem Mendel of Kotzk, was once asked, "Where is G-d?" And he replied, "Wherever they let him in." And such is the Shechina: the Divine Presence of G-d that dwells among men...in their sanctuaries, in their homes, and in their hearts.

I hope that the Shechina finds its place in your lives...

A Little Error...

...goes a long way.


An ad for the Hampton Inn in Niagara Falls, Ontario, includes this line:

Guests of the Hampton can enjoy complimentary Breakfast Buffet which includes hot items, parking, and HBO movies.

Wow, I've never seen a breakfast buffet that offers HBO movies AND parking.

Now, if they would have only hired me on as their copy editor before posting their information, then...I would not have had a blog post for today. :)

Shed a Little Tear

If any of you out there ever find it difficult to cry for whatever reason, if you hold yourself in check, trying to remain strong, if you say to yourself "I haven't had a good cry in a long time," then this show's for you!

EXTREME MAKEOVER : HOME EDITION is an hour of compassion, creativity, community solidarity and stories of the heart. You watch this show, making sure you have a box of tissues close at hand. Your eyes well up, the tears began to roll down your cheeks, and you noisily blow your nose as you are overcome with emotion. And some twenty minutes into the show, along with those on screen, you chant the mantra: "Move that bus!"

You, too, are overwhelmed by the magnificence of what teamwork can accomplish in a few short days. You, too, are curious by what the interior of a new house will disclose. And you, too, are silenced by the wonderful bonuses thrown into the deal.

I guarantee that, unless you are a piece of wood, you will be moved by this show, and your guarded emotions will reveal themselves.

Saturday Night at the Movies

I often take movies out of the library for the family. Quite often they are foreign films, so in that case, it's usually just my husband and I who watch them.

This past Saturday night, my husband and I watched a double bill: I'd taken from the library "Monsieur Ibrahim" , a wonderful French movie from a few years ago, featuring Omar Sharif, and shortly after it was over, we watched "Bernard and Doris" on HBO.

I wouldn't say that either film was "entertaining"; I prefer to call films such as these "thinking men's movies". The plots, at times were slow...but moved thoughtfully to their ends. And at the end, we discussed the merits of the fine acting and the lives these actors portrayed.

I give these fine films 8 stars/10.

On the Cusp

It is December 31st, 2008. In less than 10 hours, the clock will strike midnight, and it will be 2009!

Hard to believe that we're on the cusp of a new year, nearly nine years into the new millennium.

Where did the years go? Where did the months go? Where did the days go?

Many bloggers review their year by re-sharing some of their significant posts. That helps summarize their personal & professional lives and the world at large for the previous 365 days.

I won't do that this year. Suffice it to say that this past year had its ups and downs.

A year ago, today, my mother in law had brain surgery for an aggressive tumor discovered less than 48 hours earlier in a hospital emergency examining room. Thus the tone was set for the year.

My family became too familiar with hospitals and specialists and medical jargon this past year.

But amidst the dark and difficult days, we celebrated our eldest child's bar mitzvah...a major milestone in any Jewish boy's life and that of his parents.

Who knows what 2009 will hold for us and for the world? How will the small country of Israel fare? Will she gain more enemies worldwide and some unexpected friends along the way? How will Barack Obama prove himself a leader? What changes will he bring to office? Will the national economy have to dip further before it begins to slowly climb back upwards?

Let us hope and pray that 2009 can be a good year for all.

In a few hours, on this side of the world we'll be saying, "Live...from __________...it's 2009!"

The Greatest Love Story Ever Told...

...is apparently a lie.

Publisher Cancels Rosenblat Memoir After TNR Exposes Hoax

Berkley Books, an imprint of Penguin Group, announced tonight that it was canceling Herman Rosenblat's Holocaust memoir, Angel at the Fence: The True Story of a Love That Survived, which was set to be published on February 3.

In a statement, Berkley's director of publicity, Craig Burke, said: "Berkley Books is cancelling publication of Angel at the Fence after receiving new information from Herman Rosenblat's agent, Andrea Hurst. Berkley will demand that the author and the agent return all money that they have received for this work."

Just yesterday, Berkley released a statement defending the author and his memoir. Shortly after Berkley's new statement was released, I spoke with Harris Salomon, who is producing the $25 million film adaptation of Herman's story.

"It’s unfortunate he told a lie," Salomon told me. "The man is tragically flawed, but his story had value." Until this evening, Salomon had been a wholehearted defender of Herman's story. But he said he spoke to Herman and learned that his story is a fake. Salomon said he had no knowledge of Herman's fabrication, and is angry that Herman lied to him, to his agent, Andrea Hurst, and to the publisher. "Obviously, this is a surprise to me. Obviously, I am extremely angry. He let me down professionally and personally. We get used to dealing with people of all stripes in this business. This is the business and the society we live in today, that allows people to lie, but also feeds off people lying and asking for forgiveness."

Salomon said he thinks there is only one way for Herman to bring closure to his story. He asked Herman to go back on "The Oprah Winfrey Show" with his wife, Roma, and tell his true story and explain why he invented his tale. He said Herman has agreed to appear on "Oprah" if her producers will have him. "The Oprah Winfrey Show" could not be reached for comment tonight.

"This is the one thing I want Herman to do," Salomon said. "I told Herman I want him to go back on the 'Oprah Winfrey Show' and apologize to Oprah. Apologize to me, to Andrea Hurst, his agent, to Penguin, the American people, and the memory of his mother and father and all the people who died in the Holocaust."

I find it somewhat sad to have learned this.

Yes, it's disappointing to have someone fabricate such a tale and then learn that it's not true.

But didn't reading or hearing the story have men and women shyly smile and let out huge sighs of wistfulness? Didn't it give countless people a belief that in spite of all the evil that these death camps represented, something good could come of them?

Didn't this internationally reported tale give something nice to people to believe in?

Yes, to falsely lead on print and radio journalists, television audiences, major publishing houses and movie companies and countless individuals is not nice. In fact, it's wrong. But did Herman have a reason for doing so? Did his wife have a reason for going along with her husband and his fairy tale?

Oprah said of Herman & Roma's tale: "...the single greatest love story, in 22 years of doing this show, we've ever told on the air."

Holocaust scholars, Herman's family and friends were disbelieving of the tale for some time, but never did bring their thoughts to the public eye. But now that the truth is out, what will people say when they learn the reason of the deceit?

My compassionate side worries for Herman; will it be too much for him to bear to appear on national TV and retract his story, too much for him to handle the aftermath of his deceit, too difficult to go on with his life once again? How is his medical situation? How is his emotional situation?

Part of me thinks: "Who was he hurting anyway, with this story?"

But apparently, the answer is "COUNTLESS NUMBERS."

Happy Chanukah

Very shortly, my husband, children and I will go to my parents' house to light the first Chanukah candle with them. I hope we can do it together for many more years to come.

Wishing you all a very happy and BRIGHT Chanukah.