My blogging history:
2012: diagnosed with and underwent treatment for Primary CNS lymphoma in my brain.
2012-2013: blogged on Caring Bridge.
2013: moved to Blogger.
2017: diagnosed with bladder cancer and blogged through 14 chemotherapy treatments and 37 sessions of radiation therapy, each with its own t-shirt and musical selection.
2018 to February 2020: Treated every 3 weeks with pembrolizumab for spread of bladder cancer to lymph nodes. As of June 2020, continue to be cancer free.
Please indulge me here this morning. When I saw the first of
these two items I thought about sharing it here, but then I saw the second and
I knew I could not resist.
The first is a picture drawn by our first grade granddaughter,
Maya, 6 years old. The picture depicts the recent holiday of Simchat Torah, which is the annual
celebration of the end and beginning of the cycle of reading the Torah, the five books of Moses. In
traditional Jewish settings, men and women dance separately. Some more
progressive synagogues provide the women as well as the men with a Torah scroll
for the festivities. To Maya, this is quite a routine sight, and that is part
of the beauty of the picture. She does not think she has drawn anything all
that unusual, but for many of us who remember the earlier days of such ideas,
it is heartwarming to see it coming so naturally to her.
The second item is a short video compiled by our
grandchildren’s school to advertise an upcoming event. At 1 minute and 13
seconds in, Ella is the second from the left in the first row. At 1 minute and
23 seconds, Maya (in the red sweater) is with her friend ‘Becca. I have watched
this about a dozen times already!
Guilty as charged: I guess I am one of those grandmothers!
Sukkot
was quite enjoyable. The eleven of us (we are no longer just ten) had the first
evening together. For the first few meals we alternated between our daughters’
homes. On the second day was an annual group lunch hosted by friends. The
weather was very nice and the crowd was a bit smaller than previous years so I
felt I had a good chance to chat with everyone there. On Sabbath we were
supposed to eat in the Sukkah of
friends who live on “our old block,” Brook Road, over a mile from our apartment.
Unfortunately, it was absolutely pouring the entire day. Before the holiday
started, we had heard the forecast and told them we might not make it: we do
not drive on Jewish holidays and between my pulmonary problems and Barry’s
arthritis, a long walk in the rain is a bit risky.
We were especially cautious because Barry had to leave on
Saturday night after Sabbath to attend a meeting in Europe. Normally he would
not travel during the holiday but this was a notable exception that could not
be avoided. He arrived home on Wednesday about two hours before the final round
of holidays began. The children were in school while he was away, so I had a
restful time during those few days, and our daughters fed me very well each
evening. The final two days were also holidays. We had a lovely lunch with the
whole family at Simmie’s house along with her husbands’ parents who were in
town for the holiday. The Sukkot
holiday is followed by Simchat Torah,
a day that is a celebration of the Torah
(Five Books of Moses). The Torah is
read each year in a cycle that completes on this holiday with the final verses
of Deuteronomy and starts again in Genesis with “In the beginning….”,
accompanied by singing, dancing, and a bit too much sugar.
First thing Sunday morning we packed up and left to head
back to New York, where a very large pile of mail, much of it junk, had
accumulated through the mail slot in our front door. I spent the better part of
the afternoon weeding through that.
A new opera, “The Death of Klinghoffer,” based on the 1985 Palestinian
terrorist hijacking of a cruise ship (the Achille Lauro) and murder of a
disabled Jewish-American passenger (Leon Klinghoffer) is opening today at the
Metropolitan Opera in New York. Rabbi
Avi Weiss was interviewed by the FOX TV New York affiliate. I cannot possibly
express these thoughts more eloquently than he has.
“Hogan’s Heroes” was a CBS television situation comedy set in a German prisoner of war camp during World War II that ran 168 episodes from 1965 to 1971. It featured an international crew of Allied prisoners running a Special Operations Unit from the camp who were easily able to get things past the incompetent commandant and inept sergeant-of-the-guard. Even as a young teenager I was puzzled by the idea of a comedy based on such a dark period. But there was no question of which side represented good and which represented evil. Although I have not seen, nor do I intend to see, “The Death of Klinghoffer,” and I am sympathetic to the suffering of people on both sides of the Middle East Conflict, this particular act of cold blooded murder seems unequivocally heinous to me, every bit as heinous as the recent beheadings carried out by ISIS in Syria. Although I am unable to go into Manhattan and join the protests in front of the Met today, my heart is very much with those who are taking the time to make this important statement.
As we begin this new year and celebrate so much of what is good in the world, may we move speedily towards peace and get back to curing disease.
This week is the holiday of Sukkot. For one week we leave the comfort of our homes to conduct
at least some of our daily activities, such as eating and socializing, in a
temporary structure known as a Sukkah.
In New England this is not ordinarily a time of year when dining al fresco is popular, which sometimes
adds to the festive mood and sometimes detracts from it. We hope for weather
that is cool enough to discourage bees, but warm enough for a bowl of soup to
remain hot. And of course we hope for bright sunny days and clear moonlit nights.
The holidays follow the Jewish calendar, which is based on a lunar calendar,
and Sukkot begins on the 15th
day (half way through the month) of the month of Tishrei, so there is always a full moon at the start of the
holiday. Since there are not many bright lights in Sharon, the moon is quite
beautiful on clear evenings.
We are now in the fourth day of the holiday, and at least
three out of four bright sunny days isn’t bad. The first two days were quite
perfect. There was not a single bee to be seen, even with honey on the table as
is traditional this time of year, but it was not so cold to necessitate full
winter outerwear. We were disappointed that we woke up to torrential rain
yesterday, but we cannot complain. Today was another delightful day.
We always constructed a Sukkah
on the patio of our house in New York. But we cannot do so in the Sharon apartment
complex, so we eat all of our meals with our children or our friends. On the
second day, friends whom we have known since our Dallas days who later moved to
Sharon host an annual pot luck luncheon in their Sukkah. We were having such a nice time that we were among the last
to leave.
A graduate school friend recently posted a link to a t-shirt
on her Facebook page. The shirt is red and in bright white letters it reads
I majored in Statistics.
To save time, let’s just assume
that I’m always right.
I couldn’t resist ordering one and it arrived here just
before the holiday. At least now my daughters know why they have always been
expected to make that assumption with their mom.
Being home full time has been an interesting experience. But
this morning it has been rather unsettling.
We have Caller ID on our phone, and when I do not know who
is calling (either by recognizing the name, the number, or our one friend who
comes up as “Private Caller”) I do not answer. I figure that if the caller
really wants to reach me she or he will leave a message, and I can call back.
This morning there were two calls, about an hour apart, from
“Out of area.” Both times a recorded message was left claiming to be from the
US Treasury and “intending my serious attention.” Ignoring this would be a
second offense requiring a hearing before a magistrate or jury for a criminal
offense. I must “cooperate with” the caller in order to “help (them) help me.”
There must be a flood of such calls because I found the
following in one quick Google search:
One of our most memorable celebrations of Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement,
was when we lived in Dallas, Texas in the early 1980s. A group of mostly young
families had started a new synagogue. Our regular services were held in a small
storefront in the neighborhood, but for the fall holidays, anticipating a
larger crowd, we had rented space in a recently constructed hotel a few blocks
away from the neighborhood.
A “day” on the Jewish calendar actually begins at sundown
on the evening before. The evening prayer service that begins Yom Kippur is a deeply spiritual and
somewhat somber affair. We arrived at the hotel and followed the signs to the
room we had been assigned. It was part of a very large ballroom that had been
divided with the built-in movable panels that hotels typically use, dividers
that blot out some, though by no means all, noise, while doing nothing to prevent
the spread of aromas. So you can imagine our dismay when we arrived that
evening to find that we were sharing the ballroom space with a travel agency
that was conducting a promotional event for a trip to Hawaii, including loud
Hawaiin style music and a “luau” complete with a roasted pig. We tried to
conduct the service, but after a few minutes the Rabbi said, “we cannot
continue this, you should all go home and complete the prayers yourselves
there.” By the next morning when we returned, the smell had dissipated and the
hall was entirely empty, so the holiday proceeded as usual.
That was the worst Yom
Kippur synagogue experience I have ever had. Most were more benign, not
especially moving or exciting but not objectionable. Then about twenty years
ago we attended for the first time fall holiday services at the Hebrew
Institute of Riverdale (HIR). While we love being with our children and
grandchildren, and the services at Young Israel of Sharon are nice, our
daughters can testify that every year I tell stories about how amazing the
music and the feeling are at HIR and how I longed to be there again sometime. I
can still remember the first time we experienced this, spending the entire day
walking around saying to anyone who would listen that I could not remember ever
enjoying Yom Kippur quite so much,
and wondering if I should feel guilty about that! HIR is the only synagogue we
have ever attended where there is essentially no break during the entire day –
the early morning (Shacharit) service flows into the additional (Mussaf) service,
which flows into the afternoon (Mincha)
service, which flows into the evening (Neila)
service, with barely time for a bio break.
This year worked out to be the perfect chance to return.
Barry needed to be in New York on the Wednesdays before and after Yom Kippur, and we did not want to drive
back and forth so many times, so the best choice was to arrange to be back at
HIR this year.
As the holiday approached, I was afraid that I might not
have the stamina to get through the day and that, even if I did, I might be
disappointed. I do still struggle with reading the prayer book. Might that
frustration make this experience much less pleasant? All of these thoughts were
completely washed away by the start of the Kol
Nidre (Yom Kippur eve) service.
Hearing Elli Kranzler’s voice again was all I needed to get me through.
I have attached here a link to the sermon Rabbi Avi Weiss
delivered. He ended by leading the congregants in many repetitions of the
chorus to Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” This sort of blending of the
traditional with the contemporary is one of the many things I love about Rav
Avi.
While familiar with the song, I had never really listened closely to the full lyrics. I have attached a copy of the Leonard Cohen recording with the lyrics scrolling.
May you all be blessed with a spiritually and emotionally fulfilling year.
After seeing Gloria Steinem the other night, Barry reminded
me of something that had long since slipped my mind. Back in the mid 1970s, when
we were newly married and graduate students at the University of Rochester, where
Barry was pursuing research in the laboratory of a fellow named Michael
Resnick, we joined the local chapter of the National Organization for Women. We
were at a NOW meeting when Barry saw someone he recognized and introduced me to
“Mike Resnick’s wife, Jackie.” To say the least, Jackie did not appreciate this
introduction. Then and now, Barry is one of the most ardent feminists I know. I
think he was just trying to tell me how he knew Jackie. But the language may
have sounded as if he was expressing a view that surely would not have
resonated at a NOW meeting.
A friend just sent along a link to a fascinating video.
Whether you have heard the sounding of a Shofar (ram’s horn) many times or
never heard it at all, this is a wonderful experience.
