Let There be Songs to Fill the Air

This is not a posting about Jewish education or parenting or the weather or New Jersey.  It's about the music that gets me through all of the above.


The good old Grateful Dead are coming back to town in less than a week.  I mean, not exactly, the Grateful Dead, it's Furthur, as they are called in this incarnation.*  This concert will be at Madison Square Garden and I'm both anticipating and a little nervous about it.

On the one hand, we've been waiting for this concert for months.  Since July, the last time we saw them.  Though I have not exactly  written about this passion of mine, I've alluded to it and these concerts are among the highlights of my year.  Of course, MSG is known as an historical place to see a concert.  The buzz outside is very exciting and they get the biggest names.  But since Jerry Garcia (of blessed memory) died in 1995, the band in its many forms has taken the stage in much smaller venues and we fans have had the good fortune to see our boys up close and with great sound.  It's not a trade-off anyone would have chosen, but it's the one we got.  So the cavernous Garden is not my first choice.  But it's where they are playing, so it's where we'll go.

Jerry Garcia z''l
Storyteller makes no choice, soon you will not hear his voice.

How did it get to this?  How did I, an established Jewish educator, a mother of three with a responsible job, actually several jobs... get to a place where I'll drop everything when the Dead come to town?  Is it enough to say "they're a band beyond description?"  (We do that, you know.  We quote the Dead lyrics and unless you know we're doing it, we get away with it all the time!  I've snuck lyrics into my bulletin articles, my divrei Torah, and they've already been the titles of a few of my blog posts.  Yup.  That's what we do.)  Is it enough to tell you and other non-heads that this is what keeps us going?  It's the giant dose of adrenaline that we get two or three times a year that charges us up, and fills us with peaceful energy.

How they looked in the early 80's

Of course, it's about the music.  I guess the best I can tell someone who asks me what I find so compelling about it is that it takes me to another place.  Maybe the way jazz does for some, or classical music does for others.  Or prayer for others.  I have heard people describe praying in a Carlebach-style service with similar adjectives to the way I feel at a concert.  Uplifting and awakening. It helps that there are thousands of hours of CDs and tapes (and yes, records) available to play in between the long breaks between concerts.  But I guess the greatest thing is that each concert will be a completely new experience with unexpected gifts and surprises.  This new formation of the band, now two years old, has really started to gel, and each time they play they are stronger, more cohesive and their jams are more exciting.  I know that they plan their set lists in advance, but they are full of surprises that keep a smile on my face from start to finish.

Empire State building, decked out in tie-dye colors, the
last time Furthur played the Garden.  Cool.

As the concert date gets closer I'm getting those calls, emails and Facebook messages from friends and family.  This is part of the fun.  
"Are you going?" "What section?" "Want to meet for a drink before  the show?" "Have you heard if they're bringing out any new tunes this tour?" "Got any extras?"
In case any of you are reading this and haven't asked me yet, my answers to those questions are:

• Yes
• 104
• Of course
• They played "Golden Slumbers" by the Beatles in Amherst last night.
• Maybe

How they look now.
That's Phil Lesh and Bob Weir in the front.

I'm not sure what else I can tell you about this experience that has kept me coming back for more since 1978.  I only know that Bill Graham captured it when he said "They're not the best at what they do, they're the only ones who do what they do!" 

And if you're going too, let me know.  We can meet for a drink before the show!

*Why Furthur?  I'll tell you sometime, but if you want to know now, and you have the time, go ahead and read "The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test" by Tom Wolfe, written about Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters.  I think this might shed some light on a lot of things, actually, including a few songs, historical characters and artwork in my house. 

Me, at a show, last summer.
Waiting for the music to start.

Wake of the Flood

The flooding this spring did a number on our house.  Our downstairs rumpus room got flooded three times, and we have had to tear out the carpet because it got so moldy.  It is in a state of constant disarray and clutter as we are going to wait until next spring to see if the landscaping berm will truly hold back the water.  This will help decide the kind of floor to put in.   It's a giant hassle and too boring to write about.  


But there was a hidden gift of this major headache.  A huge box of baby clothing that had to be "saved."  Tiny tie-dyed onesies that I had packed away to save for my grandchildren got soaked and before they could also get moldy I had to wash them all and re-box them.  There's nothing like folding a miniature batik dress to make you stop and get flooded by memories rather than lake water.

All of a sudden I am back to another time and space, holding this little blue dress in my hands. I'm thinking about building a swing set in our back yard, getting our first dog, Jerry (of blessed memory) and my Grandfather, Poppa Ben, who loved it when I brought my kids to visit. And summers at the shore, long car rides when I played "name that tune" to teach them classic rock, and walks with strollers even when the child had outgrown it, just so I'd have a place for my bag, the extra sweatshirts, and the snack bag. 


I have an urge to get out an old photo album, but I know I'll ignore my work, my lesson plans and my dogs.  I never get anything done once I start scanning photos.


If you have been following along, you know I love my work as an educator.  But the most important work I do is as a parent.  I thought about parenting before I became a parent.  I had long talks with my husband about being consistent, and setting a schedule.


Like all parents, we tried not to curse.  I did a lot better than my husband.  I'd like to say I never cursed in front of the kids.  

The van, which we recently retired.
It helped that it was sold to an up and
coming rock band.  

"But Mom, remember that time when the van caught fire on Route 17 and you had to pull over, and we were standing on the highway and you couldn't get the carseat unbuckled, and then the baby started crying, and your cell phone battery died, and then your pocketbook dumped out all over the place?  I think you said 'shit' that time."  Yes, I think I did.


Each age and stage presents new joys and new challenges.  I have heard myself say, for the past 24 years, "THIS is the best age!  Look at my kid!  Isn't it amazing?"  


I am still saying that about all three of my children.  


I have been extremely pleased watching the way my three children have grown.  Their uniqueness has been a joy.  As a parent, I think that is the challenge: to sit back and say "Let's see who you are going to become," rather than try to mold them into who you want them to be.     


I know that the day I give away this box of groovy baby clothing is a long way off.  


For now, they are nice and clean, folded and in a few cases repaired and ironed.  I threw a few precious toys in there too, just in case we have another flood.


No, for now I'll continue to kvell over who my children are still becoming.  I'll share their joys and let them kvetch over their miseries, and whip up chicken soup when they are sick.  I'll still pack a snack bag for a beach trip, and try to coax anyone around to go to the supermarket with me, bribing them with a box of sweet cereal just for their company.


Okay, that's it.  I'm getting out the photo album.

When they were 8 1/2, 5 and 1 1/2.
They are now 24, 21 and 17.
I no longer attempt to make them match.

"Mom, why are you taking a picture of that dress?"
"Juliet, what have you been doing all day, what's with all the photo albums?"
"Bark, bark, bark"




Hey, it's my 10th blog posting.  I think that calls for a little celebration. 

Giant pixy stix anyone?  

Livin' on a Prayer

Dear Jon Bon Jovi,
   I owe you a major apology.  In an earlier posting, I was somewhat dismissive of you, and now I learn that you are a real mentsch.  Apparently you have had a charitable foundation for quite some time and have just opened a restaurant that allows people to pay what they can afford for their meal.  If they are facing hard times, they can pay back by volunteering instead.  The more I am learning about your restaurant, the more I am inspired.  
   Now, I could just sheepishly remove my earlier comments from my blog and no one would be the wiser... but instead, I'll be a mentsh too and say that New Jersey is proud to have you as our own.
  
   I hope you accept my apology,


    Juliet 


   To the rest of you... if you want learn more about the Soul Kitchen, click here.  Or, to find out about his charitable organization, click here.  And hey, if you want to buy his music, so that he keeps making money so he can continue to do these mitzvot ... great acts of loving kindness... go to amazon.com or itunes and keep the man making a profit.

It's The Time of the Season

This is not as long as it looks.  I used a very large font.  Mostly so I could read it myself.  


Z'man Simchateinu... the time of our joy.  How can you NOT love Sukkot?  For those of you who are perplexed (read: are not Jewish, do not live in New York or did not attend Brandeis) let me explain.  On the other hand, if this feels like Mrs. Nussbaum's 3rd grade class at Temple Beth Shalom Tikvah Emmanuel, feel free to scroll ahead.

Fall painted our backyard with a delicate brush.

Most non-Israeli, Jews who identify themselves as liberal (with a small "l") live by two calendars.  The secular calendar and the Jewish calendar.  Depending on your level of observance, where you live, and your personal choices they may be sitting side by side, or one may be a few pencil marks within the other.  (For me, the two are deeply embedded within one another, since I live in the secular world, but I make my life's work in the Jewish world. I suspect this is the case for most people in what I like to call "the Jew Biz.")  By the end of the summer as the school year looms ahead, we start to think about our big holiday season.  Just like every child knows, the new year does not start January 1, but it starts in September.   That is unless Rosh HaShannah comes at the end of August or the beginning of October.  (Why can't we pick a date and stick to it? Ah hah!  We did!  It happens to be the first of Tishrei without fail.)


(Want more info about the Jewish calendar? Click here to go to Hebcal.com.)


Rosh HaShannah and Yom Kippur are our way of saying to ourselves:  Here comes a new year.  A new chance to start over, make what's wrong right.  Correct what you don't like about yourself and polish up what you do.  I thought a lot about writing a blog entry for these days, but I was too busy processesing them.  This was the first time in years (possibly 20 or more) that I did not have some kind of work obligation during these Holy Days, and I was trying to enter into them completely open.  


(Need a real lesson on the Jewish Holidays?  Try the Reform movement's website URJ.org or Conservative Judaism's website.  Or any of the myriad of choices out there.  Or, a book!)


Right after Yom Kippur,  comes the festive holiday of Sukkot.  That means it's time to build the Sukkah for a seven (or eight) day holiday where we are commanded to "be joyful."  A Sukkah is, by definition, a temporary hut that we put up outside.  The idea is to "sit" or "dwell" in it as much as you can.  Some families eat in there every night, others try for one meal a day, some have sleep-overs in their sukkot (plural of sukkah).  We decorate them, we light them up and bring food out for back to nature dining, unless the weather is just so rainy that it will ruin the food.  

The dog is overseeing the progress.

Almost done...

Close-up of the Eastern Wall.

I love our Sukkah.  We've built one every year since our oldest child was a toddler and asked if we could build one when he learned about it in his nursery school.  Yes, he gets the credit for it.  (That is, for us building a sukkah, not for the entire holiday.  I'm a big fan of his, but let's not overdo it.)  As much as my children have life long memories of beach vacations and family trips to Maine, I know that time spent in the Sukkah, eating, singing and laughing together, is also part of the fabric of their shared family history.

Lulav and Etrog, with Holiday candles. 

So, tonight at sundown, we'll go out there and maybe have our dinner.  The fact is, it's been raining all day and we may just say the Hebrew prayers and retreat to the cozy kitchen tonight.  But we have a week to enjoy this beautiful Sukkah.


So, between all these Jewish holidays, what else is happening in my so-called life?  


I am thrilled but incredibly nervous that Gilad Shalit may be home before long.  I know that they are working out the details now, and we will know soon.  As a teacher, two important topics come to mind to discuss with my classes.  One... that this one young man... the son of every mother in Israel right now... is worth over 1,000 Palestinians.  What does that say?  And two... 5 Years in captivity.  How old were you five years ago?  What has happened in those five years?  What if you had to miss it all?  




My neighbor is having her driveway completely excavated today.  Why?  To put in heat sensors to melt the snow and ice when winter comes. Yes.  This technology exists.  All I can say is this is brilliant.  I applaud her.  Her kids are grown, I imagine her house is paid for, and she can afford it.  Now, on those ridiculous winter mornings, when I am out there, dressed in so many layers I can't bend my elbows, hacking away at the snow with that tool that's likely to take off a toe someday, I know my neighbor can sit in her house, at her computer, reading my blog, and  watching the snow melt off her driveway.

October is breast cancer awareness month... in an upcoming blog I plan to write about cancer (yes, that should be a fun one) and I'd welcome your personal stories if you want to share.  You can email me or send me a note in the comment section below.  


I was very sad, along with the rest of the world, to read about Steve Jobs' death this week.  Here is the quote of his that really resonated with me.  I got it from Cory Booker's facebook page, he quoted it from the famous 2005 speech that Steve Jobs made to the graduating class at Stanford: "For the past 33 years I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: 'If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?'  And whenever the answer has been 'No' for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something."


I wish you and your friends and family a time of joy... whether you celebrate Sukkot or not.  Go and look at those leaves before they are gone.  Bite an apple that was just picked, smell anything cooked with cinnamon, and figure out how to get some hugs from the people you love.

Juliet Comes Alive

I got about 4 inches cut off my hair yesterday.  Nobody noticed.  That's not to say no one saw my hair.  It's a curly mop of mostly brown and some leftover gold from the summer mixed with what my long-time hair-dresser* says is much too much gray.  (She wants me to color my hair.  I'm fine with the gray, but she had a compelling argument... "Everyone else is doing it." ... Where are we?  In middle school?)  I digress.  


I saw several people I knew today when I ventured in to my my town's delightful farmers' market.  Every Sunday from May through October we host this...and today was a glorious day.  Vendors were out in full force, the sun was shining, leaves just starting to change and the weather was perfect, high 60's.  There was a guitar player singing Dylan, Jorma, and CSNY.  When he finished, a jazz quartet set up under a tent.  Everywhere I went, from the soap maker to the pickle guy, I ran into friends, acquaintances,Temple members, and, to my delight, even my Rabbi!  I struck up conversations with strangers, as people are prone to do on days like this.


As I say, no one noticed that my hair was shorter, but everyone has noticed that I seem very happy.  For one thing, it's Sunday and I am out and enjoying a fall day.  This is something that I have not had the luxury of doing in, well, about 30 years.  As a religious school teacher and then long-time Hebrew school director, Sundays have always been my big work day.  I have not had a school-year Sunday off in years, or if I have, then it's because I have something else to do, or I am sick in bed.  So to be enjoying a fall day and buying artisanal breads while listening to Gershwin is just a joy.


Halfway through my life I changed jobs.  


I like change.  I like to try new things.  Just this year I have tried Thai and Indian food.  This very day I baked an apple crisp for the first time.  (None of these were great, but I did try them all!) I now no longer sit at the helm of one synagogue's school, but find myself in a new role, as a consultant and regional educator to many synagogues. I am also teaching more this year.  I love the field of Jewish Education.  You might say I found my calling at a very young age (20) when I started my first job as a Sunday School teacher during my senior year of college.  I adored it, I didn't mind waking up early on Sundays, and I was a natural. Now, 32 years later,  I haven't left this cherished world of Jewish ed, but I do have my Sundays back. 


I am really enjoying the new challenges of these new jobs and the welcome surprises that the change of the schedule has brought me.  I have found some focus and renewed energy on work, family and fun. 


Why did I make this change now?   I had to.  It was time. Maybe that's fuel for another blog entry.  


For now I will enjoy my time and ponder the bigger questions.  How can I use my experiences to help others?  How can I continue to make the ancient Jewish texts relevant to the students who are even more over-programmed than ever?   Is the smoked mozzarella at the farmers market really smoked, or do they use chemicals to give it that flavor?  Should I consider moving away from the 1978 Frampton Comes Alive style haircut? 

Classic Rock

SEPARATED AT BIRTH?

* Sorry about the word hairdresser.  It's the woman who cuts my hair.  It's a dorky word now that I'm typing it, but what else should I call her?  What would she call herself?  Probably a stylist.  I can't even believe the whole first paragraph is dedicated to my hair, though I was sitting at the beauty parlor (there I go again... salon) yesterday musing to myself how much time and how many dollars people, mostly women are spending on their hair.  So I guess one paragraph (well, now two) is okay.  


And an apology here... I just realized after I published this that clicking on the links to hear the music takes you away from the blog, rather than opening up a new window to hear the music simultaneously.   Sorry about that.  I'll work on that.  I do recommend checking out the music, of course.  Just don't ADD yourself right off this page into a YouTube frenzy of classic rock clips and forget to finish reading.

Someday We'll Look Back on This and it Will All Seem Funny

I live in New Jersey.  I was born here.  I spent a good couple of years putting it down and waiting to get out.  And many more years calling it home again. 


So what's up with New Jersey?


Thanks to TV, the rest of the United States, (and probably a good part of the television viewing world) thinks that we speak with some kind of less-than-articulate accent, that we have big hair, and crave the material things in life.  I've never even watched two of those popular New Jersey shows, but I know the stereotype.  Ironically enough, when my family and I were at the Jersey shore two summers ago, we saw the iconic stars of that famous shore show.  But I think somehow I better not post their pictures in my blog.  


New Jersey used to feel like a an annex to New York.  When I was growing up, I didn't get that NJ had its own shtick.  All we had then was Bruce Springsteen, and we had so much of him, I lost interest.  (I know, that is blasphemy, and I've come around to appreciate him a bit more.)  


I've lived in Boston, North Carolina, Portland Oregon and San Francisco.  I even lived in Israel for part of my Junior year in college.  All of these places had their own personality.  They were all great places to live.  But I was always a visitor.  New Jersey was my home.  My parents were here, and for much of their lives, so were my grandparents. As much as I might like to put this state down, this happened to be my state.


What's up with New Jersey?  Here's what works for me...

This is a dolphin swimming by.  Really.

1. Great Beaches.  Okay, my favorite is and always has been Seaside.  With the honky tonk of the boardwalk of Seaside Heights and the spectacular waves, beaches and (usually) clean ocean of Seaside Park... this is where my family has gone for years.  Everyone has their favorite spot on the Jersey Shore. This year, we saw dolphins swim right past us.  And I have still never had better pizza  than that on the boardwalk at Seaside Heights.  (Not even in Italy.)
2. Great Schools.   I know that NJ cares about education... and although not every single town has outstanding schools, this was definitely a plus when we decided to move back here from San Francisco.
3. Proximity to New York.  Yup.  Like most people I know, my husband and I don't go into NY nearly as often as one would think, and don't take advantage of nearly enough of the cultural options.  But we COULD if we wanted to!  Mostly we go to NY for rock concerts and work related things.  And then we complain about the traffic.  But, it's still there when we want it!
4. Distance from New York.  And here's the perfection of where we live.  In our idyllic little town in Bergen County, you can almost pretend you are back in a simpler time.  Neighbors know one another and stop to chat.  Our worst traffic nightmare here is when school lets out and the crossing guard holds up the cars to let the kids cross. 
5. Happy Kids.   As much as I wanted to get out, my kids seem to have been very happy growing up here.  They loved this little town, and the freedom it afforded them to go out on their own as they got older.  They loved the shore too, and being very close to their NJ grandparents. (Their other grandparents are in Maine, and this was always a very easy drive we made 3 times a year.)
6. Prices.  This is not worth moving here, but our gas prices are lower than the surrounding states, and you never have to pump it yourself.  Also, no tax on clothing.
7. Cory Booker.   Mayor of Newark.  Maybe Governor of NJ someday.  I just wanted to mention him because I think he's all that. 
8. Tomatoes and Corn.  The best when they are in season.  Peaches too.

A few things that could be better?

1. We could do better with our environmental policies and regulations.  In my perfect little town we cannot drink the water because of high levels of arsenic.  Hmm.  
2. The Blue Laws.  Yes, we still have them.  No shopping in Bergen County on Sunday.  Don't get me started.
3. Same Sex Marriage... not here, not yet.  A same sex couple can get married in Iowa, but not in NJ?  WHAT?   DC,  New York, Massachusetts... come on now NJ, it's our turn.

Am I missing anything? 

Yes, Jon Bon Jovi.  Sorry.  I simply have nothing to say about him.  Except this.  Why does he pretend to be a cowboy? 

All We Are Saying...

Today is September 12, 2011.


Yesterday the world stopped to remember a day that we still cannot get our brains around.  


The very anticipation of the Tenth Anniversary of September 11 felt like a slow drumbeat to me. 


It began in July, when I visited the site which is no longer called Ground Zero.  I was invited in to hear strangers' stories, thanks to a program hosted by Facing History and Ourselves and the World Trade Center Tribute Center.  When I arrived at the World Trade Center area I was struck by the intensity of thousands of people, moving in all different directions. People in business suits, and in shorts. Techies, tourists, teachers, analysts, lawyers, financial people, construction workers, security people, and lots of police trying to move human beings and traffic.  It was a Tuesday.  A beautiful Tuesday... just like... don't think like that.... I looked up.  A new skyscraper was being built.  I had no idea.

On that day in July I learned the power of the personal narrative.  I shared mine, and got tears in my eyes as I heard others tell theirs.  


Yesterday, when I watched the survivors' families reading the names of those lost I could not stop thinking that every one of the nearly three thousand lost souls has a story.  Some of the readers shared tiny windows to  their stories with the world yesterday.  A little boy, nearly ten, had never met his father, and thanked him for loving him.  A woman was still in so much pain she could barely pronounce her husband's name.  A father lost his son and daughter-in-law... a whole generation gone. 

Click here to see photos of the Memorial


People my age do not remember Pearl Harbor, and we are a little too young to have been felt the full impact of the weight of the assassinations of John F. Kennedy or Martin Luther King.  But we are the generation that will forever share this.  I know that everyone goes through terrible life-changing crises ... a near death experience, an illness that leaves them changed or scarred, the loss of someone dear to them... but a catastrophe shared by so many on a such a deep level leaves a profound mark on a generation.  


There is a movement to make September 11 a day of service.  A mitzvah day.  Will that keep the haters from hating? Of course not.  Will that bring back the deceased?  Nothing will, but I guess it will honor their memory a lot more than turning to hate.  Every generation must become more loving, more compassionate, more tolerant than the one before it.  That is the only path to peace.  I know that not everyone feels that way.  But it's the only way.


Give peace a chance.