It’s a Hanukkah Miracle!

O. M. G. Guys, I haven’t written anything in almost 2 years, (thx MPA and Covid) but I finally wrote something the other day and thought, maybe I’ll submit it to Kveller before posting it here. As I emailed my submission, I said out loud, in my best Miracle Max voice, “It would take a miracle” if they published it. Well, GUESS WHAT?!?! They DID!!!!!!!! I’m totally kvelling over here and will hopefully be inspired to write more as things slow down late December 🙂

Click here to read MY Case for 8 Nights of Hanukkah Presents!!!!!

A house named Pesach

It was a regular weekend morning, a little lounging around in the early hours, cuddling with my boys. We started talking about our middle names, how Benjamin was a strong name and Michael was his grandfathers name. His namesake was smart and loving and stubborn, just like he was.

Then my youngest asked, “What is our house’s name?” I told him the house didn’t have a name. Although we had been the second owners in its entirety, so maybe we should give it a name. “I know”, chimed in my shayna ingl, “Pesach”. My eldest argued that wasn’t a proper name for a house, but I disagreed. That’s a perfect name for our house.

So our Pesach can always be a haven for our family, where all the drama and negativity and b’h’, even the Angel of Death will always pass over us, year round, not just during this week of celebration and reflection. Because in the end, we all want peace and love. We all want salvation and redemption. We all want to usher in the best versions of who we are and leave the bad habits at the door. We all have an Egypt in our lives, a place or way where we feel trapped, stuck, enslaved.

This Pesach, I wish each of you a week of evolution, protection and serenity. May you each have a “Pesach” place where you can be and feel only love and light. Chag sameach.

May the Schwartz be with you

Thankful for my Mogen David

Thanksgiving is upon us this year and all of the holidays to follow. It’s easy with all that’s going on to get caught up in the minutia of day to day family stuff and the usual holiday brouhaha. When you ask people what they’re thankful for, you’ll often get the usual answers, family, health, my home, etc… well, this year, a few reflections have led me to tell others that I am thankful for my Mogen David, my Jewish Star of David necklace.

It started with a work trip to Florida. One of the ladies in my group wore a Mogen David, but not a subtle one. A giant, in your face, Mogen David that was definitely a statement in our secular group, where no one was wearing religious jewelry of any kind. It was my first trip to Florida, but I remember thinking that she was brave. But it was just a necklace… In reality, it was much more than that. It was a proclamation, a decree. Especially after the bloody shooting in Pittsburgh and a way to show the world that she would not be hiding behind her white privilege and blend in with the whiteness that is Ft. Lauderdale. She would make a point to stand out. I wondered. Could I be that brave?

Then on my flight home, I sat in between Florida natives and a middle eastern family. I talked to the Floridians in my row and they were friendly and so was I. A part of me wondered if they would be as friendly if I, like the women on my left, across the aisle, was wearing a hijab. I hate to say it, but in that moment I was glad I could “fit in” with my seatmates and didn’t have to overcome the barriers that the others might have had to, whether it was a head scarf or a dark complexion. I was glad it could be a light hearted conversation instead of awkwardness. I was glad I could blend in. Should I have told those men I was Jewish? Could I be that brave?

Then comes Thanksgiving and of course my son is a pilgrim in a school play and he’s so cute on stage, I post it and people are hurt and disturbed in ways I never intended to inflict, yet I reflect. I realize if once a year Americans had a bunch of kids dress up as Nazis to educate the other students on WW2 history, I’d probably completely lose my shit. Actually, I’d definitely lose my shit. Can I say something next year to my son’s teacher if it comes up again? Would my concerns just be waved away or pushed aside? Could I be that brave?

That was just the last straw. I decide the Monday before Thanksgiving I will put on my biggest Mogen David, the one that shouts JEW at you and is a perfect length to be seen wearing almost anything and I’m not taking it off until Hanukkah is over.  I WILL be brave. I will wear this even if it’s uncomfortable and especially when it’s uncomfortable. Even on Thanksgiving day, will my extended (non Jewish) family say something? It ended up not being as scary as I’d made it out to be in my head, but that was around people who love me, even if they don’t really know me.

So what am I thankful for? My Mogen David that eventually, I get to take off. I am thankful to be able to identify as a minority when I choose to.  How convenient. People of color don’t have that choice. Natives have to watch children dress as their oppressors every year. They can’t wave that away. As a white woman, I can go through life fitting in, or I can stand out as a Jew, as an ally, as someone who chooses to identify as a minority, even when I don’t have to and maybe even when I don’t want to. While I won’t wear my jumbo star forever, I certainly will wear one every Thanksgiving and I will wear them more often throughout the year to share my pride and to feel brave, when I could just feel plain.

Attachment-1

 

 

New Orleans Musings

I’m back from my trip and it was glorious. 4 days, 3 nights to the Crescent City, The Big Easy, New Orleans. It was the longest I’ve been away from my two boys and I prepared for it by doing my best to eliminate using my phone when I was with them. I focused on really creating quality time with them in the days before I left. The fact that the hubs was gone made it easier to really have mommy-son moments.

Of course, the day before I left, everyone found a way to push my buttons.  After a day of dealing with ungrateful, snarky, mess making males, I was REALLY ready to go. Cleaning urine off the floor twice in a day because the kid who’s been potty trained a year decides he’s not interested in using the potty is enough. Enough.

Before I left I grabbed a journal. Old fashioned, pen and paper journal. Because as easy as using my phone to jot down reflections is, there’s something therapeutic about putting pen to paper. This helped me to re-frame my mindset on my way to the airport. “This trip will be amazing. My life is perfect. Everything about this trip will be the best”. Because thoughts are powerful.

I was able to make lots of mitzvahs on my way to New Orleans. I ended up next to great airplane neighbors and had easy, relaxing layovers. I even ended up pretending my extra set of headphones worked so the adorable 3 year old girl next to me could watch the Lion King with sound.  Was she adorable enough to make me miss the boys? Not quite. But I was happy to help her.

I got to the hotel and it’s gorgeous! I was running late to dinner, so I did a little bit of running around to find my group, but finally got escorted through the kitchen to a private room of diners and begin my adventures. Great food, plenty of drinks (a theme in the city) and wonderful company.  Can’t beat it.

I spent the next couple days torn between wanting to venture out on my own, so as to not miss a thing and only wanting to go out if I had a companion, a very rare feeling for me. The city is bustling, vibrant, alive with art and music and fun, but also has a dark side. There were multiple reminders that, although in a bubble, I was in the south.  The institutional racism and lack of services and infrastructure was blatant, perhaps more to me than others. Maybe a topic for another article. Still, I drank and danced and ate.  Fun and yummy and exhausting between the early morning conference sessions.

Finally, on my last morning, I get a chance to sleep in (Insert heaven opening & angels singing here). 9 hours of blissful sleep. I was able to lounge in bed for awhile before checking out and took a leisurely shower (with 4 shower heads!) to cap off my trip. I was bummed not to see and eat everything, but really, finally ready to get back. It was amazing, but not as amazing as the mornings I get to sleep in and then cuddle with my sons.

My travel day home brought more scenes that beckoned me back to my boys. My little loves. It also gave me time to reflect on how wonderful the trip was and how blessed I am. Blessed to have 2 boys and devoted husband, to have a family who loves me to come home to. When the minivan doors slid open and I was able to hug and kiss them. Aaaaaah! My perfect life is amazing. Perfectly mine.

Between the fried amazingness, char-grilled oysters, and cocktails “to go”, I managed to enjoy the perfect weather, artistic flair and historic beauty of the city. There were a few things I didn’t have time to see, but if I ever end up visiting again, I can prioritize those sights. At least now I know the perfect length of trip to take in order to barely miss my mishpacha.

May G-d bless your comings and goings

May the Schwartz be with you

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