The Transformers

It is a truism that artists tend to be people who have pain that drives them to express themselves. Each day when I read “The Writer’s Almanac” I see that literary and political figures invariably have suffered painful childhoods with the loss of a parent or physical or emotional abuse from parents or peers or from debilitating illnesses. Some have lived lives of poverty. Some are the product of homes that didn’t feel safe.

Those people who are able to turn to writing literature or essays or compose great musical works are people who are able to transform the negative into something positive not just for themselves, but for others as well.

But famous people are not the only ones who have this gift for positive transformation. One of the things that moved me when I was working with families of adults with developmental disabilities and mental retardation was what happened to the rest of the family. In general, I found both parents and siblings of these very challenged and challenging people to be exceptional in a number of ways. Most of the parents were devoted to their children, patient and understanding. They were able to give and give and they were also able to derive pleasure from the smallest accomplishment of their disabled child. The siblings were even more impressive because they have not raised this person from childhood and therefore invested nurturing and love in them. They were children whose lives were altered because of their disabled sibling. I am certain they missed parties and events because parents were in the hospital with their sibling who was having seizures or self-abusing or getting over a choking episode. They lived with friends who may have questioned them about their siblings and perhaps made fun of the sibling or of the child him/herself. What did I observe? A very large percentage of these siblings went on to become doctors, nurses, social workers, psychologists, speech therapists, occupational therapists, and physical therapists. They turned their experience into something that would help others. They learned to be caregivers and they extended that caregiving to others.

Most of us are not challenged in such dramatic ways. Most of us have painful experiences that are transient. We can choose to allow them to immobilize ourselves in sadness or anger or grief or, after a reasonable time, we can transform them into directions that enrich ourselves and the people around us.

When people search for the meaning of God’s role in the world, I am often mindful of that specific type of transformation, for in reaching into the chaos of our lives and pulling out something positive and healing, we are joining with God in the work of Creation.

Photographs and Memories (with thanks to Jim Croce)

What does a modern grandmother do in honor of her granddaughter’s bat mitzvah? Well, of course there’s the gift which must be special and meaningful, but beyond that, what can she do to symbolize the significance of this day in her granddaughter’s life.

While her grandfather will have words of torah to share with her, and in his gentle and eloquent way, he will welcome her to the congregation of Israel, her grandmother, will be just as proud, but in a more private way.

I will be there beaming with joy because I will be seeing her join the chain of women who carried on the traditions of our people. And because I want her to understand just how momentous her role is and how she fits into this grand chain, I am working on a PowerPoint presentation for her.

I have been combing through literally hundreds of pictures and finding those which tell the story I want her to hear. I see once again my mother and my father who would have loved to see this day. Through their pictures, they are invited to be a part of this celebration. I include pictures of my grandparents on both sides whose joy would be unbounded. I include pictures of my husband’s parents as adults and as children and I know how proud they would have been. I include people I have never met—my husband’s sister who passed away at age sixteen and his grandparents and great grandparents. I include pictures of my paternal great-grandmothers. I am overwhelmed with the sense of connectedness I feel with these people and with my realization that I have not let them down.

I look through the pictures seeing smiles and laughter and love. I remember the warmth of my father’s smile, the wit of my mother’s humor, the softness of my grandmothers’ arms, the brightness of my grandfathers’ eyes. I see my own daughter growing from infant to toddler to child, pre-teen, teen, young woman, wife, and mother.

And I am grateful.

Will Hadas appreciate this? I think she will. She is caring and sensitive. But if not now, she will later, and perhaps she will add these pictures to the gift she will give her granddaughter someday as she becomes yet another link in the chain.

Hadas

Let me tell you about Hadas.

Hadas is my oldest grandchild.

Hadas was born on a sunny Friday morning, 12 years ago, at Hadassah Hospital in Ein Kerem, Jerusalem, Israel. As her mother, my daughter, gazed into the eyes of her firstborn, I began to experience the world in a totally new way. I saw in my daughter’s eyes a deep, encompassing maternal love. I heard in the way she spoke to her little baby, warmth and kindness. I saw in the way she held Hadas, her gentle touch. I knew Hadas was in good hands. I could trust this young mother who, it seemed, had only recently been my baby.

As the years have gone by, Hadas has given her family great deal of pleasure. We appreciate the fact that she is quick witted, intelligent, clever, and has a great sense of humor. When we spoke recently, I told her that I remembered her having devised a PowerPoint presentation when she was very young. She told me that at one point she was hired to teach her older cousin to use PowerPoint. I asked her how old she was then. She said that it was the year she was in kindergarten!

Only a few years ago did we recognize her talent at dancing as she danced both folk and jazz with a local troupe. Then, we were wowed by her singing—listening to her sing solos at school commemorations with a voice as clear as a bell and a poise that was impressive.

In less than two weeks, Hadas will celebrate her Bat Mitzvah. She has lived a Jewish life from the day of her birth. She has come to love the land of Israel and the study of Torah. She takes on her responsibility as a Jewish woman with devotion.

Yesterday Hadas and I went to Jerusalem. The streets and parks were filled with people as families spent chol hamoed together. In the Ben Yehuda walking area, sidewalk stands were selling tablecloths and Simchat Torah flags. Street musicians played keyboards and trumpets and violins and balalaikas. Off to the side of the walking area, there was a tent with a puppet show. Stores were crammed with merchandise and there was a festive atmosphere all around. We walked together and talked and ran some errands and had lunch and finally, late in the afternoon, after a very gentle, sweet day, we returned home.

I spoke to Hadas about the fact that she was about to become the next link in a chain of Jewish women through the ages. I referred to her great grandmothers and great-greats, and all of the women in the family who had come before her and spoke to her about how the gift I was giving her also was meant to be passed through the generations. And just as I had felt secure that she was in good hands with her young mother, I feel secure that our tradition is in good hands with this lovely child as she becomes a Jewish woman.

Yom Kippur

For years I conceptualized Yom Kippur in a fairly traditional way. It was the day on which I went to the synagogue and prayed as honestly, as reverently, and as fervently as I could to be granted another year—a year in which I would become a better person and avoid all of the negative actions that I had either knowingly or unknowingly performed in the previous years of my life.

But this year is different. This year I lived through an illness that had me thinking that I might just be meeting my maker sooner than planned. Once healthy, I went off to adventures in China. And then, last week, Rosh Hashana, I once again became ill. This time, it was much less serious, but this time I was unable to attend services the second day of Rosh Hashana. The meaning for me was clear: I was not welcome at services. I had too much to account for. I needed to take a very long, hard look at myself.

Since then, I have been thinking about the way I treat people in a much more conscious, self-conscious way. And then yesterday… We were in Jerusalem to run some errands. I walked into one of my favorite stores. The tape or CD playing in the store was one that was presumably humorous, but the first song that I noticed made me cringe: “dead puppies aren’t much fun” or something like that. As I listened, I couldn’t imagine why anyone would think that joking about dead dogs would be funny. The next song, “they’re coming to take me away” was worse. It made fun of human beings in pain. After only a few bars, I quickly left the store. I had to leave. All I could make of the experience was that the songs were injuring my soul. How could I allow my soul, which I strive to purify in anticipation of the holiest day of the year, be polluted by such crass and callous satire?

When I got out of the store, it was as if I could finally breathe again. I felt as if I had rescued a child from a fire. I had brought my soul away from something that would injure it and make it less sensitive and caring and perfect before G-d.

I thought a lot about that yesterday and today. And today I will approach Yom Kippur with a new commitment to those things which are good and kind and benevolent and ennobling. I have a new appreciation of the fragility of the soul and our need to protect it. Today I will pray to be worthy of increasing goodness in the world and truly becoming a servant of G-d.

A Very Narrow Bridge

Last week my husband and I and a couple we are friendly with went for a hike in the Negev Desert. We had asked someone knowledgeable to recommend a trail. The person saw that we were not exactly teenagers and that in addition to us, our friends’ son and daughter-in-law and their three young children were present.

We set off into the desert passing a number of camels, climbing in our cars to the top of an overlook to the Great Machtesh (crater), and then continued on to the eucalyptus parking area that was beside the colored sands—sands that were naturally colored from the minerals in them.

Our friends’ son and wife decided not to come on the hike, but their having a car of their own enabled us to leave our own car at the finish of the hike.

We started along the trail. At first it was a gradual rise along a path that was quite beautiful. We passed some exquisitely colored sand formations and the rocks formed patterns in the sunlight. Soon the path turned upward and we climbed along the rocks. Then we saw a wall in front of us and a trail marking pointing up. We found metal handholds and scaled that wall and came to the top—or so we thought, but we found out that at the top of the mountain, the trail led to the top of another mountain and at the top of that mountain, there was yet another. The path became steeper and steeper. Finally, we reached the top. The view was magnificent.

We were walking in the heat of the day. We had sufficient water and food, but the heat and the very persistent flies made it less than pleasant. However, having gotten to the mountaintop, we hoped that the second part of the hike would be easier.

It wasn’t. The way down was along a path that ranged between 8 and 20 inches, was covered with dry pebbles, so there was not a decent foothold, and had only pointy rocks to hold onto. The mountain was called “the Big Fin” but I refer to it as “Stegosaurus Mountain.” My husband and one of our friends chose to propel themselves down the mountain in a sitting position, however I was wearing a skirt and there was no way that would work, so I watched every step (as did they) and continued on. We had noticed at the beginning of the climb that there was no cell phone reception and so I had shut off my cell phone thinking that I didn’t want to use up the battery in case we would need it later. My husband worried that if I fell, he would have no access to the cell phone! We began talking about the fact that the only rescue would be via helicopter. There was no way to carry a person down the mountain. I never worried about dying, but the thought of serious injury did enter my mind when I slipped and heard the pebbles continuing to fall down to the desert floor. But we continued, mainly because there was nothing else that we could do.

When we finally got to the bottom of the steepest descent, we rested and then the rest of the descent seemed easy. Just as we were feeling confident once again, we noticed that there was a railroad track directly in front of us that was at the top of a very steep rise. Only a few minutes later did we discover that there was a pedestrian tunnel underneath. That was the good news. The bad news is that it was built for pygmies. The tunnel was probably five feet high, but after the descent, I literally ran through it bent in half.

When finally we reached the parking lot where the car was located, I believe I rhapsodized about my car in a completely insane manner. But by then I was totally spent.

We stopped in the next town to buy cold drinks.

When finally I caught my breath, I realized that this whole adventure was very much like life. You start out happy and confident. Things are beautiful and easy. You experience some difficulty, but it’s still lovely. And then you get to a point where it gets hard, very hard, and just when you think it can’t get any harder, it does. Then it gets harder yet. You can stop and look around and then you decide you need to go on. You walk along the path, danger on either side. You can be with friends and they are there to share the experience with you. They provide support and protection and comfort, but the journey is still rough. Sometimes the up-hills are the hardest, and sometimes when it seems that things should be easy, that is when they are the most difficult. But when the hard times are over, you feel relieved, grateful, and maybe even proud that you hung in there and made it through.

Throughout the descent, I kept thinking of something that Rav Nachman of Bratslav said: “The whole world is a very narrow bridge and the main thing is not to be at all afraid.”

Healing in China

It has taken me some time to begin to process our trip to China. One of the women on the trip said that for her, the trip was a vacation from a very stressful and hectic life which had been particularly difficult over the past summer. She thought that the trip would renew her.

I immediately understood what she was saying, for although my life was less stressed than hers, for me too the common annoyances of life were for this brief moment being replaced with new places and new people and new experiences beyond our imaginations.

My difficult summer had begun with becoming ill almost exactly when my sister arrived to visit me for two weeks. The relatively benign virus affected me so strongly that I was not able to function for weeks. My doctor had informed me that I would take months to recover. We wondered whether I would be able to go on the trip, but my lab values began to improve and I was determined to go.

When we got to the Great Wall on the first full day in China, there was a climb of what turned out to be 1200 uneven steps. Since this was likely to be my only time at the Great Wall, I made a decision to climb it. Something about that climb amid the beauty of the countryside, the bright colors of the tourists’ clothing, the optimism of people having a good time, the wonder of being in an exotic setting, gave me the energy and determination to go on and I did it! I accomplished my goal. But from that day on, I no longer felt weak or sick. Without noticing it, I had recovered my strength faster than I would have predicted.

It was not that long afterwards that we had our first walk in a Chinese garden. They are places of enormous delight. They are verdant with flowing water and rough hewn rocks and are filled with sounds of flute and other Chinese instruments. They are a place of quiet and contemplation. As we experienced these gardens and temples and as we made our way on quiet rivers and lakes, I felt a sense of peace and well-being. In the exquisite Stone Forest, I was overwhelmed with the beauty of nature in a misty rain. As we cruised along the Li River, the beauty was breathtaking. Our hotel in Guilin was along the side of a lake that provided calm and beauty to a bustling city as people walked along its paths and crossed its bridges and walkways.

Among 1.3 billion people, there was peace and solitude and well-being. There were oases of calm and quiet. And there was beauty.

Our trip was not only an adventure, but a healing experience.

What is Moving

Moving is what one does to get from place to place, position to position. Moving is what successful people do to get ahead. That’s how they become one of the “movers and shakers.”

Moving is what a family is involved in when they go on vacation—when they discover new places and have all sorts of adventures.

Moving is what a family does when they are vacating one home and taking up residence in another.

Moving implies purposeful action, forward momentum, active involvement.

In Israel, there has been a lot moving lately.

Politicians have been moving all over the airwaves. Police and Army personnel have been moving south to Gaza and north to Samaria. People who are against the disengagement have been moving to demonstrations in Netivot, Kfar Maimon, Sderot, Jerusalem, and Tel Aviv,. Reporters and photographers from all over the world have been moving in an effort to catch the action.

People who have lived on sand dunes (never before inhabited ) and have built their lives and their communities for twenty or thirty years, having been urged to settle there by successive Israeli governments were moving—by force, out of their homes to an unknown future.

But moving is also the word that describes the most powerful memory of these days– the eyes of the uprooted children whose faith in the goodness of humanity was crushed.

Gratitude

I went to elementary school in the 1950s. It was a time when children sat in long rows and teachers stood at the front of the classroom with decorated bulletin boards and elaborate chalk writings on the blackboard. We learned reading and arithmetic and how to be good citizens. We were taught with painstaking care how to draw our script letters so that everyone in the class had beautiful penmanship. The message we had conveyed to us again and again was that our education was important and that we were the future leaders of the country and we needed to take responsibility and we needed to learn as much as we could to equip ourselves to take over when we were old enough. We had a responsibility to the society we lived in.

We also were taught something else… We were taught to take time to consider the world and its Creator. Back then, each morning began with the Bible being read for a period of a few minutes. Usually the readings were from the book of Psalms. My teachers seemed to favor Psalms 1, 8, 23, and 24. Sometimes the readings were from the book of Genesis- about the creation of the world. Sometimes they read from Proverbs and we learned about time to sow and time to gather and time of war and time of peace. The beauty of the King James translation was awe-inspiring. Each day began with a glimpse of the infinite.

And then, before our snacks, we said a poem.

Thank you for the world so sweet,
Thank you for the food we eat,
Thank you for the birds that sing,
Thank you God for everything.

I think that we learned that we were part of a very special created world and that we had the obligation to be grateful for all that was given to us. We could take nothing for granted. Everything was a gift of God.

I believe that that is precisely what is missing in the world we inhabit today. Children are not taught to be grateful. Their parents try to please them—they buy them things, take them places, and the children take it for granted! They even criticize the parents for not taking them good enough places or buying them nice enough presents. The children simply have not been taught gratitude.

As with other values, gratitude is both taught and caught. Children who see their parents as people who are grateful, who do not take their good fortune for granted, will themselves be grateful. Showering children with too many toys and gifts and treats gives them the message that the world owes them something. They expect to continue to receive and receive. Children who are taught to give of themselves—to help others, to take responsibility, begin to value what others do for them.

The concept of gratitude is more important than most people realize. In my practice, I have seen hundreds of children. Invariably, the meanest, surliest, most unhappy children were those who had been given everything. After a while, nothing means anything to them. They just want MORE! Conversely, parents who enable their child to earn a wanted item (a new bicycle, a scout uniform) produce a child who is grateful and happy when he finally earns his object of desire.

There are no hard and fast rules, though. I know one family where the children have every toy known to man (woman, and child!) However, these children appreciate any little toy or trinket they get. I believe the answer to this mystery is that the parents never have taken their good fortune for granted. They have worked hard for whatever they have and they are themselves grateful people.

Warning signs that you may be raising an ungrateful child:
1. You give your child a gift and he complains about it.
Reaction: “You don’t like this gift? OK, I will take it back.” Do not apologize or offer to get something better. Your child says he doesn’t like the gift; then he doesn’t get to keep it.
2. Your child focuses on what other people have.
Reaction: “You wish you had what Tommy has. Maybe you could think about something that you have that you like.” Do not go and buy the child the object. Do not sympathize that he doesn’t have it. Do not apologize that you can’t afford it. Life really isn’t fair. We don’t all get everything we want.

In the Jewish tradition we have a maxim that says, “Who is rich? He who is happy with his lot.” Parents need to believe this and then they need to teach it to their children

Terror

In the face of unspeakable horror, I am struck dumb. I hate the idea of writing about the heinous terror attack in London because to put it into words limits it to something finite that can be picked up, read, and be over. But that isn’t what terror is. Terror, once created, cannot be neatly contained or dismissed.

This week, our friend Chana turned 35. Her parents, husband and daughter took her a cake in honor of her birthday. But Chana is in a coma, close to four years now, since the murderous attack on the Sbarro’s restaurant in Jerusalem. Chana has not been able to see her daughter grow and learn. Her family lives with the pain each and every day. It is not over. It will never be over. Even if Chana is able to wake up and return to her family, can anyone calculate the price of this evil attack on her family?

Last night, we went to a concert. The Israel Philharmonic played a wide range of music. As I sat there, I marveled at the range of behaviors that people can engage in. Here were a large number of people, each an artist in his or her own right. All of them played together, pausing waiting, knowing just what to do and when. I watched as the harpist played and the cymbalist clanged and I saw their complete dedication to producing something beautiful. It was a task that none of them alone could accomplish, but together, ah the beauty!

And then I thought of the people who orchestrated the horror in London and the thought stabbed at my heart. How can people, endowed with such potential for good, choose to use that potential to plan horrific attacks on innocent people?

And when I hear that it is poverty or humiliation that causes these attacks, I want to scream. I know lots of people who had similar problems and none of them blew up innocent people. How can anyone even entertain the notion that such acts have any justification!

I hate the people who did this, mostly for shaming their Creator and taking what was so lovingly granted them and using it for evil. I hate them for sullying the name of the human race.

It never hurts to say “thank you”

I am not a theologian. I do not pretend to any understanding greater than that of the next person, but I have been thinking about the nature of religion as practiced today by many people.

What concerns me is the line between religion and superstition. It seems to me that sometimes people believe in such a simplistic way that they believe that specific actions, words, or contact with holy objects or people will cause G-d to act in the way that they wish, thereby making their lives more pleasant or perhaps just more bearable.

If one looks at the vast human tragedies that have occurred, both manmade, like the Holocaust or natural, like the recent tzunami, then those beliefs become even more problematic. Are we to assume that all of the innocent victims didn’t pray right, touch the right objects, or perform the right rituals?

And where do such beliefs lead people? There are a large number of people who prey on those who have such naïve beliefs. There are those who only sell their amulets and charms. There are those who claim that they can affect what G-d will do by putting people through all sorts of trials and humiliation. There are others who try to sell them special water, laying on of hands, fortune telling, and “healing.” People give them money, sometimes thousands of dollars, for the miracles that they promise to perform, and the people are left not only poorer, but hopeless and betrayed.

But how does all of this influence what G-d will do? Well, my guess is that if someone had found the formula to persuade G-d to do what any individual willed, that person would not keep it a secret. The fortunetellers would make all of their fortune on Wall Street and stop taking money from people who believe that they can know the universe in some secret way.

I do not pretend to understand how G-d works, what His plan is for the world, nor how to get what I wish or pray for. I do know that I feel a sense of awe and wonder at the world He has created, and if I know nothing else, I know that I should be grateful for all that He has given me.