Yanov Torah                                              May 27, 2014

     You all know the story of the Yanov Torah, the survivor of the Nazi work camp in the East European town of Yanov.  Pieces of hidden Torahtot were smuggled into the camp for prayer; at war’s end, the survivors pieced it back to together, cared for it and cherished it, eventually sent it to America.

     Over the years Erv and I have been around the world with it.  More recently, since the death of my Beloved, students from the Hebrew Union College at Los Angeles have enjoyed the responsibility and privilege of carrying the Torah to their congregations to tell and demonstrate this unusual story of survival.

     Recently, Brad Yanover came into the story.  “Yes”, he said, his family, “way back, came from that town of Yanov.”  Whether the town was named for his family or visa versa, he is not sure.  H e wished to reprint a limited amount of copies of the book that Erv and I had written in 1985, they were to be favors for the guests at his daughter’s Bat Mitzvah last April.  In addition, he said he wished to make a documentary of the story and needed to have my permission and willingness to be interviewed. I was interviewed for two hours, I love to tell the story.

     I was excited and eager to participate as best I could.  The Bat Mitzvah was a huge success.  Brad’s daughter Jaden read from the Yanov Torah and there was much excitement in the synagogue in Arizona.  Brad was kind enough to tell me about the day.  Though he seemed to be dragging his feet regarding a documentary, he was not. It is not always easy to fund and implement one's dreams.  In the long run it will be satisfying to know that the Yanov Torah will become an historical treasure for the world; the message of survival of Torah, of Judaism will be set on film for all  to see and appreciate.

     Brad is a successful Producer this is not just a pipe dream.  I was charmed by him and believe him. I have discovered that he is not only charming but also sincere.  I think he cherishes the Yanov Torah with the same fervor that I do.

Burgundy Not Red

  

 

 

Burgundy Not Red!

    

   Judi, my daughter and I went car shopping.  Her eleven-year old car had given up.  It was time for a change.  Buying a car has always seemed harder than finding the right bathing suit.  I remember sitting through lengthy time consuming sessions with salesmen, in Ohio, North Carolina, Pennsylvania and New York, it was always the same.  Erv and I wandered around a showroom or a lot and picked the car we loved at first sight, took the car for a test drive. Then I believe the salesman rubbed his hands together (behind our backs) and invited us into his office.  The show began! The last car my beloved and I bought was the Camry in 2005.  It was a lengthy ordeal then, things have not changed a bit.

     This used car salesman plied Judi and I with cold drinks, or hot, bits of chocolate, dark chocolate I could not resist, and finally the itinerary to the rest room.  I remembered my husband’s tried and true technique.  “I do not have that kind of money”, I smiled sweetly, “consider this figure please”.   He retorted, “We would lose money, this is how much the car cost us, impossible! You can finance the car”.  I replied,  “I don’t want to…isn’t there a person you can discuss this with, over there?”  I pointed to the front of the showroom.  “Oh, oh yes, pardon me a moment, would you like another piece of chocolate?”  We were happy to nibble, it was past dinnertime.

     He came back and with a wide smile, “He will split the difference with you!”  A small victory, I was prepared to walk out, Judi was with me, then I felt her sense of disappointment, I told myself not to quibble anymore.  I recalled the feeling when Erv and I shopped cars. I hated the ordeal and wanted that car now!  I made the deal.

     But we were not finished; the paper work was long and tedious, another hour. It would have been easier if we had financed the car. The dealer preferred it that way.  When we were sent to the bookkeeper-closer we ran into more trouble.  He offered a warranty below what the salesman had promised.  We could not let our defenses down for a moment.  The sales force and we had different agendas, to put it politely.  We insisted that he check out our differences, he came back with apologies and a long story about having worked for a different company with different guidelines. My patience disappeared,  “I am not interested in that company let’s wind this up.”  He behaved.  Judi has her beautiful burgundy car. Please do not call it red. The process had taken three hours; I did not ride in the car until we took it home.  Judi had driven it earlier.   The joy on her face when she settled into the driver’s seat was worth the extra dollars.                                   

    

 

 

THE FIRES (May 18, 2014)

(this is a copy of an article I wrote for our local newsletter, I believe others will be interested)

They really took us by storm!

Many of our friends and neighbors sat out that fire storm.

I commend their courage and optimism.

Others of us took the “easy” way out,

With some reluctance we turned our backs on precious mementos

And headed South,

away from the fires. I was gone for two days.

Now I am grateful to be home to snore in my own bed tonight.

My gratitude extends further to the many people and things I cherish.

To the specific good neighbor and friend who said on Wednesday:

“there is a seat for you  in my car!”

When the time came he picked me up with my bag and

four of us headed South, away from Lions Gate.

I am so very appreciative for the care we show one another.

I am grateful for all the people in my life, so many have expressed their concern to me.

So many of you called, I will never, ever again wonder

            if anyone cares!  Thank you all!!!

MOTHERS’ DAY

An edited version, of the first article I sold to the Los Angeles Times, it was published on May 12, 1985, my son’s 36^th birthday..

 

     I am a Jewish Mother who does not take Mothers’ Day lightly’ Oh, I can do without the ribbons, roses and sweets.  For me, the day is a tribute to my mother, a celebration of my own motherhood and an acknowledgement of my daughter, the mom.  A kaleidoscope of memories brightens the occasion, blending laughter and tears into bittersweet recall.  Today, I am a child again searching for the right words to express the love and gratitude I feel.

     But I am also an adult who remembers the sweet smell of an infant daughter and the dazzling excitement of child number one, our son. Once again I search for words of gratitude and love. On Mothers’ Day, more than at any other time, my inner child and my adult reality are in harmony.

     Mother is forever!  My mother died many years ago in 1957. Hardly a day goes by without a thought of her, a remembered conversation, a confidential chat, a shared chore.  She is never far from me.  Mother’s years of surveillance gave birth to a patience that was never ending.  While we children acted out our stages of impatience, short tempers and ugliness, Mother patiently awaited the fulfillment of her expectations.  Hopes stained by disappointments, health blemished by illness, plenty diminished by Depression’s deprivations never discouraged, disheartened or defeated her.

     She understood the special-ness of children.  To her, no child was ugly, dirty or unmanageable.  Tears had to be dried carefully, tenderly; she understood that the sun was waiting to shine through.  Her joy was complete when she coaxed a smile from an unhappy child.

     Mother was extraordinarily flexible about certain things and adamantly stubborn about others.  Truth was an absolute.  Truth forgave our misdemeanors; lies were always discovered and severely punished.  “Silent treatment” was her weapon of choice.  The pain I suffered when communication halted, was intense.  Mother’s flexibility allowed us to learn and enabled her to change her mind.  I learned early that she was vulnerable to the word “fair”.  Her advice and wisdom were usually on target; she always assumed she was correct, she usually was!

     As I look ahead and remember Mother, I also recall my mothering.  The day becomes, for me, a celebration of the tough, indestructible, infinite love I share with my children.  I hope that some of the patience, understanding and flexibility flowed from my Mother through me to them.

     I disagree with the cynics who denigrate Mothers’ Day.  It is a celebration.  I am a proud mother who has experienced disappointment, discouragement and deprivation. But there always is hope that health, dreams, patience and understanding will prevail and prevent an erosion of love; that calls for a celebration!

     Hugs and kisses we exchange are the receipts for that love.  The cards, gifts and endearing words are, perhaps, the thank-you notes.  Every mother should have a time when she feels special.  We contribute richly to our offspring, responding from our individualized qualities to theirs.  Some of us specialize in cookies, others in athletics, music, storytelling or math.  All of us have sidelines in soothing scraped knees, healing hurt feelings, listening to lovelorn stories.  We major in granting permission or with holding it, raising objections and demanding obedience.  For some of us there is another legacy.  Remember I said I was a Jewish Mother.

     The adjective and noun, part of the American vernacular, join to describe all the mothering qualities I have discussed and more.  A Jewish mother worries more, protects more, aspires (pushes) more, expects more and in her own mind is more culpable.  “Don’t be a Jewish Mother!” means stop worrying, stop pushing, stop coddling, slow down.  Jewish mothers wear guilt like a second skin, blaming themselves for the child’s shortcomings and at the same time shout: “How could you do this to me?”   Jewish mothers assume an awesome responsibility for the totality of their children’s deeds and misdeeds.  One would think there are no other influences upon a child.  That’s nonsense!

     Not all Jewish mothers fit the stereotype.  Today’s woman no longer depends on her mothering and culinary skills for status and identity.  Jewish mothers and their counterparts understand today that nurturing, loving and letting go is what mothering is all about.  In the final analyses, we open doors to allow the child’s aspirations, fulfillment and efforts to go through.  No, I do not take Mothers’ Day lightly.  I delight to remember my mother, I relish the opportunity to celebrate the love I share with my kids and rejoice in the continuity, privileges and rewards of motherhood.

Happy Mothers’ Day!