BCC’s 2017 Awards Brunch & Concert                                                            Nov 26 2016

Dear Ag,

We are all thrilled and delighted that you have agreed to be honored at BCC’s 2017 Awards Brunch & Concert.  And this year, in tribute to BCC’s 45^th Anniversary, it’s especially exciting that you will be the recipient of the 2017 Rabbi Erwin and Agnes Herman Award! What could be more appropriate and timely! We’re deeply grateful for your willingness to accept this well deserved honor, and contribute to an always amazing BCC event.

At the event, Richard Lesse will receive the 2017 Presidents’ Award, and the celebration will include a concert featuring performances by six of our most beloved vocalists and musicians, who will receive a special BCC Musical Culture Awards.

Introducing the Plans

We want you to have a wonderful experience on March 26 as well as leading up to it, so I’m going to go over some details that will help you prepare.

Joel Kushner will be your liaison and go-to person for any and all details, questions and assistance. See list below.

Put March 26, 2017 on your calendar!  Guests will arrive around 11am for coffee, champagne and schmoozing, but honorees and participants will need to arrive earlier. We are looking for a venue with a reception room, a banquet room and an auditorium that will lend itself to a lively, entertaining and memorable day for you as well as your friends, fans and family.

About Fundraising

BCC’s gratitude to you extends far beyond your contributions to our community and culture, and in the case of this event, includes your willingness to help BCC celebrate our wonderful shul, honor special people we love, and raise needed funds too.

Here are the basics!

·         The first is to assemble a Guest List of your friends, family and fans (the 3Fs!) on a spreadsheet.

·         Guest List info includes names, email, phone, mailing address, and connection to you (like friend, relative, work, organization, relationship, shared performances, school, etc). This helps your liaison to know why you’ve included someone on your list.

·         DEADLINE for your Guest List is December 12! I know that’s only 2 weeks from now, but since the Brunch is 4 months away, time is of the essence.

·         Your liaison will contact people on your guest list to explain the honor you’re receiving and invite them to attend the brunch.

Then, as soon as possible, please provide the following information to be used in the invitation, event program, and short Honoree Video:

·         A paragraph on how you like to be described, including such things as your professional or volunteer experiences, interests and activities

·         Set of 5-15 photos and/or video clips

·         Links to any online appearances

Taking part in BCC’s Annual Awards Event is a precious facet of our lives together, and we're so glad you'll be there to share it with us!

Marc Breindel, Co-Chair                                                 Tracy Moore, Co-Chair

(415) 652-0727                                                                   (323) 309-8477             

marclb@yahoo.com                                                          tracymoore@earthlink.net

Program Participants

Adam Kulbersh – Emcee

Mark Farber – Program Director

Awards                                                   Honorees                                               Liaisons

Herman Humanitarian Award	Agnes Herman	Joel Kushner
Presidents’ Award	Richard Lesse	Brett Trueman
Musical Culture Award	Fran Chalin	Ruth Geffner
Musical Culture Award	Tamara Kline	Laurie Newman
Musical Culture Award	Cantor Don Croll	Lauren Schlau
Musical Culture Award	Jeanelle LaMance	Bracha & Davi Cheng
Musical Culture Award	Phranc	Robin Berkovitz
Musical Culture Award	Juval Porat	Marc Breindel

Members of the Event Committee

Ronnie Wexler, Ginger Jacobs, Hannah Theile, Mark Farber, Adam Kulbursh, Laurie Newman, Bruce Maxwell, Jeffrey Janis, Ruth Geffner

The Recent Presidential Election……………………………Agnes Herman

Published in Seacrest Happenings

     I was disappointed when candidate, Hillary Clinton lost the Presidential election to Donald Trump.  I was inconsolable.  I believed (still do) that Clinton had the experience, the smarts and the ability to handle the job.  I believe, also, that many American men would not trust the future of this country in the hands of a woman.  I do not give them full responsibility for Clinton’s loss, but they contributed to it.

     On the other hand, I fear Donald Trump.  He is a man quite used to having his own way in business, on television and in his family circle.  He does not hesitate to denigrate anyone or any group who might cross his path going the other way.

     Through my academic life I was in love with the story of the United States.  The saga of the founding of this country seduced me when I was young and I never lost my fascination with American history.  The “chutzpah” of the founders, the risks taken, the battles fought are confounding.  To this day I seek books that tell me more of the story of this country. 

     When I learned that Donald Trump was going to run for President, I became frightened for the first time since World War II.  His denigration of minorities is scary and destructive; his disrespect challenges everything that I was taught by my parents and my teachers.  Doesn’t he understand that the variety of faces that make up America is what makes America strong?

     Stephen K. Bannon Trump’s chief political strategist has been accused of being a racist and an anti-Semite.  True or false, my friends, the simple accusations remind me of the recent past.  We have no room in our political structure for anyone accused of racism or anti-Semitism. Now as Mr. Obama prepares to re-enter private life, I know that I should begin to respect my new President.

     That will prove difficult; I believe that Mr. Trump won over working class America when in October he told a Florida audience, “It is our corrupt political establishment that is the greatest power behind the efforts at radical globalization and the disenfranchisement of working people…the depths of their immorality is unlimited. Our political establishment has no soul.” (LA Times 11-23-16)

     Yes, it is sheer politics when Steve Bannon also states, ”It is everything related to jobs.  The conservatives are going to go crazy.  I’m the guy pushing a trillion dollar infrastructure plan….It is the greatest opportunity to rebuild everything….we will get 60% of the white vote and 40% of the black and  Hispanic vote and we will govern for fifty years…”  (Same LA Times article) I do not know where that puts the Republican Party, or where it leaves the Democratic Party.  According to Doyle McManus (columnist for the LA Times), “Trump already has helped white working class voters feel less forgotten…”  That is the good news, but is that all there is to being President?

     

MEMORY                                                    December 21, 20016   Ag Herman

     Stop worrying about a faulty memory!  I frequently open the refrigerator door and wonder why I did!  Did I want milk, a hard-boiled egg or a piece of fruit?  I cannot remember, I slam the door and worry:  is Alzheimer’s disease around the corner?  There are actions, tricks to embrace to help allay our fears.  I am not a doctor, but nevertheless there are strategies that will help ease the frustration of forgetting.
     Harvard studied the problem.  The first finding is simply keep learning.  No, we do not have to go back to school.  The simplest tools that help are always within reach: read, play bridge, do a crossword puzzle, volunteer to join friends.  Here at Seacrest, it means participate, share an outing, enjoy the music, listen to the lecture, speak up, join the book club, take advantage, chat with your neighbor and learn from each other.  We all have a lifetime of stories to share.
     Next the study suggests we use our senses.  They did a study that supported the theory “The more senses you use in learning something, the more your brain will be involved in retaining the memory.”  They presented participants with a neutral object accompanied by an odor.  When objects were shown without a smell, recall became difficult. The ones most easily recalled were those that had an odor attached.  Find or add an odor, it will help us remember.
     The next suggestion from Harvard is special: “Believe in yourself!”   We are inundated by the myths connected to aging.    Harvard says, “Myths about aging can contribute to a failing memory.”   Listening to the old wives’ stories about what happens as we age, contributes to our failure to remember.  If we believe that we can keep our minds sharp, we have a pretty good chance at doing just that.  I tell myself, “This aging thing is not going to get me!”
     Economize your brain means plan, use a calendar, scatter little sticky notes with reminders, put your keys and glasses in the same place each time you lay them down.  This allows us to focus on learning new things, experiencing new events and prevents us from searching, searching for those doggone glasses or keys.
     Repeat what you want to know.  That is not a novel idea, but it sure helps. When I meet someone new, I try to use her name several times in our conversation.  It works.  Harvard says repeat it out loud or write it down.  If you put anything in its wrong place, tell yourself that that is what you have done, repeat it, write it down and you will know where it is when you are looking for it.
     Space it out, do not repeat something you want to learn quickly.  “Spaced rehearsal improves recall, (every hour or every several hours helps) not only in healthy people but also in those with certain physically based cognitive problems….”. Rehearsal helps on stage and off as well.
     Lastly, make a mnemonic clue, a creative way to recall lists.  The example used by the newsletter was RICE, specifically in matters that involve an injured arm or leg.  Rice stands for rest, ice, compression and elevation.  When I was a child we used to say,  “every good boy deserves fun” to help us remember the scale on the piano: egbdf.  Frequently when I am making an effort to remember something, I take the first letters in each word add a number and I have a clue.   For example: please shop today becomes ps2da.
      It is urgent to understand that the starting place for keeping our memories sharp is a good night’s sleep.  Without that foundation our memories cannot be fine-tuned.  It is also true that stress in our lives erodes memory.  No one lives a stress-free life; there are many ways to handle it.  Talking to a friend or therapist helps; shouting at the wind or the person responsible is reasonable; hitting the air with your fist or pounding a pillow can be therapeutic.
     Memories are precious, but forgetting is threatening!  I suggest, “Forget it, we all do, remember life is precious!”

Loneliness

LONELINESS                                                    Ag Herman   10/07/16

                                                                   My 71^st Wedding Anniversary! 

     Loneliness is not a disease we can medicate, nor is it a garment we can shed.  It is a disconcerting fact of life that we can fix, if we try.  It is easy to say “woe is me” and lie down, give in and give up.  On the other hand, we can examine our loneliness, try to understand it and find out how to minimize it.

     Since my husband died almost eight years ago, I have experienced that lonely feeling in a way that does not compare to anything I have ever known.  It is not the childhood complaint, “I have nothing to do, no one to play with, I’m bored!” nor is it the young adult whining, “It’s Saturday night and I don’t have a date!”  I try to manage my days. There are numerous opportunities for my involvement, satisfying ways to keep busy.  Here at Seacrest Village, the program is varied, seductive and inviting.  But my nights are lonely.  Old movies and new ones do not entice me.  Memories of sharing our loveseat, holding hands and whispered critiques continue to erode my complacency.

     I am not looking for sympathy.  I am attempting to assure those of my readers who are experiencing loneliness, that you are not alone!  A recent poll indicates that one in four Americans have no one to confide in, they are lonely.  That is bad news!  Loneliness can lead to isolation; isolation opens the door to depression!  Lonely folks are frequently more vulnerable to illness and early death.  There are ways to beat the odds.  I find that having music in my apartment helps create a happy, pleasant ambiance, it is there when I return and keeps me company as I wade through my day.

     I find that there is therapy in a walk outdoors.  When I do, I sing to myself, argue with myself and forget the latest petty irritation on the phone or in the dining room.  Lengthy phone calls with old friends and/or family members provide great satisfaction, we do not talk of visiting as much as we discuss the day’s fun, the humorous experiences we enjoy and of course, the old days when we were kids together.  Reminiscing can be fun and therapeutic.

     Reading and writing are the primary weapons in my war with loneliness.  Everyone has a talent: singing, swimming or sketching; playing with the children or walking the dog, others garden, even on our small balconies one can glory in a garden’s growth. 

     Above all there is the stream of events that take place here at Seacrest Village.  Whether one participates and enjoys a Sabbath Service is a matter of taste or desire.  Shopping is fun for some; others prefer playing “Judge Judi” and still others gain from Torah study.  There is scrabble and yoga, knitting and computers.  I could continue but I believe that everyone reading my words has his or her favorite Seacrest activity.  Here at Seacrest loneliness is a choice, not a necessity.                              

Loneliness is my very own secret

that embraces me each night.

Catching me by surprise,

then chased by the morning sun.

Each night,

as the sun begins to set,

it’s there.

Before I tire and yawn

or think of my cozy bed.

                                                                              As if to keep me company

my loneliness arrives,

it has become a friend.

It returns with memories

for me to savor,

                                                                                            it touches

my heart where my beloveds rest!

Our Love Affair

Our Love Affair, 

A Memoir………………………………………………………………..7/4/16

Ag  Herman

    

   Sixty-three and ½ years were not enough; he turned away, unwilling to say goodbye.  I stood by his bed, tearfully reluctant.  We had started our journey so many years ago.  Together we had crawled under each other’s skin.  We were in love, we were in step; we understood each other perfectly.

     I met Erv Herman when I went to Ohio for a position with Family Service of Cincinnati.  I had two phone numbers in my pocket “in case you are lonely”.  A friend of a friend knew a boy at the Hebrew Union College, training ground for want-to-be Reform (Progressive) Rabbis.  In addition I had the number of a young minister; a friend in school had a friend in Cincinnati who was an Episcopal pastor.   From my Mother I also had serious, explicit instructions: “do not bring home a clergyman”!  I never asked why.  I was busy thinking about my new job, new city and hopefully, new friends.

     Soon I was lonely: my middle-aged colleagues at Family Service went to lectures and meetings during their time off, I was looking for fun at the 22 year old level.  So I called the Hebrew Union College and brought greetings from my friend in New York.  It worked like a charm.  I had visitors the next Saturday afternoon.  One New York student and one from Baltimore, they also had a younger boy in tow: he was their driver.  I never did find out if they paid him for the 12-mile ride or whether he just liked to be part of what the big boys were doing.

     The afternoon was fun.  It was during our Jewish holiday of Passover that they visited. I apologized to the - would be - rabbis that I had nothing to serve them except Pepsi-cola which was stamped “kosher for Passover”.  “You are Jewish?”  They asked in surprise!  “Agnes Gilbert” was a name without a specific derivation or definition, very hard to identify.  I pretended I was offended so they accepted a Pepsi and decided to play another game with me.

     I was ready for them: “can you tell who is Murray, who is Erv and who is Donny?”  They were astonished that I picked each one correctly.  They were so sure-footed that they did not know they had called each other by name in whispers: my sharp ears always stood me in good stead.  When they left, promising to call, I later heard that Murray and Erv had a lengthy discussion, on the other side of my front door, about who would ask me out. Apparently at the Hebrew Union College there was a code of honor:  no two men dated the same girl at the same time.   Murray was elected!   I never found out if they tossed a coin or settled in some other way.  Yes Murray and I dated awhile, then as happens when two people are really not matched, we broke up.  The real fun began almost immediately.

     The wife of another student invited me to play bridge on a quiet Sunday evening.  I asked who the fourth player was, she replied “Erv Herman”.  In the intervening time, I had heard a lot about this would-be rabbi.  He was irrepressible and frequently walking the fine line on the edge of danger. So, I answered my friend that I did not think he and I were in the same league; unbelievably he gave her the same answer when she asked him to join us.  In as much as our friend complained that she was only asking us to play bridge, not marry, we both relented and so began the saga of Erv and Ag Herman.

     From that day until I had to return to New York to grad school, we saw each other every day. And when he visited me in New York in June, he jumped off the train and said for the world to hear, “as of this moment we are engaged”!   We were married in October; more than 63 years later cancer took my love…he always said, “I want to go first so that you can have a couple of years of freedom”.  Silly man, did he not understand that I always preferred to go along!!!

                                                                                        Agnes G. Herman

                                                                                                     211 Saxony Rd.  Apt# 231

                                                                                              Encinitas, CA 92024

                                                                                                 

MY GRANDSON CONVERTS…..9/9/15        AGH

   I was born a Jew, I have members of my family who were not. Religious choice is a given for the adult members of the family. Jews and non-Jews are part of my family, welcomed, embraced and included.  Frequently we celebrate New Year’s Day and Rosh Hashanah, Christmas and Chanukah, Easter and Passover. 

   Despite that truth, my reaction to Matt’s announcement that he was baptized last Sunday was one of sadness and loss.  I am sad and disappointed because I feel that somewhere, somehow I have failed, I failed Matthew and also have failed Judaism.  Apparently, he needs more or something different from what Judaism and I have to offer.

   For me Judaism is a comfort, a way of life, it is the source of love.  I was not able, over the years to translate that concept for Matt though it is the essence of my belief.    He now believes that Christianity answers his needs. I can only continue to love him and encourage his search. I have tried to act out my Judaism for my grandson.  My Judaism tells me to be honest and honorable and humble; tells me to care for others, to worry about others; my Judaism has taught me to love; my Judaism has told me the story of who I am and who I can be.  I must strive to be better, to surpass myself…to do better, to care more, to reach out to help.  My Judaism has taught me about equality that no one person can be better than another as long as that one person keeps striving to do his/her best, to grow, to learn, to love.  In Judaism we strive for perfection, understanding full well that humanity is imperfect, as Robert Browning said,  “man’s (or woman’s) reach should exceed his (her) grasp or what’s a Heaven for?”  All this, over the years, I have shared with Matt. He obviously feels he has found it and more in Christianity.

   My disappointment reflects my concern that Matt has stepped out of the fold.  He promises that he has not abandoned me.  I take heart in the thought.  Our God may be the same God, but our succor is different, our references are different.  I must remember that nothing can destroy our love or our family even though our beliefs may have different names and diverse paths.  Our Holydays and celebrations will be different. I hope and pray that the roots of our love and loyalty will not change, but will have the energy to remain strong as always, Judaism and Christianity teach honor and respect.  I respect my grandson’s choice, I will not join him but I will always accompany him.  May we never stop loving or searching for better as we move side by side to a different drummer.   We must never forget that God is the source of love and faith, no matter what we call Him.

   I spoke with Matt two days before his conversion. It was clear that he was 

excited, that he felt that he finally knows who he is and why he is here.  I pray 

that he and I will always be able to talk to each other honestly, I thank God 

for my grandson and bless him with my love.

CONTENTMENT –   (a memoir)

   During the week before we were married Erv and I were surrounded and embraced by many people.  I do believe that my most contented moment was when they finally delivered us to the train that would take us to Petoskey Michigan, our honeymoon destination.   There were 18 people at our wedding, all 18 came to Grand Central Station to see us off.  I recall one friend who had not been invited to the wedding, was waiting for us at the gate.  When the train whistle blew and our friends and family were ordered off the train, we looked at each other with joy.  Erv turned to the porter and asked him to make up the lower berth.  My contentment was reflected in Erv’s eyes.  Everyone was gone; we were together forever, hand in hand, hopeful, happy, thoroughly contented.  We had no idea that we had more than 63 years ahead of us.  I look back on those years remembering that joyous contentment pervaded our lives, enabling us to ride the roller coast of life with confidence.

   Our honeymoon in Petoskey was close to perfect until Erv’s stomach ulcer misbehaved and I inadvertently stumbled into a problem with my new in-laws.  In our attempt to hide my sweetheart’s tummy problem from his Mother, we decided to send a wire to let them know that we were fine, enjoying ourselves and, at the same time, we wished them a Happy Anniversary.  appy AnniversaryI ran out to send the telegram while Erv and his tummy went to bed.  He asked me to bring him a copy of the note I sent: “Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad…have fun etc….”  “Omigosh”, he said, “My Mother hates to be called Mom!”  With the best of intentions I hammered the wedge between us deeper into the unknown. 

   The angst between Erv’s Mother and me lasted about 28 years.  Before she died, we talked and made peace.  It was too late for us to build a relationship, but it did mitigate some of her anger and my hurt.  She told me once, “I have to give you credit, you have been a good mother!”  My husband stuck by me through all the good and bad times, he provided all the kudos I needed. Our marriage was spelled c-o-n-t-e-n-t-m-e-n-t.

   When Erv was able to earn $65 a week without my help, we began to think “baby”. With great ceremony and glee we tossed the diaphragm to the farthest most shelf in the closet and went about the business of making a baby.   After several frustrating months we enlisted medical help. Our doctor expounded the obvious: “Ag why don’t you stop working, relax and enjoy these carefree times!” His prescription was fun but it did not work. As a matter of fact nothing seemed to be working and our confidence and enthusiasm were falling fast.

   Neither of us could imagine life without children.  When we started talking “adoption” the wedge between my mother-in-law and me simply deepened. She was certain that I was the one at “fault” creating our inability to produce children. But I had a great partner, together, we moved full speed ahead and by January of 1950 we brought Jeffrey home, eight month old Jeff was a husky heavyweight, full of giggles.  Eighteen months later we brought Judi home.  She was a lightweight, an emotional baby who laughed out loud at the antics of her brother and cried at bedtime when the fun came to an end.   We had a matched pair who challenged us to be the best that we could be as parents.  We were a contented trio.

  

Our Love Affair………………………………………………………………..6/18/16

    

   Sixty-three and ½ years were not enough; he turned away, unwilling to say goodbye.  I stood by his bed, tearfully reluctant.  We had started our journey so many years ago.  Together we had crawled under each other’s skin.  We were in love, we were in step; we understood each other perfectly.

     I met Erv Herman when I went to Ohio for a position with Family Service of Cincinnati.  I had two phone numbers in my pocket “in case you become lonely”.  A friend of a friend knew a boy at the Hebrew Union College, training ground for want-to-be Reform (Progressive) Rabbis.  In addition, I had the number of a young minister; a friend in school had a friend in Cincinnati who was an Episcopal pastor.   From my Mother I also had serious, explicit instructions: “do not bring home a clergyman”!  I never asked why.  I was busy thinking about my new job, new city and hopefully, new friends.

     Soon I was lonely: the middle-aged colleagues at Family Service went to lectures and meetings during their time off, I was looking for fun at the 22 year old level.  So I called the Hebrew Union College and brought greetings from my friend in New York.  It worked like a charm.  I had visitors the next Saturday afternoon.  One New York student and one from Baltimore, they also had a younger boy in tow: he was their driver.  I never did find out if they paid him for the 12-mile ride or whether he just liked to be part of what the big boys were doing.

     The afternoon was fun.  It was during our Jewish holiday of Passover that they visited. I apologized to the would be rabbis that I had nothing to serve them except Pepsi-Cola which was stamped “kosher for Passover”.  “You are Jewish?”  They asked in surprise!  “Agnes Gilbert” was a name without a specific derivation or definition, very hard to identify.  I pretended I was offended so they accepted a Pepsi and decided to play another game with me.

     I was ready for them: “Can you tell who is Murray, who is Erv and who is Donny?”  They were astonished that I picked each one correctly.  They were so sure-footed that they did not know they had called each other by name in whispers: sharp ears and a quick understanding always stood me in good stead.  When they left, promising to call, I later heard that Murray and Erv had a lengthy discussion, on the other side of my front door, about who would ask me out. Apparently at the Hebrew Union College there was a code of honor:  no two men dated the same girl at the same time.   Murray was elected!   I never found out if they tossed a coin or settled in some other way.  Yes Murray and I dated awhile, then as happens when two people are really not matched, we broke up.  Then the real fun began.

     The wife of another student invited me to play bridge on a quiet Sunday evening.  I asked who the fourth player was, she replied “Erv Herman”.  In the intervening time, I had heard a lot about this would-be rabbi.  He was irrepressible and constantly walking the fine line on the edge of danger. So, I answered my friend that I did not think he and I were in the same league; unbelievably he gave her the same answer when she asked him to join us.  In as much as our friend complained that she was only asking us to play bridge, not marry!  We both relented and so began the saga of Erv and Ag Herman.

     From that day until I had to return to New York to grad school, we saw each other every day. And when he visited me in New York in June, he jumped off the train and said for the world to hear, “as of this moment we are engaged”!   We were married in October; more than 63 years later, cancer took my love…he always said, “I want to go first so that you can have a couple of years of freedom”.  Silly man, did he not understand that I always preferred to go along!!!

                                                                                        Agnes G. Herman

                                                                                                  

                                                                                                 

WHO AM I?

Who am I?    Before I continue to write about folks who have recently come to Seacrest, perhaps you would like to learn a bit about me, Ag Herman.  I came to Seacrest in early January.  A year ago I would have been kicking and screaming over my perceived loss of independence   This year I made the big decision based on two important facts of life.  I was tired of cooking for myself.  The second reason was boredom.  I knew I needed new challenges.  I filled out the papers for Seacrest, when rooms  became available I was ready.  I have a living room, a bedroom and bath, a huge closet and NO kitchen.  I could not have planned it better.  NO kitchen for the first time in my adult life!  A gift!

     I cooked for my family for close to seventy years: “enough already” I mused.  My microwave heats up yesterday’s dinner rolls just fine; my toaster oven toasts my muffins for breakfast perfectly and both appliances heat up any leftovers that I scrounge from the table.  I have told anyone willing to listen: this is the last stop.  If for some reason Seacrest does not work for me, that is okay I am determined to hang in there.  

   People are friendly, interested in newcomers and willing to listen.  Everyone I have encountered has patience with my stories that I try to preface with: “have I mentioned this before”.  I really do not want to become repetitious and boring.

     I was born and raised in New York City, on Riverside Drive. The silver spoon that came with me disappeared quickly in the wake of the Great Depression.  My Dad, an electrical engineer with the New York Central Railroad was my shining star.  He took me to movies on a Sunday afternoon, he walked me to Sunday School, he tried to make a “lady” out of me: “when it is cold, wear gloves, a lady must have nice hands”!  He never allowed me to stay home alone – always a source of argument.  He also taught me how to drink.  When I was 18, he cautioned “always have a little food when you take a drink, never drink on an empty stomach”!  He never got drunk (to my knowledge) and neither did I.

   Mother and Dad were not a matched pair, he at six foot two, and she, at 5 foot, were as different as two people can be.  She had the sharpest eyes that could find a needle in a haystack. Once she found a diamond in the gutter.  He loved a good joke and had the patience required of a Dad who practiced spelling words, over and over again and drew a straight line in the dark.  If you asked them separately “who is your first concern, he would have answered “your Mother” and she would have said, “the children”.  Yes they were different, but when it came to love, they were on the same page.

   When I was growing up, I was sure that my big brother was Mom’s favorite child; he, on the other hand was certain that I was Dad’s favorite.  From my adult perspective today, I am sure that we were both right.  That smattering of favoritism did us both good.  We grew up to be secure, motivated individuals. We made happy marriages and between us had four children; two are still making their way in the world. Sadly, two have died.

   When we gave my parents grief by fighting with each other they threatened to leave us and go off together.  They almost managed to do that: Dad died at 75 in 1957.  Mother followed him two months later at 67.  She apologized to us saying, “You two are doing fine with good marriages and kids.  Dad needs me”!  I still cannot imagine either one of my parents without the other.

  

      

My Friend Alice

My Friend Alice…..

   Let me tell you about Alice.  She is not a newcomer to Seacrest, nevertheless she deserves acknowledgement.  Alice Morawetz, a treasured friend, an indefatigable Jewish woman who is dedicated to her Judaism and to friendship. She never hesitates to speak her mind, but in the friendliest possible way. Alice is soft spoken, you must pay attention when she speaks or you will miss her point and lose an interesting comment or suggestion!

   Alice has been living at Seacrest for thirteen years.  She knows her way around, but she rarely throws her weight around; she is modest, with her feet on the ground and confidence in her very being.  She is a reasonable and intelligent woman I am pleased to call friend.

   Alice came to this country from Vienna.  She landed in New York and was graduated from Queens College with a degree in early childhood education.  She met her husband, John at an Austrian-American gathering that she frequented.  Alice was nineteen and a half when they married.  She had entered college at sixteen, she apparently was years ahead of herself and agreed that that was socially challenging.  When she was at home raising daughter Mindy, the house and backyard were always filled with little kids.  So this creative woman developed a curriculum and had her own nursery school.  That playschool was outgrown in five years.

   After John died in 2007, it was time for Alice to, as she said,  “explore my creativity”.  She literally took a turn at every artistic possibility: oil painting, drawing, sculpture and writing.  She taught Yiddush for about four years, her classes were always full.  Her poetry and prose are writings that I have read and admired.  Two books: “A, My Name is Alice” and “Alice’s Looking Glass” are testaments to the creativity she was searching for.   In addition, Alice has been holding hands with David Alpert for more than five years.  Having a companion has not changed this quiet, modest woman although she is happier.

      Years ago, Alice and John had witnessed a program at Seacrest Village on one of their trips West.  They knew exactly where they wanted to go in California.  John, an economist with a doctorate worked for McGraw-Hill for 30 years in their information department.  He resigned his position when they followed the family to California, to Seacrest Village.  When John died in 2007, it took Alice a year to downsize.  They had valuable and precious art-work to sell, give away and let go.  She and John had been living in a two-bedroom apartment here that she no longer needed.  While wrestling with her grief Alice fell and broke her hip.  She is the most uncomplaining woman I know. She also does not brag.  I had to ask her if she had grandchildren: she has two, Talia, 19 and Jacob, 24.  She proudly smiled, said no more.

       As a poster woman for Seacrest Village, Alice Morawetz is content to fulfill her informal role as Seacrest’s ambassador to the Jewish community.  She seems to be happiest when she has successfully persuaded a friend to move to Seacrest Village in order to make responsibilities and loneliness vanish. She worked her magic on me, I am here and deeply grateful to Alice.

Agnes Herman for Seacrest Happenings   (3/16)                

I MOVED! 

  

     I finally moved into a retirement facility.   Moving is something I have

experienced frequently, even learned to do it well.  After our first move from

Cincinnati, Ohio to the big beautiful State of North Carolina, my husband and I

 became old hands at this moving thing. That was good because we did it often.   

In North Carolina we not only learned quickly about the responsibilities and burdens of a

Rabbi and spouse, but along the way, we learned, quickly about parenting.

     By the time we got to North Carolina we understood that we could not make babies! 

We determined that we would adopt children, family life without them was

inconceivable.  Our entire family did not agree, but we had left our school days. We were

adults who needed to satisfy ourselves by making our own

choices.  If Erv was man enough to choose his lifelong calling and I was woman

enough to support and work with him, we were adult enough to decide about kids.

We moved fast.  "Too fast" said his mother "whatever you wish" said mine. We moved

to Winston-Salem in June 1949 on the heels of  Erv’s ordination. 

     January 1950, we brought Jeff home. He was eight months old and was ready to

stand up straight and tall.  What fun we had with this happy, giggling baby. 

The social worker told us he was fat, I had nightmares about his size.  He was chubby,

the way babies are supposed to be. But the night before his homecoming I was worried,

and anxious: was he elephantine, would he like us, maybe even learn to love us?  My

anxiety reached a fever pitch  and suddenly I was truly suffering.  My ache turned into

serious pain, we called a doctor: phantom labor pains, not to worry they would

vanish when I held my baby, and they did! Eighteen months later we brought Jeff’s sister

Judi home.  Our happy family was complete and it flourished.

     My intent when I sat down to write was to talk about moving, not about children. 

We moved about six times during our marriage of more than 62 years.  My

recent move to Seacrest Village is my last.  I have said frequently that if Seacrest

Village does not meet all my needs it remains the last stop.  It has to be the last time that I

sort through my  belongings to pick and choose what stays, what goes.  During the two

months I have been here, I have thought of many items that I failed to take with me. 

Not one is vitally important.  There are pots and pans that I loved using, some were

favorites, others were just pots and pans.  By now my favorites are about to become

precious to other people. I will learn to live without so many “things”.

     Yes, moving is hard to do. When depression hit, we moved from the city and its

luxurious apartment to the country home my grandfather had bought in 1905.  I learned

then  that as long as we were together, we were home!  That has sustained me.

     Things are different now. I have moved because my beloved has died and I must

truly make my own decisions.  One day recently, I awoke to the facts of my life:

I was alone and I was sick and tired of cooking for one.  All the short cuts, all the frozen

meals for one, the packaged dinners for one, all the advertising about the easy way to

cook for one person, failed to resonate for me, failed to entice or enhance my deeply

rooted loneliness.  So I moved to Seacrest Village.

   It is nothing like a dormitory.  I have my own living room, bathroom, bedroom and

no kitchen!  How great is that?  I have a frig in which I keep milk, juice, bread, cream

cream cheese and ice cream.  I fix (?) my own breakfast and depend on the chef at

Seacrest for the rest of my meals.  The food is good if not great, I would in fact, get 

fat on great food.  There are good people here and they seem happy to call me friend. 

I was not overwhelmed nor smothered.  We are all in the same boat and therefore we

understand one another.  We take turns listening because everyone has a story and

everyone here has the time to listen.   Our old, oft-told stories are new here and everyone

has lots of time to listen.    Moving is bad only when you leave loved ones behind. 

Moving, on the other hand can become a correction for loneliness and an antidote to

 “do-it-yourself” concepts.

And so we moved: from Cincinnati, to Winston-Salem, then from an apartment to a

house in Winston.  Then we moved to Scranton, Pennsylvania and from there to an

apartment in Westchester County, NY and then we bought a house, a pink house.  I was

told I looked pretty in pink!  From Westchester we moved to California to an apartment

in Encino, then to a house in Westlake Village and from there to San Diego.  In San

Diego County we lived in an apartment, then a house and finally I landed here at

Seacrest Village, comfortably ensconced, satisfied that Erv would agree, I made a good

decision.

  

  

  

A Visitor

A Visitor                            2/1/15                  Ag Herman

   She came to visit, adjusted the Venetian blinds and told me to put a sweater on my infant.  She was the wife of the founder of the congregation, fifty or sixty years earlier, I do not recall exactly when.  But by the time we crossed paths she was elderly, old to my 28 years.  She considered Erv and me, young, wet behind the ears,  “know-nothing” children.  She started from scratch with her instructions.  We lived on the first floor, strangers passed our door (and windows) constantly, old lady Shapiro was sure they were all concerned with how I lived my life.
   So, she tilted the blinds and insisted that I hide my baby from prying eyes with an oversized sweater.  I who had never worried about prying eyes, was given my first lesson regarding the behavior of the rebbitzan, the rabbi’s wife.  As the years progressed and Erv graduated from the small congregation in Winston-Salem, North Carolina to the larger one in Scranton, Pennsylvania, I was given another lesson concerning my behavior.
   This time I was walking in the downtown area of the city, weighed down with shopping bags when I met a member of the congregation.  “Oops, you better hide that bag from the Globe Store and bring The Scranton Dry Goods bag in front of it.  The Scranton Dry Goods is owned by a member of the congregation, it is the right place to shop; the Globe is not one of ours.
   So I was taught to shop with the congregation.  As the years evolved, I became comfortable in the skin of the rebbitzan and less controlled by the rules of the Sisterhood.  The Sisterhood was and probably still is, the female arm of the synagogue.  I knew the appropriate way to dress for the synagogue, my mother taught me that.  She said nothing about a hat.  I was vain about my pretty hair and never wanted to crush it down with a hat.  In winter and summer, I was hatless.  When it came time to go to temple, I asked my learned spouse a question: Is it mandated anywhere in Halacha that we women wear hats?  He told me that there was no ruling.  So I never wore a hat again after that first year.
   Many years later, Erv had the responsibility to substitute for a rabbi on sabbatical for three months.  When the rabbi and his spouse returned they found a change had taken place.  In astonishment, the rabbi’s wife said, “Look none of the women are wearing hats, that is terrible!  How did that happen?”   The answer came back swiftly “Ag Herman does not wear one and her husband represents the UAHC!  So, we don’t have to wear a hat either!”  And so it came about that the women of Westchester Reform Temple stopped wearing hats to Services.  Not a show of disrespect, simply a matter of choice.  And that, I believe, is what Reform Judaism is about.

Happy I DID IT!

Happy I DID IT…………………………….…….1/27/15
I have no patience with crabby, whining old women and I feared I would get there. I needed to make my life more pleasant, more constructive, I was eager and impatient to stop housekeeping and meet new people. So I moved into Seacrest Village. I played with the idea, its possibilities and repercussions many times in recent months..
As my friends will recall, I even paid a two-day visit to the facility. I needed to have a taste. It was not easy to uproot and turn my back on the wonderful life that Erv and I had carved out of the muck and mud of Lions Gate. He left me to handle it alone almost eight years ago. My safety and comfort were always his prime concern. So for the first time in many years I made a big decision by myself, for myself, and moved without looking back.
At this time more than three weeks after the move, I know I did the right thing. Everyone that I have encountered has been welcoming and kind; those who are not usually have great problems of their own. Just the other day, a woman at breakfast, someone I had not met, was gracious and eager to talk a little. I learned that she has much on her mind. I offered empathy, that appeared to open the spigot of her woes. There was nothing I could do but listen. Her husband had fallen and broken his hip, she was not feeling hopeful about his chances of full recovery. She needed someone to talk to, a listener! I was pleased to be the one.
I am learning that even “young” women and men in their fifties, sixties and seventies carry a burden on their back, a personal portion of the world’s troubles. Everyone has a touch of something unpleasant or worrisome that he/she is willing (often eager) to talk about; it is always clear when the subject is taboo., intuitively we know when to back off. One must tread carefully; show interest but not curiosity. That delicate balance is achieved, I believe through experience. People are as eager to hear others’ stories, as they are to tell their own if we give them an opening. The table, that invited me to join them for the first night’s dinner, have become my dinner table mates. During the week someone picks a topic for discussion, for “table talk”. During the week folks share experiences around the topic of the week. It is interesting that it never interferes with an ordinary day’s reporting: “guess what happened on our bus tour today!” But the subject of the week is kicked around for a week. It is a great way to get to know each other.
The idea of getting to know one another better is consistently a top priority; it is one reason we have come together here. Loneliness has a top spot on all our lists of reasons for choosing Seacrest. I find the folks around me interesting. We are a variety, a cross-section of the American Jewish Community that arrived in America from many places and then made geographic choices that frequently depended on the kids’ location.
So at 93++I have moved to the Seacrest Village retirement home. The physical act of moving is never easy. Packing up to go some other place is never a quick sprint. The baggage we accumulate over the years and through different emotions is a heavy burden that comes along with us, it is not easily shaken off. That baggage has made us who we are today. The need to separate and weed out what we take with us, was, for me, the hardest part of moving. A special friend helped with the actual packing but gave me the ultimate decisions. It was up to me to choose, discard and decide where something would go in my apartment.
I had the good fortune of being able to return for something I had forgotten. But now the house is being readied for sale, I can no longer turn back. So be it! I will either buy a new pot (if I really miss mine) or do without.
I relish the knowledge that I will no longer have to plan my meals or implement the cleanliness of my surroundings. Those perks are awesome. Of course I continue to miss the independence of choosing when to eat, but I retain the privilege of choosing what to eat, there are choices and substitutes in the dining room. Yes, I find I can even have scrambled eggs for dinner, if that is my choice. Dessert will be my downfall because there is always ice cream. At home I did not do dessert…but now it is there to be enjoyed, a couple of extra pounds have found me.
I tell myself, that in as much as I am not trying to entice a man into my apartment, who cares about the waistline? The gym is an important ingredient for my well being. I trust a visit to the gym will offset my indulgences. I am happy that I have moved to Seacrest. I am surrounded by people who are eager to be friendly, to have fun, to enjoy good food, to feel safe and to learn. At 93++ I cannot ask for anything more!

Tribute to My Friends

TRIBUTE TO MY FRIENDS JANUARY 17, 2016

Yesterday when my friends David and Joel came to visit I asked that they bring a hammer and one nail. I had one more clock that needed to be hung on the wall at Seacrest. Of course they brought more than one nail, they are smart enough to know how easily a nail can go astray. They came to see the completed, furnished, decorated transformation of Ag's house into Ag's (much smaller)
apartment. They approved and agreed that the smaller place is roomy enough to stretch your arms
out without touching a wall, It was important to me to have their approval. They have always
treated me like their sister and I in the past needed my big brother's approval, Unfortunately, he is
no longer around. Joel and David do just fine as surrogate brothers.

I had more help too. Lisa Wells came to me after being recommended by another special friend Lisa is a concierge. In hotels, here and abroad a concierge is the most helpful person to go to. Whether it is the route to the theater or the name of a doctor, the closest museum or a nanny for the kids, the concierge has the answer or will find it for you. Lisa was a well of help and information.
At one point, when there was heavy lifting to be done, her boyfriend Greg helped us out with his truck
and his muscle.

Behind the scene and with great patience was my friend and neighbor, Wayne Widener. He is
indeed a loyal friend. I did not count the ways or the days, but I could not have made the move
without Wayne's help. He assured me that he owed me a favor because I allowed him to use my
empty garage. I willingly accepted his reaching out to help. I needed it. I did not try to discover if my garage is equal to the support he offered me as we packed up for my move. Wayne organized
and implemented the whole shootin' match. It seemed to me that we accomplished the packing
without effort and with a lot of energy, all Wayne's!

My kids, my daughter Judi and grandson, Matt were a source of encouragement and support
that I needed as well. They have borne the responsibility for emptying the house: picking and
choosing, sorting and discarding. I am deeply grateful for the help and heavy work that everyone has donated to my welfare.

I do not know how much time is left for me. I do know that, as I have noted before, I am not moving
again. I had a big team helping me and encouraging me; I will not impose on them again. I am too
old to repeat the commotion and I will not burden my friends, and family again, not even one more time.There is no way I can repay the affection and care you all have shown to me. Please
understand I am deeply, sincerely grateful and love you, each and everyone.

TRIBUTE TO MY FRIENDS                                                       JANUARY 17, 2016

   Yesterday when my friends David and Joel came to visit I asked that they bring a hammer

and one nail.  I had one more clock that needed to be hung on the wall at Seacrest.   Of course they

brought more than one nail, they are smart enough to know how easily a nail can go astray. They

came to see the completed, furnished, decorated transformation of Ag's house to Ag's (much smaller)

apartment. They approved and agreed that the smaller place is roomy enough to stretch your arms

out without touching a wall,  It was important to me to have their approval.  They have always

treated me like their sister and I in the past needed my big brother's approval,  Unfortunately, he is

no longer around.   Joel and David do just fine as surrogate brothers.

   I had more help too.  Lisa Wells came to me after being recommended by another special friend

Lisa is a concierge.  In hotels, here and abroad a concierge is the most helpful person to go to. 

Whether it is the route to the theater or the name of a doctor, the closest museum or a nanny for the

kids, the concierge has the answer or will find it for you.  Lisa was a well of help and information.

At one point, when there was heavy lifting to be done, her boyfriend helped us out with his truck

and his strength.
 
   Behind the scene and with great patience was my friend and neighbor, Wayne Widener.  He is

indeed a loyal friend.  I did not count the ways or the days, but I could not have made the move

without Wayne's help.  He assured me that he owed me a favor because I allowed him to use my

empty garage.  I willingly accepted his reaching out to help. I needed it.  I did not try to discover if

my garage is equal to the support he offered me as we packed up for my move.  Wayne organized

and implemented the whole shootin' match.  It seemed to me that we accomplished the packing

without effort and with a lot of energy, all Wayne's!

   My kids, my daughter Judi and grandson, Matt were a source of encouragement and support

that I needed as well.  They have borne the responsibility for emptying the house: picking and

choosing, sorting and discarding.

   I am deeply grateful for the help and heavy work that everyone has donated to my welfare.

I do not know how much time is left for me.  I do know that, as I have noted before, I am not moving

again.  I had a big team helping me and encouraging me;  I will not impose on them again.  I am too

old to repeat this commotion and I will not impose my needs on my friends, not even one more time.

   There is no way I can repay the affection and care you have shown to me.  Please

understand I am deeply, sincerely grateful and love you.