Mindfulness, a column, written more than a year ago, a subject worthy of repetition.
Mindfulness was originally conceived as a way to ease suffering and cultivate compassion. The February 3rd issue of Time had a comprehensive article by Kate Pickert on the subject last year. She notes that “we are in the midst of a popular obsession with mindfulness as the secret to health and happiness…a growing body of evidence suggests it has clear benefits.” What does that mean?

Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) includes techniques that are intended to help practitioners quiet a busy mind, heighten awareness of the present moment resulting in less concentration on what happened earlier or what’s to come. According to the Internet “…research has found therapy based on mindfulness to be effective, particularly for reducing anxiety, depression and stress”. Our daily stress appears to get more complicated and burdensome each day, especially so for us who are growing older.

Despite the fact that mindfulness has roots in Buddhism, it is relevant to all religions. The concept is to focus one’s whole attention and awareness on the present. Easing suffering and motivating compassion are ideas relevant for us all. We Jews are dedicated to tikkun olam: mending the world. Along with many other religions we believe it is humanity’s responsibility to heal, to repair the world. None of us can do that until we heal (help) ourselves.

In prospect it is difficult to achieve mindfulness, to set aside worries, expectations and concentrate on the now, on the moment. As we age it becomes harder to live with daily anxiety. Our minds are have grown accustomed to worrying about the children, their future and the financing of that future. As they grow, that future leaps to confront us. Our culture has taught us to strive to better ourselves, there is a constant longing for better, bigger, more beautiful. Mindfulness helps us to slow all that down, to be content. If we do indeed concentrate on the now and stop yearning for more we reduce anxiety, feel optimistic and even benefit our physical health.

I asked a friend who has a grandson in prison, “Do you think about him all the time?” “No”, she answered, “ I have learned to concentrate on today!” In the morning she plans her day, focusing on that, not allowing the negative to even enter her thoughts, she makes sure she sees friends and gets out and about, thus she battles her stress. It does not matter if angst is related to a chronic illness or a family crisis it impacts mind and body. Mindfulness challenges us to take responsibility for how we react to unpleasant circumstances. It helps us to understand what is happening mentally and physically.

Most of us realize we have to concentrate on today: we know we cannot change yesterday and tomorrow will happen no matter what. We have been practicing mindfulness without any awareness that it is a practice that had its beginnings in ancient times. It is a new concept for Western medicine despite the fact that some doctors and scientists have been “exploring the use of mindfulness to help people achieve better health and cope with major illnesses for several decades.”
We do not necessarily have to go through formal training to begin, Mayo Clinic suggests do-able guidelines: paying attention, remove judgment, concentrate on breathing. Paying attention to the present moment, eliminate those things that are history or prophesy. Remove judgment suggests, look at the world, other people and self with appreciation rather than criticism. Breathing is a reliable way to bring us back to the moment. Pay attention to nostrils and tummy notice the changes in breathing with one’s change in feeling. Learn to meditate it helps our efforts to concentrate on now.
Find “Mindfulness” on the Internet. Mindfulness can result in more patience, acceptance, a non-judgmental attitude compassion for others and for self, reduce stress, an attitude adjustment. The experience of Time’s writer Kate Pickert when she took a class in “MBSR” had her less connected to her electronics and more eager to enjoy the world around her. Her writing includes steps to achieve mindfulness meditation and why wearing a watch unties one from reliance on the phone in our pockets, why taking a hike enables us to really enjoy the “now”. Mindfulness is the “science of finding focus” in the midst of our stress.

My Memory of Dad                                                       June 7, 2014

 

     It takes all kinds of Dads to make the world go around and keep kids happy.  There are stern Dads, thoughtless Dads, lenient ones and above all there are mostly loving Dads. I had a loving Dad, a lenient one who was always ready to help me with art homework, spelling lists or math.  He left the rest to Mom.  He was lenient to a point.

     Shortly before I married, I had the temerity to climb into his lap one day; I needed a favor.  He was a big man and I was a small person.  Physically sitting on Dad’s lap posed no problem and he loved it.  That is he loved it until I verbalized the favor. As soon as he heard what I wanted his lap disappeared and I hit the floor, astonished.  My astonishment did not match his hurt.  How dare I ask him for something that way: I was buttering him up, he knew it and was offended.  It took months before he gave in and provided me with a railroad pass to visit my Beloved!

     He and I had an Easter Sunday routine, a date we looked forward to.  Every year on Easter Sunday, as our neighbors and friends dressed up for church or for parading on the avenue, he and I would don our oldest clothes. ( Easter is not a Jewish holiday.)  Then, looking like a homeless pair, we went down to the boardwalk at the beach and took a long walk.  We did lots of talking.  Subjects in my early years were about taking care of myself. “Take care of your hands, a lady should have nice hands, always wear gloves!”   Then as I grew and was making college plans, “Be sure you take a worthwhile course of study so that if you need to, you can have a job and earn your way.” He did not worry about me; I don’t think he did. Frequently he gave me his own point of view, I listened, sometimes, I heeded his advice.

     When Dad died in 1957, I remember sadly seeing him lying in peaceful sleep, I looked at his hands.  He had beautiful strong hands.  I pictured then and do now what those hands did for me: they taught me to hold a tennis racquet, they held me close when I needed a hug.  His hands taught me to draw a straight line, to hang on to him when we crossed the street.  His hands held many doors and showed me how to go first.  Those hands never hurt me; they caught me when I first jumped from the side of the pool,  taught me to swim.  They always helped me on with my coat and took it from my shoulders when we returned home.  In the early years, his hands pushed me in my carriage and straightened the covers; later they were not too big to push my doll carriage and help me cross the street.  Dad’s hands protected and reached out to me always; the memory of them lingers and continues to protect me.   Happy Father’s Day, Dad!

 

 

    

 

    

An Addendum to my Yanov Torah Story           June 5, 2014

There is no need for an "addendum".  The issue has been clarified and does not need to be aired any longer.  I thank my readers for their patience with me.  Let us together look forward to the continuing story of the Yanov Torah.  It is alive and well.  When I last spoke to the doctor's wife (one of the couple who brought the Torah to my husband), she burst into tears, for thirty years, when we lost touch, she worried about the Torah.  Had we shown it the proper respect?  She knows now that its journey continues...Thank you all for patience.

    

 

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!