Inspiration? June 19,2026

 Who among us is an inspiration? To me,  Ruth Bader Ginsburg, for her erudition , decisions, and fighting on, supporting our values, until she, too, succumbed to perhaps vanity, by not stepping down soon enough so that a Democratic president could replace her on the court. No one individual is complete or without flaws. So many have or are achieving so much more than I. Yet, a woman in my gym class called me an inspiration this week. I want to be like you when I am your age, she said.

She will turn seventy this weekend and I will be eighty-eight in July.

Does she know me? Not really. We attend gym and dance classes together. Once in a while we have coffee with a small group of women from our classes. I guess she aspires to be able to attend classes when she reaches my age.

I appreciate someone standing to give me a seat on the bus or subway, I do. I am not as steady in lurching vehicles when in an upright position as I may have been earlier, but I am capable. I appreciate courtesy wherever it appears, but not because I have white hair. I also cringe when someone looks at me and says Wow, you can still do that?

In my opinion, these are signs of ageism, turned around to appear to be praise. They separate people my age from the larger community. I shared that feeling with the group having coffee. The answer I received

There are bridge clubs and other special interest groups at the Center for Aging. You could join one of them. Does that sound like good advice to you?

My super love, my second husband, died eleven years ago. Since then I have been finding agemates  to spend time with, attend shows, movies, art exhibits, museums. At eighty I had accumulated five of us. Today, three are gone. I belong to a Sunday morning Slo-Walkers group. We walk, we talk , we admire the sights or attend a museum or appreciate the architecture of a particular neighborhood and then we have lunch. I value these women.

I appreciate this time in  my life. I am now not responsible for anyone else but myself for the first time. I enjoy my own company; I love to read. I have the benefit of Central Park and Riverside Park just blocks away for my daily step-counting walks. Living in a doorman building, I have help in opening jars and assembling items I buy. Their presence is very reassuring and welcome. My SAJ synagogue community is very important to me. I now have two families who celebrate Jewish holidays with me; their children refer to me as Grandma, which is a genuine pleasure.

With the current political situation, I have gathered a small group to attend protest marches among. I work  hard to get to know people. All I ask, is that you make an attempt to get to know others better, too. Do not dismiss anyone due to their apparent superficial differences, including white hair and perhaps a slower gait.

Caregiving Support from Afar

How can I support someone who is suffering from a mental health illness who lives in another state?

First, I have to really understand that my son has a serious mental health problem. Check! But that realization is quite recent.

Then I had to process all the guilt and sadness and responsibility questions. Well, I m still working on all of those issues, sometimes beating myself up, ( it's because of x,y and z I did or did not do)sometimes distancing myself emotionally (he's an adult, it's not my problem anymore) sometimes feeling so upset all I want to do is sleep.  Lucky for me, sleep is something I do quite well.

At the first realization that my son was not recovering from a traumatic event well, I put on my travel shoes and went to where he lives.I pushed a n d shoved, threatened a n d dared, until my son told me to go home. 

He refused to seek professional help or to take medication, which of course also required professional consultation. I decided tough love was needed a n d I stopped helping him financially. He responded by no longer speaking to me.

A lose-lose situation for both of us. His life became smaller and smaller. His anxiety grew to fear of living. He was fired from jobs due to excessive absences and unable to receive benefits. 

He called me in distress. "I'm sorry, you were right. I can't do this by myself." He sent me a recent photo. He looks gaunt, having lost more than 20 pounds as he was having difficulty shopping and eating.

I advised him to seek counseling that was part of his insurance plan. He balked at being offered only virtual counseling from a behavioral therapist. He consulted a psychiatrist who prescribed,  but my son did not follow through with appointments and stopped taking the meds.

Slighlty less than a year ago, he connected with a virtual psychologist and he is following the protocols and weekly sessions online. He has a job which he has kept for more than six months,  but he is having a very hard time, worrying about everything.

But this post is about me and for other parents in similar situations.

As you may know, I am a retired talk therapy psychologist so my son's prejudices come partially from his experience being my son. Coming around  to the benefits of cognitive behavioral treatment is real, but necessary. For him and for me. Fortunately,  I had been learning about behavioral therapy from my grandson, whose college studies and work experience is in long term behavioral change.

My son's reluctance to seek professional help is also in part due to his mom being a therapist to whom he could come for assistance. 

Now I have accepted the challenge of supporting an adult son from a distance.

The first thing I did was to consult NAMI the national grassroots organization on mental illness.  They referred me to local chapters near me. They offer me counseling on dealing  with my newfound recognition and personal issues relating to my son's illness. There's online help, support groups and information .

More immediately,  they offered the following guidelines.

Communication:

Ask directly how often and in what way your child would like to hear from you. Don't expect callbacks. Try to use video chats, if he is willing. Keep the conversations short and light.

Practical assistance:

Send food by Doordash or other delivery methods. Choose easy to prepare or readymade so the person can just pick up something nutritional. Boost might work. Granola bars, soups, Mac and cheese,.

Suggest bills be paid by autopay.

Ask your child for a friend or neighbor he can go to  for help in a crisis or you could contact.

Educate yourself on any meds they take. 

Encourage his progress. Refer individual issues back-to-his therapist."Have you spoken about this with.  ?"

Foremost, take care of yourself. Keep up with your own nutritional, exercise and social interaction needs and goals.

I will keep you posted on my progress. Keep me posted on yours.

Actually… November 9, 2025

 Do you ever have a day, a week, or even a month when life just doesn’t seem like it’s going your way? Do you ever blame yourself for not being able to accomplish what used to be easy?

At those times, my dance teacher might say to me “Are we having a down on Phyllis day?”

I caught myself self-sabotaging yesterday. There was an event at my synagogue that I didn’t want to attend, but that I felt I should. Always a trigger for me. What did I do? I decided to go for a walk to see the sunset. I had changed from my Shabbat clothing into jeans and a sweatshirt. I was undecided until the last minute whether to go or not. I went, but I didn’t change my clothes, which made me feel quite uncomfortable. Most of the members of the audience had not been to services in the morning; they were dressed for the synagogue. I sat in the back and left after the presentations without joining for food and small talk afterwards.

Of course I could find external reasons for my malaise, including the topics I was not interested in discussing. The recent mayoral election, the war in Israel, the hostages, the Gazans, not to mention national politics. I do my best to voice my opinion when I think it might matter; afterwards, I have had enough and I won’t speculate on “What if’s.”

I call upon my Grandma Rosa’s mantra. In German it is “Man muss das Leben eben nehmen vie das Leben eben ist.” Do you know how hard it was to write that sentence while autocorrect tried to make it into English? Another one of my pet peeves.

Generally the translation is You must take life as it is. Grandma Rosa was a practical person. She had survived so many losses and had decided to accept her life. Well, not really. Grandma Rosa never chan ged her clock to Daylight Savings time. In the 1950’s, the trains still ran on EST all year long and Grandma Rosa saw no reason to change. We all had to accommodate to her time all summer long!

But there is an interesting word in Grandma Rosa’s mantra. “Eben” in both parts of the sentence puts another possibility into my head. I had always translated the adjective-adverb to mean “actually.” You must take life as it “Just” is, or “precisely” as it is or “simply” as it is. And that’s just the first use of “eben.”

In the second part it could be that “it now” is. There are conditions about accepting life. Life can change. So can I. The command “You must” is another trigger for me.

But of course I digress. I am unhappy accepting my life as it actually is. I had difficulty changing the time back to EST this week. My appetite and eating habits were disrupted; my sleep was disturbed. I gained two pounds and I found I need an afternoon nap. When I sit down to read, I find I’ve fallen asleep instead in my favorite chair.

And that “What if’s?” Question that I dislike ? I adopt it into my life. What if this is another sign of aging that I must accept?

Trauma Transmission Redux March 23, 2023

I and many others, including a study by Mt Sinai hospital, heve experienced personally and have seen in my friends and patients the  occurrence of anxiety related to past trauma experiences, their own, or that of their parents, and grandparents, significantly for me, during the Holocaust.

In my story, I experience this body-shaking, sweat=producing  anxiety whenever I am confronoted by authority. When a police car behind me engages a siren or bright lights as I am driving, I immediately worry that he wiill stop me and I plan what I am going to say.

One day, as I was driving my then new hybrid car, I was trying to stay within the speed limit that would allow the car to remain in electric drive mode. I heard a siren behind me, and through a megaphone, the policeman ordered me to "Pull over!"

I panicked. "What did I do wrong? I wasn't speeding, for sure, but I wasn't paying good attention either. Was there a stop sign I missed? 

I opened the driver's  side window.

"License and registration, please."

Ok,  but I need to reach into the glove compartment to get the registration,I mumbled. but having short arms, ,I couldn't reach to open the glove box from behind the wheel.

"I need to exit the vehicle in order to retrieve the registration," I said formally. The police officer shrugged, but moved away from the door. When I got out, I was even more afraid. This man was huge. I had heard a story of a police officer trading a ticket for sexual favors and I thought to ask him to meet me at the police station, but I was too scared and I walked around the car to get the paper he needed. Finally, I was brave enough to ask, "What did I do wrong?"

"The frame on your license plate  is obscuring the  number. Your license plate says you drive a 1989 Oldsmobile."

I hadn't thought about that story since 2012, when the car was new.

Until now.

I have recently returned from the Montgomery Alabama Lynching Museum where I read all the reasons a person of color, including women and children, as recently as the 1960's were lynched.

And considering the number of black men being killed every day as they drive their cars, it continues today. 

All four of my grandparents were born in the 1880's, in Galicia, a part now of Poland, which had been ruled by Russia and Germany before the end of  the First World War. During that time, there were many violent attacks on Jewish people, plus rules on where they could live and how they could earn money. They were not allowed to own property.

 One grandfather left in 1906 for Germany, partly due to a violent outrage against the Jews because a Christian girl was killed and the Jews were blamed. He sent for his sweetheart whom he married in 1910.

He fought in the First World War from 1914-1918 on the side of Austro-Hungary because that's where his citizenship was. He was awarded an Iron Cross. 

In 1938 he and his wife had to board a cattle car which took them from their home with just one suitcase each, and dumped them on the Polish border. They tried to walk out of Poland to Romania but were stopped and jailed, accused of smuggling. They were freed in late September 1939 when the Russians invaded Poland. They spent the next four years walking and hiding in Ukraine, Russia and finally arrived in Tashkent, Uzbekistan where they spent the rest of the war.

My other grandfather tried to flee the Nazis also by walking, but he walked east to Austria, then south to Croatia, which at that time was a neutral part of Yugoslavia. He was captured in Zagreb and shot in Jasenovac concentration camp in November 1941

The survivors carried the scars of trauma ever since. I felt I really understood the fears Black parents and grandparents have for their children, living in a hostile environment all their lives. When one woman claimed, "I am color=blind. I don't see color. I treated all of my schoolchildren the same," I overheard a woman of color whisper, "Yes, she's white. She doesn't have to see color every day."

Anti Semitism hasn't ended since the war and it most likely never will. But aside from mass murderers and terrorists who want to use the Jews to further their own political agendas, we are safe in the United States. All people of color are not.

I have worked among people of color all my life. I was a volunteer teacher for migrant children in New Jersey when the children were here as their parents harvested tomatoes and other foods. I taught first grade in an inner city school in Newark, New Jersey. I supervised the social workers who counseled the children at a Coney Island day care center. I ran a mother-toddler group in the center. I took playground duty, making friends with the children who were there for a few years until first grade. But I have no friends of color. I do not know as much about any person of color as I have revealed here today. The opportunity for that kind of friendship has not presented itself for me so far. I hope that will change. As W.E.B.Dubois said "Get to know one person so you ca see they suffer like you, they laugh like you, they breathe like you and you cannot hate someone you know."

Poop Progress Report February 8, 2023

Part of the reason for sharing this blog is to note the progress of aging on my body, in the hope of providing a guideline of sorts for others who follow me.

Everyone has some ailment or other, especially after we reach eighty. I am fortunate not to take any prescription medications and not to need surgery on any part of my body. My only difficulty has been, since I was fifty years old, problems with digestion, which was diagnosed as lactose intolerance after two years of  eliminating foods and adding them back into my diet.

Last week, I just started taking the stronger probiotic and I was having no diarrhea, but lots of flatulence. The Garden of Life company reassured me that they are not physicians and are not prescribing, but the product is reorganizing my gut and it will take time for the good bacteria to overcome the bad bacteria. Only folks who also have this problem will be interested in this description, but I find it fascinating to watch. The stool is getting more organized and the flatulence is decreasing, day by day. I did not increase the dose of one capsule per day of 80 billion CFU's and 15 strains.

I have a normal full movement in the early morning and a process after lunch and/or before noon . Then nothing for the rest of the day or evening, no matter what I eat for dinner.

I am not letting this process interfere with my activities, but I am constantly aware and wary. I have no pain or bloating and no change in my weight. I am drinking lots of water. No more halitosis either.

I watched the State of the Union speech happily last night and I have invited people from the Reconstructing Judaism group who are going with me to Alabama in March to watch a film here tomorrow evening. I hope I do not embarrass myself!

Journal or Blog..How are they different ? Feb 3, 2023

The difference for me is that a journal entry is for me.. to remember thoughts, feelings and events so I will be able to recall them when needed. The blog is for publication , an attempt perhaps to inform, to teach, to share my feelngs with others, who may identify or benefit in some way from my thoughts, feelings and life cycle events.

Today it seems to be both. I am lactose intolerant, and so is at least one of my grandsons. They may someday benefit from what I write. Maybe there will be advances in microbiome studies which will resolve the issue for them before they are inflicted with this embarrassing problem in the future.

Right now I need to vent.  Ihesitate to get medical advice from folks who know less about a problem than I do. But first, the primary care md has to run the tests she knows on how to eliminate more serious issues. The blood test results are negative. I still don''t have the stool sample results, but they may not find anything worthwhile as Dr. Astor once expained to me. The gut bacteria die soon after they are removed from the body.  The stool n eeds to be examined shortly after production which no one does anymore.

When I was in Florida, Ted fouund a new probiotic that, instead of 50 billion cfu's has 80 billion. Instead of 10  strains, it has 15. I started taking the new ones this week and for the third day, I have had no explosive diarrhea. But I do have smelly flatulence! From oatmeal, salmon and tuna salad! I now need to search for a homeopathhic md. They are hard to find!

New Year Anxiety January 5, 2023

Yesterday I began to sort out the piles of unopened mail and credit card bills to read before paying,  The AMEX card finally entered correctly into the computer, etc. These are not New Year's resolutions, merely doing what I usually do every month but have been procrastinating. Why?

I know I  worry about Teddie. When I shared with my sister Rita, she actually called Ted and listened to him for an hour. Now she sent him a check for a thousand dollars.

Yesterday he accepted a menial job at a donation center, checking donations from the trunks of cars that drive up. This is not what I want for my son. It's another hiding job, as he had in Arizona when he worked for a cleaners, sitting there taking in and giving back laundry.

I can't fix him and he won't go to therapy.

He has befriended three Italian fellows who live in his trailer park. And a few neighbors who are helping him fix his house.

I am going there next week. I thought I was going to help him sort out FEMA stuff, but now he will be working. Why am I going?

The NOKBOX I ordered has been delivered but not opened. It is my resolve to open it and fill each section with my records so that my next of kin will  have access to everything when I am no longer able to show anyone where everything is.

Can I be supportive without being critical or controlling? The weather will be in the 70ies, which is soothing but I am okay here in NY . I bought myself a new longer down coat so the 20's were bearable for a short while, enough to get me to where I wanted to be.. and home again. 

I have paperwork to do to get ready to have Joanne do my taxes. I need to have a tooth capped, I need to have my hearing aids recalibrated, I want to do these things in Arizona when I move my stuff out of storage and give most away ,but save some for Steve's house. I wrote an email to Linda and Steve but Linda is ignoring it so far. I am not  doing well today. Maybe after my Jazz it up class I will feel better.

Trip to Lviv in 2013 December 29,2022

WQXR is playing Carmina Burna which I am listening to on my new Bose radio as I spend a few hours resting between fun events. This morning I shepherded seven other SAJ retirees to visit an art exhibit at the NYPL on Broadway and 113 St. We had lunch at a French-named restauant which had a Frenchified menu but only croque Madame and tuna Nicoise were at all French. The food was fine; we treated the artist. My watch recorded a round trip walk total of 9750 steps. Later Marilynn and I will have diner at Cafe Arte and attend a performance of Rigoletto at the Met.

The first time I heard Carmna Burano was in Italy with Bob or was it in Switzerland, sitting outside a church where the piece was played completey by percussion instruments. But today, I am remembering how my guide in Lviv who met me at the train station at 6:30 AM, drove me to a restauant, left me so he could do hs radio  broadcast, retrieved me and drove me all over the ocuntryside so i could trace my grandparents' escape from Poland through Ukraine. At 4:30, he said he had another show to do, so he purchased a ticket to the opera and I sat in this red velvet covered theater with gilded seats , gold tasseled curtain and heard a full orchestra playiing Carmina Burana.

The music has such an old world feel to it, it surprised me when the announcer stated it had been written in the 1930's. I love my Bose radio.AndSteve for caring for me enough to know what I wuold really appreciate for a lasting Bat Mitzvah present.

Post Pandemic Revelations December 16, 2022

Minor things, nothing profound here today, at least not yet. As I settle in to spending the winter in New York, I notice several changes in myself that remind me of the passage of time. The winter trousers in my closet are now too long. They are of denim strength cloth created before spandex was added to everything, permitting us to purchase smaller sizes, more form-fitting pants. I remember last time Madison Avenue( my shorthand for fashion pressure from manufacturers to increase our discontent with ourselves) wreaked havoc with me.

My friends were wearing Ann Fogarty dresses which were size 2. The girls were not midgets, but the sizing of the more expensive couture dresses was different! We all wanted to wear size 2 also, or maybe size 4. Certainly not 10 or 12, which my clothing  was. My shape had not changed!

So okay, my size 6 pants from long ago still fit, snugly, but the pants zip. Good for me. All are too long. I haven 't shrunk THAT much. So yesterday at the gym, I noticed a woman slipping out of a pair of clogs. Aha! We wore clogs, not sneakers. So this morning, I fetched my black clogs out of the bottom of my closet. I will wear them to shul this morning and see how that feels.

I am daily grateful to Steve for buying me a Bose radio this week. The music sounds SO good. So once again I realize things about myself.. I could have bought myself an Alexa, and "told" the electronic voice to "Play WQXR." But I resisted, like I am resisting a new air fryer. I have a feeling these new inventions are too self-indulgent. I recognize my privilege in life but I feel a bit uncomfortable adding new products. Also I fear always that I will not know how to operate them. As with my watch. A seatmate at the theater asked me to turn off the light my watch makes when I clap. Now I learned how to shut the watch off, how to do it, but last night I forgot to turn it on-- or off, as the case may be.

Why Do I Do What I Do? December 8,2022

Once again, my reason for choosing an activity varies from the established benefits. Generally, my health patterns fit the prescribed. I eat moderately, hardly ever drink alcohol, sleep well, walk a lot. I am at the gym every weekday morning. I take the classes offered at the time I want to be there. There's an exercise class on Mondays, using weights, good for upper body strength, which I am not quite interested in. I exercise to prevent upper arm flab from getting worse and for maintaining the strength I have. Generally, I am pretty strong. I can carry two heavy shopping bags full of food six or seven blocks. I also try to improve  my posture. I have rounded shoulders and my head tips forward of my torso. Although I do try, there is little I will be able to accomplish with the one hour exercise class each week. I would have to work out with the machines, which I don't do, mainly because I am afraid of hurting myself.

I dance because I love it. The instructor tells us to listen to our bodies. If something doesn't feel good, don't do it, try something else. I love the camaraderie of the dance classes. Folks smile; so do I.

Yoga class is a struggle for me. I cannot do some of the asanas and the instructor corrects our poses. "You will get better" is a sentence I don't believe any of us wants to hear. This is not pt. We are not rehabbing after surgery. Today we were advised that perfecting the asanas leads to mindfulness, the peace that yogis ascribe to reach.

My mind is present whatever I do. I just want to move and have fun.

I adore the teachers at the JCC. They are dedicated, professional, always learning something new to impart to us students. I feel as if I am four years old again, going through a stage of mild rebellion. 

I have struggled to feel good about myself. I have given up the fantasy of being able to control my children's lives. I cannot help them, except by giving them money. The stock market was good to us all for the past years, but not so much now. So my balances are dwindling and I need to reduce my withdrawals from capital so I will have enough money to care for myself as I age.

I have given up the prospect of foreign travel for several reasons, the financial being one of them. Loneliness is another. I feel lonely in a group of people who are connected to each other, but not to me. I have decided not to go to Chacala for the NIA retreat next year. It, too, is getting too expensive.

I am not retaining learned information as well as I used to. My Hebrew classes are on hold for the holiday and I am unsure if I want to continue them, although I enjoy them very much.

As you, my reader, can see, aging isn't always fun. But I really try to control my anticipatory anxiety and only worry about what is coming up soon.

Self Awareness November 17,2022

I was feeling good about myself this morning and most mornings lately. I am physically well; I have no aches or pains although I have reduced the amount of vitamins and minerals I take every day. Before the retreat in Mexico, I took eight supplements and vitamins daily, three of them twice each day. By intent, I decided not to take the second batch while on vacation, but I actually took the pills only four of the seven days. I will now take only the morning ones.

I generally leave my NIA class full of energy and vitality, but not today. I returned home tired, even though I had a good night's sleep.

What is bothering me? The weather is chilly, 39 degrees,but my clothing is keeping me warm, except perhaps for my face and I have ordered a knitted hat with a face warmer which will arrive next week to solve that problem.

One thing I do not have is a plan for the next three or four months of winter. Every year I have spent the winter in Arizona and that plan fell through this year. I can cope with that. What is really bothering me are the videos Dana posted from our Mar de Jade retreat this morning. I can see in the videos how I appear to others. Just like how surprised I was the first time I saw myself in Bloomingdales' mirrored escalator so many years ago. That was the day, the folks who hand out make up and perfume samples to folks boarding the escalator who, for the first time, instead of being annoyed by their intrusion, I felt bereft because they did   not offer  me any. I had become invisible as an older woman. The videos show me as I am, a woman many years older than the group members, bent over, arms not straight, slower. My full face look in the dance hall mirror does not reveal the slumped form I present to  others, from the side or from the back. The honest appraisal of myself will not hinder me; I will still dance and do everything I have always done, but it is making me feel tired today.

El Mar, the Sea November 8, 2022

As I sit contemplating the ocean, in a small protected cove in Western Mexico, I am still thinking of the election taking place today.

What I see, as I look out from my open window just feet away from the rocks that border the sea, is an ocean of ripples. The forces of nature push the ripples  along the surface water. For some of the time, the flow is undisturbed as the ripples reach the edge of the sea and dissolve among the rocks. 

Sometimes a small force of a wave appears near the shore and the ripples are thrown against the rocks. 

They retreat weakly, get caught by another wave and disturb the pattern momentariily.

Sometimes the force of the waves coming up from the lower parts of the sea, force the ripples onto the shore and the water explodes in a froth of white. After settlng for a short while, the ripples appear to accost the next wave, pushing it back, but to no avail. The waves continue to push the rippes shoreward.

How big and forceful are the waves of discrimination against women, people of color and any other differences today?

How large will the pushback be? 

Can we override, like the undertow, and push the sea of arrogance and authoritarianism back?

Change November 1, 2022

No sooner than the plane leaving the tarmac, I miss having Steve here. Sure, he was anxious about the flights, especially since he has to change planes and make the connection. Which of course happened. As soon as he reached LAG, the announcement came that his plane had been delayed and who knew how long he would have to sit and wait for the plane to arrive. And will he meet the next plane so that Troy could still pick him up at the airport and could he still see Chipper tonight?

Now he's on a flight to St Louis and a connection that doesn't get him home until 8:40. Bummer.

It is so quiet here. I almost got used to having the television on the news channel all day, except when it was sports time.

I can't seem to settle. It is also weird not having to practice chanting or stress about rewrites for my speeches. All that was completed last Saturday. What a super experience that was. I felt really that I had accomplished something special, so maybe I would have this post-natal letdown whether Steve was here or leaving or not.

When I returned to the city after Bob died, I felt free and loved the solitude and not having to worry aboout him anymore, that I had felt in my short visits to the city while he was in the memory care setting.I thought then, I would never want to live with anyone again. And visitors were always welcome, but I loved my privacy. 

Now, I am no longer sure. My mind is now more open to the idea of sharing my life with, well, there I run into trouble already. Steve and I developed a caring respectful routine in which my life was modified, but I feel I was able to feel ok. Would anyone else accomodate to my wishes?

Part Three The Final Words of my High HOlidays Musings September 30, 2022

Yom Kippur is called The day of Repentance or the Day of Return. Rabbi Pilchik of Temple B'nai Jeshurun in Short Hills, NJ, called this Day of Atonement the Day of at-one-ment, where we all come together as one and say the words of all the inequities we have uttered in the name of the diety to be abolished, whether we have said them willingly or under duress, in public or in private, under whatever stress we have found ourselves during the past year.

I generally see this confession as our way of forgiving ourselves and the diety for all of our losses, failures and disappointments which prompt us to take the name of the diety in vain.

For me, when I drop the eggshell into the matzo ball mixture with the eggs, I often say " Oh shit!"

I am reminded of that epithet when I remember my first-born son saying just those words at age 18 months as he mistakenly hit his thumb with his toy hammer and wooden pegs.

"Oh sugar," said I, the contrite mother. "No, Mommy," he replied sweetly, "Oh shit."

It is actually a very good epithat. It is a universal activity which occurs internally and is only observed by the senses when it is expelled and completed. It is a necessary and important part of our digestive systems and of little importance when it occurs regularly with no effort, but which takes on immeasurable importance when it occurs at an inopportune moment or place or when encountered by someone or something else in an inappropriate place.

So much for being extremely literal. Getting rid of our negative feelings from the past year is therapeutic. We can then be grateful for our smaller successes, both individually and as a society and work to be available to try once more, to follow the rule adoped by AA . To accept what cannot be changed, to change what can be changed and to learn to know the difference.

More God Discussion September 30, 2022

A being or spirit that is worshipped, shown reverence and adoration,  and is beieved to have created the universe.

That''s the Oxford Dictionary definition of God. .

The pushback to someone like me who finds reverence and beauty in nature is called a pan-theist. Someone who clearly states they believe in no god is an atheist and a doubter is called an agnostic. 

When things go well for me, I sometimes say "Thank God"

I have heard believers curse "God damn it" asking for someone they dislike or an action to be cursed. When someone sneezes, I say "God bless you."

Who am I calling out to?

In Judaism, it is said that "God does not want to be believed in, God wants us to be inspired to choose the right path, to be kind to others, to leave this earth a bit better than we found it."

However, if I say " OK< I can do that,." the answer I get is "What kind of audacity do you have, to think you alone are responsible for the successes of your studies, good works, happy outcomes of your wishes and desires?

No one, me included of course, wants to be seen as a narcissist, the center of all actions, wishes and desires. But when we make good  choices and our goals are reached, why isn't it enough to feel proud of our accomplishments, always knowing there is more to be learned and done to make the world a better place.

I have no big powers, like washing away the causeway to one of my favorite places, Sanibel Island , yesterday. The Hurricane did that. Did God cause the hurricane? Were the combinations of wind and water and temperature enough to explain the huge natural disaster? Did some being or spirit determine whose house shall remain standing and whose business be demolished?

I do have a bit of audacity, "chutzpah" in Yiddish, to believe God resides in each of us and as we realize our potential, as we listen and learn and help others and appreciate our gifts while acceptinng our defeats, we replicate in ourselves and each other the spirit of a larger community objective, we are all Godlike and worthy of reverence and adoration.

G-d September 21,2022

Writing the title without the vowel shows my hypocrisy right away. The orthodox tradition requires that the name of the diety not be spelled out, lest the paper or parchment on which it is written, must never be discarded improperly. Why do I uphold that tradition when I have rejected so many others?

It is quite appropriate that I write about this subject now, as we approach the High Holidays and what I have decided to do a month  after they have passed. 

My understanding of Judaism has of course changed during my long lifetime. My father was my initial guide to religion; my mother to ritual, mostly food, practices. As a child, we lit candles on Friday evening, ate challah which we purchased and had chicken soup and chicken to eat. We were not poor; it was however, wartime, when I was a child and I was eight, in third grade and in my first year of Hebrew School when my mother's parents, my Oma and Opa arrived in Hoboken, New Jersey on  the first troop ship to be converted to carrying refugees from Europe to the United States.

I was there, at harborside, with my parents, my mother's brother Willie and his wife, my Aunt Lisa, plus Auunt Lillie, my grandmother's brother Benno's wife. Uncle Benno had to work and couldn't join us in the long drive, the wait and the drive home. My four year-old sister held my hand the whole time! To keep me safe or was I protecting her?

I am thinking about that now, as I finished watching the PBS documentary, Part one , the United States and the Holocaust which describes events in Germany from 1933-1938. My parents and grandparents lived through all of those humiliations.

I also just saw Tom Stoppard's new play Leoppoldstadt which so subtley portrays the tension the Jewish people felt during those years.

This was the tension between life and death, between beatings, and being made to scrub the floors, or to sign away all of one's lifelong earnings and possessions to flee with nothing, but their lives to begin again somewhere else.

G-d was nowhere in that equation.

My father told me quite plainly that I had to learn all about my religion because, as Jews we were never safe anywhere in the world, even in the United States of America which had held all of his hopes. I had to learn all about my religion because he wanted me to be accepted and able to attend services in any country in which I may someday live, among my own people. G-d was not there, either.

So I did. I was a decent student, when I applied myself, but I faced ostracism in my Hebrew School. I was treated less than, because I am female and becuse my father kept his furniture store open on Saturdays.

Meanwhile, none of my studies mentioned G-d either. .We learned to read Hebrew and to write the letters in script, we studied the prayers to read them quickly and without error. We studied the ritual of the Saturday morning service and were excused from any sermons, or from the memorial prayers on the High Holidays.

I was disrespected  as a woman all the way up to 1976 when my father died and I was not counted as part of the ten people needed to recite the memorial prayers during the first seven days of shiva.

At those services, the small books included the twenty-third psalm, the Lord is my shepherd I shall not want.

I am now learning what the words in Hebrew in the Torah mean. It is of utmost importance for me to do that now.. And I am learning how to chant two sections of one week's chapter so I can finally read from that holy scroll.

I love the stories and the moral lessons we can relate to even today, from stories and explanations from so long ago, but sadly, I have not found G-d.

Legacies August 22, 2022

My heart and my head are full as I wake up leisurely this morning. We have death anniiversaries this week of our father, who died in 1976 and of our grandmother, who died during this week in 1968.  I have written much about each of these towering figures in our family's life. How my father at the end of his life, at 64, opted for additional surgery which his heart could not tolerate, because he refused to live life as a dependent person. I was quite angry with him for many years, after he shared that information with me. I actually told him he was depriving all of us of him by his choice. I understand it better now. And my grandmother hung onto life so strongly as she became weaker and weaker. Our grandfather had died the previous June 12, just twelve weeks earlier and our Oma wanted and waited to see my sister's second son be born and named after his great grandfather. He was born on July 17, was named eight days later.

Yesterday I met a young family in the park. I can''t quite believe the mom , Stephanie, is already  fifty years old. She is the daughter of my dear friend, Bernice, one of us four women who  supported each other while pursuing our graduate degrees at NYU in the  early 1980's. Bernice, who never smoked, died of lung cancer in 2002, never having met her son-in-law, nor this adorable four year old grandson.

Stephanie's dad died soon after, leaving a lovely house with a huge yard in a cozy town outside the city. Everyone advised her to sell it. She was determined to keep it and to move back into it, one day. In November, they moved back from California, where she had been living all this time. She had found renters, she had paid off the mortgage and they are now modernizing this contemporary style ranch house.

So much strength of character.

Do we All Necessarily Become our Mothers? August 2, 2022

Until now, I think I have created a life very unlike my mother's. My mom, I will have to be careful, as I was never permitted to use the pronoun "she" when speaking of her, was very handy. She cooked, she sewed, she knit, she collected and saved anything that could be used for arts and crafts in her nursery school class. When I was an only child, until age 4, my mom also painted in oils on an easel set up next to her baby grand piano, which she also played.

During the war, coupons were used to ration food. After the war, S&H Green Stamps were awarded for certain purchases. The stamps were pasted in a folder and could be redeemed. So mom collected and used coupons. When she moved to the suburbs and learned to drive,, she had several super markets from which to choose. They printed circulars. Mom cut out the coupons for items we used regularly and went to each supermarket to get the items . We adult kids made fun of her for doing that as the gasoline expended cost more than the savings.

Actually, one of the initial signs of dementia I noted were 2 liter bottles of Doctor Pepper I found in her refrigerator. By then, she lived alone and none of us ever drank soda, let alone Dr. Pepper. When the family was together, before the grandparents died, we had selzer delivered and my dad and grandfather would make spritzzers, Manishewitz wine and selzer with dinner.

Fast forward to today. I had been awarded a five dollar coupon, the first I have ever received, from Gristedes. It is Tuesday when seniors get ten percent off on their orders. I buy very few things at Gristedes, as I also have choices and this market is more expensive than others, but they carry some products the others don't, like Hebrew National salami, which  they seldom have in stock. So I enter the store, look for the salami and almost immediately put plan B into action. I choose a package of frozen strawberries, at five ninety-nine, head to the cashier where she deducts my ten percent and accepts the coupon and I leave so happy I spent only 36 cents for my purchase!

Bucket List July 22, 2022

My number one bucket list goal has always been to live to 100, with brain intact and walking upright.

Will I someday have a serious problem with my knee? I tore the meniscus climbing down the rocky outcroppings at Zion National Park when I was 75. I wore a brace for six weeks, getting wanded at the airport before  x ray surveillance was in place. But the pain subsided and I've been able to walk amazingly well since then. Every once in a while, I have a flare-up. A few years ago, I had a cortizone shot into the knee, but from then until this morning, I have been fine.

Wednesday evening, after dinner and a theater performance of Chains w ith my friend Carol D., we walked home from 42nd St , me to 86 and she to 90 and Riverside.

Yesterday, I rested, not attending my NIA class and this morning I woke up to a really sharp pain, which has by now subsided.

This event has not however, put a damper on my great news of the week. After my successful yearly physical, I have been kvelling over my height measurement. After years of diminishing height plus covid restrictions and months of inaction left over from my bout  of pneumonia, I have now measured 154 centimeters on the height scale.

Having reached my tallest at 5'1 1/2", my height had been diminishing yearly . The conversion makes me 5 feet tall once more, thanks I think, to my hiring Domni in February in Arizona to work with me and returning to the JCC since the end of May.

I had been worried that I've been "slowing down." My recall for names and faces, even for the main idea of books I've read or movies I've seen when asked by others at the spur of the moment, has definitely declined. I now understand a bit better what I have known all along. As we develop from infancy, each at different rates and to differing ability levels, we continue into old age, growing and developing, but also diminishing, each at different rates. Acceptance,  resistance and resilience are key.

My Father's Birthday July 15, 2022

My father was born 109 years ago in Brzozov Poland, in German speaking Galicia. He was the fourth child, the youngest, in awe of his older sister and brother 9 and 11 years his senior and a bit contemptuous, even as a child , of his father's favorite, his next brother Julius, two years older than he. Everyone coddled my father since he was four and survived scarlet fever and a pogrom, in which he had been placed on the bed covered in quilts and bolts of cloth as the Cossacks ransacked his parents' fabric store and the rooms behind it. When they went to uncover him, the boy was blue and had to be revived.

His sister had been hidden under the bed as the maurauders raped nubile girls and were known to kidnap young boys.

A few years later, the family experienced another pogrom, Polish youth the perpetrators then and Wolf, the oldest boy had gone into the street to protect the neighborhood with a group of Jewish youth. It was 1918 and his grandfather had recently died, leaving the family an inheritance and a larger fabrics business, which gave them the capital they needed to move from Poland.

Where did they go? As they spoke German, it was reasonable to expect them to move to Germany. Why Frankfurt?

I have only surmises. In Poland, Krakow was a center for textiles. My grandfather began to specialize in suit lining materials which were made of silk. These were delivered to Frankfurt from the east. Perhaps the shipping costs were less and the arrival of the goods was more dependable.

By age seven, German children began school which was free until age fourteen. I know nothing of their public school years, but I do know, as soon as Jewish fathers were successful, even modestly, in business, they opted to choose a Jewish private school for their children's secondary school experience.

Since  the oldest son was fourteen and was graduated from primary school, he was involved with politics in Frankfurt as he had been in Poland.  He was also studying the violin.When Hitler came to power in 1933, Wolf had to flee Frankfurt. He went to Paris, ostensibly to continue his violin lessons. He had a job playing violin in a cabaret.He may still have been working to prevent the brown shirts, or the Nazi party, from gaining power.

Friedl, the only daughter went to Vienna, lived with extended family members and pursued training as an actress, achieving a level of success and acclaim, playing on stages all over Europe with a travelling performance troupe.

By then, only Julius and my father, Max, were at home. Julius began to help his father in business and in politics. Only Max applied, and was granted admission to the Philantropin, the prestigious Jewish Lyceum, or secondary school. It was by then 1927. From what I can piece together, my father had several peaceful years from then until 1933, enjoying high school and college , already deeply connected to his one and only girlfriend, our mom.