Abchu and Avraham

For the little great-grandchildren of Abchu and Leah, who laughed and played tag on the happy procession to the flowered gravestones, Abchu is ancient history, as old as Avraham Avinu, our collective patriarch who dared to break idols and listen to a mystical directive, "Lech L'cha" "Go to yourself, go to the land that I will show you, and I will make you fruitful in the land, and you will be a blessing". What did Abchu's father YRachmiel say when Abchu announced in 1933 that he was on his way to the land that was promised to the more ancient Abraham? And how can we keep vibrant that story of Abchu and Leah for these delightful little ones, born in Israel, taking Israel as a given? By laughing and skipping our way to the gravestones in a happy parade of generations each year. By celebrating their energy and their sweetness, on the day they became part of the earth.

Deliciousness

The Beethovenische Freilach. Simon and Daniel are in Victoria now, practicing a number for Randy's office party. And before this they were with Yoni in Montreal, playing klezmerized Beethoven. And Jessica wrote in an application to join a handpicked group of Rhodes Scholars and doctoral students from around the world on a mind-opening learning trip to Israel, that she wanted to reconnect with family here. Imagine how connected she felt when she herself recognized her Wolbromski characteristics, through meeting the relatives here. We had wonderful strolls through the boisterous fragrances of Shuk HaCarmel, and quiet late night talks, gazing at each other through the Chanuka candles' flicker. And visits with Bars and Wolbromskis and Kastons, connecting, connecting, connecting.

Molly Ann and Henry

Chanuka celebrates the miracle of our spiritual existence. I like our physical existence too, the knowing that we are here in this touchingtastingfeelinghugging right here world. When Molly Ann and Henry are here in Israel, I seem to know more certainly that my Canada world and my Israel world are both physically real. Molly Ann and Henry saw Mary Blum last Shabbat. And Mary Blum was with Mommy and Daddy the other day. The crystallization chain, from real to real to real, brings me a solid sense that yes! We are all here on this physical, earthy plane.
And gazing at the Chanuka candles tonight, knowing that Yoni and Mommy and Daddy and dear family all around are singing to similar flames, I somehow know that we are all seeing the same light, celebrating one simultaneous festival, singing one song. Happy Chanuka, everywhere!

How We Make Decisions

Jung says few, if any, of our decisions are made by the conscious mind. The psyche, that other 99 per cent, is steering us just as much now in our evidence-based rational world, as it ever was. What strong magnet pulls us home? A young boy leaves the rocks where he caught fish with his hands, looked out at Mediterranean waves, conferred with Jonah and the whale. He makes a home far across the sea. What pulls him back, to open, at age 58, a bistro mere steps away from the seaside rocks where he once caught fish with his hands, and sat for hours and hours on the rocks by the sea, until his mom called out, "Benino! Benino! It's time to come home!"
We plan. And our own psyche laughs and laughs and laughs.
Tomorrow night, our chefs will cook for a gathering of relatives, overseen and inspired by Benino, who has come home.

In the Raw

Ah, enough about food. How much is there to say about food? Like Margaret Atwood's Edible Woman, I have narrowed and narrowed my view of what is food, until I delight in bright, raw, unplayed with fruits and vegetables. We stayed in beautiful Netanya today, ate lunch outside in hot sun, listening to the sea. A wonderful discovery. Reframe the polarity between Nomi and an Italian restaurant, and introduce to the Benino concept: Nomi! I wrote in an email to my big sister Susie, "Our main trademark is Beno and Nomi, a couple who loves life and good food and wine and each other. Zest for life, joie de vivre, a spacious, vibrant generosity of soul. And get this, our main job right now is auditioning chefs. Beno is bringing one home tonight to cook for Hava and David Lazar and us." Susie of course commented that it's a tough job, but.....

So last night's meal was rich and wined, and I am a Very Good Sport, and all that. But today, when Beno made exquisite platters for each of us, of bright asparagus, pepper crusted tuna, artichoke hearts, wild salad greens, giant capers, baby cukes and ruby red beets, realized the great potential in a push-me-pull-you comic tension between the Benino who loves pizza and fettucini and panini and caffe corretto and port, and this Nomi character who wants a pure platter where only Mother Nature can be credited for the creativity of each component. Put the two together, and magic is in the air.

What is the opposite of wroy@?

Nature has whimsical ways. Yoni and I agree that the most auditory person we know is our uncle and great uncle Roy. How we delight in chanting the do re me's of a certain Shubert quintet with him. Adam and I are hungrily, excitedly exploring the richness to be found in contradiction, the complementarity of opposites, the paradoxicality that births creativity. "I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes". (Walt Whitman).
Our uncle wroy@, who has embodied contradiction for so many over the years, celebrates a cranky, vociferous, sincere, surprised, grateful 92 years today. In some ways, it's like turning 2, I imagine. You look around, not really getting what all the fuss is about. You live in the here and now, and other people see to your basics. The world is again a blooming confusion. But, in contradiction, at 92 I can imagine the richness of one's narrative. I imagine that life starts looking like Roy's photographs showing the startling geometries of nature, symmetries of seashell imitating spiral staircase, church spires mirrored in the chambers of an amethyst. I imagine a oneness presents itself. Wisdom with tantrums. Contradiction that inspires your children and your grandchildren and your greatgrandchild to.......to contradiction, of course. Because that is what creating is all about.
Happy Birthday uncle wroy@

2 years in the land, continued

And sometimes there's the feeling that we're the violin players on the Titanic,
oblivious,
or maybe heightened by the dangers,
our music more lavish, our pirouettes higher,
because we won't live forever.

"Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin"
And if not now,
when?

Celebrating 2 years in the land

So much growing in two years, so many passages I never believed I'd experience in this lifetime. I'm sitting right now at a bistro table at Benino, looking out to fountains and Tel Aviv's lively beaches. All dream so far, and in dreams you can create a hundred different restaurants, all starring Benino, the child coming home to a spot just steps away from his childhood home. Becoming real will mean parting with some of our food fantasies.

Two years in the land. I have sat beside my sweet Rachel, transcribed her gorgeous, incoherent last words, kissed her lifeless cheek, and discovered that an intricate relation between mother-in-law and kalla continues its mystic dance long after the shiva is over. I have held my pelephone close, waiting for a son to call that he is safe after a war, and sat at a cafe gazing at his cheeks, his eyelashes, as he and his father exchange experiences I'll never understand. And I've realized that the mother of a soldier is also serving the Israeli army. I've flown to Canada and savoured family joy over Shlomo..............................................................

Benino

I remember when Mommy heard from Herbie Leon that I was pregnant with Yoni. Can you imagine, I hadn't told my own Mommy first? And so, since all the relatives in Israel already know, here's the news: Benino will be a sweet, fun, romantic bistro beside a piazza with pigeons, a block from the sea in Tel Aviv.

Benino

You'll see, all in good time.

Fill in the Blanks

I'm trying to design a nice business card, for Words and Wonder,

Centre for Awakening Communication and Connection.

Reading the Newspaper

Jarring experience. I was thinking, I'm writing about Israel, so I should read the newspaper. Scary. I wish you realized how entirely people here don't talk about any of the stuff you see in the papers.

Hello

My Uncle Larry has been wondering whether he is strong enough (crazy enough?) to revisit, so soon, a land he only travelled to with Sharon, who knew and loved this land with such easy familiarity. Sharon would walk into a shop where she used to shop when she was a girl of twenty, chat with the current shopkeeper, whose grandfather she used to buy from. I've been thinking about this, and about how all of us are not saying "Goodbye", rather, we are saying "Hello". Hello to the places Sharon loved, Hello to the people from all different phases of Sharon's life, who are getting to know each other better than ever, now.
And so, just as I begin my correspondence with Larry to plan a gathering, a Hello and a celebration of Sharon's Israel, I see this notice about a conference coming up on January 17:

BS''DJerusalem Institue for Narrative Therapy and Qesem Institute will host a workshop on NARRATIVE THERAPY WITH GRIEF AND LOSS: An alternative story about how to go on. Western popular psychological approaches to grief have tended to emphasize letting go, moving on and saying goodbye. This emphasis can lead people to believe that they must cut themselves off from important knowledge and experience that comes from lost people or their ways of life. This can deprive people of wisdom, skills, and traditions that are vital to their identity, their dreams and their commitments. In this workshop we will consider alternative ways of responding to loss. These alternative responses focus on holding on, looking back, and saying hello. They include considering cultural, spiritual and personal beliefs as people shape their response to loss. We will not propose a single, correct way to respond to loss. Instead, we will build on people’s knowledge, experience, and valued stories. Some of these practices we will explore include: Questions that may help people hold on to precious experiences that could be lost. Ideas for documenting responses to grief and loss. Ways of reclaiming knowledge and identity that could be stolen through loss. Ideas to honor and hold close important people, relationships, places etc. even though they are not physically available.
Nomi here again: "Ideas" to honor and hold close important people?? Nah, we don't need ideas, we need kreplach, and honey cake, and chicken soup and kneidlach, and any foods that bring Buby to Mommy's elbow. Hello Buby. Hello Zaidie. Hello Grandpa. Hello Pearl that I never knew but I have a string of your pearls and I say Hello to you when I touch them. Come to Israel Larry. Come with your grandsons and introduce them to this place that Sharon loved. Come and say Hello

What are you thankful for?

I'm remembering a sweet comic strip that went:

What are you thankful for?

This moment.

And what else are you thankful for?

This moment.

May we live that way!!!

Joshy is a prayer, dancing here on earth

I have two friends who will become Bnei Mitzvah soon.
Joshy is a prayer, dancing here on earth.
Since Joshy dreams of celebrating his Bar Mitzvah in the land of Israel, let's dedicate this exploration of Israel both to Tala in Calgary and to Joshy in Kingston.
If you were asked to give the history of Am Yisrael in just a very few sentences, what would you say?

Shana Tova

We don't say, "Happy New Year" at Rosh Hashana. We bless people with a "Good" year: L'SHANA TOVA ! And that makes me wonder, what do we mean by "Good"? A good year will contain far more than happy times. It will overflow with happy, sad, meaningful, sweet, challenging, exciting, wierd, amazing times. Maybe, when we bless people for a good year, we are wishing for a year in which they, and we, will BE good: caring, careful, carefree, shareful, kind, thoughtful, open-minded, flexible. TOV is a interesting word. On each day of creation, as told in the Torah, God looked at his world and said "Ki Tov", that it was GOOD. Not "finished", not "perfect", in fact, only just beginning! But right from day one, TOV, GOOD. And so, let us, this fresh new beginning year, be good to one another, and enjoy this unfinished work in progress, this good good earth. L'Shana Tova!

For Tala at the Beginning of a Wondrous Year

Sweet Tala,
What a year we are entering! This year is unique in the history of the whole wide world, because never before or again will it be TALA'S BAT MITZVAH YEAR !!!!!
And you are unique in the whole wide world, because the molecules and cells and ideas and songs that are inside you are only inside you and the kisses and kind words you will give can only come from you and from nobody else but you. In the months between Rosh Hashana and Tu B'Shevat I hope to give you some little glimpses of Eretz Yisrael, the land of Israel, and Am Yisrael, our people (did you know that "Am", the people, is a singular noun? There is one people of Israel. We don't all think alike, and that is a big part of being Am Yisrael, the Jewish people. In fact they say.......
more soon love! It's time for a swim!

When Tala Sings, the Angels Weep

Tala is earnestly learning and practicing for her Bat Mitzvah. Her teacher, the wonderful Morah Sandy Corenblum, wrote, "When Tala sings the words of Torah the angels are weeping I am sure." I've known and loved Tala's sweetness since the day she was born, and her mother Jayda has been an inspiration to me forever. Tala's Bat Mitzvah will be on Tu B'Shevat, the New Year of the Trees, a fitting time for a mother and daughter who so love flowers and trees and the beautiful things of this world. When Jayda told me her plan to bring Tala to Israel next summer, I knew immediately how we could have a happy and beautiful time, swimming at the Sachneh, splashing in the waterfalls at Ein Gedi, floating in the crazy bouyancy of the Dead Sea and jumping the waves at the beach beside our house. And Netanya has the best ice cream this side of Victoria. But I want to share with Tala the miracle significance of the land of Israel too. I have an idea. I will try, from now until Tu B'Shevat, to write a little note each day to her, about Israel and about Am Yisrael. It may be right here on To Life!, or it may become a separate blog called, "When Tala Sings".
To Tala! To the words spoken to Abraham when this land was first promised to him, "And you will be a blessing". Tala, you are a blessing.

Rosh Hashana, the beginning of the world

A Blessing for Sunny

My niece Sunny makes up her own new words, in a tradition begun by her mom. A Shana Tova to Sunny
New words! Shiny, fresh, never worn words! And the old ones too, each one carrying a story and a patina.
May we all be blessed with a year of good health, creative energy, delightful remembering and fervent hoping. May we hope with our hands, with our feet, with our actions, though sometimes words speak louder than actions.
A Good Year,
Love Nomi

Pomegranate Seeds: A Year of Delight

And now is the season for gladness,
a time for embracing with courage all the changes in ourselves and in our world.
And at this time, it will be decided, and it will be sealed
Who will choose sadness, and who will hug life,
......
No. At this time, it will be decided, and it will be sealed,
Who will savour and live the sadness, giving it its time,
and who will try to pretend to send it away,
not knowing its power and its richness.
For sadness is where we grow,
and where we know the depth of our enduring love.
And at this time,
Let us decide, and let us seal,
That we'll feel to the heights and the depths each feel.
For texture is what makes this world, this world.
And sadness is a pomegranate seed, a ruby of potential,
whence beauty can grow.

Here's to feeling the feelings,
delighting in life,
to entering this new, clean year,
as the head, and not as the tail,
leading the way with our own clear direction,
and not just flapping along behind.
Here's to 613 sweet rubies in a pomegranate's orb.
May we delight in each one,
know that each is its own bright miracle.

Here's to looking optimistically
at how much needs to change,
knowing that anger, and disappointment
are the ruby pomegranate seeds
whence change can grow.

Here's to us!
to change!
to sadness!
to joy!
to song!
to hugs!
to life!

Leaving Tigh Na Mara

That a project called "To Life"
is so much about endings,
is fitting. As we observed last week,
all parts of life are....parts of life.
Janie speaks of the thin membrane between this world and notthisworld. When any one of us is leaning on the membrane, and the waters may break, of course we are all more awake to the possibility that we all face. With or without a doula.
In an old old notebook, from 1992, almost a Chai ago, I find this. Tigh Na Mara is a spot on Vancouver Island, where at high tide the water laps right up to your cabin, and at low tide you can walk far far out on wet sand. I walked the tide in. 1,172 steps. One day I wrote the tide in, my feet continually getting wet as I stepped back and back towards shore. This is the actual moment by moment account, in my handwriting.
To be there while it happens. To plant my two feet feet on dry sand, and watch as thin watersheets envelope these two feet. To step back slowly and be enveloped again. 1,172 paces, from the ocean's edge at 2:00 to its 7:00 p.m. edge. Castles with moats, built over a day's hot sun time, decorated with clam shells and dry old crabs. Now the moat fills, and now the castle submerges. I step back, back, the water envelops me. I step back. Tracks of crabs, the holes where clams dug, small conical molluscs who have spent the day moving imperceptibly, covered maybe two inches in tiny pushes forward, now submerged. I looke around me, and notice I am now on a sand island, surrounded entirely by water, and I wade ankledeep to sand, and am again enveloped, and again move back. The water still moves in, filling the ebbs in each wave of dry sand. Sand dollars that poked curved segments out in the day, are now submerged. Looking out to where the water is now, it appears to have been always. It is sky blue, with small ripples. Tiny crabs croon through the shallow water, seaweed dry beomces submerged, looks more comfortable , waves green leaves in serene wave harmony. Ah! A white seagull flies over the water, as if it has always been there. The water moves in on me, surround me again on a sandy raised point, an ephemeral island. And now I am knee deep in warm water, water moving ever shoreward. The tide has come in.

Leaving Tigh Na Mara

We are leaving today.
Ripple waves sing to shore
and sing, and sing
up to right under our cabin.
The tide will creep out today
and we won't be here,
won't watch its slow retreat,
won't wade ankle deep cool
further, further,
won't stop at silent pools left
to watch the still shell animals who,
ir you slow yourself,
and truly watch,
are moving;
won't collect sand dollars
that feel just like sand in the hand,
but display fragile intricate flower design
on perfect circles.
Designer?
No designer?
Certainly design.
Shall I not marvel?
We are leaving Tigh Na Mara today,
and when we leave,
Tigh Na Mara will still be here.
When low tide comes
there will still be 1,172 of my paces
between the sea and the shore
although my bare feet
will not be there
to mark them,
or to dig delicious
into soft sponge sand.
The gulls will be here calling,
those tiny birds too,
with long straw beaks,
nature's perfect clam digger gadget.
The blue mountains,
blue on softer blue,
as they distance, silent,
will still be here,
though I'll be gone.

A Lullabye, a soft welcome to nonbeing

And then what happens?
I suppose, now, we untangle the tangles. An ancient and beloved prayer says, "Ana b'koach gdulat yemincha tatir tzrura" Untangle the tangles, let go.
I'm thinking of a sweet song,
"Tonight I want you to rock me to sleep
I want you to sing me a song
I'm tired of trying to do everything right
And I'm tired of being so strong."
How hard each cell must have worked, each system, these last few days. Stay alive. Stay alive. Don't give in. How must it feel, to let go to the becoming part of universe again, nonseparate from other molecules.
I suddenly, this moment, understand how death is a wedding.
With this sigh,
this release,
this last small energy,
we, the cells, the molecules,
the white blood cells,
the red,
the pains, the hurts,
the kindnesses,
the stories,
that held together loosely for so many years,
being a being:
with this letting go,
we give ourselves to universe
and become nonseparate.
We hereby let go.
**********************************
And now I see that death is a birth.
And that universe rocks the change in its timeless arms,
and sings it a soft lullabye
a welcome to nonbeing.

Birthday Angels, Celebrating the Self

Check out www.birthday-angels.org. The original angel behind this deliciously pure project, Ruthie Sobel Luttenberg, celebrated her own birthday today with a board meeting of the people who make the magical Birthday Angels process a reality. It's sweet to think of a child who wouldn't otherwise have had birthday cake and a dance or two, receiving these from a donor in Canada or the states, perhaps from a Bat Mitzvah girl who chose Birthday Angels as her mitzvah project. But the Birthday Angels party kit isn't about cake. Each game in the kit celebrates the uniqueness and specialness of the birthday child. A small example is The Wishing Tree:
"You can really count your birthday blessings as you pick them off The Wishing Tree which is covered in leaves the children have filled in with their blessings and good wishes for the Birthday Child.

The Birthday Child later picks the leaves off the tree trying to guess who wrote them the blessing. and, get this… The Birthday Child has to say what s/he has to do to make it happen.

For example: when s/he picks a leaf that says:
"I hope you live till 120"
The Birthday Child translates that into concrete terms and says:
"I'll eat less junk food and do more sports"

This way the Birthday Child gets to think PROACTIVELY about his/her own life. S/he not only thinks what everyone can do for him/her, but what s/he can do for him/herself to make his/her dreams come true."
Here's to the blossoming of each of us, our sense of self, and our sense of direction. And here's to my aunt Sharon Enkin, who has dedicated such love to the project. And here's to Ruthie, with wishes for a happy, proud birthday and a sweet and productive year.

For Sharon

When even life's most basic rhythms can't be taken for granted, we realize how tied we are to the rhythms of the universe, not just the waves but the tides.
In Tofino, on the windy ocean coast of British Columbia, Daddy's cane scratched into the sand, just at the tide's edge, "I don't believe in tide". And of course, true to the universe's insistent impishness, the water quickly swished his words into sandy sea. I see now, these years later, that what I thought was random unpredicability is more truly our own nearsightedness. Daddy teaches us that youth can see the waves, but it takes an old man to see the tides. And Sharon teaches us that all parts of life are......parts of life. Here's how I put it when I was younger, and closer to the waves.

I Don't Believe in Tide

The tide reminds us
that this universe
is not a constant;
can change,
draw back over noisy pebbles,
the white noise of waves
containing every possible
prophecy
and then, laughing,
change the rules.

The tide reminds us
when our shoes get too
comfortable
on dry familiar rock,
to laugh out loud
at the splashing, the soaking,
the unannounced shift
in what we once called land
or what we once called here
or what we once called
now

The tide mreminds us
that there is work to be done,
important work.

Can I ever trust
that without me here
the tide will still remember
to surprise me?

I don't believe in tide.
But it seems to believe in me.

My Snishy Is

Sunny's word of the day is "Snishy". Meaning: your fantasy world. Usage| My snishy is...
So my snishy is a world where we can visit cozily, multisensorily, over the miles. All we have to do is hook up our webcams and set appointed times to gather around our Skype sets, and we'll have a beginning to this: sight, sound, sense of connection, even a kiss. The key to a good life is to create your snishy, in your mind's eye, and then to build a ladder to it, and take the steps, one by one. (Keeping in mind, of course, the equal and opposite aphorism, that if you know exactly what you want, that's all your gonna get)
The Awad word of the day is agnosia, which reminds me of beginner's mind, to see the world anew, each and every moment. To be born fresh, and to experience the appropriate wonder, each step along the way.
To stand on the shoulders of giants, of course too, but from that lofty place, to see a whole new snishy.

For Susie

Welcome, my big sister. I knew you'd find me someday.

Each of us, be strong, each of us, let's waken

Larry writes to his wife of almost 60 years,now hooked up, unresponsive, to machinery and wires:
So Sharon,be strong, Sharon let’s waken
Remember that you're Sharon Enkin.
This comes today, at the beginning of the month of Elul, the month when we confront ourselves, and ask ourselves deeply, am I becoming my own best self?
In order to find the Reb Zusya story, without knowing how to spell Zusya, I Googled, "Why weren't you more like Reb", and found this version: (of course, we will use the term, "ceaseless creativity" where appropriate)
" Time for a story: one of my favorites, about a Hasidic
master of the 18th century, named Reb Zusya.
Reb Zusya sat one day, around the High Holidays, in
the Beit Midrash, the house of study, despondent: crying and
carrying on. His students, upon hearing his cries, asked him
why he was so upset.
“I had a vision,” Reb Zusya began, “that when I reach
my life’s end, the angels of the Heavenly court will ask me
about my life. I am so afraid they will ask me the most difficult
question of all. They will not ask me ‘Why were you not like
Abraham, the first man to recognize the true God?’ Nor will
they ask me ‘Why were you not more like Moses, our great-
est leader, who took us out of Egypt and brought us the great
teachings from Mt. Sinai?’ No – they will ask me the question
that has me shaking in my boots:
“What question is that?” the students could not fathom
what it could be. They leaned in as Reb Zusya answered, “The
angels will ask me, why weren’t you more like Reb Zusya?”
This story teaches us that there is nothing, no power
we can be given, greater than our own potential. Long before
the “me” generation, there was the idea that each one of us
is living our life for the reason of fulfilling our own potential.
Abraham, Moses, Miriam – indeed all the figures who shaped
our history are examples to us to be sure. However, each
one of us has our own unique potential to make the world a
place where God’s presence dwells. As Ron Wolfson says
in his book God’s To Do List – “In God’s grand design, each
human being has a unique contribution to make, a special
way to do God’s work on earth. Each human being is a full
partner with God in the ongoing work of creation."

Oh world, you are too wonderful for us to realize you.

Saying goodbye awakens us. I've always kept in mind that line from "Our Town". "Oh world, you are too wonderful for us to realize you".

There are still tastes to enjoy

"To be on the line is life. All else is waiting".
Oh, where do I know this from? Was it Erving Goffman, in The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, who quoted for me the words of a tightrope walker, who was hospitalized after a serious fall? The way I remember the quotation is, "To be on the line is life. All else is waiting".
As if to say that when we stand perfectly, precariously, in the balance between falling to this side or falling to that side, in that heady, alert state, then we are truly alive. We've stood there, all of us, and we stand there together now, whispering and singing and calling out, like angels over a blade of grass, "Live! Live! Live! There are still tastes to enjoy". There are still seders to serve, flowers to arrange, birthdays to count, stairs to look at, daunted and yet undaunted, and then climb, appreciating the offers of help, but pushing the help away; you can climb them yourself and will climb them yourself.
To be on the line is life. And today, we all stand on the line, seeing this possibility and that, and knowing that what is meant to be will be. There are so many tastes not yet tasted.

Let the Universe Breathe You

To Life! To all of us! With Aunt Sharon not breathing, but being breathed, we face what we always knew, and tend not to think about. That each breath is miracle, and that our lives are fragile. Some say that the universe breathes us. Our breathing in, breathing out, is a teeter totter push-me pull-you give and take dance with the universe.
Be well, Auntie Sharon. Relax to this moment, when family and friends are calling out to you from all over this world, saying "Thank You Sharon", for Birthday Angel parties and for feasts and lodging and help to newcomers from Israel, and for inspiration and for a delightful HavaYeda Science Centre in Karmiel, Israel. And for all those seders and Chanuka parties at the Stream, and tea parties in your Tel Aviv hotel room. And for showing us that pain need never keep us down and immobility is no excuse for staying still. We love you Sharon. Take a peek again at the youtube video "Sharon's Birthday Angels Party", and you'll see so many brighteyed children chanting, "Thank you Sharon!"
Be well, be healthy. To Life!

Living life as if it were real

Notice where the bird made her nest. Under the bluest rainbow sky. Not caring whether it was real or painted. Like Leonard Cohen's Bird on a Wire, this bird has tried, in her way, to be free. She has succeeded. This was in Jerusalem, on a beautiful, mystical daytrip yesterday. From high on Mount Scopus we could see all of Jerusalem, peaceful, golden, Christian, Jewish, Muslim. Today on CNN it's a mess. But I was there, and it was golden. And the bird feathered her nest under a perfect blue rainbow sky. As if it were real. And you know what? Her nest is real and the eggs are real, and from these eggs will emerge real doves. Sometimes it's right to paint the sky. And right to make your nest under a painted sky.

Ta Da ! list

Malca, may her memory be my muse(mmmm,)used to comment that we all keep To Do lists. And that it would be a nice idea to write a Ta Da! list at the end of the day.

God Bless the Grass

May the Circle be........broken!
May geometry be overcome
by roots, small tufts of grass,
naively brave small fingers
wiggling through.
Again, the thought came to me in different costumes today, peeking out from a quotation on A Word a Day, in a picture of a circle mandala that was not a perfect circle, roots and leaves penetrating geometry's idea of perfection. And a song
God bless the grass that grows thru the crack.
They roll the concrete over it to try and keep it back.
The concrete gets tired of what it has to do,
It breaks and it buckles and the grass grows thru,
And God bless the grass.

God bless the truth that fights toward the sun,
They roll the lies over it and think that it is done.
It moves through the ground and reaches for the air,
And after a while it is growing everywhere,
And God bless the grass.

God bless the grass that grows through cement.
It's green and it's tender and it's easily bent.
But after a while it lifts up its head,
For the grass is living and the stone is dead,
And God bless the grass.

God bless the grass that's gentle and low,
Its roots they are deep and its will is to grow.
And God bless the truth, the friend of the poor,
And the wild grass growing at the poor man's door,
And God bless the grass.
.....................by Malvina Reynolds
The mandala reminded me of Da Vinci's man. And the reminding reminded me that everything reminds me of everything, because everything earthy is outcome of the same fractal geometry, or of the same lively grasses, constantly risking absurdity.

Counterpoint: Creativity and Poverty of Imagination

One of my inspiring experiences here in Israel was at the Canadian Embassy, a screening of Bonnie Klein's "Shameless: The Art of Disability". Both on screen and in the room, I encountered such shining examples of creative living. A dancer who became disabled, and didn't for a moment think she'd stop dancing. Like Bonnie's own "Slow Dance", this woman has crafted an exquisite dance form with the body she has now. The director of a deaf and blind theatre group talked of her standards. She expects only excellence - why should her theatre troop be held to any reduced standards than the very best? In counterpoint harmony to this notion of creativity, the line in the film that has spoken to me loudest, resonating clearly in the year since the Tel Aviv screening, was the response of Michael, Bonnie's husband, when he was asked why he didn't consider leaving her after she became disabled following a stroke. Michael's impulsive response, which they both laughed at, was "Poverty of Imagination". They laughed, but think about it. Poverty of imagination in the right places is what enables creative living. There are givens that we don't question, canoes that we don't rock, commitments that we don't have the imagination to even think of changing. Poverty of imagination grounds us and stabilizes our trunks so that we can reach our creative branches higher, higher.
I am waiting to find out about these pictures, sent in haste by my mother after a visit with Bonnie and Michael Klein. Magic to me, the number of people that our family has visited with, both in Israal and in Canada. The mandala is round.