Shana Tova 5776!


We just got done celebrating the Jewish New Year. As an interfaith household with a great love for all the traditions in our crazy quilt, we celebrate many holidays. This is both totally exhausting–especially around Christmukkah and Eastover– and totally worth it. Celebrating different traditions allows not only for lots of parties, but also for learning, exploring, and the challenging but important practice of honoring divergent belief systems. As F. Scott Fitzgerald famously said:

IMG_8251The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.

The Jewish New year is a time for celebration and also for deep reflection. It’s a time to cast away the sins of the past year and welcome the coming year with a clean slate and an open heart.

Sometimes I go to temple on the holidays and sometimes I don’t. When I don’t, it can bring on a tsunami of guilt (cuz Jewish), but this year it didn’t. I actually feel great about our holiday activities and am stepping into the New Year feeling both nourished and renewed.

We did a few fun, meaningful things. First, we had a party at the hoaapplesuse to celebrate both the Ethiopian New Year (my sign is wrong, it’s 2008) and the Jewish New Year, which fell a few days apart this year. We wished each other a Shana Tova (good new year), ate Ethiopian food and apples and honey, hung out in the backyard with a handful of good friends, and, most importantly, used the last of our 10 yr old wedding napkins- win! We made brownies (these. you’re welcome.) with a thousand M&Ms in them, which was Tariku’s idea of what would usher in the sweetest New Year. And everyone still got to bed at a reasonable hour. IMG_8272

A few days later, Tariku and I went to the beach to do a Taslich ceremony with Ikar, a special and innovative Jewish community here in Los Angeles, which happens to be led by a childhood friend of mine. Taslich is a meditative ritual that involves tossing bread into a body of water, which is symbolic of casting off our sins from the past year.

On the car ride to the beach, Tariku and some friends and I had a fruitful conversation about sins and personal growth. I personally don’t have any problem with the word sin, though I know a lot of people cringe due to the baggage attached. I’m not a fan of the shame that it can sometimes inspire, but I do like the gravity of the word. Sins are serious- we hurt people and we hurt ourselves. I consider it good soul medicine to take a conscious moment to truly consider the ways I have transgressed and to re-align my intentions with a greater good.

I explained to Tariku that one of the sins I wanted to cast away was my yelling. I told him I don’t think it’s a sin to be angry, but I do consider it a sin to take that anger out on the people around me in ways that aren’t loving and respectful.

Tariku said that a sin he would like to cast away is when his Mom doesn’t let him use the iPad.

Okaaaaaay. Let’s try this again.

And then I prompted him a little bit and he came up with some pretty good answers, but I wasn’t sure if he had grasped the concept or if he had just figured out what I wanted to hear. Either way, it was a good start of a lifelong conversation.

When we got to the beach, the sun was setting in one of those garish, show-offy Southern California displays of pink and gold and powder blue. The unusually warm ocean was glassy and glittery. Tariku dove headfirst into the waves over and over, popping up with his arms outstretched toward the sky in a gesture of pure joy. I stood at the water’s edge and watched as he gleefully threw his bread into the cresting waves. My glorious, life-loving boy!

I experienced one of those waves of pure gratitude that nearly knocked me to the ground. Not “oh-I-should-make-a-gratitude-list” kind of gratitude: the real, pure main-lined good shit.

I thought- Please, God, if I am ever flat busted and alone and eating cat food and everything is lost, please let me at least always remember this moment. Let me always hold the fact that once I was this happy.

Oh yeah, and thanks. Did I mention thanks?

Later, I heard Tariku explaining the ritual to my mom on the phone. He said, “We threw all our big mistakes into the ocean. Like the ocean was the biggest garbage can of mistakes in the world!”

Which is both poetic and hilarious.

Shana tova to all of you! May your 5776 be poetic and hilarious and so very sweet.



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Friday Favorites: Confused Easter/Passover Edition

Happy Everything, from our confused family to yours! Here are a few holiday favorites…

1. East Side Jews is having a community Seder on Saturday at the SLJCC! If you’re in Los Angeles and you’re looking to connect to Judaism alongside eclectic, interesting people and holidays filled with an unconventional take on ritual, story, song, art and family, the ESJ event may be a great fit for you. We’ll be there!

2.Thou must have deviled eggs on Easter. It was supposed to be the 11th commandment, but it got edited out due to limited room on the tablets. I made these last year and they were a huge hit. Remember- they’re from BETTY CROCKER, so they taste better if you make them while wearing 3 inch heels and a smile!

3. Rabbi Becky Silverstein’s Open Letter to Tom and Transgendered Teens Everywhere.
“Tom, at the heart of our communal narrative is the courage action of individuals taking a risk. In sharing your transition with your parents, community, school, and the greater world community, you modelled for all of us what it means for us to feel as though we ourselves were leaving Egypt, a central commandment within the Passover Hagaddah.”

4. Sam Sifton, Melissa Clark, Kim Severson, and Julia Moskin are personally answering all your Passover and Easter food questions on the NY Times Food FB Page. The questions are great! I LOVE me some Melissa Clark. Also… the ham I’m trying.

5. Practice Resurrection: Progressive Christian Theology for Easter, by Carl Gregg. There is so much cool stuff in this post, including terrific poetry the the origin story of Habitat for Humanity.

6. If I was a better person, I would actually make these rather than just drinking chardonnay and midnight and wistfully Googling them.

Pie Fight!

T snow

I smashed my iPhone and I’m up in the mountains. Gah! Email me. Don’t bother texting….

Anyway, hello from Big Bear, where it is actually cold and there is actual white stuff on the ground!

As we wound up the mountain road and the first dirty, slushy patches of snow appeared, Tariku screamed like he had won the Publisher’s Clearing House. It’s strange to me that snow is exotic to him. My childhood was so different than my son’s sunshiney LA life, where the darkest wintery days barely require a sweater.

I remember the magic of waking up in the morning and seeing the world newly white. I remember evenings in the downstairs den snuggled in front of the fire under an afghan, looking out windows frosted over with snowflake patterns of ice and listening to my favorite Burl Ives album. I remember trading in my ice skates every year for a new pair, waiting to see if the lake froze over and we’d actually be able to skate outside and not just in the indoor rink, with its watery hot chocolate.

Scott is like, who cares? Winter sucks. He just remembers getting hit in the face by snowballs and the one time in fourth grade he nearly froze off his little toe. He doesn’t have the nostalgia for seasons that I do. Then again, I have nostalgia for nearly every piece of lint that ever blew across my path.

I’m currently sitting in a café in Big Bear, drinking a decent almond milk latte across the table from my friend Fred. We just dropped our kids off at ski school. I decided to give myself a pass from skiing today and instead just hang around and write and read and caffeinate. I’m unreasonably ecstatic about this plan.

I want to share a bit about our New Years with you, because it was one of my favorites. First of all, Mr. Shriner took me out to a beautiful dinner and dancing. We had a super-fun, sorta-wild New Years Eve. I think it was a response to the midnight yoga/chanting/interpretive dance that I made him go to last year (totally serious- I did that to him and he stayed with me).

Tariku dragged me and my aching head out of bed at six the next morning, pumped to embark on our mission for the day. Tariku has been begging– begging— for a pie fight for the past three years. New Years day we decided to do it.

The three of us went to the grocery store and bought a stack of pie tins and a landfill’s worth of whipped cream bottles. Then, after searching my soul about whether I wanted to be videotaped in a showercap or get gross whipped cream in my hair, I came down decisively on the side of ruining my blow dry. Hair be damned, it was a blast! It’s so fun to to listen to Tariku’s wild laughter.

The New Year causes us to reflect on the passage of time, and I’m always painfully aware that his little boy laugh will soon go the way of his toddler babble. So it was particularly sweet. I think we’re going to make the pie fight a tradition. We followed it with Box Trolls and a spaghetti and meatballs living room picnic. It was a happy way to spend the first day of 2015.

I didn’t make a big resolution, but I do aim to enjoy my accomplishments more this year, whatever they may look like. I’m so hard on myself. It’s not that I don’t love my work– I do. I’m just uncomfortable with finishing and sending my creative babies into the cold cruel world. My therapist Judy actually used the word “grim,” which startled me. Me? Grim? The originator of the First Annual New Years Day Pie Fight?! But it’s true. I tend to underplay my accomplishments, to apologize for my success, to close one project and immediately open another without even a breath, a sip of tea, a glass of bubbly, a Mallomar…nothin’. This compulsive over-sharer didn’t even tell anyone for days that I had finished my book. I aspire to be less grim. To bust out the Mallomars. To love and respect my own work the way I hope others will.

2014 held a lot of sadness, with many troubling themes rising to the surface. It was a year that the deep institutionalized racism in our culture found a powerful place in public dialogue. The incidents that provoked this dialogue were so sad and frightening, but the outcry was heartening to me. It leads me to hope that this year and the next and the next will see progress. That my son will grow up into a world that is safer for black men. A world that is kinder to their bodies, their hearts, their human rights, their souls. I hope the same for women. I hope the same for all of us.

moms know


Wishing you lots of self-care, dancing, safety and pie. Happy New Year!