The Party's Over

he bar mitzvah of my son Yitzchak is now past tense. I woke up the morning after the party and the last thing I wanted to do was get out of bed. I was in a state of utter exhaustion and burnout.

Dov and I had really struggled to give this kid a kiddush and party to remember, but it was pretty much a do-it-yourself event. Or rather two events: the kiddush after services on Shabbes and the party Tuesday night. There were also the two big meals I made for our family for Shabbes, so make it three or four big DIY events.

I have good neighbors and friends and they pitched in. But I guess I did more than I'd realized. After I straightened up the house and did a couple of loads of laundry yesterday, I went back to bed and slept and slept and slept. I arose at 3:50 for one reason only: I had to daven mincha. Maybe two reasons, actually--I was afraid that if I didn't get up then, I'd be up all night, completely off schedule, and miserable.

I had choir last night and it was a pleasure to get back to doing something just for ME. I reveled in having the pressure off of me for a change. Then I went home and chilled with Dov for a bit. Finally, I went to sleep and wonder of wonders, slept through the night.

I guess I knocked myself out more than I'd known with this whole bar mitzvah thing, but I can look back at the event with a sense of joy and accomplishment. Dov and I strained to give Yitzchak a kiddush and party to remember and in that regard I believe we acquitted ourselves well. You can see in the following video (Credits: My son Natan Epstein, the videographer) that a great time was had by all.



Dov gave a little speech at the party in which he recounted incidents about Yitzchak that really illustrate the way he has always been wise beyond his years, a bit of a nudnik, but in lots of ways, an adult in a kid's body. I thought I'd share some of these stories, which are family stories but in this context, feel appropriate for sharing with the world.

I was always careful to say the Shema prayers with my children before they went to sleep at night. One Friday night, during synagogue Shabbes services, after the Shema prayer was said, Yitzchak just naturally segued into HaMalach HaGoel Oti, the next part of the bedtime prayers.



His little voice was so pure and sweet that no one wanted to stop him and so no one did, even though this was technically an interruption of the evening service. Yitzchak's rang out in the synagogue and everyone listened rapt.

It was a moment of great parental pride and joy for Dov. I wish I had been there.

At the time Yitzchak was born, we lived on an isolated, mountaintop settlement where there were few signs of civilization. We had no place to buy groceries or other supplies on the Yishuv. So when we moved to Efrat, the kids enjoyed the new atmosphere of consumerism they encountered.

One day, a neighbor started off to the grocery store. Yitzchak decided to follow along. He was three.

He crossed a busy street behind the neighbor and no one noticed. When they arrived at the supermarket and wheeled a cart into the store, Yitzchak did the same.

They piled groceries into their cart and Yitzchak piled groceries into his cart. Instead of the fruit, chicken, and canned goods of our neighbor, Yitzchak piled his cart with chocolate, potato chips, pop, and ice cream. When he deemed his cart sufficiently full, he wheeled himself over to the cash register and unloaded his stuff for the cashier to total.

That is when we got the phone call to come get him.

When Yitzchak was nine, the Sukkos festival (Festival of Booths) was fast approaching when Dov fell ill and was unable to build our Sukkah hut. A neighbor who was an important rabbi came over with his sons to do us the kindness of building us a Sukkah. The rabbi came out to my veranda, looked around and pointed to a certain spot, saying, "I think this is a perfect location."

But earlier, I had looked around on my own to see where the Sukkah should be built. I had pointed to the same spot and Yitzchak had pointed upward. "You can't build it here, because there is an overhang from the veranda of the apartment above us."

I pointed out the same problem to the rabbi. The rabbi admitted that Yitzchak was right! A nine year-old had spotted a problem the rabbi and I had missed!

This year, Yitzchak and Asher went out the first night of Sukkot for a custom we call "Sukkah-hopping." Kids go see neighborhood sukkah booths and neighbors put out treats for them. At one sukkah, a neighbor showed off a beautiful Esrog (citron) to my boys. It was large and particularly fine. Alas, as Yitzchak pointed out, the Esrog was not Kosher for sacramental use on Sukkos. The little lecture the neighbor gave my boys turned out to be educational all right--not for my boys--but rather for the neighbor who learned a thing or two from Yitzchak about what makes a citron Kosher or non-Kosher for use on Sukkos!

At Yitzchak's party, Malka put up a large poster board on which she'd made a collage of photos I'd gathered the day before. She left room for Yitzchak's friends to scribble their congratulations to the Bar Mitzvah boy. The photos we used in the collage depict Yitzchak at various stages in his life. I've scanned the photos and posted them here (not necessarily in order) so you can get the full flavor of this remarkable young man.

Meant to Be

have been contemplating the concept of "it's meant to be" for several weeks now in relation to my thus far fruitless job search. In lots of small ways, it becomes clearer each day that for some reason, right now, I am not meant to have gainful employment.

Now I'm not saying I have an inkling why this should be so.

I don't.

All I am saying is that I am seeing a pattern to the way my job seek is transpiring that doesn't feel like coincidence. In fact, it seems very much as if someone (Someone!) is taking a highlighter pen and running it across similar incidents that recur with regularity during my job-hunt as if to say, "Look! See this? And this? It's the same thing happening again. Are you getting this?"

Yup. I'm seeing signs.

The signs don't outline any sort of reason for my unemployment and that's okay. It just feels like the sort of situation that is going to work out for the best. The end of the story will not be revealed until the end of the story, if at all.

But that's okay, too.


You see, the signs are enough for me. I can feel that someone (Someone!) who is not me, is directing things. That knowledge has tremendous power. If I have a desperate moment of anguish over my lack of employment, I remember that I am not in charge and that everything is for the best. It helps a lot, this firm knowledge I have of things being outside of my control. 


That is saying a lot considering I'm a control freak. But you see, it is just so clear that in this particular instance, this is on HIS to-do list, and not on MINE.

Of course, it goes without saying that I must continue to pursue every possible avenue of employment. From my end, I have to keep up the pressure and never give up. But it does feel good to know that I'm not just a gerbil on a wheel. The thought that I do not have ultimate control of what happens next gives me hope and helps me get through each day, one day at a time.

Sharing the Light

emember the biblical story of the 12 spies who were sent by Moses to check out the Land of Israel in advance of the Israelites? The spies returned and reported that the land, "devoured its inhabitants," had huge walled-off cities, and was inhabited by giants who made normal people seem as grasshoppers.

As a result of their report, the spies and their offspring were punished. They and their offspring were banned from entering the Holy Land.The spies had been sent to see the land and return with an honest report. That is just what they did. So on what basis did they merit such harsh punishment? If they had lied, would they have been feted, congratulated, and otherwise patted on the backs for telling falsehoods?

It's a strange story on the face of things, but only if you don't stretch your brain enough to grok the bigger picture. A thinking person, for instance, would scratch his/her head and think: "Well, okay. So what COULD the spies have said instead that would not have earned them such a severe reprisal for themselves and their offspring?"

Step back for a moment and think about it: you and your family have been wandering in the desert for a very LONG time and you are finally almost at your destination ("Are we there yet, MO-OM?") but someone goes ahead of your party to see what's what and comes back with a pretty dire report. (The water in the hotel bathroom is tepid and brown, the food is greasy, there's nothing to do, the natives are hostile, and the linens don't seem very clean.) You would look at your kids and your spouse, take a swallow, and feel a sense of deep and utter despair. You would lose your will to continue, to soldier on toward your goal. And yet, did the Israelites have some sort of choice? Could they return to Egypt and slavery? Did they have an alternative destination?

Since they did not and we know they did not have an alternative destination, why would Moses send the spies in the first place? What was the purpose of that little "check it out ahead of time" trip to Israel by the spies? Were the spies damned if they did and damned if they didn't?

Did you figure it out? Of course you did. You're a smart person and I pinch your cheek with affection. MWAH! 

The purpose of the spies was to provide a sort of travelogue for the Israelites. Like those magazines that tempt readers with descriptions of faraway exotic places. Those magazines beckon to you when you pass a newsstand on your way to the office, make you daydream about your next vacation, and squirrel away your dollars toward realizing those dreams. The magazines keep you going as you sit in your cubicle doing scut work, giving you something to hope for: something beyond the cube.

You trust those travel magazines with the glossy pictures of white sand beaches and vistas of blue water that stretch across an endless distance. You trust them because you know that the financial well-being of the magazine depends upon the dependability of the travel information it disseminates. The magazine would not steer you wrong.




The spies could have spoken of the amazing varieties of fruit they found in Israel which were larger and more succulent than any other fruits they had ever seen. They could have spoken about the way the inhabitants feared and honored the spies in equal measure. There were so many wondrous things they could have said about the Holy Land.


But no. They said sucky nasty stuff that scared the Israelites and made them terrified to come into the land.

THAT is why the spies were punished. Not because they told the truth. But because there were good, true, HOLY things to say about Israel, but they chose to say negative things that would have a negative impact on the people they were meant to cheer and encourage.The spies' evil report did harm to their souls and those of the people who heard what they said.


Why am I telling you all this today--especially since the Torah portion recounting the story of the spies will not be read until June 16th of this year (2012)? I'll tell you why. You knew I would, didn't you?

Don't expect me to give you a balanced picture of life in Israel. I won't do it just to be intellectually honest. I won't say things that cast the land I love in a negative light. I won't talk about domestic issues if they will tend to make Israel not look so terrific. I won't do it because I love Israel with all my heart and there are too many good things, wondrous things to say than to hurt my soul by pointing out any supposed negatives. I won't give fuel to the naysayers. I won't align myself with them.


I could spend all day and night praising Israel and not run out of things to say. And that is my preference. Israel is meant to be a light unto the nations. To me, that means sharing the light and not the dark side of Israel. It means stressing the beauty and holiness of the land instead of reporting on grimy events or infighting and criminal acts by its inhabitants.

That is NOT to say that I won't speak out against evil. But it does mean that I will anguish over a way to express myself without tarnishing the reputation of the love of my life, Israel, even a single iota.

Does it still seem that I am speaking in tongues? So be it. Some would like me to disavow certain activities of certain people in my country. They say that by my silence I am complicit. But those people would do well to read Iggeres HaGra, a letter the Gaon (genius) of Vilna, Rabbi Eliyahu Kremer, (zatzal)* wrote to encourage and instruct his family in 1778 during his aborted journey to the Holy Land.

"...the main way to merit the World to Come is by guarding one's tongue. That is worth more than all the Torah and good deeds. This is the meaning of (Isaiah 32:9) "tranquil women" (Berachos 17a), because the mouth is the holiest of the holy."



*Zatzal is an acronym for "Zecher Tzaddik l'Vracha" which means that "The Righteous One Should be Remembered as a Blessing"

Career Moves IV

oday's blog is a continuation on the subject of social media and career promotion.

We're up to Twitter. So for me, Twitter just feels, um, limited. I love, adore, delight in words, words, and more words. I don't find it a challenging game to force myself into a minimum of letters--it doesn't make me feel successfully competitive when I am successful at staying within the lines. Instead, it feels like a crime.

Makes me kind of sad, really. People forcing their most important moments into 140 characters and spaces. You can call it art. You can say it is beautifully spare and minimal. Contemporary. All chrome, glass, and neutrals. But I call it "limiting."


I had the same problem with the word limit at the much more generous Facebook. And that was the main thing Google+ had going over Facebook. Yeah, you could write a note on Facebook. But notes were weird. They were like getting up on a stage.

On Google+ you could keep on going way after you could on Facebook, realize it, and tie it up, Folks. But you could have those few extra dots, squiggles, and lines of meaning.

Did you think that was enough to sway me to Google+? Nope. I just can't like it there. Is it some loyalty I feel I owe to Mark Zuckerberg who never misses an opportunity to hurt his own people? Can't be, right? I mean this is the gal who organized a one-day boycott of Facebook if the social media space refused to take down the violent Intifada pages. I have proven my commitment to activism.

(Note: There was a deadline and Facebook met the deadline, so I canceled the event. Which was really, really dumb. I should have changed the date to "anytime" or something. What I did was make the whole thing disappear. Facebook didn't archive the page which means that we the public do not have access to all the viral activity there. I can't show it to the world or even to potential employers. I can't say: I did this. *dumbkopf* *smacking myself upside the haid*

Worse yet, within hours, the pages were back. *sigh*)


But back to MZ. I don't feel loyal to him. I just don't feel a need to switch. I'm comfortable on Facebook. Any place else seems foreign in comparison. No matter how bright and colorful and unlimited. Dumb, right? Well, there it is. Could there also be a bit of the anti-Google in me? I do sometimes worry at Google's supremacy in the world. It feels almost like a mitzvah to knock it down a notch or two.

That leads me to here. My blog. I talked about blog narcissism back in 2009 So, you know my tentative feelings about sharing feelings. But something I read the other day in an excellent blog by Carol Tice on 113 Things You Can Do to Grow Your Freelance Writing Income — Now may be changing the way I think about blogging.


Number 111 on Tice's list of tips is: "Remember your blog is a writing sample. Have a clean design, show you understand social media, and write every post like it’s a $1-a-word magazine assignment."

Now that was a tip I could implement with ease. I can write in my blog. In a sense, unemployment is freeing: I finally have the time to exercise my writing muscle.

Of course, poverty means taking the time to do things the old-fashioned way, like grating cheese to save the shekels it costs to buy the already-grated stuff. On the other hand, there is nothing like hand-grated cheese and the satisfaction of having been the one to produce the same. There is joy and immediate gratification in "just being a housewife."

The kids come home to a gourmet lunch and say, "I love you, Eema," whereas when I'm working, it doesn't make sense to cook complicated items. Why should I when I can cook something fast and easy they all enjoy? And I am amply suited to do just that. Thank God. Though I confess my sewing borders on sadomasochism--a topic to save for another blog, maybe, if I dare.

Meantime, I am here a lot, at Judean Rose, experimenting on what works to generate a comment and a following and what does not. I get the luxury of indulging my creative writing bent just for me. And it's good for my career, too.



A person needs calm and space in which to write. That makes writing a luxury for me. Calm and space are items that sometimes seem well out of reach to me.


Sometimes I dream about it: having time and space to write. As much as I want. Well, short of a sugar daddy (ha!) or a grant from some discerning org, time and space to write remains the provenance of the wealthy. And anyway, who'd want to read the thoughts of a poor person?

But please spare me the comments about poor being relative and how rich I really am and so forth. You know what I mean. Don't force me to pretend for your sake. Your silence on this issue feels supportive in this case.

Please DO leave comments about the use of social media and weighing friendships versus business moves.

Career Moves III

esterday's blog was a continuation on the subject of social media and the use of friends as vehicles for career promotion. Today's blog is a continuation of this topic.

I spoke about Facebook, Quora, Pinterest, and putting the word out to friends about my job search. But employers are also asking me about other social media.

3) Are you on LinkedIn? Twitter? Google+?

I have put some work into LinkedIn but just can't get excited about going there. I also end up in sticky water when people I REALLY DON'T LIKE send connection requests. You can say it's only about business, but that's just the point: if I don't like the person, why on earth would I want to help them professionally? Okay, so yes, I have a nasty spot in me.

On the other hand, I sent out LinkedIn contact requests to everyone I could find through my own contacts, who was even remotely connected to any profession that interested me. I clicked the space next to "friend" which was the only way to send a request to someone you don't know for free, but explained what I was doing in the copied and pasted message I sent with the requests. I was honest about my motives.That actually got a hugely positive response. All the writers and so forth, to whom I'd sent requests thought it a mutually beneficial idea to become LinkedIn contacts and gladly accepted.

But then I had a painful experience regarding the woman with whom I'd apprenticed under for one month. I learned so much from her. She promised me the earth, hinting more than once that I would soon be offered "a more global position." She said that salary reviews would be undertaken after the High Holidays and that's when it would happen.

Then two days before Rosh HaShana, she called to tell me a different office had nixed the idea and had already hired someone else in New York. I felt my heart dip and fall into a place of pain, way down deep. I hovered on the brink of depression.I had just written my mother about the upcoming promotion. My family had rejoiced at that news. It was a triumph. 

A month later I sent the woman who spoke of a more global position a LinkedIn request for a recommendation and she never responded. We'd been in constant contact for a month as she taught me the ropes and made me dream. Shee-oot. Reminds me of a mantra I used to have and have tried to since disown: "Life sucks and then you die." I can't tell you how many times I got chastised for that one until fed up, I changed it to: ""No matter how short your wife is, lean down and take her advice."
(Bava Metzia 59a)

Everyone loves this one. Especially men with short wives.

So that would be all I have to say about LinkedIn. See tomorrow for more about social media and career promotion.