Step 1: Admitting we are powerless over the effects of addiction and that our lives had become unmanageable.
My father called me drunk last night. I doubt he remembers. It was a pointless phone call, just for him to brag about the new fire pit he and Mom got to sit around a fire. In Florida. Don't ask. The point is, as I'm going through some of this literature from ACoA, and trying to figure out how to wrap my brain around the whole Higher Power stuff, I think I need to just take a step back and figure out exactly what I'm looking at.
I am, indeed, powerless over my father's problems with addiction. I have tried to micro-manage every situation, I tried endlessly as a kid to be good enough, smart enough for him to actually SEE me. I apparently even told them when I was little that I didn't like someone because of the way they touched me. But in the mind of an alcoholic, or at least, in HIS mind, much more rested on the way things appeared to others.
I have to accept that nothing I could have done, and nothing I can do now, will change who he is; will change the dynamic that I grew up with; will change the way he knows how to interact with me, or with the world around him in general. I have to give up hope that there's anything I can do or say that will make him different, or change what our history is. And I have to accept that everything I grew up thinking was "normal" was distorted and wrong.
I continue to live my life in the way I was shown: I go through the motions of what seems to be normal, to me...I have a very hard time being present. Even without being an alcoholic myself, I have that personality trait emblazoned on whatever I take to be my soul. Part of the ACoA definition of "The Problem" is co-dependency and taking on the characteristics of the diseases (alcoholism) without necessarily ever using chemicals or behaviour to mood alter.
But here's the funny thing. I was always such a control freak that I DIDN'T get drunk, or let myself feel out of control, maybe because some part of me, even years ago, recognized that what I came from was twisted. But no matter how far away from home I got, or how much I tried to be everything my parents weren't/aren't, it's all I know. And I still couldn't let myself be present for my life. Because all I've known is surface, cover-up, superficial, impress-the-neighbors bullshit.
The promise of a solution through ACoA is tho hopefully begin to "...begin watching for present day self-destructive patterns, recognize these patterns and make better choices for ourselves...to change sick attitudes and characteristics that have plagued us for years and made our lives unmanageable".
So here we are back at Step #1. In all my attempts to micro-manage, my life has, indeed, become unmanageable. Trent sees right through me, I am desperate to be a good wife and parent, and to be a real honest to goodness, present part of the world around me. So this is me. Admitting my powerlessness over what my parents' dysfunction has rendered in me. In the hopes that I can forgive them, and myself, for a life only half-lived up to this point.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
As the holiday season sets in...
I've been having another crisis of "faith". Canadian and American Thanksgiving aside, now begins the season of Christmas music, Santas, reindeer (which i LOVE that Ellie signs Moose for every time), and mall-insanity.
On top of that, I have now joined the ranks of 12-steppers and have attended my first ACoA (Adult Children of Alcoholics) meeting. Here's the thing... there were SO many things said at the meeting and in the literature I've been delving into that ring true, that make me feel like I have found some common ground and some explanation for a lot of "why I am the way I am". But then there's all this "higher power" stuff. It's very clearly worded as to God, however you may define it , but it's the entire concept of "Let go and let God" baffles me. How am I supposed to reconcile my atheism with "...believing a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to wholeness"; or "...make a decision to turn our will and our lives over the the care of God, as we understood God"??
Much to think about...
On top of that, I have now joined the ranks of 12-steppers and have attended my first ACoA (Adult Children of Alcoholics) meeting. Here's the thing... there were SO many things said at the meeting and in the literature I've been delving into that ring true, that make me feel like I have found some common ground and some explanation for a lot of "why I am the way I am". But then there's all this "higher power" stuff. It's very clearly worded as to God, however you may define it , but it's the entire concept of "Let go and let God" baffles me. How am I supposed to reconcile my atheism with "...believing a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to wholeness"; or "...make a decision to turn our will and our lives over the the care of God, as we understood God"??
Much to think about...
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
In the air...
Now granted, Thanksgiving in Canada is in October, not November (earlier harvest, I suppose), but this just sums up my sentiments these days:
http://images.dailydawdle.com/back-off-santa.jpg
http://images.dailydawdle.com/back-off-santa.jpg
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Shanah Tova
Tomorrow sundown begins Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. My parents arrive tomorrow afternoon. Not to celebrate, just to visit. Perhaps this is one of those times that I need to take a look at something that Judaism offers as a good thing, and let's be honest, the timing couldn't be better. I'm not close with my parents. Recently, a few things have come to light that make me downright furious with them, with my history. And I'm just as likely as the next person to play The Blame Game when I get like that. I've always liked that Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are different from the Christian ideas of confession. Instead of asking God for forgiveness, you're instructed to actually apologize to the person you wronged...to ask forgiveness, and grant it when it is asked of you. My friend on Facebook posted this as her Rabbi's description of these holidays, and I think it's well-written. I just don't know if I"m a big enough person to forgive recent transgressions that have come to light...Perhaps I'll just play it by ear...
RECONCILIATION AND FORGIVENESS
Which of the 613 commandments in the Torah do you think is the most difficult to observe?
My answer would be to "love your neighbor as yourself." (Leviticus 19:18).
What’s the difficulty in loving your neighbor? One possibility is that he or she may not be such a nice person. Some people are very difficult to love, to like, or even to tolerate.
We also need to look at this problem from the opposite perspective. Maybe we ourselves are not easy to love.
The point is that interpersonal relationships are not always easy. As we go through life we all make our share of friends and, yes, let’s be honest, enemies too. Who of us, in the past year, has not offended someone, intentionally or unintentionally? Who of us, in the past year has not been offended by something someone else said or did, or failed to do?
This is one of the reasons that Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur exist. In the course of living, we all collect baggage — the baggage of resentment and disappointment. And we add to the baggage of others. The High Holy Days are an opportunity to rid us of unwanted and unnecessary baggage by forgiving others and by being forgiving ourselves.
We are all imperfect unfinished creatures. We all make mistakes. We all say things we shouldn’t. None of us ever fulfills all of the expectations that others have of us or even those we have of ourselves. We all fall short.
And so a New Year comes to us with a great gift. It says we can start again. It says we can attempt to make right what we have done wrong. Not by praying to God. Not by telling God we are sorry. But by seeking out those who we may have hurt, by word or by deed, and trying to make amends.
It’s not easy. It’s never easy to admit that you have been wrong or to say, "I’m sorry." And it may be even harder to forgive, to accept someone’s apology, to let go of your anger. Some people thrive on bearing a grudge. They just love to hate.
The call of this season is to let go. The challenge of these Days of Awe is to be open to forgiveness and reconciliation. It may be hard, but it’s worth it.
Life is too short and too fragile to be constantly bearing a grudge. When we are able to forgive, we free ourselves of a burden that wears us down as much as does the burden of guilt.
As we celebrate a New Year, may we all come a little closer to loving our neighbors as ourselves.
Shana Tova U'm'tuka,
Rabbi David H. Auerbach
RECONCILIATION AND FORGIVENESS
Which of the 613 commandments in the Torah do you think is the most difficult to observe?
My answer would be to "love your neighbor as yourself." (Leviticus 19:18).
What’s the difficulty in loving your neighbor? One possibility is that he or she may not be such a nice person. Some people are very difficult to love, to like, or even to tolerate.
We also need to look at this problem from the opposite perspective. Maybe we ourselves are not easy to love.
The point is that interpersonal relationships are not always easy. As we go through life we all make our share of friends and, yes, let’s be honest, enemies too. Who of us, in the past year, has not offended someone, intentionally or unintentionally? Who of us, in the past year has not been offended by something someone else said or did, or failed to do?
This is one of the reasons that Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur exist. In the course of living, we all collect baggage — the baggage of resentment and disappointment. And we add to the baggage of others. The High Holy Days are an opportunity to rid us of unwanted and unnecessary baggage by forgiving others and by being forgiving ourselves.
We are all imperfect unfinished creatures. We all make mistakes. We all say things we shouldn’t. None of us ever fulfills all of the expectations that others have of us or even those we have of ourselves. We all fall short.
And so a New Year comes to us with a great gift. It says we can start again. It says we can attempt to make right what we have done wrong. Not by praying to God. Not by telling God we are sorry. But by seeking out those who we may have hurt, by word or by deed, and trying to make amends.
It’s not easy. It’s never easy to admit that you have been wrong or to say, "I’m sorry." And it may be even harder to forgive, to accept someone’s apology, to let go of your anger. Some people thrive on bearing a grudge. They just love to hate.
The call of this season is to let go. The challenge of these Days of Awe is to be open to forgiveness and reconciliation. It may be hard, but it’s worth it.
Life is too short and too fragile to be constantly bearing a grudge. When we are able to forgive, we free ourselves of a burden that wears us down as much as does the burden of guilt.
As we celebrate a New Year, may we all come a little closer to loving our neighbors as ourselves.
Shana Tova U'm'tuka,
Rabbi David H. Auerbach
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
ACOA
Anyone know of any atheists in 12 step programs? I mean, there HAVE to be some, right? Is there honestly no group of people who have found a way other than a "higher power" to deal with being out of control? or being the child of someone who was?
My mom is just "coming to terms" with the fact that my father is an alcoholic and addicted to pain pills. No big surprise on my end, he's always been a man of excess--he eats, drinks, drugs, talks too much. There is nothing small or reserved about my father. But I guess I never put a label on it. Last night I was looking into ACOA (Adult Children of Alcoholics) and Al-Anon and trying to see if anything clicked. And it kinda all did. But Jeez, all that God stuff is off-putting!! I'd love to go to a meeting and see if I connect with the people there, who might have grown up like I did, with no "real" role models for parenting, but all the God crap is a total turn off!! Sigh...
My mom is just "coming to terms" with the fact that my father is an alcoholic and addicted to pain pills. No big surprise on my end, he's always been a man of excess--he eats, drinks, drugs, talks too much. There is nothing small or reserved about my father. But I guess I never put a label on it. Last night I was looking into ACOA (Adult Children of Alcoholics) and Al-Anon and trying to see if anything clicked. And it kinda all did. But Jeez, all that God stuff is off-putting!! I'd love to go to a meeting and see if I connect with the people there, who might have grown up like I did, with no "real" role models for parenting, but all the God crap is a total turn off!! Sigh...
Monday, August 15, 2011
Mixed emotions...
My grandfather died yesterday. I haven't spoken to him for years, and he crossed physical and emotional boundaries with me that are still impacting my life and my relationships today, so needless to say, I'm not sad to see him go. He was an alcoholic, I think, and a misogynistic, racist, generally horrible man. It's not nice to speak ill of the dead. I know that. And with the Jewish tradition of having someone in the ground so quickly, I cannot get to his funeral without a $2k travel bill. Not that I would want to go, but I know my mother is not handling it very well, and for HER, I would suck it up.
Eleanor never met him. I never allowed it. I'm hopeful that this will make going down to Florida easier, and perhaps she can meet her great-grandmother. Who also may not be the nicest lady in town, but at least I am not worried that she'll hurt Ellie. My grandfather didn't earn the right to meet my daughter. My grandmother enabled him to be as nasty as he was, but she personally never hurt me.
Family is such a strange thing. I'm so lucky to have married someone who can look at family as a necessary thing to be endured, but not believe in obligatory love. We both feel that people need to earn love and respect, and various members of our respective families have lost that with us. So here we are, starting a family from scratch with very little in the way of how families are "supposed" to be.
All that being said, Trent and I were watching a British TV series the other night, World's Strictest Parents, and we both agreed on the basics of what Eleanor would and would NOT be raised with: self esteem is wonderful, but a child should not always get their way; Parents should be parents, not friends, etc...These children were fairly awful teens, and whilst I completely understand the premise of rebellion, we will do our best to instill a strong work ethic in Eleanor, as well as the idea that short-cutting around doing real work will not be rewarded.
It seems that so many people today, not just children, are intrinsically lazy!! There have been books and documentaries recently that highlight the selfishness and egocentrism of folks raised with the idea that they are the only people in the world who matter. You can see it in politics, you can see it in teenagers, and most recently, the riots around the world--why should "normal" people obey the laws if the people MAKING the laws, educated, privileged people, feel compelled to lie, cheat, and steal?
To put a more personal perspective, Eleanor is at the age now (17 mo) where she still is completely allowed to think that she is the centre of the world. But this is where the fundamentals have to be established. It's fascinating to watch her figure things out, really. She can be quite rough and physical with the cats and dog, for example, so I am teaching her Gentle and Nice...so her first response is to 1) smack the cat 2) look to me for my reaction and then 3) kiss the cat. Testing boundaries and figuring things out. Wild stuff, and it can be really hard not to laugh sometimes as she throws her food and promptly shrugs her shoulders like "What Happened?" and says "Uh Oh!"...
Eleanor never met him. I never allowed it. I'm hopeful that this will make going down to Florida easier, and perhaps she can meet her great-grandmother. Who also may not be the nicest lady in town, but at least I am not worried that she'll hurt Ellie. My grandfather didn't earn the right to meet my daughter. My grandmother enabled him to be as nasty as he was, but she personally never hurt me.
Family is such a strange thing. I'm so lucky to have married someone who can look at family as a necessary thing to be endured, but not believe in obligatory love. We both feel that people need to earn love and respect, and various members of our respective families have lost that with us. So here we are, starting a family from scratch with very little in the way of how families are "supposed" to be.
All that being said, Trent and I were watching a British TV series the other night, World's Strictest Parents, and we both agreed on the basics of what Eleanor would and would NOT be raised with: self esteem is wonderful, but a child should not always get their way; Parents should be parents, not friends, etc...These children were fairly awful teens, and whilst I completely understand the premise of rebellion, we will do our best to instill a strong work ethic in Eleanor, as well as the idea that short-cutting around doing real work will not be rewarded.
It seems that so many people today, not just children, are intrinsically lazy!! There have been books and documentaries recently that highlight the selfishness and egocentrism of folks raised with the idea that they are the only people in the world who matter. You can see it in politics, you can see it in teenagers, and most recently, the riots around the world--why should "normal" people obey the laws if the people MAKING the laws, educated, privileged people, feel compelled to lie, cheat, and steal?
To put a more personal perspective, Eleanor is at the age now (17 mo) where she still is completely allowed to think that she is the centre of the world. But this is where the fundamentals have to be established. It's fascinating to watch her figure things out, really. She can be quite rough and physical with the cats and dog, for example, so I am teaching her Gentle and Nice...so her first response is to 1) smack the cat 2) look to me for my reaction and then 3) kiss the cat. Testing boundaries and figuring things out. Wild stuff, and it can be really hard not to laugh sometimes as she throws her food and promptly shrugs her shoulders like "What Happened?" and says "Uh Oh!"...
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| What happened?? (as she threw a blueberry to the dog) |
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| Standing at the top of the slide applauding herself while I try to remain calm and tell her to SIT DOWN! |
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
On Illness and Animals
Well, Eleanor is sick again. Mild pneumonia but the 2nd round in 4 months. Apparently, once she's had it once, she is pre-disposed to getting it again. We had to go to CHEO today for more chest x-rays, and she was a champ, in spite of the archaic contraption they have set up to keep her in position...seems like the only chance I get to update this blog is when she's down and out...
That being said, since she started walking, she rarely ACTUALLY walks...She's full out running, and occasionally falling. Skinned knees are just how we roll. She's a really happy and fun toddler, REALLY strong-willed, and higher-power-help me (see there really is a lack of expletives that don't have religious connotations!!), the temper tantrums are starting early around these parts. But she's getting more and more fun, and developing a heck of a sense of humour. I'm so lucky, getting to hang with her...most days...:)
There's something magical about watching her make connections. Whether it's building and putting things together, physically, or climbing, or language...she still doesn't have a ton of words, but her sign language is exploding. And if she doesn't know the sign for something, she signs something else and then shakes her head No...
Example: while looking through her animal book, I ask her to show me the Elephant (one of her favourites)
Ellie points to Elephant and makes the sign and sound. Then she points to the Antelope. Well, Mommy doesn't KNOW that sign, so I say "that's an antelope!" So she signs Elephant, points to the antelope, and then shakes her head NO...so the sign for Antelope is now "not-an-elephant". Wild.
We went to the Experimental farm here a couple of weeks ago before she got sick, and for a kiddo who LOVES her animal books, she's a bit hesitant about the "real deal". I guess I can't blame her. Cows ARE pretty massive to a 24 lb toddler...she quite liked the chickens, though. More her size. And most recently, she is completely in love with our 15 year old Siamese cat and wants to follow him wherever he goes. Including up on the back of the sofa, onto and under tables, on the ottoman. Together, they pushed the 90 lb. dog off of her chair, and Ellie read a story to Mouse. OK, the little monkey is up, so I'm off for now!
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| Following Mouse wherever he goes |
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| Reading to the cat |
Saturday, June 11, 2011
gratitude
It's been quite some time since I've posted...Eleanor was sick in April for 2 weeks with pneumonia and another week from the antibiotics. And then May just kinda got away from me.
OK, so I don't believe in a higher power, but I'm trying to figure out exactly where to direct my gratitude today...
Exclamations like "Thank God" come to mind, and I actually am not sure where I stand on the premise of Luck these days...
But back to the gratitude part: Eleanor is sick again today with a fever spiking up to 104. She's acting OK, not like with the pneumonia, but pretty disinterested in food. And I have this immense gratitude in my heart for the fact that we are still nursing.
I have a love-hate relationship with breastfeeding. She nurses to sleep for naps and bedtime and it just seems never-ending some days...I worry that she'll still be nursing when she goes to university, as she shows absolutely no propensity to stopping on her own. So I find myself reading articles like Weaning Slowly, With Love...and Nightweaning...and dream of the premise of sleeping through the night again.
But then there are days like today, when I KNOW she feels crappy, and I KNOW that I can insure that she stays hydrated and gets calories even if she doesn't want to eat.
So I would like to send out a big ol' THANK YOU to the universe, for granting me this ability to care for my baby. And while I'm at it, I should probably thank modern medicine for Advil/Tylenol, too, eh? ;)
OK, so I don't believe in a higher power, but I'm trying to figure out exactly where to direct my gratitude today...
Exclamations like "Thank God" come to mind, and I actually am not sure where I stand on the premise of Luck these days...
But back to the gratitude part: Eleanor is sick again today with a fever spiking up to 104. She's acting OK, not like with the pneumonia, but pretty disinterested in food. And I have this immense gratitude in my heart for the fact that we are still nursing.
I have a love-hate relationship with breastfeeding. She nurses to sleep for naps and bedtime and it just seems never-ending some days...I worry that she'll still be nursing when she goes to university, as she shows absolutely no propensity to stopping on her own. So I find myself reading articles like Weaning Slowly, With Love...and Nightweaning...and dream of the premise of sleeping through the night again.
But then there are days like today, when I KNOW she feels crappy, and I KNOW that I can insure that she stays hydrated and gets calories even if she doesn't want to eat.
So I would like to send out a big ol' THANK YOU to the universe, for granting me this ability to care for my baby. And while I'm at it, I should probably thank modern medicine for Advil/Tylenol, too, eh? ;)
Saturday, April 16, 2011
If I prayed...
Or if I even truly believed in a higher power, I hope I could be as eloquent and funny as the glorious Ms. Tina Fey. I'm not usually one to cut and paste like this, but there's no way I could write anything nearly as fabulous as this:
First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches. (OK, as someone with her fair share of ink, I cannot judge and will not hold tattoos against my daughter. But I do hope that if she chooses to tat herself up, that she puts lots of thought into what she wants permanently emblazoned on her person).
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short - a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day - And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a B.itch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that S.hit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.
Amen.
-An excerpt from Tina Fey's new book -Bossypants, 2011
First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches. (OK, as someone with her fair share of ink, I cannot judge and will not hold tattoos against my daughter. But I do hope that if she chooses to tat herself up, that she puts lots of thought into what she wants permanently emblazoned on her person).
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short - a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day - And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a B.itch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that S.hit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.
Amen.
-An excerpt from Tina Fey's new book -Bossypants, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Growing up Jewish
One of my best friends, Julie, sent me a goofy email about growing up Jewish, and I figured I'd cut and paste with comments...some of this stuff doesn't apply, but some of it does, and I figure it'll give me a chance to see what chords it strikes with regards to raising Eleanor. It's a bit on the long side, so I'm thinking i might stretch it into a few posts...
Eleanor walking
Growing up Jewish:
If you are Jewish, and grew up in city with a large Jewish population, or are gentile with Jewish friends or associates, the following will invoke heartfelt memories, so read on.........
The only good advice that your Jewish mother gave you was:"Go! You might meet somebody!"
I never dated Jewish boys. Seriously. I had a 2 week 'relationship' with a boy with a green mohawk my Sophomore year in college, but he was allergic to my sweaters that my mom made. Destined for failure. The only good thing that came of it, honestly, was that I was able to tell my family "Hey, I tried".
Every Saturday morning your father went to the neighborhood deli (called an "appetitizing store") for whitefish salad, whitefish "chubs"), lox (nova if you were rich!), herring, corned beef, roast beef, cole slaw, potato salad, a 1/2-dozen huge barrel pickles which you reached into the brine for, a dozen assorted bagels, cream cheese and rye bread (sliced while he waited). All of which would be strictly off-limits until Sunday morning.
Bagels and lox were tradition for sure. And here in Canada, the bagels aren't the same as what I'm used to. I've been a vegetarian for a long time, so I don't really miss the lox anymore, but I will go so far as to import "real" bagels from NYC. When living in NC, I did this a few times too. And when in graduate school, with a particularly tough case of TMJ, my doctor told me "avoid bagels", and it just didn't make sense. Bagels are one of the few foods my people do right!! Ellie will be raised with bagels. No doubt about it. She will probably even be raised with my prejudices regarding what makes for a GOOD bagel (no raisins/blueberries, even in the cream cheese; fluffy, not dense; she will know what a schmear of cream cheese is...)
Every Sunday afternoon was spent visiting your grandparents and/or other relatives.
My grandparents moved down to FL, but not til after my great-grandparents did. I was lucky enough to know 3 of my great grandparents on my mom's side. Nana Sally lived til I was about 14. Nana Sophie and Grampa Abe (Lipshitz) til I was in my 20s. There are several stories, but I feel like that belongs in its own post...
You experienced the phenomenon of 50 people fitting into a 10-foot-wide dining room hitting each other with plastic plates trying to get to a deli tray.
Hasn't everyone?
You thought pasta was stuff used exclusively for Kugel and kasha with bowties.
Ugh. I hated kasha. I won't make Ellie eat that, or chopped liver. There are several foods in Jewish culture that are just plain icky.
You were as tall as your grandmother by the age of seven.
This applied to Nana Sally. I think she shrunk to about 4'8"?? But with a rack you could stack encyclopedias on.
You never knew anyone whose last name didn't end in one of 5 standard suffixes (berg, baum , man, stein and witz).
It still amazes my husband when I tell him a particular actor or actress is Jewish just by their name...or more often but what their name WAS before they changed it <grin> But after my stint in Hebrew school, I knew plenty of non-Jewish folks. I feel that I might have a hard time finding other Jews to introduce Eleanor to as she grows up, which is odd. I'd like to her to have an idea of some of this stuff without me being the one to instill it...
You were surprised to discover that wine doesn't always taste like cranberry sauce.
Maybe someday we'll do a Seder, just as a kind of sociologic experiment...Hiding matzoh? Well, I think the dog would find it before any children in this house...but the glasses upon glasses of Manischewitz , even when diluted with seltzer...*shiver*...Though I suppose it's the only way to dull the senses enough to get through a 3-4 hour meal with family...
Maybe someday we'll do a Seder, just as a kind of sociologic experiment...Hiding matzoh? Well, I think the dog would find it before any children in this house...but the glasses upon glasses of Manischewitz , even when diluted with seltzer...*shiver*...Though I suppose it's the only way to dull the senses enough to get through a 3-4 hour meal with family...
You can look at gefilte fish and not turn green.
I actually used to like gefilte fish, even without the hot pink horseradish (courtesy of some well-placed beets)...But I don't think I like it enough to MAKE it in our vegetarian house, and the stuff that comes in the glass jars in the Kosher section of the market just look nasty...Perhaps Ellie will be spared...
I actually used to like gefilte fish, even without the hot pink horseradish (courtesy of some well-placed beets)...But I don't think I like it enough to MAKE it in our vegetarian house, and the stuff that comes in the glass jars in the Kosher section of the market just look nasty...Perhaps Ellie will be spared...
You can understand Yiddish but you can't speak it.
There are some words that, i have to agree, have no good English equivalent. Though I will make sure Eleanor KNOWS that these words are in a different language. I grew up with them just as part of my vocabulary and didn't know that not everyone would understand me when using Yiddish in day to day conversation...
There are some words that, i have to agree, have no good English equivalent. Though I will make sure Eleanor KNOWS that these words are in a different language. I grew up with them just as part of my vocabulary and didn't know that not everyone would understand me when using Yiddish in day to day conversation...
You know how to pronounce numerous Yiddish words and use them correctly in context, yet you don't know exactly what they mean. Kaynahurra.
Yea. Very true. Thank goodness for the internet, and I've been able to look most of them up. OK I'm going to post and then return to this later to finish up...Must go take advantage of a napping baby. Now that she's walking, I don't get much down time!! She started officially walking last Monday and has been on the go ever since!
Eleanor walking
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| Ellie ready to plotz after her photo shoot with her friends |
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| A maidel mit a kleidel (a girl in her new dress) |
Monday, March 14, 2011
Music
OK, so we just watched an episode of Mad Men, which I love, and it ended with Peter Paul and Mary's version of Early In The Morning...and I caught myself singing along. Here's the problem. I love me some hippie music. And some old blues. Not to mention all the Requiems, Passions and choral classical in my collection. And there's a lot of God in them there lyrics...
Do athiests/agnostics have ANY good music???
Do athiests/agnostics have ANY good music???
Friday, March 11, 2011
There are no athiests in a foxhole...
Hmmm, perhaps my blogging about athiesm, etc, has pissed off some higher power, as our family has been smote (am I using that word correctly?) with a cold/cough that never goes away. Ellie started off with a cold 3 weeks ago, which lingered with runny nose and then moved into a cough. Then I got it. Then my husband got it even worse. And we're all still coughing at nighttime...sigh...so that's my excuse for the time being as to why I haven't caught up with this blog...
In other news, Eleanor is now officially a one-year old. We chose not to do a party, as...well...as she's 1, and doesn't know any different. Her friend, whose birthday is 1 day after hers, had a party and we just went there. All the cake, none of the work :)
I never really thought of myself, or of Trent, as non-traditional, but there seems to be such a common thread of going "keeping up with the Joneses", even when kids are this young. I don't just get it. But I'm learning to just keep quiet, and I have a feeling this end up being a running theme throughout Ellie's life.
Judge not lest thou be judged, right? Pretty basic Christian tenant. An oldie but a goodie, and I'm fine with this premise, really. So on the topic of birthday parties and going over the top, I think I'm going to take a page from Barbara Kingsolver. She talks about (in Animal Vegetable Miracle) how her family has the tradition of allowing the children to celebrate their birthdays with as many children/friends as their age--so a 3 year old gets to have 3 friends over for a tea party or something...a 10 year old can have 10...seems pretty reasonable to me.
I remember for my Bat Mitzvah (I was 13), it ended up being a party for about 250 people. Essentially a business party/see and be seen for my father. I was told I could invite 30 kids. The thing is, I was painfully shy. I didn't HAVE 30 friends. And in middle school, where everything is so important, and heaven forbid someone more popular than I was having a party the same weekend...the pressure was actually really crappy. And I didn't feel comfortable telling my parents why this was stressing me out. Who wants to tell their parents that they don't have many friends?? Especially when appearances mean so much...anyway, just food (birthday cake?) for thought on a late Friday night.
In other news, Eleanor is now officially a one-year old. We chose not to do a party, as...well...as she's 1, and doesn't know any different. Her friend, whose birthday is 1 day after hers, had a party and we just went there. All the cake, none of the work :)
I never really thought of myself, or of Trent, as non-traditional, but there seems to be such a common thread of going "keeping up with the Joneses", even when kids are this young. I don't just get it. But I'm learning to just keep quiet, and I have a feeling this end up being a running theme throughout Ellie's life.
Judge not lest thou be judged, right? Pretty basic Christian tenant. An oldie but a goodie, and I'm fine with this premise, really. So on the topic of birthday parties and going over the top, I think I'm going to take a page from Barbara Kingsolver. She talks about (in Animal Vegetable Miracle) how her family has the tradition of allowing the children to celebrate their birthdays with as many children/friends as their age--so a 3 year old gets to have 3 friends over for a tea party or something...a 10 year old can have 10...seems pretty reasonable to me.
I remember for my Bat Mitzvah (I was 13), it ended up being a party for about 250 people. Essentially a business party/see and be seen for my father. I was told I could invite 30 kids. The thing is, I was painfully shy. I didn't HAVE 30 friends. And in middle school, where everything is so important, and heaven forbid someone more popular than I was having a party the same weekend...the pressure was actually really crappy. And I didn't feel comfortable telling my parents why this was stressing me out. Who wants to tell their parents that they don't have many friends?? Especially when appearances mean so much...anyway, just food (birthday cake?) for thought on a late Friday night.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Baby names
So one of the Jewish traditions we chose to modify to our liking was in naming Eleanor. Jewish tradition is to take the first letter of the name of someone who has passed away (it's considered bad luck to name a child after someone still living, hence no Jr's or IIIs). So when Trent and I were trying to narrow down our options, I had a few letters in mind. S for my great grandmothers Sally and Sophie. Ah, how I love the name Sophie...but SO COMMON now!!! A for my great grandpa Abe. J for my dear friend, Jimmy, whom I lost to ALS 5 years ago now...then we figured out that both of Trent's grandparent's names started with E (Elizabeth and Edward) and, though neither of them was Jewish, Trent liked the idea. His only stipulation was that our daughter's name couldn't be something that would go well with pole-dancing. So we went with E(leanor) J(osephine). Simple. Understated. A bit serious. Eleanor of Acquitaine. Eleanor Roosevelt. Josephine Baker...Done.
Then Trent made the mistake of telling his family before she was born. And they hated the name Eleanor. Which is why, no matter WHAT your religious leanings, you should keep your mouth shut, because goodness knows, other people don't seem to. So Ellie was nameless for the first 36 hours or so while Trent decided if he was OK with moving forward with the name we had chosen. She was very almost Sydney, after Crosby, since a) he's from Pittsburgh and b) she was born the night before the gold medal game of the Olympics...and c) it fit the S option...
So yea, he got over it, and now everyone seems OK with her name...though every now and again, my folks try for EJ or someone tries out Ellie Jo...luckily, it hasn't stuck. I'm fine with Ellie. Might even like Nora as a nickname...but to me, most of the time, she's Eleanor.
So again, what's in a name?
Then Trent made the mistake of telling his family before she was born. And they hated the name Eleanor. Which is why, no matter WHAT your religious leanings, you should keep your mouth shut, because goodness knows, other people don't seem to. So Ellie was nameless for the first 36 hours or so while Trent decided if he was OK with moving forward with the name we had chosen. She was very almost Sydney, after Crosby, since a) he's from Pittsburgh and b) she was born the night before the gold medal game of the Olympics...and c) it fit the S option...
So yea, he got over it, and now everyone seems OK with her name...though every now and again, my folks try for EJ or someone tries out Ellie Jo...luckily, it hasn't stuck. I'm fine with Ellie. Might even like Nora as a nickname...but to me, most of the time, she's Eleanor.
So again, what's in a name?
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Home from Boca
Sorry ya'all. Just home from a visit to Florida with the little one to see my parents. In Boca Raton, where all good Jews go to retire.
So back to the whole "Jewish mother" thing...this is the part of Sachs' article that caught my attention.
...Somehow throughout the millennia, whether we were living in the desert, the shtetl, the ghetto or the Upper West Side, Jewish moms have also turned out successful progeny, despite all the kvetching.
Perhaps that's why there are so many Jewish lawyers. Jewish kids debate at home. They speak back to their elders. They argue while practicing their powers of persuasion on their exhausted parents. And we moms, well, we at least subliminally encourage it -- after all, we love a good argument almost as much as we love kibbitzing. And after centuries of persecution and existing on the fringes of nearly every society from Egypt to Eastern Europe, either fighting for entry or thriving in spite of it, Jews are hardwired for resistance...
Well, resistance is a strong point for me. And I think it's gonna have to be, in order to resist buying into all the hype around easy answers for questioning little ones. I didn't get up the nerve to ask my folks about the whole Death and Dying topic, too busy chasing around the little monkey and keeping her out of trouble.
What I have noticed recently, is several of my bad habits:
But back to that paragraph. I actually wasn't raised by the stereotypical Jewish mother [The stereotype generally involves a nagging, overprotective, manipulative, controlling, smothering, and overbearing mother or wife, one who persists in interfering in her children's lives long after they have become adults--Thank you, Wikipedia!!]. I think my father was...and perhaps even my mother was. Overbearing? Perhaps...but they're very non-confrontational. To a fault, perhaps. Kinda like pulling teeth to actually get them to talk about anything serious. But somehow, there is still this hardwired thread of staunch resistance within me, which I think was brought out even more by living in places where being Jewish wasn't common. Especially around the winter holidays. The start of Christmas carols in Oct/Nov makes me tense, and suddenly quite aware of not being a part of the majority. Living in North Carolina for 4 years might have made me feel more "Jewish" than my upbringing (after Hebrew school was over and done, that is...). And it's been a bit perpetuated living here in Ottawa now. At least Seinfeld helped others get my sense of humour...
As for turning out successful progeny...now THAT is something I can get behind. Trent (husband) and I have talked about this as one of the best parts of Jewish culture--the importance of academics. We were both geeks growing up. And my parents never had to push me regarding grades, I was a good student. Mind you, I was lazy until grad school, because I KNEW I was smart, and didn't have to work too hard to pull As and Bs. {Had I actually put my mind to it or been pushed a bit more, I may have done even better, but it's not like it is today for kids applying to college. Anyway, tangent. Sorry. } So is that what I want Ellie to get from my heritage? "Study hard, kid, this is how our people survived the pyramids, the Pharoahs, the holocaust, the blacklisting, ..."
OK I am most certainly rambling. It's late and the little darling has been asleep for 3 hours. I'm off to join her.
So back to the whole "Jewish mother" thing...this is the part of Sachs' article that caught my attention.
...Somehow throughout the millennia, whether we were living in the desert, the shtetl, the ghetto or the Upper West Side, Jewish moms have also turned out successful progeny, despite all the kvetching.
Perhaps that's why there are so many Jewish lawyers. Jewish kids debate at home. They speak back to their elders. They argue while practicing their powers of persuasion on their exhausted parents. And we moms, well, we at least subliminally encourage it -- after all, we love a good argument almost as much as we love kibbitzing. And after centuries of persecution and existing on the fringes of nearly every society from Egypt to Eastern Europe, either fighting for entry or thriving in spite of it, Jews are hardwired for resistance...
Well, resistance is a strong point for me. And I think it's gonna have to be, in order to resist buying into all the hype around easy answers for questioning little ones. I didn't get up the nerve to ask my folks about the whole Death and Dying topic, too busy chasing around the little monkey and keeping her out of trouble.
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| Grandma and Grandpa didn't get mad about the avocado on the wall... |
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| Hula hoops? Really?? |
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| Everything must come out of all boxes. Period. |
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| This includes suitcases. |
What I have noticed recently, is several of my bad habits:
- Saying "Bless you" whenever someone sneezes. Honestly, I can't seem to stop. It's great that my folks ingrained manners in me and all, but a bit hypocritical, no?
- Cursing, with "goddammit" and "Jesus Christ" being some of the most common.
- Using the phrase "Oh My God"
- Saying "Thank God" instead of "Thank goodness"...
But back to that paragraph. I actually wasn't raised by the stereotypical Jewish mother [The stereotype generally involves a nagging, overprotective, manipulative, controlling, smothering, and overbearing mother or wife, one who persists in interfering in her children's lives long after they have become adults--Thank you, Wikipedia!!]. I think my father was...and perhaps even my mother was. Overbearing? Perhaps...but they're very non-confrontational. To a fault, perhaps. Kinda like pulling teeth to actually get them to talk about anything serious. But somehow, there is still this hardwired thread of staunch resistance within me, which I think was brought out even more by living in places where being Jewish wasn't common. Especially around the winter holidays. The start of Christmas carols in Oct/Nov makes me tense, and suddenly quite aware of not being a part of the majority. Living in North Carolina for 4 years might have made me feel more "Jewish" than my upbringing (after Hebrew school was over and done, that is...). And it's been a bit perpetuated living here in Ottawa now. At least Seinfeld helped others get my sense of humour...
As for turning out successful progeny...now THAT is something I can get behind. Trent (husband) and I have talked about this as one of the best parts of Jewish culture--the importance of academics. We were both geeks growing up. And my parents never had to push me regarding grades, I was a good student. Mind you, I was lazy until grad school, because I KNEW I was smart, and didn't have to work too hard to pull As and Bs. {Had I actually put my mind to it or been pushed a bit more, I may have done even better, but it's not like it is today for kids applying to college. Anyway, tangent. Sorry. } So is that what I want Ellie to get from my heritage? "Study hard, kid, this is how our people survived the pyramids, the Pharoahs, the holocaust, the blacklisting, ..."
OK I am most certainly rambling. It's late and the little darling has been asleep for 3 hours. I'm off to join her.
parenting styles
There was this article in the WSJ last week that my husband passed on to me for the sake of discussion, and the responses on Huffington post were too numerous to even follow. This, of course, was the article that caught my attention
Chinese Moms v. Jewish mothers
Sigh...once again, I started this post a week ago...am just going to post and start over.
Chinese Moms v. Jewish mothers
Sigh...once again, I started this post a week ago...am just going to post and start over.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Did my parents cheat (regarding) death?
OK so here's something that popped into my mind whilst I was putting Eleanor to bed last night...Jews don't believe in heaven, let's start there...Since we/they are still waiting for the messiah, everything after death is still just unknown. Generally speaking, the common thread is that people live on in your memories of them. But no resurrection, no heaven, no nothin...
So why do I have memories of telling my little cousin that Nana Sally was looking down on us from Heaven???
Once again, I'm getting ahead of myself. The first time I had to deal with death, I was 10 years old. Our family dog, Missy, had hit the ripe age of 14, and it was time to let her go. My parents (not their best judgment, if you ask me) allowed her to survive through my 10th birthday and then my dad took her the following morning (without telling me, without letting me say goodbye, etc). I think they just didn't want to ruin my birthday, but come on!
Anyway, I vaguely recall my father trying to calm my inevitable hysteria by telling me that Missy was in a better place, that she was running in a field, not feeling any pain,...you know the drill.
I guess, in spite of the years of Hebrew school, this somehow became part of what made sense to me...so much so that I found myself explaining it to my little cousin when I was somewhere around 14 and she was around 4 when our great-grandmother, Sally, passed away. I remember people gathering to sit shiva (7 days of mourning, traditional Jewish practice), and I remember Jo asking me where Nana was...I can only assume that no one else overheard my explanation, since she had gotten a little freaked out by all the people and was crouched in a corner of the walk-in closet when my explanation happened, so no one corrected me in my overgeneralization...but still, is it OK that my parents applied a totally Christian belief to the dog, thus completely avoiding having to answer more questions? It's a little weird, and I never really put it together until recently.
Death is probably the biggest hurdle we have to cross with our little ones, eh? Trying not to scare them, but allowing them to feel pain and sadness at loss and making sure they know that that is OK...
Posting this now, though it's from 3 days ago. I really have to get over thinking that I'll get back to my same frame of mind after a couple of days dealing with nap-less-ness...ah well...
So why do I have memories of telling my little cousin that Nana Sally was looking down on us from Heaven???
Once again, I'm getting ahead of myself. The first time I had to deal with death, I was 10 years old. Our family dog, Missy, had hit the ripe age of 14, and it was time to let her go. My parents (not their best judgment, if you ask me) allowed her to survive through my 10th birthday and then my dad took her the following morning (without telling me, without letting me say goodbye, etc). I think they just didn't want to ruin my birthday, but come on!
Anyway, I vaguely recall my father trying to calm my inevitable hysteria by telling me that Missy was in a better place, that she was running in a field, not feeling any pain,...you know the drill.
I guess, in spite of the years of Hebrew school, this somehow became part of what made sense to me...so much so that I found myself explaining it to my little cousin when I was somewhere around 14 and she was around 4 when our great-grandmother, Sally, passed away. I remember people gathering to sit shiva (7 days of mourning, traditional Jewish practice), and I remember Jo asking me where Nana was...I can only assume that no one else overheard my explanation, since she had gotten a little freaked out by all the people and was crouched in a corner of the walk-in closet when my explanation happened, so no one corrected me in my overgeneralization...but still, is it OK that my parents applied a totally Christian belief to the dog, thus completely avoiding having to answer more questions? It's a little weird, and I never really put it together until recently.
Death is probably the biggest hurdle we have to cross with our little ones, eh? Trying not to scare them, but allowing them to feel pain and sadness at loss and making sure they know that that is OK...
Posting this now, though it's from 3 days ago. I really have to get over thinking that I'll get back to my same frame of mind after a couple of days dealing with nap-less-ness...ah well...
Friday, January 14, 2011
A Rosen by any other name...
OK, so I was trying to figure out exactly what about being raised Jewish is really a part of my identity. When I think about my sense of self, what parts of "me" do I actually associate with Jewishness, in general? It just seemed a natural way to connect with people when I was living in NYC. The sense of humour, the intonations with a slight Yiddish bent, the constant looking for a bargain ;)
But I think perhaps I should start back a bit further...
First of all, my maiden name is Rosen. Which is like the Jewish version of Smith. And I never really thought about that growing up in Miami, FL, because really, there was a little bit of everything. My graduating class was about 800 people, and a total melting pot. I was a debate geek, as were most of my friends: Jewish, Hispanic, Asian, African-American, and of course, the average white kid mixed in for fun. The common factor being that we were, for the most part, in Honors and AP classes, and we all liked getting out of school to go to competitions (we were a nationally renowned team, which was pretty awesome). Then in college (Syracuse), same thing. Mixture of friends, different backgrounds, but religion never really came into it, beyond the late-night philosophy sessions...
And then I decided to go to graduate school in Iowa City, IA. Suddenly, being Jewish was a rarity. Imagine my surprise at realizing that I was the first Jewish person that my best buddy, Monica, had ever met! She was very curious, and I realized I had to step it up a little in order to answer her questions. My thesis advisor was an MOT as well, but I think we were the only ones. Granted, I really only knew our small department, and the few people I met outside of classes like my housemates...
My first real eye-opener: I was doing my hours in the hearing clinic. Back before digital hearing aids, we would have a chance, as a university clinic, to test patients with 3 or 4 different types of hearing aids to see which ones they did best with. So I was working with this older gentleman, and Monica was across the room with a different patient. After about 90 minutes with the man, we started going over his results and talking about which hearing aids would be best for him. His off-the-cuff remark to me, " Wow, they really try to Jew ya with the prices of these hearing aids".
Whoa.
He wasn't trying to be an ass, I don't think. Though it seemed apparent to ME, wearing my last name on my nametag, I suppose it was just common discourse. Monica ran over to me after he was gone asking if I was OK...and admitted that she'd used the term growing up, just because she never knew it applied to real people, it was just the phrase she learned. Which I think was pretty big of her to own up to...
The other odd thing was when one of my professors gave me a hard time about switching a group project due date as it fell on Yom Kippur weekend. I just remember her asking the class with exasperation, " Does anyone else have a problem with this date?"....ummm....no....I am the only Jew here...
Generally speaking, Iowa City was a liberal haven in the midwest, but it really was the first time I'd felt my Jewishness as something a bit, well, extraordinary, I suppose. It really made me think about how I identified myself. There's a bit of pride, I think, at being a part of a people/culture who have been persecuted for so long by so many. You know that Tom Lehrer song National Brotherhood Week?(you can listen to it here if you don't know it...), "...And everybody hates the Jews"...There's something in my identity with that fatalistic, self-depricating sense of humour, and this was really the first time that I wasn't surrounded by more of the same...
Monday, January 10, 2011
Secular Judaism? Is that like Jumbo Shrimp?
Neither really sound too kosher to me.
So I've come across a few references to "secular Judaism" recently...all the culture, none of the God stuff? Not sure how I feel about this...But it's made me think a lot about what, if anything, I WOULD like Ellie to experience as a technical MOT (Member of the Tribe). What parts about being raised as a "nice Jewish girl" are worth passing on? How much of that is based in Judaism, versus basic parenting?
Let me just start by saying that I am, by no means, an expert in Talmudic studies or Jewish history...I had a good foundation as a little kid, but let's face it, that was a looooong time ago. Considering how much I tried to distance myself from all that as I got older, I now find myself fascinated by theology. Perhaps a part of me has always been curious, as a science-geek and avid reader, I have read a fair amount of fiction with religious themes, be they farce (Good Omens), dark comedy (Towing Jehovah), children's books (Narnia, of course, but also His Dark Materials), historical fiction (The Red Tent), and more.
But right now, I really just need to figure what parts of my Jewish heritage has meaning, to me, that's worth passing on to her. And that means looking a little deeper than I have in awhile.
So I've come across a few references to "secular Judaism" recently...all the culture, none of the God stuff? Not sure how I feel about this...But it's made me think a lot about what, if anything, I WOULD like Ellie to experience as a technical MOT (Member of the Tribe). What parts about being raised as a "nice Jewish girl" are worth passing on? How much of that is based in Judaism, versus basic parenting?
Let me just start by saying that I am, by no means, an expert in Talmudic studies or Jewish history...I had a good foundation as a little kid, but let's face it, that was a looooong time ago. Considering how much I tried to distance myself from all that as I got older, I now find myself fascinated by theology. Perhaps a part of me has always been curious, as a science-geek and avid reader, I have read a fair amount of fiction with religious themes, be they farce (Good Omens), dark comedy (Towing Jehovah), children's books (Narnia, of course, but also His Dark Materials), historical fiction (The Red Tent), and more.
But right now, I really just need to figure what parts of my Jewish heritage has meaning, to me, that's worth passing on to her. And that means looking a little deeper than I have in awhile.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
To Jew, or not to Jew...Jew know what I mean?
OK, so here's the scoop. This past holiday season totally stressed me out and I've been desperately trying to figure out how I want to raise Ellie ethically, but without religion.
Wait, let me back up...
Hi. I'm Melanie. I'm a 36 year old mama to a lovely little monkey named Eleanor. I've said for years that I'm a "recovering Jew", but perhaps that's not really fair. I'm married to a wonderfully patient man, Trent. He's a "recovering Catholic". You can see where this is going, right?
For a long time, I didn't give much thought about what it meant to have been "raised Jewish". Well, except that for much of my life, I lived in places with a good percentage of other Jews (Miami,FL; New York,NY), so I guess I just kinda took it for granted ('til I lived in Raleigh, NC and Iowa City, IA). I only ever dated one Jewish boy. For 2 weeks in college. Basically just to be able to tell my family, "Hey, I tried". He had asthma and was allergic to the handmade sweaters my mother made me. Destined for failure.
I feel like I should back up a little more. Don't worry, I won't go back the whole 5771 years.
My father was raised in a kosher home. Though not Orthodox, his upbringing was much more conservative than my mother's. He didn't have lobster until he was 21. His father, my Zeida, passed away a few months before I was born. His mother, my Baba Vicki, survived into my 30s. She was perhaps the meanest, most spiteful person I've ever met. She epitomized every BAD stereotype you've ever heard about Jewish mothers. She was awful to my mom, and essentially stopped speaking to me when I got my first tattoo. My father still attends temple on the high holidays.
My mother is Jewish, but was raised much more reformed. No bat-mitzvah. But the culture is there, as is the ability to make any meat tasteless (sorry, Ma). Her grandparents, Abe and Sophie Lipshitz, were every GOOD stereotype you ever heard about Jewish grandparents. I was lucky to know them both into my 20s.
So when my parents wed, my Baba was horrified that her baby boy wasn't going to live in a kosher home, even though my mother was "a nice Jewish girl", and she made it pretty tough on both my parents. Long story short, my parents moved from NY to FL 3 months after I was born. I was raised Jewish, to the extent that I attended Hebrew Day School from preschool through Grade 3: half the day was Hebrew and religious studies, the rest was English and everything else.
Have you ever gone to Hebrew school? Have you ever been sent HOME from Hebrew school for taking Oreos to school (before they were kosher--they used to be made with lard)? Ever been teased/mocked by a bunch of rich, snotty Jewish kids? Let's just say these were NOT my favorite childhood moments. I was a skinny little kid with a big nose, a shy disposition, and I asked "why?"...a lot.
By the time I was 10, I was begging my parents to let me go to public school. And after apparently being a kid who was fluent enough to talk in her sleep in Hebrew (yep), I promptly put it all behind me and was enrolled in a "normal" school for grade 4. So all of a sudden, I had all these questions for my folks: who's this Santa guy? why do they get all their presents at once? can we have a Hannukah bush?
By the time I was approaching 13, we had to talk Bat Mitzvah. I told my father, quite honestly, I must say, that I didn't think I WANTED a bat-mitzvah, that I didn't know if I believed in all that. It's a pretty big deal, to say you're ready to take your place as an adult member of the Jewish community at 13. Not only that, a big party meant having to invite friends...and I didn't HAVE a lot of friends (just because I changed schools didn't make me suddenly less shy, less gawky, or more popular)!
The response from my father: Are you TRYING to kill your grandmother?...Look. Have the bat-mitzvah, and I'll never make you go back to temple again
Done.
So I've been back to temple a handful of times, either for weddings or by virtue of being guilted into it by my best friend in NYC, Julie. And I'm Jewish the way Seinfeld is Jewish. The culture is there, for sure. I can still read Hebrew, though I don't know what it means anymore (I had actually forgotten most of it in the 3 years of public school). Movies about the holocaust make me queasy. I worked as a consulting educational audiologist for 2 years in Monsey, NY, which has a very large Orthodox/Hassidic population. I knew not to shake the men's hands, nor to make eye contact, show my tattoos, or wear hot pink so as not to make anyone uncomfortable. There are still Yiddish words in my vocabulary.
When I met Trent, it wasn't like I was uber-Jew. When we decided to get married, there wasn't much discussion about any religion. He had gone to Catholic school because it was a good school, and to Tufts for the same reason. He had no qualms about keeping religion out of things. , We eloped and wrote our own ceremony, which included a couple things from a couple of different religions. We broke a glass because I think that's a cool way to symbolize the fragility of the marriage that we were beginning.
So all this is a long-winded background as to why I have started a new blog. It's a new year. Trent and I have been married since 2006 and in September 2008, we moved from NYC to Ottawa, ON. Now keep in mind, in NY, we lived in 700 square feet. And come on. It was NYC. There was no lack of things to do for a Jew on Christmas--Chinese food and a movie, baby! But Christmas time was always a bit frustrating for a Jewish kid, no matter if I was non-practicing. The music starts in the stores right after Halloween, and it's like there's this big party that you're not invited to. Well, with Trent around, and in our new "grown up" house in Ottawa, I figured I could cater the party, even if it wasn't for me. I surprised him with a tree (another story for another time, but suffice it to say that the dog basically ate a branch a day, earning her the nickname The Dog Who Ate Christmas.
In February 2010, we welcomed little Miss Eleanor into our lives. And all of a sudden, I went into full-out, hard core panic mode as to how on Earth we were going to raise an ethical and moral child without religion, without this kind of community or identity.
Well, that's not entirely true. It didn't happen right away. There were a few times when it would cross my mind But as the holiday season approached and we had to start fielding questions from relatives on both sides (What does Ellie want for Hannukah/Christmas? Will you be lighting the menorah with her? Will you get a photo of her on Santa's lap? ...), it sort of hit me that I really hadn't figured out how I wanted to handle all of this. I went into Super-Jew mode and made fresh latkes, downloaded the Hannukah prayers (I could only remember 2 of the 3!), and we lit the candles 4 of the 8 nights (a record for me in the last 25 years, I think).
Lighting the Menorah
And then we prepared for a trip to the States to see my husband's family. And the Christmas frenzy began in earnest. This kid wracked up more loot than I've ever seen.
Both Trent and I consider ourselves pretty down-to-Earth in terms of not buying into the consumerism (pun intended), for the most part. Especially for a 9 or 10 mo old little person who really does enjoy the boxes and paper more than the presents...but how do you handle everyone ELSE!?
We talked about it a lot on the way home--it's easy with a 12 hour car trip...And I really had to get my head on straight as to how I felt about all this stuff, before I could hope to convey a clear message of some sort to Eleanor as she grows up. I dove into (re-) reading Parenting Beyond Belief and thus, the birth of a new blog.
Join me, as I muddle through the big questions while dealing with a very sweet little person. She's still too young to talk, yet, so I figure I'm ahead of the game for the time being. May the Force be with us....
Wait, let me back up...
Hi. I'm Melanie. I'm a 36 year old mama to a lovely little monkey named Eleanor. I've said for years that I'm a "recovering Jew", but perhaps that's not really fair. I'm married to a wonderfully patient man, Trent. He's a "recovering Catholic". You can see where this is going, right?
For a long time, I didn't give much thought about what it meant to have been "raised Jewish". Well, except that for much of my life, I lived in places with a good percentage of other Jews (Miami,FL; New York,NY), so I guess I just kinda took it for granted ('til I lived in Raleigh, NC and Iowa City, IA). I only ever dated one Jewish boy. For 2 weeks in college. Basically just to be able to tell my family, "Hey, I tried". He had asthma and was allergic to the handmade sweaters my mother made me. Destined for failure.
I feel like I should back up a little more. Don't worry, I won't go back the whole 5771 years.
My father was raised in a kosher home. Though not Orthodox, his upbringing was much more conservative than my mother's. He didn't have lobster until he was 21. His father, my Zeida, passed away a few months before I was born. His mother, my Baba Vicki, survived into my 30s. She was perhaps the meanest, most spiteful person I've ever met. She epitomized every BAD stereotype you've ever heard about Jewish mothers. She was awful to my mom, and essentially stopped speaking to me when I got my first tattoo. My father still attends temple on the high holidays.
My mother is Jewish, but was raised much more reformed. No bat-mitzvah. But the culture is there, as is the ability to make any meat tasteless (sorry, Ma). Her grandparents, Abe and Sophie Lipshitz, were every GOOD stereotype you ever heard about Jewish grandparents. I was lucky to know them both into my 20s.
So when my parents wed, my Baba was horrified that her baby boy wasn't going to live in a kosher home, even though my mother was "a nice Jewish girl", and she made it pretty tough on both my parents. Long story short, my parents moved from NY to FL 3 months after I was born. I was raised Jewish, to the extent that I attended Hebrew Day School from preschool through Grade 3: half the day was Hebrew and religious studies, the rest was English and everything else.
Have you ever gone to Hebrew school? Have you ever been sent HOME from Hebrew school for taking Oreos to school (before they were kosher--they used to be made with lard)? Ever been teased/mocked by a bunch of rich, snotty Jewish kids? Let's just say these were NOT my favorite childhood moments. I was a skinny little kid with a big nose, a shy disposition, and I asked "why?"...a lot.
By the time I was 10, I was begging my parents to let me go to public school. And after apparently being a kid who was fluent enough to talk in her sleep in Hebrew (yep), I promptly put it all behind me and was enrolled in a "normal" school for grade 4. So all of a sudden, I had all these questions for my folks: who's this Santa guy? why do they get all their presents at once? can we have a Hannukah bush?
By the time I was approaching 13, we had to talk Bat Mitzvah. I told my father, quite honestly, I must say, that I didn't think I WANTED a bat-mitzvah, that I didn't know if I believed in all that. It's a pretty big deal, to say you're ready to take your place as an adult member of the Jewish community at 13. Not only that, a big party meant having to invite friends...and I didn't HAVE a lot of friends (just because I changed schools didn't make me suddenly less shy, less gawky, or more popular)!
The response from my father: Are you TRYING to kill your grandmother?...Look. Have the bat-mitzvah, and I'll never make you go back to temple again
Done.
So I've been back to temple a handful of times, either for weddings or by virtue of being guilted into it by my best friend in NYC, Julie. And I'm Jewish the way Seinfeld is Jewish. The culture is there, for sure. I can still read Hebrew, though I don't know what it means anymore (I had actually forgotten most of it in the 3 years of public school). Movies about the holocaust make me queasy. I worked as a consulting educational audiologist for 2 years in Monsey, NY, which has a very large Orthodox/Hassidic population. I knew not to shake the men's hands, nor to make eye contact, show my tattoos, or wear hot pink so as not to make anyone uncomfortable. There are still Yiddish words in my vocabulary.
When I met Trent, it wasn't like I was uber-Jew. When we decided to get married, there wasn't much discussion about any religion. He had gone to Catholic school because it was a good school, and to Tufts for the same reason. He had no qualms about keeping religion out of things. , We eloped and wrote our own ceremony, which included a couple things from a couple of different religions. We broke a glass because I think that's a cool way to symbolize the fragility of the marriage that we were beginning.
So all this is a long-winded background as to why I have started a new blog. It's a new year. Trent and I have been married since 2006 and in September 2008, we moved from NYC to Ottawa, ON. Now keep in mind, in NY, we lived in 700 square feet. And come on. It was NYC. There was no lack of things to do for a Jew on Christmas--Chinese food and a movie, baby! But Christmas time was always a bit frustrating for a Jewish kid, no matter if I was non-practicing. The music starts in the stores right after Halloween, and it's like there's this big party that you're not invited to. Well, with Trent around, and in our new "grown up" house in Ottawa, I figured I could cater the party, even if it wasn't for me. I surprised him with a tree (another story for another time, but suffice it to say that the dog basically ate a branch a day, earning her the nickname The Dog Who Ate Christmas.
In February 2010, we welcomed little Miss Eleanor into our lives. And all of a sudden, I went into full-out, hard core panic mode as to how on Earth we were going to raise an ethical and moral child without religion, without this kind of community or identity.
Well, that's not entirely true. It didn't happen right away. There were a few times when it would cross my mind But as the holiday season approached and we had to start fielding questions from relatives on both sides (What does Ellie want for Hannukah/Christmas? Will you be lighting the menorah with her? Will you get a photo of her on Santa's lap? ...), it sort of hit me that I really hadn't figured out how I wanted to handle all of this. I went into Super-Jew mode and made fresh latkes, downloaded the Hannukah prayers (I could only remember 2 of the 3!), and we lit the candles 4 of the 8 nights (a record for me in the last 25 years, I think).
Lighting the Menorah
And then we prepared for a trip to the States to see my husband's family. And the Christmas frenzy began in earnest. This kid wracked up more loot than I've ever seen.
Both Trent and I consider ourselves pretty down-to-Earth in terms of not buying into the consumerism (pun intended), for the most part. Especially for a 9 or 10 mo old little person who really does enjoy the boxes and paper more than the presents...but how do you handle everyone ELSE!?
We talked about it a lot on the way home--it's easy with a 12 hour car trip...And I really had to get my head on straight as to how I felt about all this stuff, before I could hope to convey a clear message of some sort to Eleanor as she grows up. I dove into (re-) reading Parenting Beyond Belief and thus, the birth of a new blog.
Join me, as I muddle through the big questions while dealing with a very sweet little person. She's still too young to talk, yet, so I figure I'm ahead of the game for the time being. May the Force be with us....
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