Alpha Readers, Passover, and Paci-over?

Hope everyone had/is having a wonderful Easter, Passover, and beginning of spring. We're on Day 7 of Passover at our house and I'm proud to say I'm still hanging with the dietary restrictions thus far. My track record during pregnancy is slightly blemished in this regard: when I was prego with Monkey I fell off the wagon around Day 6 after getting the distinct feeling that I would burst into flames if I didn't have a bagel immediately.

[As an aside, DH has a new theory that since the Israelites ate unleavened bread because they didn't have time to wait for it to rise before leaving Egypt, a more appropriate modern equivalent would be eating ONLY fast food for 8 days. I see a couple of issues with this, including both the health implications and the oddity of gathering around for a seder with a bunch of Burger King value meals. If he gets any rabbinical support for the idea, though, I'll keep you posted.]

Passover is all about freedom from slavery, and I always like to take advantage of the opportunity to examine the things that enslave me: especially bad habits, outdated ways of thinking, and even the overabundance of choices in my life that can sometimes be paralyzing in themselves. Of course, it's also a wonderful opportunity to be with family and friends and take stock of what is most important -- the things I would bring with me if I suddenly had to leave my current life with no time for the bread to rise.

In the realm of bad habits, we also decided that Passover was an appropriate time to try breaking Monkey of his pacifier addiction. He has only ever used a pacifier for sleeping and naps, and months ago gave it up for naps at school when I forgot to send it in with him for a week. But we've noticed lately that it is taking longer and longer for him to give it up after waking up in the morning, and I'm getting concerned that we missed our window to take it away before he got too attached. On top of potential orthodontic and speech issues, we'd like to avoid having that kid who is four or five and still using a 'binky.' So, yesterday we took him to pick out a "big boy toy" -- a drill and hammer set, nice -- and this morning allowed him to play with it after saying "bye-bye" to all his pacis and putting them in a bag.

Everything went great with the plan until nap time. He cried for almost 45 minutes, saying "paci" the whole time, and we totally caved. In preparation for this experiment, I'd read lots of stories online from moms who tried this technique -- usually on a slightly older child -- and the results were far better. The stories often ended with something to the effect of, "He asked for it once and we reminded him he'd given it away, so he calmed down and went right to sleep." NOT the case today.

I can't decide if he's not ready/old enough to give it up yet, or if selfishly, I'm just not ready to give up the easy nap. I almost always start out his nap time with a sizable list of things to get done while he sleeps, and listening to his tortured cries for an hour is pretty much never on the list. At any rate, once I handed over paci, he lay down and went right to sleep. So we're going to regroup and try another strategy in a week or two. My overall goal is to follow the advice of his pediatrician and get rid of it by age two, just under two months away. Tick, tock.

Finally, a book update: 'The Marriage Pact,' (working title) is almost complete in first-draft form, and I am collecting all kinds of feedback from my Alpha Readers, for which I am most grateful. We are finding character inconsistencies, plot holes and annoying phrases. One trusted friend and fellow English major has helped me identify a couple of key themes, and taken me to task for my myriad abuses against semi-colons. I haven't had this kind of feedback since I was part of a writer's group in Portland, and I have to admit it's been really fun.

I am beginning the first major revision now, hoping to have something readable in the next few weeks. I'd also like to express my gratitude to many of you who have volunteered to read the book and haven't yet been asked to do so -- I'll definitely be looking forward to your thoughts a little later in the process. In the meantime, if you haven't already done so, please visit  www.facebook.com/MJPullenbooks and click the "like" button at the top right to show your support, and follow all the latest!  

Love and Finding Home

Today was a fantastic day. If you live in or near Atlanta, you know that the weather was absolutely perfect today - sunny and low-60's. And since Sunday is our family day (the only day neither of us works), we got to enjoy the wonderful weather together.

First on our agenda, we went to a brunch at our synagogue for prospective new members. I don't often talk about our synagogue life, but today we were 'representing' young families, so I had the chance to briefly tell our story, while Monkey ran around the room like a crazy person. I realized as I was fumbling through it why talking about our synagogue always gets me so emotional; it's because our relationship with our shul has pretty much paralleled our relationship with each other.

When DH and I decided to spend our lives together and I realized that Judaism was my true religious home, our synagogue was the first place where we both felt truly welcome. Our rabbis (who are an amazing married couple from South America and two of the smartest, warmest people I know) instantly embraced us and have followed us on our journey ever since. Rabbi Analia guided me through my studies and helped me prepare for the Mikveh (ritual bath of conversion). Both Analia and Rabbi Mario served on my Bet Din (conversion panel), along with another amazing rabbi who is a member of our congregation.

Together they conducted our wedding ceremony, which our Jewish and Christian friends alike felt was a beautiful, moving and spiritual experience. We still frequently say to one another the special words that Analia shared with us that day, "If I had to choose again, I would choose you. Every day."

After brunch, we made our way back to another sacred space -- or at least a beloved space that represents something sacred  -- our favorite trail alongside the Chattahoochee. I have been walking that trail regularly for more than three years. It's meant lots of fresh air, burned calories, time with nature, several audiobooks, and lots of great conversations with my walking buddies. Last year, when I was training for the Avon walk, I must have covered those same 3.2-ish miles more than 100 times.

But for the last few months, with the move and the toddler-chaos and the weather, that favorite space has been neglected. Like an old friend, I've taken it for granted. When we went back today, we both noticed lots of little changes (new gravel, new plantings); and I also noticed that it was especially sweet to be there after so long. With all the transition in our lives lately, it felt like going home.

We don't get to the trail, or to synagogue, as often as we'd like. And yet, whenever we go either place, I feel more centered, and inspired to be just a little bit better than I was when I arrived. Nature never scolds me for my absence; the sounds of the birds and the soft breeze coming off the river are mine just for showing up that moment. And in our religious community, there are always warm smiles, hugs, and words of wisdom waiting for us when we walk in the door -- whether after a week or three months.

It occurs to me that our marriage is the same way (well, except that we see one another every day). Maybe we don't or can't always give one another our very best. But we find ways of reconnecting, and my sweet hubby is always inspiring and encouraging me to be a better person.

I guess that's what a home really is - a place where you are accepted and loved exactly the way you are, but also a jumping off point to become an even better you.

Oh, yeah, here's a picture of Monkey with a balloon.

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all... I hope you enjoy the day with someone who makes you feel at home.

The Grinch, Santa, and the Busy Post Office

I saw on the news this morning that today is the busiest day of the year at the post office; and of course I had an errand there that wouldn't wait. Needless to say, I was pretty much dreading the idea of waiting in line forever with a VERY active toddler -- that's pretty much a recipe for an enormous public meltdown.

I was dreading it even more because my errand was not dropping off cards or holiday packages, but mailing a certified letter warning our tenants that we'll have to start eviction proceedings if they can't get their rent in. Which made me feel a lot like the Grinch. [boo, hiss.....] In my defense, we aren't actually evicting them at Christmas, but still. It's not a position I ever wanted to be in, and not great timing for threats of legal action.

The Grinch feeling only increased as Monkey and I filed into line with everyone carrying cards and packages for loved ones. It was like the letters in my hand were slowly becoming radioactive. I found myself re-explaining to me how lenient and understanding we have been with our tenants so far; reminding myself that we've given them plenty of opportunities, done lots for charity this season, etc., etc.

Then my mood improved substantially because Monkey started aggressively playing peekaboo with and blowing kisses to the people in front of and behind us. He's such a little ham, and it was hard not to laugh at him -- and soon we were chatting happily with the lady in front of us, who is missing her own grandchildren and seemed to enjoy a bit of a baby fix. She also kept Monkey engaged and happy, and that helped all of us pass the long wait more easily. I was so grateful and all my Grinch feelings were back in perspective.

As we neared the front of the line, another little Christmastime dilemma arose as the nice lady in front of us asked a question I've had frequently this year and I'm sure will only get more often as I take my Irish-looking son around town. "Have you taken him to see Santa yet?"

This always makes me feel a little awkward, not in a deep theological sense, but in a basic conversational sense. We're Jewish, and while some Jews have absorbed the Santa tradition, we have not. So when I meet someone in passing who I will never see again, is it appropriate to fib my way through this question -- the same way you say "fine," when a stranger asks you how you're doing, even if you've had a crappy day and a vicious headache?

It's a tough call for such an innocuous and well-intended question. When people wish me Merry Christmas, I wish it right back. So what if I don't celebrate the holiday? Obviously that person does or they wouldn't say it, so I just receive it as a positive thing and reflect back their well-wishes. I think people of all faiths could benefit from being more flexible about how we show kindness to one another this time of year, instead of demanding that everyone conform to one particular understanding of the holiday(s).

On the other hand, answering a very specific question falsely to facilitate an easy conversation doesn't feel right, either. This lady did not say, "Hope Santa's good to you!" as we parted. She specifically asked if I had taken my son to see Santa. Even though he's not old enough to understand the question fully, I feel it's important to model honesty, and teach him not to be ashamed that our religion, culture and holiday observances may sometimes be unlike those around us.

My primary hesitation on being truthful in this circumstance is that I don't want to embarrass the person asking the question. I often feel that when I do clarify the fact that we're Jewish, in response to the assumption that we're Christian (a common one given the pasty Irish complexion and red hair), it makes the person asking the question feel as though she's been corrected. And, well, I guess she has.

In this case, I started with a simple no, and then she asked as a follow up, "I guess he's too young for that, huh?" So I went with the truth.

"We celebrated Hanukkah already, actually..."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" See? Totally embarrassed.

"No, that's alright. We did see a Santa at a church play with some friends last night, and he didn't show any interest, so I guess I'm off the hook for answering that difficult question for another year!" I tried to smile comfortably to let her know it was really okay that she'd asked.

It was awkward, and I could tell she felt a little bit bad as I wished her "Merry Christmas!" and stepped up to the counter. But maybe she learned something about her own assumptions that she can carry forward with her; and hopefully I got a little practice doing the uncomfortable, but right thing, because you know this won't be the last time I get that question! 

As I left the post office today I thought, wow, I'm glad we got here when we did. The line is out the door! But I also thought what a good lesson for this time of year, for both of us. For all of us:

Be proud of who you are. Be a friend to someone who needs it. And your true self is the best gift there is.

[Cue the violins! Pass the Kleenex!]



Merry Christmas to my Christian friends. Happy Kwanzaa to those who celebrate it (if any of you do celebrate Kwanzaa and don't find it intrusive, I would love to know more about your traditions). Happy Chinese food to my MOT friends, and happy warm thoughts to everyone.

The blog is going on a short break, but I'll see everyone bright and early in 2011!!

The Unfinished Business of Peas and Eggplant

In the process of packing today, I pulled some things out of a junk drawer I hadn't thought about in a while: six little blue and green ceramic vegetables. Two pea pods, two string beans and two eggplants. Anyone who has been in our house knows that I often have things stashed in unexpected places, but these little forgotten pieces gave me a moment's pause in the business of filling boxes.

These little ornaments have special meaning to me because they belonged to my friend Laura, who passed away five years ago. Her boyfriend gave them to me after her memorial service, and I was really touched that he and her family thought enough of me to offer me a little memento from among her possessions. I've never really known, however, what to do with them.

The ornaments are molded into the vegetable shapes on one side and flat on the other side, presumably designed to be glued or caulked to tile or some other surface. When they came to me, Laura's boyfriend explained that he knew she had plans for them in her kitchen, but didn't know exactly what. I accepted them gratefully even though I didn't have the first clue, either.

So they've sat in the junk drawer (at least they're in the right room!), waiting patiently for me to decide how to use them. When I pulled them out tonight, I thought about how Laura and I both have had unfulfilled intentions around these little objects. It got me wondering what other plans in her life were left incomplete when she died [though I will say she lived such a full life in her short 41 years, it's hard to imagine she had a long list of regrets]. Naturally I also started thinking about all the hopes and plans I have for my own life, and what would be left unfinished if my time on earth is suddenly cut short.

It's so easy to look at the calendar and assume that tomorrow will look more or less like yesterday, and that we have as much time as we think we need to accomplish the tasks of our lives. But whether it's a plan to write a novel, make a career change, travel the world, or just take a walk with someone you love.... time is always limited. And once that time is up, it's up -- with only our legacy left behind to speak of our intentions.

That legacy is not held in the assets to be distributed; but in the hearts we touch, the lives we change, the difference in the world because we were here. I'm lucky to be surrounded by memories of some wonderful people, who have taught me to be a better person in so many ways; and that is a small part of their legacy. But it can't end with me, either; and it's up to me to transform those ideas and qualities and pass them on -- to my kids and to others with whom I come in contact. I am also charged -- as I believe we all are -- to leave the world better than I found it in some small way. 

It reminds me of this:

Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it. (The Talmud)

Our time is limited, our responsibilities are great. Am I healing the world with my life, or adding to its grief? Am I doing my part or abandoning the work? Every action taken, every moment spent, contributes to my legacy in some way - whether tiny or enormous.  It's nice to be reminded of that, even while cleaning out the junk drawer. Maybe I really should try to find a more prominent place for those ceramic veggies!

One Sorry Blog

Rosh Hashanah has passed, Yom Kippur is on its way... It's time for the Apology Blog. I just read my blog from two years ago, and I could almost cut and paste, because I'm having many of the same feelings today. And I noticed that many of the wrongs to which I referred are pretty similar today, too -- so I guess some areas of my behaviors still need improvement. ;)

Gossip is still one of my major weaknesses. I think I've made improvements since 2008, but it's still one of those wrong things to do that just feels.... so right. In part, I come about this trait honestly. To this day I remember my mother quoting someone (Dolly Parton?), saying, "If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit by me." But it's also just because gossip is so delicious. It has lots of what those in the psychology world call "secondary reinforcers," which are side benefits that make habits hard to break.

Not only does the gossiper get to air his or her hurt/angry feelings, but most of us know that putting other people down often makes us feel a little better about ourselves (even for just a fleeting moment). Sometimes that little ego boost can be downright irresistible. And since gossip takes a minimum of two participants, it can also be a longed-for connection with other people. Who among us has not bonded with one person at the expense of someone else? It's selfish and wrong, but let's face it, it can be appealing -- especially when we're looking for common ground with a fellow purveyor of gossip. I think this is why gossip is such an easy sin to commit, and maybe why the Yom Kippur liturgy mentions it at least four times. [Insert sheepish grin here].

So, I'm sorry if I've gossiped about you (whether you knew it or not), and I'm sorry if I've enticed you into gossiping yourself by being a partner in crime.

And I'm sorry for all the times I've been late to meetings with you this year. I'm sorry for forgetting something important to you, for neglecting our relationship, and overlooking something about which you needed to talk.

I'm sorry for the times when you were talking, and instead of really listening, I was thinking about my own problems or planning what I was going to say in response.

I'm sorry I knowingly let your phone call go to voicemail because I thought I was too busy to talk, or too tired, or just caught up in my own little world. And I'm sorry for the exponentially greater number of times I missed your call because I'd turned my phone off and forgot to turn it back on or left it in another room, outside in the car, or under a pile of dirty laundry.

To the crazy lady who chewed me out at Costco a few weeks ago: I truthfully didn't intend to steal your parking place, but you're right -- I wasn't being polite and (when in doubt) I should have let you have the space. I could've apologized afterward, but your anger embarrassed me and I became defensive instead. I'm sorry.

To everyone I have hurt, intentionally or otherwise, and to everyone I have disappointed in so many ways this year, please know that my behaviors have not always been in line with my true feelings and accept my heartfelt apologies. I've said this before, but I mean it again, and I'm officially inviting anyone to whom I owe an apology or corrected behavior -- please let me know and let's talk about it.

This year, I also want to make amends to myself. To me: I'm sorry that I haven't let your dreams come to the forefront often enough. I'm sorry that I have let my worries about perfection and the expectations of others guide my actions rather than honoring you. Too often, I've given time to mindless TV, low-priority tasks and unimportant time-fillers. I've allowed my confidence to falter and measured myself against others, rather than nourishing my own dreams and giving them the time and energy they deserve. I owe you (me) more than that, and I'm sorry. I will try to make amends this year, by reminding myself more frequently and holding myself more accountable to... well, me.

I'm sure there are many more apologies to be made, to myself and to everyone else. But there's only so much one blog and one woman can do. And apologies are also about forgiveness -- forgiving those who have wronged me and forgiving myself for things I'm working on and things that are still outside my awareness. My flaws and limitations are all part of what makes me beautifully broken, a work in progress... human.

The Days of Awe; Plus a New Look for a New Year

It's the second day of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. So we are two days into 5771, as well as the High Holidays, otherwise known as Yamim Noraim (the Days of Awe). I love this time of year. The ten days from the start of Rosh Hashanah to the end of Yom Kippur are a time for reflection, time with family, and spiritual invigoration.

Unlike the secular/gregorian new year, the high holidays are not marked by fireworks and an excess of champagne, or by a Ryan Seacrest special [though it would be pretty funny to imagine that one].  Instead, we spend lots of time having meals with family, attending long temple services, and enjoying beautiful symbols of the season -- like pomegranate for fertility and good deeds, the round challah to represent the natural cycle of each year and each life, apples and honey for a sweet new year.

This is a time for both reaching out and turning inward. Connecting with family and friends. Reflecting back on the previous year and looking forward to the year ahead. During this time we are asked to account for our mistakes from the past year, make amends when possible and move forward on a better path. These are not really new year's resolutions -- at least, not in the dieting and budget-balancing sense -- but a more subtle and spiritual realignment of priorities. I feel compelled at the high holidays to really think about my role in the world and how I could improve my performance in that role. Well, not compelled, really. Inspired.

This introspection and self-correction culminates during the fast of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. On that day, we have the opportunity to leave behind worldly concerns -- like food and hygiene -- and instead focus on holding ourselves accountable for all our transgressions. [More on that later.] I also believe it's a time for forgiveness and letting go of wrongs that have been done to us, even those for which we've received no apology. Way, way, way easier said than done -- but I am going to try.


Reflecting back on the past year, I see lots of blessings and a few challenges. There are achievements and some "growth opportunities" as well. For one thing, I know that there are many areas of my life that need deepening, rather than spreading out. A little more tortoise and a little less hare. And definitely less crazed headless chicken. A little more simplicity of habit, and complexity of thought. Fewer commitments, but more deeply committed. At least it sounds good in theory.

Our rabbis also talked this week about giving life to your dreams, and having the courage to pray for others' needs before your own -- even for something you want and need yourself. Right now I'm interpreting the former to mean giving time, energy and a sense of confidence to some dreams I have allowed to go on the back burner. And the latter, well -- it's simple enough, except for the execution. There's work to be done here, for sure.

My first task, however, is to work on holding myself accountable for the past year and making amends. And you know I'll be blogging about that, too.

**********************

Meanwhile, you might notice that I've also simplified the design of this blog. It's been three years, and it was time for an update. I hope the change makes it easier to read.

I hope everyone will enjoy a happy, healthy and sweet new year. L'Shanah Tovah.

A Decade in the Life: Part Three

Yep, Just Like on 'Sex in the City'

When I left Austin, I closed an important and treasured chapter of my life. My experiences there changed me forever; and frankly, I didn’t know what to expect on returning to Atlanta. As it turned out, a whole new era was about to begin.

Looking back, I know I met the man who is the love of my life once before I even moved back to Atlanta. I’d come home for a visit and to do some work for my friend’s company, where he happened to be working. I remember we had a nice conversation about New Orleans and I thought he was really cute, but that was about it.

Once I did move home, however, and we began working in the same place and hanging out with the same group of friends, it didn’t take long for me to figure out that the cute boy in the lab was a really incredible person himself. I could go on for a while about what makes him so special to me (and lots of other people), but that would embarrass him and bore everyone else.

As we began spending more time together, the primary tension in our relationship was that MD-future-H had always envisioned himself marrying someone Jewish. Someone born Jewish, actually. And so he only dated Jewish women, which obviously I was not. So we oscillated for a few months between dating and not dating [I think he broke up with me three times during this period]. And in the meantime, I found myself reading “Judaism for Dummies,” among other things.

I’d been on a path of spiritual searching for years (far longer than this blog covers), and my close-up experience with Catholicism in Austin had piqued my interest in ancient and ritual-focused religion. So as a relationship with a nice boy spurred me to learn more, I found myself drawn to Judaism at the deepest levels of my being. After further education and mutual soul-searching, MD-future-H and I decided that someone willing to consider conversion and someone willing to consider marrying a convert could make a go of a relationship.

From there, we just followed the path that seemed to be appearing at our feet with each step. We took a Derech Torah class as a precursor to my conversion, where we met lots of great people – some of whom were in the same situation we were, and many who have been our friends ever since. Soon I began studying with Rabbi Analia, one of the most wonderful and wise women I’ve known. She and her husband Mario lead the congregation where we’ve found our spiritual home.

We got engaged in February 2006; MDH knew how much I love Jane Austen, so he took me to see “Pride and Prejudice” at the Alliance Theater, and proposed at a quaint little Italian restaurant before the show. His wonderful family accepted me warmly, and they have never treated me any differently than they would a born Jew.

In May, Rabbi Analia decided I was ready. The Bet Din (conversion panel) and my submersion in the Mikvah (ritual bath) were incredible experiences that marked a whole new era in my life as a Jew-by-Choice. I’m honored to be part of the Jewish community. I am still learning, day by day, what it means to be Jewish, and particularly how to help lead a Jewish household. It will be a lifelong journey and I’m cherishing every moment.

In September 2006, our beloved Rabbis Mario and Analia presided over our beautiful garden wedding. When Analia talked about how my mom and Sam’s dad (who had also died suddenly in April 2002) were both with us in spirit, a sudden breeze blew the white tulle walls of our chuppah high in the otherwise calm air. It was chilling and lovely.

The last three years of my decade have been decidedly different from the first. There have been more losses – both grandmothers, my brother’s best friend, my first boss at the Catholic school (who was always really kind to me). But there have also been tremendous joys, achievements, new friendships and the deepening of old ones. I went back to grad school, completed my Master’s in Counseling and am enjoying the challenges of a new career, one that constantly drives me to reflect and question myself.

For me, the impulsive choices and perpetual newness of the early 2000’s have been replaced by a whole new kind of adventure. In June 2009, we expanded our family with the long-sought addition of our beautiful baby boy. He's an amazing little kid with a funny personality that is already beginning to emerge. Difficulty getting pregnant and the experience of undergoing fertility treatments has helped us -- if at all possible -- to treasure him even more.

I no longer characterize myself as a world traveler – though we did take a fantastic trip to Ireland when I got my counseling degree – but being a mother to our six-month-old son takes me to new places every day. And while no marriage is fail-proof, MDH and I work hard to secure ours to something larger than ourselves, so that we’re not left alone during those inevitable hard times.

And Two the cat is still hanging around, letting us know when the kiddo is crying (as though we can't hear him). She's a decade older than when she came into my life, but not too much worse for the wear. Our family has lots of big plans for the coming months and years; but if 2010-2019 is anything like this past decade, we'll mostly just be holding on tight and trying to enjoy the ride.

Humbled by a "Hunter"

Last night I had the privilege to see an incredible documentary about the extraordinary life of Simon Wiesenthal. Mr. Wiesenthal survived the Holocaust and imprisonment in several European concentration camps, and went on to become an infamous "Nazi Hunter," who helped track down and capture Nazi war criminals responsible for the deaths of millions of Jews and non-Jews alike. His lifelong search for information not only brought many perpetrators of atrocities to justice; but it also kept the reality of the Holocaust in the public eye at times when it was in danger of being swept under the rug.

If you watch the documentary, which I hope you will, you'll get a sense for how Wiesenthal did what he did, and all the struggles he experienced along the way. You'll also get some painful reminders of a shameful and horrendous part of human history, which I think we all need from time to time.

What struck me the most was the unswerving dedication to justice that was an integral part of Wiesenthal's life from the time of his "liberation" in 1945 until his death in 2005. Even though it kept him from having a normal life of his own, and subjected his family to long hours, unpopularity in their home country of Austria, and even direct attempts on his life, he persevered in seeking the justice he felt was his obligation as a survivor. His sense of justice and commitment to those who had perished around him became his life's mission. And he followed that mission exclusively until his death at 96.

Watching the movie clips from the concentration camps reminded me of standing on the soil at Auschwitz/Birknau in 1998 - and I once again felt the visceral impact that experience had on me, even 10 years later. I won't attempt to capture here what I felt in that place. But it's sort of like choking on grief and outrage and helplessness all at once.

After the film, I felt an overwhelming sense of being very, very small. The concerns that I felt before the movie -- what to pack for our holiday trip, whether to try to sell the condo, how to decorate the nursery -- seem not only trite, but they highlight how lucky and blessed we are to have what we have. G-d willing, I will never have to witness the brutal death of someone I love, I will never have to explain to my child why he or she has no living relatives, and my Jewish children will never live in fear because of who they are.

But perhaps most importantly, I hope I will never lose sight of my obligations to the rest of humanity. I have a responsibility to speak up against atrocities - like the ones currently happening in Darfur and the Congo -- by voicing my concerns to my representatives, supporting organizations that advocate for human rights, and even just mentioning these issues in my blog, so that maybe one or two of my readers might do the same.

I also think, that as privileged people (yes, we are -- even during hard times!) in a free country, one of our greatest responsibilities is to remember the horrors of the past and the plight of those in other parts of the world; to teach our kids the lessons of hatred and genocide; and to do our own small part to ensure that history does not repeat itself.

So join me, if you can, in taking a break from all the holiday madness this year -- the festivities, the fun, the fabulous gluttony -- and take up Mr. Wiesenthal's torch. We can help him keep his promise to the victims of the Holocaust (and victims of atrocities everywhere) that they will not be forgotten.

Visit the Simon Wiesenthal Center.

A Time to Heal

In the Jewish tradition, we are currently in the middle of the Days of Awe, the ten days between Rosh Hashanah (the new year) and Yom Kippur (the day of atonement). By Wednesday night, we'll be fasting, afflicting our bodies and souls to allow space for reflection and repentance.

Yom Kippur has always been one of my favorite holidays. Not because it's fun to go hungry and thirsty for 24 hours or to sway with dizziness while standing in synagogue near the end of the holiday... but because I love the idea of taking time out of our busy lives to try to right some of the wrongs we've caused throughout the previous year. It's a time not just to acknowledge our imperfections, but to really own them, and do our best to make amends for those who've been hurt by our stumblings and missteps.

Yom Kippur is a day of taking stock within ourselves, and taking time to make amends when possible. We have to fight off our impulse to view ourselves in the best possible light, to sweep errors and flaws under the rug. Instead, we have to get in touch with our humanity at its most broken and imperfect, and through this process allow ourselves the opportunity for redemption.

So, I apologize.

For all the hurt and inconvenience that my vanity, self-centeredness, scatter-brained behavior, crazy schedule, need to control, gossip and all my other flaws have caused, I am truly sorry.

To those that I hurt either knowingly or by accident, in big ways and small - I apologize. Sometimes my intentions have been good and my errors careless, and other times I have operated from vanity, laziness, jealousy and pettiness. I am sorry.

I am responsible for my impact on those that I love and those I do not know; and while I can never perfectly control that impact, I must always try to be aware of it and improve.

I invite those I have hurt or slighted in the past year to please let me know how I can make amends now or in the future. If I owe you an apology, a hug or a change in our relationship, please speak up and help me take responsibility.

To be honest, it's scary to open myself up and look at all the unpleasantness inside. But learning from mistakes and healing old wounds are the best ways to grow.

Besides, it's only once a year, right?