How confused in the world do you feel right now?

Maror is the bitter food we eat on Passover to remind us of, you guessed it, the bitterness of our once upon an enslavement.

“The life of Sara” is the portion in which she dies. Avraham buries her, he cries too. Sara, our foremother, says the Zohar, is a metaphor for the body, Avraham, our forefather, the soul. The body is buried, the soul carries on (literally).

Living with the times is synthesizing the weekly Parsha into my life.

My high-school Chumash teachers tried this with a corny section on their tests entitled,

“From where do you learn”—

In this week's Parsha, Shemot, Moses meets G-d.

Uncommonly, in a burning thorn bush.

The bush burns but it does not get consumed. "V'hasneh Anenu Ukal"

If we feel disconnected, it's not because we are a mess, but because the world is (by design) upside down. It's because disconnection- is a feature, not a bug.

Look it in the eye

Face it

Don’t deny

In 2021 I skied for the first time in 21 years. Arriving at Alta mountain in Utah with Eliyahu and Menny, I put on a confident show. In reality, my heart was thumping out fear.

If you don't get everything you want, think of the things you don't get that you don't want- Oscar Wilde.

In life, it’s about perspective.

Famous words in this week’s Torah Portion: Lech Lecha. 

God tells Avraham: Go for yourself. 

Rashi, who is basic, explains: Go for your own benefit and your own good. 

You don’t need anyone else to validate you.

You are an adult.

Validate yourself and move on.

I feel seen. It's a throwaway line on social media comments, even if it is to poke fun; feeling seen feels good. 

Never Again is the response echoed throughout my life.

The Rebbe, childless, clasped into his bosom a broken generation, holding them tight with a healing vision. Moshiach Now.

Sitting on the porch swing, Eliyahu and I were spending time alone with Henia. Although planning to spend time with each child is highly rated, it wasn’t a planned thing.

It is Azalea season in Georgia. These colorful flowers nestled in bushes dot the landscape all over town. If you know anything about me, you know that I have a deep and passionate love for nature, and especially flowers. 

I have upwards of 250 notes on my phone. Musings, journaling, comments, kids’ cute quotes, frustrations, and dreams. I found this note from six years ago and am repurposing it as a letter to myself, sharing it with you in case you need to hear it as well.

This past weekend we celebrated Menny's Bar Mitzvah. Our last Bar Mitzvah was our first celebration with a drive-through and few guests, the albatross of this pandemic.

These flowers are more than just a scene; they are my dream. Ask my sisters, they will tell you, all I ever want out of my physical space is somewhere filled with natural beauty upon which to rest my eyes.

I am a cliche'. I pull my sourdough starter out of the fridge each Thursday morning since quarantine and then set it on the counter. It lies there idle. Flat. There is no sound. It's dead. I feed it.

At some point, I learned to trust
to believe that my husband’s dreams were his to own
and he could navigate them alone