“I’ve been living in the Pico-Robertson area for a month now, and I must say I’m a little dizzy,” is how I began my first weekly column in the Jewish Journal 20 years ago this week.
I wrote that first column, titled “Welcome to the Hood,” on a whim, having no clue it might turn into a weekly gig that would keep going and going … and going.
I just kept writing.
The next column was titled, “Last Time the Shoulder No Good,” which I overheard a Persian woman tell a Hispanic butcher at Pico Glatt market.
I was writing about moving to a new neighborhood with endless wonders to discover. I figured it would end up being a monthly column, which felt more realistic.
But one day, after my youngest daughter said, “Daddy, my teacher really liked your column this week,” I was struck by a terrifying thought: If this weekly gig turns me into a hero with the kids, how will I ever stop?
So I just kept writing.
And as I did, the column went from being about a neighborhood to being all over the map. Now, I can’t attend any event, watch any movie, read any essay, discover any story, hear any conversation, see any news item without thinking, “this might be a column.”
Indeed, when I realized that this week marked the column’s 20th anniversary, I wondered if “this might be a column.”
If I had space for 10,000 words, I might do a retrospective of some of my favorite columns or, at least, those I felt stood out for some reason. But paper, unlike digital, is not forgiving. Space is limited.
So I’m compelled for the print edition to distill this nostalgia tour into a few observations I hope will hold your interest.
Holding your interest, in fact, is what most holds my interest. I may write something you disagree with, but I’m not allowed to write something I don’t think is interesting.
And I can’t be interesting unless I ask: “If I didn’t write this, would I want to read it?” For aspiring writers, this is a great exercise. That question has been responsible for endless drafts and edits you’ve never seen.
You can’t write a weekly column without being a mad listener. That’s how I overheard that Persian woman at the kosher market, or how I ended up writing the only column my kids remember (“Davening at Aishhhh”).
Being a mad listener also means listening to thoughts and ideas that may be far from your worldview — and still finding value in the experience.
The toughest thing to write about is surely current events, especially when so many are on edge and mired in political combat.
What’s tough, though, is not being honest and truthful. It’s saying something that feels fresh.
I can write a hundred honest columns on antisemitism that will feed your outrage, but if it sounds like you’ve heard it before, what’s the use?
This is my silent secret: while you may be deathly worried about antisemitism, I’m also deathly worried about not boring you.
Your time is your most valuable possession. As you read this column right now, you’re handing me a few minutes of that precious time. The least I can do is to show my gratitude by not wasting it.
There’s a crucial difference between new and news. People swim in news; I swim in new. News is an item; new is an aspiration.
Can I come up with something new about the news? A new twist on an old idea? A new take on Rosh Hashanah? Or Yom Kippur? Or community life? Or Jewish identity? Or antisemitism? Or anything about life that moves us?
As much as thinking helps me write, writing helps me think. I’ve always admired people who can talk in well-crafted sentences, as if they’ve written them out. I can’t. I’m more articulate on the page than in the random flow of live conversation.
If a column is a kind of conversation, then this column has been a 20-year conversation. I used to think that “one year” or “two years” or even “five years” would be more than enough, but after the column reached 10 years, I stopped thinking about milestones and just continued writing.
So, why do I write?
First, because I’m incorrigibly curious. The mix of a fascinatingly diverse Jewish community and a world that often feels like it’s coming apart offers this curious writer an endless number of column ideas.
And two, because it feels good to feel useful; to feel that I may be adding something new and interesting to people’s lives.
Speaking of new, what better time for this anniversary column than right before we begin celebrating the Jewish New Year?
Which means, of course, that now I have to come up with a new and scintillating take on Rosh Hashanah for next week’s holiday issue. This is already making me dizzy.
