In the past few weeks, I’ve been feeling nostalgic. It’s most likely a response to stress; waxing nostalgia has helped me evade feeling anxious lately over the deteriorating state of public safety in Los Angeles and the turmoil that is threatening to tear my beloved Israel apart at the seams (I would dedicate a column to the judicial crisis in Israel if I believed I had something new to add to the conversation).

Nostalgic escape partially explains why last week’s column made the case that menial summer jobs are a rite of passage for most teenagers. Few things are more nostalgic than reflecting on teen summer jobs. 

Last month, millions of women worldwide luxuriated in pink-tinged nostalgia with the release of the much-anticipated film “Barbie.” The movie is already a verifiable summer blockbuster, having grossed $162 million in its debut weekend.

I may feel that I don’t have much to add to the conversation about Israel today, but where Barbie is concerned, I believe I have some thoughts that are valuable, if only because they’re different. 

I belong to a group of former little girls for whom, due to financial constraints or having recently arrived to this country, access to just one Barbie doll was a privilege. I call us the “One Barbie-ers.” 

Unlike most of our friends, who had several Barbies, ample doll clothes and accessories, and even Barbie cars, horses and houses, we One Barbie-ers had, you guessed it, one Barbie, which we protected vigilantly, and one set of Barbie clothes, which we made sure to never damage (at least on purpose). Sometimes, by sheer luck, we were granted two Barbies, and our sense of wonder was matched only by our fear of losing one of them. 

For us, there was no cutting Barbie’s hair with forbidden scissors or experimenting with her head, neck or limbs. Our Barbie lived wherever we made her a home, including shoeboxes, and wore “new” clothes whenever we decided to turn her shirt, skirt or dress inside out. And as for having a Ken doll, we knew better than to ask for one. The addition of another doll in that shoe box would only have meant another mouth to feed.

I’m kidding. We didn’t have Ken dolls because if our parents gave us the choice of a second doll, we would have blissfully opted for another Barbie. Ken was nice, but he was the sensible loafers to Barbie’s glorious stilettos.

We weren’t victims, nor were we constantly deprived of even basic niceties. We simply didn’t have many Barbies because our parents lived more modestly, didn’t want their daughters playing with such dolls, or both.

One friend who grew up in the ’80s in a lower-middle class home learned to tolerate Barbie knockoffs. “When we would go into K·B Toys,” she told me, “My sister and I would walk into the store, hold up a real Barbie doll and ask our mom, ‘Is this cheap?’ If the answer was ‘no,’ we would hold up another Barbie and ask the same question. Those were the only words we would say at the store: ‘Is this cheap?’” 

My friend continued, “We not only got fake Barbie dolls, because we couldn’t afford real ones, but we also had to get fake Cabbage Patch kids. They were called Dream Babies.” I looked up Dream Babies on Google. They had a strange resemblance to Cabbage Patch Kids, but there was something about their faces that suggested they needed to eat more cabbage and other natural laxatives.

I have a special place in my heart for Barbie knock-offs. Like my Payless shoes and imitation Guess jeans, they were truly better than nothing. 

It’s a well-known fact that Barbie was such a runaway hit when it was introduced in 1959 because it offered the first alternative to a baby doll. As book critic Maureen Corrigan told NPR’s “Fresh Air” last week, “My Betsy Wetsy always needed a diaper change; my Chatty Cathy needed to be taught not to interrupt; and my walking doll — whose name I’ve forgotten — always needed assistance lumbering around the living room. Before Barbie, playing with dolls was akin to running a combination nursery, rehab and assisted living facility.”

Back in Iran, my mother sewed my dolls (despite the fact that it was the late ’80s). My first introduction to a doll that resembled a grown woman was in Italy, when, in transit as refugees, my parents treated me to a Barbie knock-off they bought at a local outdoor bazaar for a few lira. I was delighted to have a doll that looked like a grown woman, even if it was made of such cheap plastic that the left leg and right arm broke off after a few days.

I didn’t care that my Marbie (mock Barbie) looked like an amputee; she was the first doll I owned that wasn’t made of stuffing. 

I didn’t care that my Marbie (mock Barbie) looked like an amputee; she was the first doll I owned that wasn’t made of stuffing. I was always grateful to my mother for those hand-sewn, puffy rag dolls, but this Chinese-made, Italian-sold, limb-less Marbie was exhilarating.

In 1990, after we came to the United States,  my parents bought me an actual Barbie. I’ll never forget that Barbie. She was elegant. She was a ballerina. And she was the cheapest Barbie at Kmart on Third Street and Fairfax Avenue.  

It wasn’t that one Barbie doll was unaffordable, especially in the early 1990s; it was that I wanted more than one, because there was an unspoken understanding that any girl who only possessed one Barbie doll was, for lack of a better term, broke. But as most immigrants or refugees will attest, it’s often either a fake Barbie or real fruit juice, or a real Barbie and SunnyD.

I developed unrealistic body images from Barbie for different reasons: I was a Persian kid in a sea of many Ashkenazim. Back then, I would have traded an appendage for some blonde hair and blue eyes.

Did Barbie promote unrealistic body expectations to me? Of course. But I didn’t yearn for Barbie’s ample cleavage, laughably thin waist or long legs that, in real life, would have rendered her half-woman/half giraffe. I developed unrealistic body images from Barbie for different reasons: I was a Persian kid in a sea of many Ashkenazim. Back then, I would have traded an appendage for some blonde hair and blue eyes. Perhaps I could have borrowed an arm or a leg from my fake Barbie back in Italy. 

In second grade, my parents magnanimously bought me a second Barbie, effectively disqualifying me from the One Barbie-ers group. “Hawaiian Barbie” had blindingly blonde hair and such a bad tan that I almost wanted to take her to see a dermatologist. 

A few years later, my sister’s friend brought over a garbage bag-full of amazing Barbie clothes. But by then, I was entering middle school and no longer gave myself permission to play with Barbies. I had just turned 12 and was more interested in Boyz II Men than Barbies.

No matter how you feel about her, Barbie is an important part of various Jewish American contributions to pop culture that truly made this country stand out in the past 100 years.

Jewish readers should know that Barbie was created by an American Jewish businesswoman named Ruth Handler and her husband, Elliot, and that “Barbie” director Greta Gerwig, though herself not Jewish, told The New York Times that she hopes viewers will watch the film and “feel like I did at Shabbat dinner” when, as a young girl, Gerwig and her family were guests at Shabbat meals hosted by observant family friends. No matter how you feel about her, Barbie is an important part of various Jewish American contributions to pop culture that truly made this country stand out in the past 100 years.

And to all those One Barbie-ers, or those with Marbies that are still being purchased at the 99 Cents Only Store (and their limbs are still falling off): Be patient. Many good things still lie ahead, including rewarding education, fulfilling careers and family life and, if interest rates allow, a perfectly reasonable Dreamhouse.

Tabby Refael is an award-winning writer, speaker and weekly columnist for The Jewish Journal of Greater Los Angeles. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @TabbyRefael

Isn’t it curious that the word “selah” appears time after time in the Hebrew Bible and in our prayer books yet defies translation? If you don’t believe me, try typing “selah” into your Hebrew to English app.  You will come up empty.  

It usually occurs at the end of a verse, typically one of special importance.  Some say it might be an ancient musical notation, so it is fitting that a Rabbi friend of mine thinks of it as “sound the trumpets, focus on what was just said.”  It is a sort of Jewish mic drop.

I think we all need to appreciate the extraordinary “selah” moments in our lives.  

In Siddur Lev Shalem, directly preceding the Torah service, there is a beautiful passage from Rabbi Naomi Levy that concludes with: “I yearn to succeed, but I often forget what is truly important.  Teach me, God, to slow down.  May my resting revive me.  May it lead me to wisdom, to holiness, to peace, and to You.”

What are those occasions that are “truly important” – moments that are worthy of our most thoughtful reflection?

Maya Angelou has written: “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”

Maya Angelou has written: “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”  “Selah” moments are those instances that leave us breathless.

I have been asking people to describe such moments and, predictably, they mention life events — births, marriages, religious ceremonies, and the like. But when I ask them for other examples, their answers have surprised me.

My wife, who has traveled the world beside me in conjunction with my work, talked about being rendered speechless after turning the corner following a long, dusty ride from Delhi, and viewing the Taj Mahal for the first time.  She was enthralled by its beauty and, a dozen years later, thinks of it often.

A close friend said that it was the night that Barak Obama was elected president. My friend, who is Black, was in Chicago’s Grant Park when the future president stepped out on stage, accompanied by his wife and daughters.  My friend was overcome with emotion as he recounted witnessing the dawn of a new America that included a First Family that resembled his own.

Another dear friend, a biblical scholar who made aliyah decades ago, told me that she regularly climbs a particular staircase in the Old City to be greeted by intoxicating views of the roofs, domes, minarets, parks and buildings of Jerusalem. The spectacular diversity of peoples and places inspires her each time.

My co-author, Gary Saul Morson, a prolific authority on Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, gets his greatest joy from teaching undergraduates.  When he runs a discussion section and the students enthusiastically talk about ideas, some of which he hadn’t thought of himself, he pauses, smiles, and realizes that he has contributed to something truly special.

One of the most remarkable people I know, a former chief of staff to the President of the United States, is stirred deeply whenever he attends a sporting event and F-16 fighter jets soar over the stadium during the national anthem.  A proud veteran and a pilot, he removes his hat, salutes, and discreetly sobs.

 One of my daughters, an art historian and curator, tells me that of all the rarefied pieces of art she studies, it is Van Gogh’s ubiquitous Starry Night that captivates her most.  She never tires of standing in front of it at the Museum of Modern Art, losing herself in its brilliance.

My other daughter just graduated from college.  She grew up on college campuses and questioned the cult-like devotion that many alumni have for their alma maters.  But as one of her college’s commencement events, the seniors marched through an historic gate, with alumni who were there celebrating their reunions lined up along the path, applauding wildly for the newest entries into the alumni body. That gave her pause, as she recognized that she had become part of a noteworthy history.

For me, it is bursting with pride when I see the exquisite Star of David on an El Al plane.  Wherever I might be, I am reminded that the Jewish people are there with me.  I cry a bit each time.

For me, it is bursting with pride at airports from Seoul to Bangkok, Athens to Madrid, Johannesburg to Istanbul, when I see the exquisite Star of David on an El Al plane.  Wherever I might be, I am reminded that the Jewish people are there with me.  I cry a bit each time.

During my 22 years as a college president, people would often say to me that a college presidency was the toughest job in the world.  They were wrong – it is being a rabbi.  Our life events mean everything to us, and rabbis need to be on top of their games every single day.  A yawn, a mispronounced name, and the magic is gone.  Talk about pressure!

So I am giving the last word to an extraordinary example of the best of the rabbinate, Steven Stark Lowenstein from Am Shalom in Glencoe, Illinois: “For me as a rabbi, I see and experience ‘selah moments’ every single day.  It is truly a sacred privilege.  From the look of amazement and exhaustion of new parents in the hospital as a beautiful child arrives, to the excitement of the first day of religious school.  It is a child celebrating a Bet Mitzvah with parents and grandparents tearing up in the front row.  It’s a new spouse circling a partner under the chuppah to arrive at the deepest level of their soul, or the ring being placed on the index finger connecting hearts forever.  Even in death, I’ve watched children eulogize parents, and parents find the impossible words to eulogize their children.  I’ve watched too many friends filling in the graves of their classmates taken far too soon and how a community comes together to comfort the mourners.  It is the big moments that we experience with family and friends but also it’s the normal everyday moments of interaction that we sometimes take for granted, such as a beautiful shabbat dinner with friends, affixing a mezuzah on a new home, a first trip to Israel or simply wearing a new tallit for the very first time. Every such moment is a moment of reflection to connect with God more intimately, and for twenty-nine years I have been humbled to have a front row seat.”    

Now ask yourself, family members and friends a simple question:  What takes your breath away?  

Selah.

Morton Schapiro is the former President of Williams College and Northwestern University.  His most recent book (with Gary Saul Morson) is “Minds Wide Shut: How the New Fundamentalisms Divide Us.”

One of Gavin Newsom’s greatest political skills is his ability to change the subject. That’s not a criticism: California’s governor understands that an effective politician reminds voters of issues on which they agree with their leader, which makes it much easier to maintain their support when they disagree. So Newsom frequently highlights his support for abortion rights, marriage equality and other progressive social and cultural issues and looks for opportunities to provoke prominent conservative politicians with whom he disagrees.

One of Newsom’s favorite targets is Florida Governor Ron DeSantis, who combines an intense social conservatism with a noticeable interpersonal awkwardness. Given DeSantis’ high profile as the most visible challenger to Donald Trump for the Republican presidential nomination, he presented an ideal target for Newsom, who has regularly attacked his Florida counterpart through social media, news coverage and paid advertising. Knowing that he will need to maintain the support of California Democrats for upcoming fights on divisive housing, education, and energy policy, Newsom effectively reminds his supporters that he shares their values on the causes that are most important to them.

But as DeSantis has struggled on the campaign trail, beating up on him has become a less attractive proposition. DeSantis began last week in a controversy about Nazis and ended it in a debate over slavery. As a result, he’s been facing heated criticism from other Republicans, including members of his own state’s congressional delegation and several of his opponents in the presidential race. The disapproval of a Democratic governor is not going to attract nearly as much media coverage in this environment, and so Newsom has turned his attention elsewhere.

Newsom’s new target is not Republicans, but Hollywood. Last week, the governor’s savvy communications advisor Anthony York informed news organizations that Newsom had contacted the various stakeholders in the writers and actors’ strikes that have crippled the entertainment industry to offer to mediate their dispute, hoping to help them break their impasse and allow one of California’s most lucrative industries to return to work.

The last time the writers went on strike, the state’s economy took an estimated $2 billon hit. With the actors now hitting the picket line too, the economic toll is almost unimaginable, as the two unions have not struck simultaneously in more than 60 years. The governor recognizes the toll that a prolonged stoppage would take not only on actors and writers, but countless workers in both the film industry itself and immense number of other businesses that rely on the entertainment sector for their survival. Having just navigated a $32 billion deficit earlier this summer and facing the prospect of equally difficult budgetary challenges for the remainder of his term, Newsom knows that finding a way to end the strike sooner rather than later is of critical importance.

In addition to the economic imperatives of getting the actors and writers back to work, Newsom’s team must also realize the political benefits for their boss if he is able to bring the two sides to an agreement. 

In addition to the economic imperatives of getting the actors and writers back to work, Newsom’s team must also realize the political benefits for their boss if he is able to bring the two sides to an agreement. He attracts widespread support for his defense of abortion rights and his attacks on conservative politicians, but restarting television and film production would turn Newsom into a hero not just for progressive Democrats but for a much broader swath of the electorate. Voters nationally are roughly evenly divided between the two parties, but the number of Americans who want to see the next Avengers movie or a new Ted Lasso spinoff is far greater. Newsom regularly emphasizes his disinterest in running for president — either next year or in 2028 — but Hollywood’s savior would be an extraordinarily popular draw in New Hampshire or South Carolina.

The initial reaction to Newsom’s offer from both the studios and the unions was lukewarm at best. But the strike is still only a few weeks old and the battle lines seem to be hardening, But if there is no apparent progress in the negotiations soon, the involvement of a high-profile governor with strong pro-labor credentials and deep relationships among movie and television executives might start looking much more attractive to them.

Dan Schnur is the U.S. Politics Editor for the Jewish Journal. He teaches courses in politics, communications, and leadership at UC Berkeley, USC and Pepperdine. He hosts the monthly webinar “The Dan Schnur Political Report” for the Los Angeles World Affairs Council & Town Hall. Follow Dan’s work at www.danschnurpolitics.com