April 10, 2024

The other day my husband was surprised to find me arranging and rearranging nine brand-new pillows on the family room sectional sofa. I knew what was coming. Before he began to speak, I wore a look of fierce concentration as I studied Pinterest diagrams illustrating ideal couch pillow arrangements.  

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Jeff began, “Pesach is only two weeks away. I’ve been listening to you talking about all the shopping and cleaning and writing you needed to do this week. Why are you fussing with new pillows?” He eyed the bounty of couch pillows we already had, now abandoned like so much chametz on the floor. “And what about all those?” he nodded in the direction of the rejected pillows. “What was wrong with those?” 

These are dangerous questions in a marriage. When a husband questions his wife’s sudden compulsion to redecorate, better have the relationship self-help books handy. However, I answered unapologetically. 

“I was shopping for Pesach, but after I found the mixing bowls and pots at Home Goods, all the new colorful pillows were calling me. They had so many new ones that a bunch of them had fallen on the floor. I started to pick them up, but there was no room on the shelves. So, I put them in my basket. I could hardly see over the top of the cart to get to the checkout line. Anyway, remember that at the seder anyone who wants a pillow for their chair should have one available.”

“Looks like we’ll have enough pillows for every seder guest up and down the block,” Jeff said. “I just don’t want to see you more stressed next week with all the food shopping and cooking.” 

“Stress is my middle name. Why will this Pesach be different than any other Pesach? I’m not ready to fight the crowds at the kosher markets. I just . . . can’t. It won’t kill me to procrastinate another day or two.” I then realized, looking with consternation at the diagrams, that trying to copy the pillow arrangements was a hopeless mission. As soon as anyone sat on the couch, even Pinterest-worthy set-ups would become disheveled. In the meanwhile, I switched the peach and green lumbar pillow for a solid peach square pillow in one corner. Still not right. You ought to be making your Pesach menus now, I told myself. I kicked that thought away to focus on the urgent issue of pillow arranging.  

Pesach celebrates God’s redemption of our people. It asks us to consider what enslaves us, and the meaning of true freedom. But somehow, I’ve never broken out of my own form of Pesach slavery. Right after Purim, I go through stages of denial, anxiety and avoidance — often channeled into sudden, urgent home decorating projects. (Last year I redid the porch planters.) Finally, I arrive at acceptance, girded with cleaning gloves, a credit card suffering repetitive stress injuries, shopping, and cooking. Rinse and repeat. 

But on seder night, I know I will feel blessed and grateful, with a sense of awe at God’s providence throughout our unbelievable, miraculous history. This year, these feelings will be heightened. Despite our grief and losses, miracles and other signs of God’s protection are evident every day.  

I’m not alone in feeling that somewhere along the way, Pesach became too complicated, too stressful, and too expensive. Is anybody working on this problem, maybe in a think tank in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv? I sure hope so. But maybe, as inconvenient as this may be, the only way to fully appreciate the majesty of the seders and the deep meaning in the story of our redemption is to toil significantly preparing for it.

The clock is ticking, and I’m about to brave the hordes of other Jews stocking up on matzah meal, grape juice and briskets.

The clock is ticking, and I’m about to brave the hordes of other Jews stocking up on matzah meal, grape juice and briskets. I’ll remind myself that unity is Job #1, and if someone grabs the last package of kosher-for-Pesach quinoa, I will accept it with quiet fortitude. When I come home, exhausted and suffering severe sticker shock from the exorbitant prices, I’ll fall onto our family room sofa, carve out a space to rest among the bevy of my new spring pillows, close my eyes and rest.

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Judy Gruen is the author of “Bylines and Blessings,” “The Skeptic and the Rabbi,” and several other books. She is also a book editor and writing coach.  

It was 4 p.m., and I was once again texting my daughter’s preschool teacher to ask her the difference between various Hebrew letters.

“That one is Kaf, and that one is Fey Sofit,” she replied.

I turned to my oldest daughter and told her what those letters were so that we could complete her homework. 

As a convert, I didn’t learn Hebrew growing up, and I still don’t have a firm grasp on it. I don’t know the lyrics to all the songs on Shabbat or the holidays, I use a translated prayerbook and when my friends casually throw a Hebrew word into a sentence, I have to ask them to translate it.

When I converted back in 2015, I told my husband, “I wish I could now go back to Jewish day school like Adam Sandler in ‘Billy Madison.’”

“You can,” he said. “Just wait until we have kids.”

Nine years later, and I’m slowly learning Hebrew and Jewish rituals, songs and traditions more in-depth thanks to my 4-year-old and 2-year-old’s gan, their Hebrew-focused preschool.

They come home at the end of every week with coloring pages of the parsha and projects they’ve made depicting the upcoming Jewish holidays. Thanks to them, I always know when Rosh Chodesh is because they have a party at school, and I can recite “Girls in the Army of Hashem, Stand Up” by heart.

Many people have told me that through their child’s Jewish schooling, they learned more about their Judaism as well. Oftentimes, it is the children who keep us connected to our religion and culture.

Many people have told me that through their child’s Jewish schooling, they learned more about their Judaism as well. Oftentimes, it is the children who keep us connected to our religion and culture – which is one of the many reasons it’s so critical to send them to Jewish school.

When I converted, I also agreed that one day, I’d enroll my children in a Jewish school. I’m so glad I did. Not only is it a warm and nurturing environment, but also, I know that my children are receiving a solid education that will set them up for success in their personal and professional lives. I believe that through schooling and an education at home, they will have the tools to deal with life’s challenges and know they can always turn to Hashem for hope. 

I wish I’d had something like that growing up. But it’s OK – because I do now. 

My oldest daughter reminds me to say “Thank you Hashem” for all our blessings and prays to Him when her little sister stubs her toe or falls down. She also corrects me when I get a Hebrew letter wrong.

“No, mommy, that’s a Mem,” she’ll say.

“Oh, thank you!” I’ll tell her.

“It’s OK. I know you weren’t born Jewish. But now you are!”

She learned my story through the children’s book I wrote before I even had children – a book for the children of Jewish converts – called “Jewish Just Like You.” In it, I talk about how I wasn’t born a Jew but was inspired to convert after going to a Shabbat dinner at Chabad.

My daughter loves reading the story, which features a little blond girl who looks like her. I must be psychic, because I asked the illustrator, Barbara Mendes, to draw my future child this way. It turned out that I was spot-on.

Through my wonderful children, I’ll keep on learning about Judaism in a fun and joyful way, in the way it’s meant to be learned.

In the meantime, this year for Pesach, after learning all the songs for the holiday in Hebrew, I feel like I could get up on a chair and belt out the “Ma Nishtana” – but I’ll leave that to my daughters instead.

Did you learn more about Judaism through your child’s Jewish education? Email me: Kylieol@JewishJournal.com. 

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Kylie Ora Lobell is the Community Editor of the Jewish Journal.

Until now, I’ve never been a fan of the words, “self-love.” They’ve always seemed indulgent and totally individualistic. And in the past decade, I’ve unfairly associated “self-love” with “Give Us Your Money to Relax” weekend retreats, complete with gurus who speak about how they quit their lucrative careers as attorneys because they hated themselves when they were lawyers, and love themselves now that they’re golf ball divers.

A cursory Amazon search revealed that one of the top books on the subject, 2015’s “Radical Self-Love” by Gala Darling, offered the following description: “When you love yourself, life is limitless. It’s time to throw off the shackles of expectation, and start living from your heart. It’s time to astound yourself with how beautiful your life can be. It’s time to treat every single day like a celebration … Cake, candles and confetti very much included!”

I love Darling’s passion. But as a Jewish woman in a post-Oct. 7 reality, I would alter some of that wording, based on my own subjective experience. My description would be closer to, “It’s time to throw off the shackles of internet trolls and start living from your heartburn-triggered stomach. It’s time to treat every day like you’re just learning about Oct. 7 for the first time … Horror, abandonment and Xanax very much included!”

I’ve struggled with the concept of “self-love,” but I’m also not a fan of the words, “self-hating.” As a Jewish pro-Israel advocate, I’ve always associated those two words, “self-hating,” with a third word: “Jew.” If any readers were previously uninterested in the concept of a self-hating Jew, they probably are paying closer attention now, in the aftermath of the recent disastrous Oscars acceptance speech I call “Glazergate.” 

The Jewish world needs radical self-love, but not merely in a Star-of-David-necklace manner.

First, it’s critical to note that the radically self-loving Jew does not define himself/herself by the radically self-hating Jew. No, the self-loving Jew does not exist to constantly espouse messages of anti-antisemitism; rather, this Jew actively loves being Jewish, regardless of religious observance, and even regardless of antisemitism, because being Jewish is a worthy and wonderful identity to own.

The self-loving Jew may feel a lump in his throat as he eats breakfast and reads about how the Associated Press and one of its photographers — who was undoubtedly embedded with Hamas because he simply happened to be there to capture the violated and deceased body of Shani Louk, z”l, in the back of a truck — was named one of  the Pictures of the Year by the Donald W. Reynolds Journalism Institute at the Missouri School of Journalism.

Though the lump-in-the-throat Jew will sometimes have a hard time enjoying life’s best pleasures, including food, he will not deprive himself of satisfying treats, badly-needed sleep, or the melodies of his favorite rock song, which he has already played over a dozen times today because, as we know, music soothes.  

I have seen many friends in Los Angeles, especially women, who have not eaten well, slept enough or even smiled much after Oct. 7. I, too, have struggled with this, but I finally began taking better care of myself when I realized that an over-thin, sleep-deprived, smile-less Jew is exactly what Hamas wants (and worse). The thought of that always sends me straight to a local kosher bakery for a real butter croissant, and for a brisk, healthy walk to the drugstore for more melatonin. 

The self-loving Jew understands that most events related to Israel and Jewry worldwide are out of her control, including the terrifying concern that all-out war may erupt between Israel and Iran after Israel’s recent airstrike in Damascus that targeted major IRGC heads. 

Yes, I am referring to myself. But after six months, I have finally realized that what Israel does is out of my control; what Iran does is out of my control; and the best way I can affect anything is to educate my elected officials and to vote as a proud, Jewish American whose vote aligns with her values.

The radically self-loving Jew actively partakes in practices, rituals and events that spark Jewish joy, even if that means loading up on a dozen boxes of those little raspberry-jelly rings that are always on the shelves during Passover.

The radically self-loving Jew has given up appeasing his friends and acquaintances by hoping they will never discover that he, perish the thought, likes Israel and has a connection to the country. This Jew has finally realized that in order to continue hiding, he would have to hide for the rest of his life. If his dark secret about liking Israel is eventually going to be found out one way or another (hello, uncovered Birthright photo from 2005), he knows that he might as well “come clean” now and join his own people.

The self-loving Jew creates and upholds clear boundaries around social media use and interacting with trolls, bots and other antisemites, as well as incessant doomscrolling. She has realized that she gazes into her phone screen more than she looks into her children’s eyes, and that being obsessively immersed in her phone, despite her good intentions of wanting to know the latest on Israel, is a disservice to her family. 

This Jew has finally realized that it’s not fair. Few Jews can be their best with their loved ones after being constantly exposed to horrifying news and images about Israel. The hostages weren’t released at 6:30 a.m. when she first reached for her phone in her New York bedroom, nor at 8 a.m., 10:30 a.m., noon, 1:30 p.m., 4 p.m. or any other time that day. Their fate will not be decided by her anxious phone use. 

But positive thoughts, pained prayers, daily tzedakah (even in small amounts) and dedicating good deeds and mitzvot to the hostages and soldiers — and to the peace and safety of the one country that stands between us and the hideous radicalism of jihadists — can only bring good. 

Along the same lines, the self-loving Jew understands that there is space for both worry and calm, and despair and joy. And he also allows himself to post about subjects other than Israel, despite a certain accompanying guilt that, after Oct. 7, inevitably comes with sporadically posting a hilarious cat video, a feature story about local residents paragliding off abandoned L.A. skyscrapers, or a story about a Southern California woman who just lost half of her $1.08 billion lottery winnings, thanks to the IRS (true story). 

The radically self-loving Jew actively partakes in practices, rituals and events that spark Jewish joy, even if that means loading up on a dozen boxes of those little raspberry-jelly rings that are always on the shelves during Passover, and consuming them on Friday nights as a way to sanctify Shabbat and, let’s face it, self-soothe. 

This Jew carves out time to call friends and loved ones as an act of self-love, because, as we were reminded during a recent pandemic, loneliness kills. She also tries harder to tend to her errands, because there is a lot of self-love in the mundane, and because she knows that few things feel as good as checking off one’s to-do list (unless those things involve enjoying an entire box of those little raspberry jelly rings). 

Finally, the radically self-loving Jew realizes that labels are powerful, but ultimately fleeting, and doesn’t define himself or herself through the woefully shallow lens of identity politics. Whether an Orthodox Jew or an atheist, he or she understands that after 120 years, the only symbol that will be carved onto their headstone is a Star of David; not an elephant, a donkey, a leaf or even a camel (the official symbol of the pro-temperance Prohibition Party beginning in the 1860s). No one has ever walked by an arbitrary Jewish headstone and proclaimed, “Now there was one of the biggest Democrats in the village.”

I realize how easy it is for me to suggest these ideals for the self-loving Jew; I don’t have children who serve in the IDF and are currently fighting in Gaza, nor do I have loved ones whom Hamas has cruelly taken hostage for over six months. I am not an Israeli. And I am no longer a campus pro-Israel student leader.

But I know that we need to take better care of ourselves. And next week, I’ll share advice from both Jewish mental health professionals and activists who have the audacity to practice radical self-love. In the meantime, I need to buy some more raspberry jelly rings.

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