Saying Goodbye to GM

It's been a tough week for my family and I. My maternal grandmother passed away last week, so I wanted to post the eulogy that I wrote so that a few more people could get to know my GM.

From the moment that I heard that my grandmother, always known to me as GM, passed away, I wanted nothing more than to be with my family during this time of mourning. Unfortunately that was not possible, and can I only hope that these words can serve some semblance of the role that I would have wanted to play: to support my family as needed, and to share some thoughts from the heart about my GM.

When I think of GM, the first picture that comes to mind is her wearing tight blue jeans, a jean jacket, a suede cowboy hat on her head, and a Camel cigarette hanging from her ring-covered fingers. And I can still hear her raspy voice calling out my favorite of her many catch phrases, “wowie zowie.” When she would visit she would love to watch NBA Basketball, especially Magic Johnson, who she openly admitted having a crush on, as well as shoot a few hoops in our driveway. I remember a wild game of 1-on-1 basketball in Florida between her and my father. To say it simply, my GM was an original.

During her visits she would tell me stories about troubled teens she spent so much time with who had gotten involved with drugs, or who had gotten pregnant, and how she dealt with them. She dealt with me, and I’d bet everyone around her, in the same way: with a loving heart and a firm tone. She spent much of her life helping others, but, as she used to tell me, “I don’t take no crap kid.” Her caring heart and her no-nonsense attitude are the charecter traits that for me most defined her, and without them both, she would not have made the impact that she did.

Of course, my recent, and most vivid memories of GM are quite different than those from my adolescence. The strong-willed woman who was always intimately involved with those around her passed on many years ago, and for that woman I have had my chance to mourn. But despite the passing of that GM, the GM that I had the chance to spend time with over the last few years is someone that I will greatly miss as well, and now is my time to mourn for her. Gone were the drive and desire and passion, but the love always remained. I can still remember the shower of kisses that she gave Dena, my new wife and I, the day after our wedding, the last time I saw her.

Over the years that she lived in Pittsburgh, we shared many conversations, though mostly one-sided, about my life, Israel, and getting married. Though she struggled to follow my stories, she always supported my decisions. I remember bringing her pictures of Israel once, and how painful it was to watch her look through the same roll of film five times, and never realize she had seen the pictures before; but I would laughed because every time a shot would come around again, she would give the same commentary, like, “Who’s that shmendrik,” and “Oh, he’s cute.”

One afternoon just before my return flight to Israel, she was especially emotional when it came time to leave. After an onslaught of hugs and kisses, she uttered two simple words through her tears: “Be life.” Considering her mental state at that time, one could argue that these were the nonsensical words of a senile old woman. But I beg to differ. These words embodied the way she lived her life, and she was imparting me with this wisdom.

GM taught me that the best way to live was to be involved with life. Being alive means engaging with the people around me, especially those who are in a hard spot. It means allowing the world to affect me and for me to affect it. This is the message that she has planted in my heart, to push ahead and be strong with my goals and my dreams, to feel for the pain of others, and to be active in trying to heal that hurt.

Her message is one that strikes me constantly in my Torah learning. The proper way to describe the Jewish people would not be a “faith-based” people, but rather an “action-based” people. G-d’s purpose in giving the Jews mitzvot, or commandments, was to give us the opportunity to actualize our inner desire to affect the world. A thought, even with all the proper intentions, without a corresponding act isn’t anything at all. Only through action, and interaction, can we make change.

GM, I want to be life, and I want to be busy with so many of the activities that you spent your life doing. I want to give to others and be involved in their lives. I’ll need that strong will of yours to get by, because Israel is a tough place sometimes. Thank you for all that that you passed down to my mother and to Hedy, and to all of us. I will miss you, both the hip lady I remember from my youth, and the woman filled with love that I saw last, and I only hope that I can feel you smile down on me every once in a while when I make you proud.

I love you GM, goodbye for now.

The Deep Teaching of the Dried Fruit

Hey all. Sorry this is a day late...the site was down yesterday and this was my first chance to upload. But the almond buds here are still just starting to pop up (as you can see), so this should still be something that everyone can still enjoy:

Have you ever felt like a dried out fig? Sometimes stress and worry and all that nasty crud can just dry up our souls. All the more so in the winter, where the breeze is cold, and where fingers can look like dried prunes: everything outside just seems dead.

But then suddenly Tu b’Shvat comes, the new year of the trees. The mystics teach us that the sap from inside the trees starts to bubble up inside the trunk, and bring new life to what only yesterday looked so dead.

So one of the teachings of this day is the idea of personal renewal; but this is an idea that we see throughout the Torah, especially in the creation story. When the Torah begins, “In the beginning G-d created the Heavens and the Earth,” it teaches us that G-d put the opportunity of renewal in the world. Just as G-d created the world with the ability to renew itself, so too we have that same ability. We can recreate ourselves and bring forth fresh fruit from our once dry vines.

For many years, before the existence of the state of Israel, Jews from all over the world would eat dried fruit and celebrate the fruits of Israel on Tu b’Shvat. For so many years one could have compared the land itself to a dried out fruit; there were very few trees, very few inhabitants, and in short, very little life. But only a little more than 50 years after the re-birth of the State, the deserts are blossoming, and anyone who has been to the open market in Jerusalem can vouch for the fruits of the land. Despite the problems here, the land is producing so many fruits (literal and figurative) again.

Today should be a time of renewal for all of us, of blossoming new fruits, and harnessing of the creative potential that G-d has granted all of us.

*Thanks to Betzalel Edwards for inspiring this Torah.

This is Hanukkah!

Considering the name of this page, what better way to initiate it than with Hanukkah greetings to all our holy friends.

My sister Jenna recently reminded me that I once explained to her that Hanukkah is really a minor holiday in comparison to the rest of the Jewish holidays. It’s only but because of its proximity to Christmas that it gets so much extra hype. But when she told me this, I felt like I had belittled such a beautiful and meaningful time. So it inspired me to share a few thoughts:

Tonight is the eighth and final night of Hanukkah, known as “This is Hanukkah!” It’s a strange name though, because we’ve been celebrating and lighting candles and eating latkes and sufganyot (Israeli doughnuts) for a week already. So why is tonight, the very last night, called “This is Hanukkah”?

As my wife taught me today, the last day was the time when we were able to sit back and really realize the magnitude of the miracle. Every day was a miracle, since only one-eighth of the oil burned; but it wasn’t until the last day that they realized the completeness of the miracle. Only in retrospect could we understand how truly miraculous the oil was from the very beginning.

The other day I ran into a wonderful woman who had hosted me for Shabbat several years before in the Old City. I hadn’t seen her for a while, and was excited to share the news about my marriage. She was filled with happiness for us, but when I asked her about how she was doing, a grim look fell over her face, and she simply said, “We should see miracles.”

Friends and family, aren’t we all waiting for our own miracle? When times are the darkest, aren’t we all just waiting for that moment when everything turns around, and the light is revealed?

This year the Udrens did see a miracle. In the final moments before my father went in for serious intestinal surgery, the future was hazy and unclear. Would the surgery be successful? Would they find more cancer inside my father?

The next day when I heard that everything was OK, I felt like I could take a full breath for the first time in days. True, it was not an open miracle, but rather one that happened through the hands of the doctors and the nurses; but the fact that it went so well and that he recovered so quickly is still a miracle. And there is no doubt all our prayers helped that miracle come into fruition.

When Hanukkah leaves us, what are we left with? We can look back and see how magical each of the eight days really were. We should also take that light into the year, and move from darkness to light in whatever ways we need. We should all see miracles!

Happy “This is Hanukkah” to everyone!