Jewels 2021

Dear Friends, Thank you for being a part of Jewels of Elul. I hope that you found the introspections from the past 29 days to be mind and heart opening. This year’s theme “Lessons from my Parents”, led to some wonderfully intimate stories that were read by people all around the world. If you have any feedback or suggestions, please send your comments to info@picounionproject.org – We’d love to hear from you. For those who purchased a printed copy of Jewels of Elul your gift helped support our work at the Pico Union Project. Dedicated to the timeless principle to “love

Music speaks louder than words It’s the only thing that the whole world listens to Music speaks louder than words When you sing People understand My parents, both musicians and spiritual leaders in their own right, have sung these words by Peter, Paul, and Mary in intricate two-part harmony for as long as I can remember. It is the melody that wafts through some of my earliest childhood memories, as well as the poignant gift my parents shared when our closest loved ones gathered to celebrate my wedding to my wife, Julia. The simple message of this song – that

I grew up in a small town in Northern Wisconsin in the 1970s. The measure of diversity was the occasional Minnesota Vikings enthusiast who bucked the tide of the Green Bay Packers’ Cheesehead fanatics. But in that bastion of homogeneity, my parents managed to raise me with wide citizenships. My parents met in the Teacher Corps in Kentucky in 1968, my father hailing from affluent, Jewish Long Island and my mother from a working-class town of 200 in Protestant Northern Minnesota. Embracing difference was hard-wired into their relationship, something they modeled again and again: My father cast a Black girl

Sometimes people ask what kind of Jew I am. I know what they mean— Reform, Conservative, Just Jewish, etc. But I’ve taken to answering with the only answer that makes sense— “My Judaism is political.”   This was inevitable. Shabbat dinners in my home were accompanied by discussions of local elections, presidential candidates, and what bills were in the legislature. Occasionally, my parents would tell stories of their activism in college and beyond—anti-war protests, protecting Black students as they occupied administration buildings. Passover was political—liberation at the center meant poetry about freedom and breaking bondage.    My politics and my

Every Yom Kippur since childhood, my father held me close and placed his hands on my forehead to recite the Priestly benediction, along with the words “Ye’simcha Elohim ke-Ephraim ve’chi-Menashe – May God make you like Ephraim and Menashe”. As a child, I didn’t understand why my father wished that I be like two other boys. And he always cried as he recited the words. Was he disappointed in me? I thought. Why did I bring him to tears? His tears deepened as I matured, especially it seemed after I came out as gay. Perhaps it was a loss of

When I was 11 years old, my mother converted to Christianity. She was open with me throughout her journey, neither shying away from my questions nor suggesting I join her. It was her path and hers alone. When she shared her decision I remember the collective familial gasp, the confusion, the anger. She never wavered. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for her, and I admire her honesty, self-awareness, and conviction even more today than I did then. Very few people, let alone children, learn that belief can be dynamic and evolving, that faith should be cultivated

In nearly all of my memories with both parents together, they were arguing. They fought about big things and they squabbled endlessly about the little things in life.   While pondering what lesson I learned from my parents, my first response is never to repeat their mistakes.   They were poorly suited to one another. My father thought of himself as a worldly man. He had a university education from a foreign country and he enjoyed traveling and meeting new people. He became politically active, throwing himself into the sort of activism required by such an undertaking.   My mother

My father taught me a lesson critical to my career as a political reporter: don’t romanticize Washington, DC. We moved there from Berkeley in 1953 after his appointment as assistant attorney general. One summer day, before high school classes had started, he told me to put on a suit and come for a ride. At the Justice Department, I met J. Edgar Hoover, whose name I recognized. At the Capitol, I met Senators of both political parties. It was all very cordial. But, as we drove home, my father explained, “I just want you to know that powerful people put

When I was just a year old, my parents started teaching me how to pitch-match by finding notes on the piano. They would play a key and I would crawl over to the piano bench, pull myself up, and try to find the same note on the piano. And when I turned two, they would play two notes on the piano, and I would sit beside them on the bench, and with my eyes closed, I’d have to find the matching notes.  As I grew up, I always had an ear for music, and the ability to interpret music in

Jewel: Love the stranger. Be the stranger. You shall love the stranger, Abraham shows by example as he washes the sandy feet of his desert visitors and rushes to prepare them a meal. You shall become the stranger, God warns him.  Your descendants will be strangers in a strange land. We shall love the stranger, Moses reveals as a core component of ethical monotheism as the Commandments are given at Sinai. We shall become the stranger, R’ Yochanan Ben Zakkai tells the students at Yavneh as Jerusalem burns and Diaspora Judaism begins. Love the stranger, my father urges, as he

I spent my adolescence going to funerals. Here, a dead child. There, a friend’s father. Dead, dead, dead: murdered by terrorists who hate us. You shouldn’t be here, said every bomb, every knife, every death notice. We will never accept that you belong. In-between funerals, I would sing along to Uzi Hitman’s “I was born to peace” whenever it played on the radio. “I was born to peace – let it appear!” But with every death these words came to taste more like wishful thinking, and the longing in them – like despair. So when my father said “when the

Randy: Connecting with strangers can be an essential part of Tikkun Olam. Jason: Some of my earliest memories come from Dad taking us with him on Saturday mornings to run errands. Randy: He would go in quickly and leave us in the car… Jason: While it was still running… Randy: It was a different time. Jason: Yep. But whether it was at the cleaners or the bagel shop, or the gas station, no matter who was engaging with him, within seconds that person was smiling, and laughing with him. Randy: It was like a super power… Jason: … the ability

As children, my father told us that “if you are good at what you do, there will always be a demand for you.” We had little notion of what we wanted to do in the future, but he was telling us that — perhaps unlike many in his generation and before — we didn’t need to be consumed with making money. We could pursue our passions, not because we had wealth – we didn’t – but if we had sufficient determination. This was a very liberating idea. My brother and I could pursue a calling, and merely concentrate on being

One of the many lessons we have been gifted from our parents can be boiled down to this simple formula for a meaningful and fulfilling life — find the things you love and give them everything you’ve got. We are constant witnesses, and perhaps our very lives are in fact embodiments of the creed that “anything worth doing is worth overdoing.” From organizing bus trips to rallies, building a backyard sukkah fit for an outdoor community fundraiser, or saying “yes” to an opportunity even when your gut impulse is a resounding “no”, our parents David & Leanne Matlow are examples

Last Stop first Stop, Elul Station Jews around the world have used the spirit of Elul to mark the season of connection – with God, with other humans, with the world.  In a long life I’ve made many stops at Elul Station in temples and synagogues. Yet, amidst the spiritual feast of the High Holy Days, I always experienced surging, contentious feelings that filled me with insecurity and a sense of abandonment. Strangely, I discovered that the clue to these feelings lay in the lighthearted Dreidel Song for which my father, Samuel E. Goldfarb wrote the melody in 1926. Although

Wisdom From My Parents Must remember that I’m holy The stars above know me The sky wants to hold me When land feels too lonely Must remember that I’m sacred A song by King David Melodically complicated Like dough that’s been braided All the answers are waiting For questions to be asked Every brush will start painting When we stop moving fast Bright sun will always remain Triumphantly brighter than screens And fresh crops will never taste plain As long as we know what is sweet Kinneret is a 19-year-old singer, songwriter, and producer with an active discography and social

Growing up, I had a family member who was incarcerated. He wrote to us often. Every year, I received a birthday card from him with a detailed drawing of a Disney character. And one of my parents often chatted with him over the phone and wired him money. When he was diagnosed with Valley Fever (as a result of his incarceration), I followed up with his medical and legal cases. Despite his literal seclusion from us, I felt close to him. Much later, my parent mentioned to me that they had been harmed by this family member and it had

My impoverished, Holocaust survivor parents lost almost all of their families in the Holocaust. Yet, they taught me and my brother the importance of gratitude, family, Torah, Judaism and fighting for fellow Jews and Israel. I was born in a displaced persons camp in Germany. When we came to America, my parents had no money, no job and couldn’t speak English. My father finally found work as a rabbi in small synagogues in Black, poverty-stricken neighborhoods. We lived in tiny roach and mice-infested apartments. My mother placed broken glass in front of baseboard holes to discourage mice from entering the

My mother, Juana Sequeira Solis, was a stunning example of resiliency. From a very young age, she instilled in me the desire to serve others, especially among those less fortunate than us. I remember vividly her sending my siblings and me to bring cooked meals to the neighbor’s house down the block because she was worried they were going hungry and wanted to check up on them. Throughout my public service career, my mother was right by my side cheering me on. I still feel her presence and hear her voice pushing me forward, saying tienes ganas – you have

My father had a way of living big…you knew when he was in the room. And he could see through everyone’s defenses and get to the heart of what was going on. Sometimes his directness was on the brink of being rude, but he was so charming and funny that it was disarming. I aspired to be like him; he was so witty and vibrant. He taught me that humor makes good experiences better and bad experiences digestible. We found the same things funny, and that ability to laugh – at myself most of all – I learned that from

My mom never let me go to bed angry at her. If it could not be mitigated with a funny face, she insisted on talking it through. Now that I don’t live at home, hurt that hasn’t been sufficiently addressed is sure to come up in our annual pre-Yom Kippur chat — which she ensures we don’t miss. I often roll my eyes at my mom’s stubborn refusal to let our hurts pass quietly. But I also know that it is perhaps her greatest gift to me, both in my personal life and in my activism. The ability to engage

As told to her son Jonathan.   I think the most important thing I learned from my mother was to never give up. Giving up was a no-no, it was not a choice. She didn’t teach me with words – but with action. She would say, “You’re right” and that was enough, because praise was not in our family. We didn’t positively acknowledge each other.  This lesson helped me tremendously in the camp. It’s interesting that in the camp, my mother was the weak one and I became the strong one. I don’t know if psychologically it makes sense but perhaps I

There was a large shift in my life when I learned my parents had imperfections. I was told by someone close to me that you’ll have had a successful relationship with your parents if, after they pass, you can look in the mirror and only see the good that was passed down.  I am a product of divorce. My parents’ conflict towards one another was difficult. They shared the bad about each other, but I tried to only acknowledge their strengths. The pain they are in as a result of how they treated each other runs deep in me. I

I’ve saved his voicemails over the years, each one sweeter than the last. “I love you Rachie. You are magnificent. I’m proud to be your dad.” My dad started an airline. For ten years, it was the fastest growing airline in the world. In 1982, he had a stroke, the airline went bankrupt, he lost all of his wealth, and he was paralyzed for the rest of his life. Since then, hundreds of his employees continue to hold reunions at which they describe the rare environment of respect and teamwork he built. They revere and adore him. Meanwhile, in those

Over summer vacation many years ago, my father and I traveled to St. Andrews, Scotland to play one of the original golf courses. In contrast to the ancient feeling of the course, the facilities were fairly high-tech. One of the many great devices we were given was an electronic pushcart, fully fitted with flashing lights and, more importantly, changing speeds. Equipped with the hubris of a nine-year-old, I turned the dial to the highest speed and let it fly, already knowing that its pace would be no match for my super-speed—big mistake. The cart zoomed past, racing across the fairway,

Alex Zohar is an artist, illustrator, and author who lives and works in Los Angeles. www.alexzohar.com

I never knew that family was not chosen. For all I knew, the people we ate shabbat meals with every week might as well have been my real aunts and uncles.  While I am extremely lucky to have been raised in a family where an extended web of grandparents and aunts and uncles are extremely loving and supportive, the people I saw most often were not related to me, but they were definitely my family. My parents were often busy, and while there was no substitute for my Ima and Abba, I was close with so many adults that I

13 is hard enough, so busy growing up Now you’re sitting on a secret no one knows You see him after school, he barely looks at you, cause you’re both afraid that people might suppose I’ll see you in the mirror when you’re older, For now just keep your head up on your shoulders Life goes too fast, heart breaks in two Tough times don’t last, tough people do So wipe those tears from your crying eyes Cause you only see the light shine in dark times We’re 27 now, don’t have it figured out But at least no one

Asking a convert for lessons on Jewish life from their parents is tricky of course, but I’ve wedged a lot of their wisdom (and mistakes!) into my Judaism. The one I think about often is from my mom, and it’s showing up. No matter how much my brother and I complained and fought, we would dress up and walk down the steep hill to our little local church every Sunday. And I would fight. Rending my garments, gnashing my teeth (this wasn’t church specific—I fought any effort toward organization or hair brushing). My mom was on her own with us

My parents grew up in Detroit and deeply loved the city.  My childhood was filled with stories of walking to school, hanging out with cousins who lived mere blocks away. It was only when my parents found out they were expecting a child – me! – that they decided to move to the suburbs. It was 1969 and Detroit at the time  had a reputation as the crime capital of the country.  People thought it was funny to wear t-shirts saying “I survived Detroit”.  But not my parents.  My dad loved to bring us to the city to visit the

As a child I once showed up in synagogue with two different shoes.  My mother shook her head; “David, on occasion people get confused and wear different socks.  But no one wears one brown and one black shoe.” My mother taught me about appearance, but not the way one might think.  As the mother of four boys she fought hard to get us to care about how we looked, that is true.  We were taught which colors go together and how to choose clothes.  But that was barely the beginning.  The real lesson began when at 52 my mother suffered

Our lives are built on relationships. Mother Earth and her children, people and their God, business partners, siblings, lovers, friends. Some relationships are close, others distant. Of all relationships, perhaps the most complicated and imprinting is the one between child and parent. This year, we asked 29 children between the ages of 17 and 102 to share a lesson they learned from their parents. They come from wildly different life stations and backgrounds and they all shared one thing in common – they still saw themselves as the child of their parents. It’s been said that an apple does not