The Talmud says not to tease the fat kid

It is amazing what we choose to remember and what stays with us through life. The cantor once mentioned that a friend of mine used to tease him in high school. Almost 30 years later, this still didn’t sit well with him. Now that we are no longer dating, I mentioned this to my friend. I said that I heard he was a bully and teased * *.  My friend’s response to this was “I don’t even know who that is”. Wow. What clearly was a traumatic experience for one person was nothing but another day to another. What one person cannot remember, the other cannot forget. Words can truly affect us, both good and bad. Just as praise can boost our egos and make us feel special, insults can destroy us.

I recently paid my sister a compliment by telling her the chicken she served for supper was “the best she’s ever made”. I really meant it. A few weeks later, I was surprised to find out that she had taken my praise as an insult. A backhanded compliment if you will. Wha?? Her thinking was if I thought the meal she served me was the ‘best’, did that mean that every other chicken dish she had served me was awful? This one comment I had made stayed with her and bothered her. Last time I say anything out loud about her cooking..to her face.

My communications teacher said that our first response to other’s actions (or lack thereof) is usually a negative one. It’s human nature, it’s the way we tick. If someone does not call us, we have a million negative reasons running through our heads – are they mad at me? Did they forget? Did I say something to upset them? All negative. When we are dishonoring people, we only think of the bad memories. When we speak of someone we no longer want to associate ourselves with, we usually insult them and put them down. Believe me, I usually have nothing nice to say about my X, so I choose to not talk about him. When we are honoring people, we always think about the good memories we have of them and sing their praises. A mean person can have good qualities about them, just as a nice person can have bad qualities about them. The question is how do we want to remember that person and how will we speak about them?

My mother used to say that (Jewish) people aren’t allowed to insult her or speak badly of her because she is a widow and that’s lashon hara. Imagine my surprise when I found out its true meaning. Lashon hara is destructive speech. Nothing to do with widows or single mothers. SHOCK! Not only is it a sin to speak bad about another person (whether the information is factual or not) but it is also forbidden to LISTEN or BELIEVE what that person is saying. If we are having an argument with someone, we aren’t allowed to insult them, even if they really ARE a putz. You can’t say it, just think it really loudly to yourself.

The Talmud says that evil gossip kills three; the one that says it, the one who listens, and the subject of the gossip. It’s even compared to murder and idol worship. Think about it, if a person is so hurt by what we say that it affects their self worth to the point that they carry it with them for years and start to believe that that is who they are, then you might as well have used a gun instead of words. When a person becomes insecure and cannot accept someone else liking them just the way they are because they are so used to being teased about this or that, you’ve ruined their chance for happiness.

My whole life I was fat. Cute, but fat. I was a fat kid, fat teen, even fatter young adult. At my heaviest, I weighed over 220 pounds and was a size 20-22. Was I teased? Does a Big Mac have 2 all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun? With a bit of sweat and tears (mostly tears) I now weigh 165 pounds, have one chin and wear a size 10-12. I still refer to myself as big or fat (usually in reference to my arse) and when I have a stomach ache, I rub my belly and say 'the twins are kickin'. I still want to shrink more and fit into the Calvins sitting in my closet without the muffin top. Most days I feel good about the way I look and there are days I feel like that 220 pound slob. No matter how much weight I lose or what I look like, there will always be someone who thinks I'm overweight and those negative remarks will always be there. I just need to tell them to bugger off.

We can't change what we have done or said in the past. If we teased someone, even in jest, apologize to them. If you know someone who was teased, apologize on behalf of the bully. Let them know how great they are, even if it makes them squirm. If you are upset with someone, write down your feelings instead of bad mouthing them to anyone who will listen. Besides, didn’t your mother ever tell you that if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all?

So, to anyone I have ever teased or insulted on purpose I apologise. Except for A., you really deserve it.  8)

 

Baby steps...

 

 

Happy Father's Day Mum!

God tells us to honor thy mother and father, so why do we wait until a birthday or holiday to celebrate their lives? I would like to think at I am doing a decent job at honoring my parents regularly. I say the Mourner’s Kaddish at Shul, I visit my mother every week and go to the grounds often. So as we celebrate Father’s day, I will pay homage to my parents.

My mother is the only father I’ve ever known. My father Leonard/Lenny passed away 38 years ago from Leukemia and my mother never remarried. She dated, was engaged, but never married again. She was both parents to my sister and I, and every year we acknowledge her on mother and fathers day. At first, we thought it was a funny joke and figured mum just wanted an excuse to have dessert and a present. After a while it just became the norm. After all, she did the job of 2 parents.

I don’t know what a father is supposed to teach or do for his daughter aside from 'staying away from boys' and 'finishing your homework'. They are the providers, bread winners, hunters, gatherers and protectors of their brood. My mum did all of this alone.

She put clothes on our bodies, food on the table (too much if you ask me and my thighs), kept a roof over our heads and provided us with both a Hebrew and day school education. She exposed us to the arts at a young age and always took us to ballets and pantomimes when she could. She would volunteer her time with various organizations in exchange for reduced rates on day camps, ballet, girl guides and brownies so we had activities. She went without so we could have.

If there was a school field trip, she was the volunteer parent. I still think it’s funny how all the kids called her mom. School always came first and if she didn’t like the curriculum or teacher, she let them know. Schooling is very important to her. She didn’t raise ‘dummies’.

My mother instilled many lessons in us. We needed to work hard for what we wanted, nothing comes easy, always try your best and if your hands and feet are working, you’re doing okay. No matter how awful you felt, there was someone worse off than you and we were to thank God for what we had. My favorite is still her theory that “a person cannot have both brains and common sense”.

Growing up in my single-parent home was not easy. My mum was a tough-arse and nothing was just given to my sister and I. A down side to being a sole supporter, she seemed to have taken on the masculine disciplinarian role more often than I liked. Someone had to (try) to keep me in line. She provided the necessities and anything else I wanted had to be earned by me – I have been working since I was 12 years old. As soon as I finished school and began working, I had to pay rent and help out more around the house (more???). Don’t like it? Move out!

When I was old enough, I became the ‘man of the house’. Anything that needed taking care of, I did. You name it, I could fix it. Painting, carpentry, electrical work, gardening or exterminating (so gross to toss a dead mouse) I did everything. These skills are great so I don’t have to rely on other people, but my ex didn’t like the fact that I was a better handyman than him. Oh well.

I can’t say that I miss having a father because I can’t remember having one in the first place. Over the years I would just call my friend’s fathers ‘dad’ and treat them as such. I know there is no substitute for your own, but a girl can dream. M. says it can be a blessing to have not known my father in case he turned out to be not a nice man. Daddy issues? Again, no comment without the presence of a licensed therapist.

My 7 year old nephew told me the other day that grandpa lives in his house and watches over him. I told him that he was very lucky to have an angel watching over him and I was jealous.

I would like to wish Mortimer, all the fathers, step-fathers, zaidas, sabas, uncles, mothers and whomever considers themselves a dad to someone, Happy Father’s Day!!

To my mummy, you are the BEST father a girl never had!

 RIP lady

..Baby steps...

A Miracle in Richmond Hill

My mother lives in a full-care nursing home and is in the final stage of Dementia. She cannot walk, feed herself or take care of herself in any way. She does not know what year it is, how old she is or what month her birthday is in. She knows who my sister and I are, even though she gets the two of us confused sometimes and can still give the occasional dirty look or snide remark to whomever she feels deserves it. Despite the weekly negative reports from the nurses and caregivers and the recent death sentence from Dr. Obvious (thanks captain), we keep on trucking. Nothing else we can do but to continue what we are already doing. Every week when I visit, she still surprizes me - whether it's eating all her food, remembering something, understanding what I am saying, or saying something sassy.

Today she blew me away. I wrote a draft of what was to be my next posting and I was going to mention the Shema. For those of you who do not know, the Shema is the daily prayer said in the morning and evening. It is the basic declaration of faith for every Jew. The first line is sung out loud and if you have EVER been to synagogue, you have heard it. Even I know the melody. Please see below.

 

                                                 Shema Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad.
                                        (Hear,  O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.)

I asked my mother if she knew what a Shema was. She said it was when people get together for a meeting (something to that effect). When I asked her to explain what she meant, she proceeded to say the first line of the prayer (see above). My mouth was hanging. After what seemed to be a long pause, she then continued to say the rest of the prayer. IN HEBREW! I didn't even know she knew it. It had been years since she had been to Shul. We had only attended services on the high Holy days and here she had memorized the daily prayer.

Here is a woman who does not know what month it is and is lying there, eyes closed, barely moving her body, saying a prayer that I have yet to learn. Not only that, she repeated it two more times! I picked my jaw up from the floor and wiped away the tears from my eyes. I had just witnessed a miracle! For whatever reason, God gave me a huge gift today and it's not even my birthday. From now on when I hear the melody I will think about today.

Dementia is a horrible, stinking disease. It steals your loved ones from under your nose, in front of your face and it takes its dear, sweet time. You mourn the 'death' of their personality, character and essence before you mourn the death of their body. After every visit, I take away something positive - she ate all her food, gave a nurse a dirty look or I didn't have to take an Adavan (or two) etc.. Today my mother (and God) made me speechless, a rarity I am fully aware of. I was shaking my head in disbelief and grinning like the Cheshire cat. I sent many thanks out today. 

For those of you who regularly or occasionally kvetch about how your parents sill treat you like a kid, meddle in your life or just drive you bananas, I would like to let you know how lucky you are. I would give anything to know what my father's voice sounds like or to hear my mother go on about how mischievous I was as a child. Just once. If your parent(s) are cognitive, mobile, can do for themselves and can have a conversation with you, be grateful and thankful. Now go call your mother.

 

..Baby steps and an Adavan..

 

Theatre people vs. Film people

Society is made up of 2 kinds of people, film or theatre. I'll explain. My background is the arts and I am/was a techie. I started building theatre props (professionally) on my 16^th birthday and over the years I have worked on musicals (Phantom, Joseph, Showboat, etc.) live performances, television shows and movies in various capacities. I even turned down a gig with the CBC to work on the stage for the Pope’s visit. Yes, THE Pope. (Many of you reading this have contributed to my paycheques, so let me say thank you). 

A ‘film person’ is extremely friendly and will accept a stranger immediately. They invite you to sit with them, join them for lunch, assist you if they think you need it and help you get acquainted with your new surroundings. It’s a ‘let’s be friends, then I’ll get to know you’ feeling. Trust is assumed until you do or say something to break that trust. If I meet someone who works in film, I have an immediate bond with that person. We are instantly friends, telling tales and laughing.

A ‘theatre person’ is the polar opposite. They have to get to know you before they decide if they like you and that could take months or years. They sit in cliques and you are NOT asked to join them. They would rather sit in silence and ignore you, rather than make small talk. You need to earn their respect and trust first. They will never offer to help you unless you ask for it. No ‘instant’ friendships or bonding with them. Very stand-offish and cold.

Shul people are like theatre people. With the exception of M, the only welcoming people have been Revi G and the RD – and it’s their JOB to be nice and inviting to everyone. Every week I feel like I’m crashing the party, sitting at a table I was not invited to sit at. I am a fish out of water, and everyone is watching me drown instead of offering me a life jacket.  They are the bystanders that won’t help, but will watch to see what happens or record the event on their cell phones.

I have wrongfully assumed that ‘religious’ or ‘shul-attending’ people act and behave a certain way. This image started with the Cantor (he put on quite the façade) and for some reason, I continued to think this way even though he proved me wrong. I am usually the last person to judge a book by its cover. I always take people at face value and try my best to get to know them. So why am I thinking this way now?

I fantasized about how people would be kind and inviting, and attending services would be uplifting and joyous. Very little house on the prairie. Sabbath is a celebration and a time to enjoy each other’s company and thank G-d for all we have. I feel like I’ve been duped. I do my best to talk to people, read from the siddur and enjoy the experience of being there, but I find it very difficult to be joyous or happy. 

I feel humiliated, stupid and embarrassed every week because I can’t read Hebrew or follow along, or understand what Revi G is talking about half the time. But when no one says hello, or talks to me, or just stares at me, it makes me feel even more unwelcome, isolated and alone. Everyone knows everyone there. I understand that it will take some time before people get to know me, but it's been 5 weeks! On the other hand, it’s a good thing that no one pays attention so when I start crying it goes unnoticed. Perhaps I should shul hop and go to services somewhere else for a change.

I will end my negative rant on a positive note with a quote from Dr. Seuss

"You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go."

               

...Baby steps..

God wants me to shop at Ikea!

Is it WRONG to use kashrut laws as an excuse to shop for kitchen wares? Does one really NEED a reason to shop at Ikea? No, but it doesn't hurt.

Is a kosher home really a 'kosher' home if you don't have separate milk/meat dishes? What if I were to bring in a box of Ritz crackers? Most would say no. I would say that 99% of my groceries ARE kosher  (I do enjoy the occasional TNT almond or sunflower seed cookies) so food-wise I'm okay. However, I do not have 2 sets of dishes/cutlery/pots etc.. One reason is that the x got the 'dairy' dishes when we split up. The other reason is that I've never had a need for it. I don't really keep any dairy products in the house (except during the Chanukah/Xmas seasons when I go through 5-8 pounds of butter as I bake my fingers off).

I drink almond milk, rarely purchase pre-wrapped cheese which I throw in my lunch bag, yogurt is in a container, and should I buy ice cream in the summer, it's eaten right out of the tub....hey, I'm single and live alone - like YOU have never done that? The odd time I've had pizza was a take out slice on a paper plate, usually eaten in my car. Never thought twice about it but I guess it's like home insurance - it's good to have it, just in case.

And so it's off to Ikea!

Small plates, dinner plates, salad bowls, water glasses, coffee mugs, cutlery and holder. Should be enough, right? Oops, can't forget cooking utensils and holder, cutting board(s), knives, dish holder, cleaning rack.....SERIOUSLY?!? Looks like my list is growing. I guess I forgot how much 'stuff' I used to keep in my kitchen. Seems like a lot of things for 1 person to have in a kitchen with 2 drawers and cupboards. Oh my. This became very overwhelming very quickly. Too much too soon, so I decided to get just a few things. Dish set, cutting board and utensil holder (actually a flower pot). I'll do shopping trip #2 (and hopefully my last) on Sunday for the rest.

Out of protest, I'm gonna buy a wheel of (kosher) brie!

At the end of the day, it makes me feel good knowing I am making an effort. Keeping a kosher home is not such a big deal as I've done it before. I'm doing this because I want to, not because I'm supposed to. Fair enough? Fahrenheit!

Here's a pic of my booty (not bootaayyy) so far. Still need cutlery, green pan, a pot, and perhaps a Kiddush cup!

update: got the cutlery, bread knife, 3q pot, and Kiddush cup/dish. Bought the cheese and it was delish!

Baby steps...

The Kiddush Socialization Experiment

I was reminded recently of the different kinds of social groups there were in high school and how they viewed each other.

When I met the last guy I was dating, it turned out that through Jewish Geography - a.k.a. 6 degrees of me, we discovered we went to the same high school at the same time. However, we hung out with very different people, and were never friends. Despite this fact, I still recognized him from school (I'm pretty good with faces) but he did not know who I was. He did "hate" the people I hung out with despite not knowing any of us (I associated with some of the smokers. A habit I am glad to have tossed many years ago).

This got me thinking. How could he hate me and not even know me? He probably couldn't have picked me out of a police line up. But even though we weren't friends, I knew who he was and didn't hate him. Ironic?

So when I was at Shul and  the congregants sat for the end of Sabbath Kiddush, I noticed that everyone was sitting at one of two tables. One was the 'fun' table with most of the men, and the 'serious' table had the Rabbi and RD with one or two others. Week after week, same thing. Same people, exact same tables (take into consideration there are about 4 or 5 tables in the room). Last week someone made a comment how this is the way it always is, the `cool` table and the `riff-raff`. This didn't sit well with me either. This is synagogue, for crying in the mud.

Time for an experiment!

So this past Saturday, when everyone was getting their nibbles, I sat at a table by myself. There were one or two people at the other regular tables, but I decided to place myself in between the two and see what would happen...

Just as I thought, my buddy M sat beside me as he didn`t like me being by myself. To my delight and surprize, the RD sat with us! Our little table of three. We ate, we chatted, we joked. It was nice. No cool or not cool, serious/fun, it was just nice. Labels and cliques be damned!

I have always marched to my own drum, hung out with whomever I liked, dressed the way I wanted, etc.. I think they should just put the tables together and forget this segregation nonsense. Perhaps I`ll just stand next week. We`ll see. Either way, my experiment was a success.

Baby steps....

My Very First Blog....EVAH!

Well circle this day in the calendar cause I can't believe I am doing this!

So, welcome to my first ever blog. Back in the day this website would be a diary with a breakable lock. So much has changed...sigh..

This blog is about my adventures, celebrations and frustrations as I cannon-ball myself back into my Jewish faith and community.

A brief history...

When I was 10 years old, my mother told me I had to choose between having a Bat-Mitzvah and a sweet 16. I chose the latter (for reasons I will not talk about without a therapist handy) and regretted it the rest of my life. For financial reasons, we stopped going to Shul a few years later.

Over the years I've attended Seders, kept a kosher home, said my prayers at home (mum gave me a prayer book when I was 8 and I still have it) etc. but I always felt it wasn't enough. Something was missing.

Fast forward to a month ago...

Was dating a Cantor (apparently, I have a 'thing' for them as he was the second one I've gone out with) and thought he would be my ticket back into the club - so to speak. Before breaking up with me for the second time, he told me that I should focus on myself. He also said I was intimidating, hard to talk to and bossy, but I digress......

So after some thinking I thought he was right, I do need to focus on myself more. I also though "hey, I don't need him to get my arse back to Shul". And so it began. Three days later I got dressed and walked around the corner to the Synagogue and got up the courage to go to Saturday night services by myself.

Whadda trip! I walked in and passed the old guys staring at me as if to say 'poor thing is lost' and downstairs to where the services were held. There, I met the Rabbi (as I shall refer to as "Revi G" from now on) and his Hawaiian shirt. Still not sure if the shirt matches the man, or vise versa.

I noticed a sign for the Hall and  I asked him if it was named after Rabbi L. Turns out it was. Rabbi L. and his wife gave me my Hebrew names Batsheva Shemariah when I was a wee young lass. The Rebbetzin gave me the second name as she and my mother felt that I had the personality and the mouth to pull off two names. Just for the record, my Hebrew names have the initials BS...all I'm saying.

I took the sign as a sign. I was meant to be there in that synagogue. I survived the services, made a friend Morty (what? A Jewish man named Morty? unheard of!), turned down an Aliyah because I didn't know what it was and turned down covering the Torah because I didn't know how. Could I possibly stick out any more than I already did? Might as well have worn a clown costume. Point is, I didn't hate it. It wasn't bad and it did not discourage me. I've made a bigger arse of myself in the past, this was nothing.

And so the adventure began...

So for the last month, I have

• Attended services every Saturday night and a few evening services where I can 
• I am now onto my third book called "Jew got questions?"
• Finally put up my mezuzahs (one on my doorway, one in my car)
• Signed up to volunteer with Circle of Care
• Can say/write/read the first 2 letters of the Hebrew alphabet Aleph and Bet
• Looking into getting a tutor/mentor
• Thought about the Cantor - good and bad
• Did the walk for Israel - Go team Adler!

...and went back to school 2 weeks ago (Opticianry at Seneca). Can I BE any more busy?

Before I remove my eyes and hit the hay, I will share one more nugget. Tonight was a very big night for me. As I was following blindly in my Siddur (as I do every week), I happened to glance to the right side of the page where the words are in Hebrew (left is English). A word caught my eye. Israel. I RECOGNIZED IT! I couldn't tell you which letters were which, but I knew what that word was. I was so thrilled, I wanted to shout! Today I recognized a word. I even emailed Revi G and told him. I'm very proud of myself. Felt good. Hey, If I can figure out Advanced Applied Optics, I can learn an alphabet.

Baby steps......