I will still try to post one of two items before the end of the year, and if you don’t follow my Instagram, you might want to subscribe for a few, quick picture posts. Unfortunately, I am not able to accomplish all that I set out to do in these last two weeks as I have unexpectedly contracted covid. It is mild enough to pass itself off as a cold, but believe me, it wallops you in the end. Test yourself. I was very lucky that my husband insisted that I take the test before going about my meetings, which I deemed too important to miss. However, with the positive coming up, I did miss them and fortunately miss my colleagues and aquaintances with the virus, so that is a good thing.
In our house, we were unable to light our eighth night of candles on the menorah, so when I’m able to rejoin the family tomorrow, we are going to light them then. It may be beyond the eighth night, but light in the dark is always welcome, especially in these days of war and strife.
Open every door. Look through every window, around every corner. Where there is no light, bring light. Where there is light, bring more. Brightly shine. See the wonder: in every season, in every holiday, in every person you meet, in every day and every way. Shine bright. (c)2023
I use a box to make my latkes. I don’t do fancy additives – no basil or chives or any of the other things I’ve seen online. I might consider melba sauce, but I haven’t gone there yet. I always go back to Carmel. I think last night’s were my finest. They were crispy on the outside, none burned. I’m a both kind of person when it comes to latkes: applesauce AND sour cream. My daughter who doesn’t like them grabbed one on her way in the door from work. She still didn’t like them, but I must give her credit – she tried it even without me blackmailing her with gelt.
I don’t know if there’s a reason or requirement, but I always fry my latkes in vegetable oil. (c)2023
Latkes. With applesauce and sour cream (not pictured but trust me, it’s there). First Night of Chanukah. (c)2023
My favorite brand, although Streit’s and Manischewitz are also good! (c)2023
As I mentioned in yesterday’s Inspire, I went all out this year. Antisemitism will have that effect on a person. I am halfway between don’t do anything public and do all the things. Over the next week, I’ll share some photos and thoughts each day. Lights, door hangings, multiple menorahs, dreidls, gelt, I even found some Chanukah cookies and a book: I Saw an Old Lady who Swallowed a Dreidel by Caryn Yacowitz, illustrated by David Slonim, and of course, I bought a dreidl stuffy for my new great-niece.
I’ve been searching for the write inspiration for December, and this first night of Chanukah brought things into perspective. A little bit of perspective. While the internet and the news are filled with antisemitism and protests from people intent on gaslighting the Jewish experience and deny Jewish people the indigeneity of their homeland, I have been on a quest to celebrate Chanukah publicly. I’m a little wary about it. I live in a nice neighborhood, but I don’t put my head in the sand and think that it couldn’t happen here. I know it can.
Still….
I went out and bought blue and white lights for outside, something I’ve never done. I have an interactive menorah hanging on my front door, again, something I’ve never done. In fact, since I’ve been on my own (and with my own family) I have not put Chanukah lights in the window. That unfortunately will continue because I know that if I put candles on my windowsill, my mother would come back from the grave and blow them out with a raucous, and loud message of fire safety.
Most people don’t know the story of Chanukah; perhaps some teachers wanting to bring multiculturalism to their classrooms, and now the story of the Maccabees is being co-opted to match the narrative, anything to turn the words of Jews and their history against them. The Festival of Lights isn’t about war. It isn’t about victory. It is about faith. The miracle isn’t that the Maccabees won against their most recent oppressor. The miracle is the lights themselves. When we retook the temple, amid the destruction, they went to light the candelabra to rededicate the temple, the menorah – not the nine-branch one that most are familiar with, but the regular, ordinary menorah that is always lit in the temple. There was only enough oil to keep it lit for one night. There was no other oil. So, what did they do? They lit it anyway.
And it remained lit, not one night, not two, not three or four, not even five or six or seven, but it remained lit for eight days. One day’s oil lasted for eight days. That is the miracle. And that is why we light eight candles on a new type of menorah used just for this holiday: a hanukkiah.
Tonight, I will say the prayers (that I don’t normally say). I will fry the latkes in oil. I will fry the chicken in oil. I will light the first candle on the same menorah that I lit as a child; the one that I grew up watching the candles burn down on the dining room table that was my grandmother’s. It will be placed on that same dining room table in my own house. My kids will see the lights on the same menorah, the same table, and they will be able to see through my eyes, even amidst the clutter that seems to grow multi-generationally on this dining room table.
This year, however, this old menorah has a special, additional meaning. I saw this menorah in Toronto at the Royal Ontario Museum in their Judaica exhibit, in the Chanukah window. A copy/replica of MY Chanukah menorah sits in the largest museum in Canada. The exhibit label states that it is from Gdansk, Poland, brass, from the early 1900s.
Happy Chanukah.
My family menorah. (c)2023
Royal Ontario Museum Judaica Exhibit. Hanukkah menorah, “Danzig” type, Gdansk, Poland, early 1900s. (c)2023
Ready for sundown. You can view it lit later tonight on Instagram (link in sidebar). (c)2023
When I was studying Catholicism and becoming Catholic, I wanted to know which saint shared my birthday. As it turned out, when I discovered that “my birthday saint” was St. Francis Xavier, I was a little underwhelmed. Every time I said his name I thought of Rufus Xavier Sarsaparilla, and I thought couldn’t I have had a better saint.
I bemoaned and ignored him, later discovering him as a follower of St. Ignatius of Loyola, who’s Spiritual Exercises and Daily Examen I was also looking into. Still, I was unsatisfied. I think I wanted someone like Joan of Arc or Mary Magdalene.
When I became interested in and devotional to St. Kateri Tekakwitha, a very local saint and the first Native American canonized saint, I wanted to visit her homes and her shrines. I’ve often been to Fonda, where she lived for most of her life, and tried to visit her tomb in Quebec. However, it was during covid, and they weren’t allowing non-parishioners or pilgrims to visit the shrine.
Where exactly is her shrine in Canada?
Kahnawake, Mohawk Territory at the, wait for it, St. Francis Xavier Mission Church.
Really. Her earthly bones, her relics are laid to rest in the church dedicated to “my birthday saint”. A truly remarkable and at the same time ordinary coincidence.
I’ve been to Kahnawake three times. The first was during that covid time when we could only explore the outside. And then this past summer, I was able to visit Kahnawake twice. The first time we visited, we knew the church would be closed on the only day we had available, but we did attend a tour of the village through the Kahnawake Tourism Center. We received a very detailed and informational tour about the area, the Mohawks past and present, St. Kateri, and a bit about the mission church. On our next visit at the end of August, we were able to not only visit and see the inside of the church, we were also able to attend mass, see the original and earliest painting of Kateri by Father Claude Chauchetiere (one of the Jesuit missionaries at the time) as well as her relic that was removed from the vault for us to observe and venerate (if we chose to).
This mission church is a permanent building and was erected in 1716. Before that it was a moveable mission that traveled with the Mohawks beginning in La-Prairie-de-la-Madeleine. They moved a total of five times each time their mission church was constructed the same as the other Mohawk buildings until this last time in its permanent location. St. Kateri’s remains were entombed here in 1972.
Inside the church, in addition to St. Kateri’s tomb, are two memorials: the first is to the Mohawk men lost in the Quebec Bridge disaster in 1907, and the second is an ironwork replica of the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers in honor of 9/11. Both are on the main altar. It should be noted that the Mohawk are known for their ironworking skills, and were large parts of crews building not only the World Trade Center, but the Empire State Building as well in addition to many other high-rise buildings and skyscrapers across the area.
On Mark Twain’s birthday, I wanted to share some of the photos we took when we traveled to his study’s current location at Elmira College in Elmira, New York. The study was originally on the Langdon land where he did his writing in this small building. He wrote many of his classic stories here. I’ve included an information sign from the site.
With my ongoing research into St. Kateri’s life, I thought instead of a retelling of the first Thanksgiving today, I would set my table with the First People in mind, sharing with my family the Three Sisters as the Mohawk call these three plants that grow side by side: corn, beans, and squash.
My table setting. (c)2023
Sign about the Three Sisters at the St. Kateri Shrine in Fonda, NY. (c)2023
The Three Sisters. St. Kateri Shrine, Fonda, NY. (c)2023
The cake plate I used was a wedding gift from a friend who worked at the Jewish Museum in NYC. I like to blend our cultures in our interfaith family, and this was one way to join two ancient peoples and their symbols. (c)2023
I wanted to observe this day of remembrance for the transgender people who have been assaulted and murdered in the last year. I wanted to do this especially this year when transphobic rhetoric has been at an all time high, at least in my experience. This day reminds me of those people lost, and it reminds me how I can continue to speak out and make the world safer for trans people. That is what makes me an ally. Wearing a t-shirt or a pin doesn’t make me one. Speaking out with general information, corrections to misconceptions and misinformation, and calling out transphobia when I see/hear it is what makes me an ally.
I thought about this a lot this weekend. I was on retreat and without getting into private details, I was in the presence of two mothers of transgender sons. One was accepting and one was not. The one who was accepting walked her road, steady over the potholes, and came to understand and accept her son’s new place in her life, never once wavering in her love for them. The second mother was not accepting. She detailed some medical experiences her child had, she shared their new name, but in that, she was not accepting of that name, and would continue to call her child by their birth name. I had a choice to speak out and possibly offend someone; or speak out and educate or really take a stand on that child’s side. I chose to speak out. I think I did it tactfully. The point of speaking out wasn’t to make the mother feel bad or guilty or angry; the point was to make her think, to consider what she’s saying versus the reality of her situation with her child. Silently, I felt that if she continued with this way of thinking, she will lose this child, and I don’t think that’s what she wanted.
Last week, I had a similar opportunity with someone else. He said something that I considered transphobic. It was a small thing, and it wasn’t to a trans person or about anyone, and really it wasn’t that bad in the great, big world of transphobia, but I called it out anyway. It caused an argument with the other person saying that I was being overly sensitive – it was not transphobic. The only response that I could make was that trans people will let you know what’s transphobic. My point here was that it is the small stuff that tells a trans person they’re not welcome or safe with you. You don’t have to murder a trans person to make them feel unsafe with you. I did let it go. People need to hear what’s said and then be given time to think about it, coming to the realization in their own time.
However, knowing that today was coming so soon after these conversations, I knew that I needed to acknowledge this day and these conversations. Those of us who are not transgender do need to have conversations that encourage our questions, that enable us to move beyond our internal biases, that allow us to change our hearts and become un-transphobic. It is not easy for any of us who love people that change before our eyes, but when we look deeper, I think we’ll see that they changed very little. They were always who they were, and it is not up to us to accept them; it is up to us to continue to love them.
I think that when we look at trans folks, the biggest change that we may or may not see is that they are comfortable. They are happy. They are lighter than they used to be now that they are who they are supposed to be, who they’ve always been, hidden away. This is who they’ve always been, except now they’re smiling.
Today is to honor the dead, but it is also to save the living through our acceptance and love. Please consider my words with the intention they were meant, and for everyone, but especially trans people, to have a peaceful day in contemplation and commemoration. I will prayerfully be considering those who lost their lives this past year, but also those who are journeying their own paths and that they remain safe on their journeys.
Yesterday, we lost a pioneer and advocate in the mental health awareness field. Rosalynn Carter was instrumental in beginning the fight against mental illness stigma as well as growing the awareness of mental health issues. She openly talked about her depression and spoke out when it would not have been in her best political interest to do so. She, like her husband, President Jimmy Carter always did things in a way that worked within their consciences through their compassion, empathy, and faith to make the world a better place, one project at a time. Whether it was Habitat for Humanity, the Carter Center, peace initiatives, teaching Sunday school, they worked as a team, full partners, supporting each other in both their shared and differing priorities. She was a good and faithful servant and may she receive her reward and rest in peace.
With Thanksgiving coming up this week, many of us are spending the day (or even the weekend) with family we may not see often, and it can be a wonderful day, but it can also be stressful and draining and you want to maintain the strides you’ve already made in your mental health journey. With the death of First Lady Rosalynn Carter, I am reminded that our mental health journey is ongoing, and we can and should refer back to our advocates and mentors as well as those we may not know, but those who have influenced our journeys as Mrs. Carter has done for me, especially with her independence and her openness on her own mental health struggles and journey.
I have five tools that I want to share with you to add to your mental health toolbox, especially for this holiday season.
Whether you’re at your own home or someone else’s, find a safe space where you can go to take a moment to yourself to catch your breath, regroup, and motivate yourself to go back to the social group. If you’re a praying person, this might be a good time to have a prayer or mantra ready to steady your way for the next go round.
Have a plan for your drink choice. Even for those of us who do not have alcohol problems, it’s easier to know what you want to drink. It’s one less thing to think about or umm about. Personally, I’m a fan of Diet Coke and/or ice water. My hot drink is tea. It is also more common to bring your own water bottle to places. Know that it’s also okay to say no, thank you.
It’s okay to sneak off to the bathroom and watch a video on your phone that will settle your anxiety.
Speaking of your phone, it’s also okay to check in with that one person who knows what to say to create a comfortable space for you within the holiday-social responsibility bubble.
Wear something you love. I find that when I’m dressed in my comfort clothes, I feel better about myself, and I project myself better. Part of my own comfort clothes are my mother’s ring, a colorful scarf, a long, cozy sweater, a pin (which can also be a conversation starter if that’s what you want it to be), or my rainbow shoelaces.
Know that the holiday is just one day. You’ll talk, you’ll laugh, you’ll have moments of discomfort, you’ll eat dinner, and it will be over before you know it.
Have a beautiful Thanksgiving, and may the warm feelings carry you through the rest of the year.
Griffins and Ginger Snaps 