by Sam Glaser
Everybody knows about the famous ones: bris, baby naming, bar/bat mitzvah, marriage and funerals. This month’s column is a segue from last month’s report on the miraculous nature of the bris and is dedicated to certain overlooked milestones that are equally a part of life. All cultures celebrate rites of passage. In the US we have graduations, sweet 16′s, getting a driver’s license, and the holy grail, reaching drinking age. As a parent I’ve noticed that once you have kids there are a few other significant transitions that are rarely discussed.
The first is when your kids start nursery school. For some parents this is a tremendous relief…you have a few hours of the day to go back to sleep or get some errands done. For me it was traumatic. I run a recording studio behind our house and I loved having young Max co-engineer with me. He would man his own mixing console, paint, draw and scribble and crawl around looking for bugs to eat. I loved being the sole source of his nutrition, education and influence. That is – other than the times when his nosy mother or grandparents would butt in. Then that terrible day arrived. I grabbed my camera and shot pictures as he confidently strode down the street with his oversized yarmulkah and new backpack. His mom then drove him to the beginning of the first of his 17 years of education and I laid down on the couch and wept.
Now Max would be subjected to the reign of terror of underpaid, overworked teachers, brutal peer pressure, teasing and bullies. He was so happy when he came home that day, bubbling over with an enthusiastic report of all the new experiences. I fished for information regarding any mistreatment or how badly he might have missed hanging out with me. Nope. I remember his sharing a new work of art he created and then my wife telling me to get over it.
The next underreported milestone is becoming
“reproductively irrelevant.” I always envisioned having four kids. Four is a nice, round number, I grew up in a family with four boys and I felt like four meant you were a real parent. Also, one of our favorite rebbetzins used to lecture us on the importance of Jews having large families to undo the damage of Hitler’s taking 1.5 Million of our kinderlach. I love the sweet adventure and mystery of pregnancy and birth. Of course that’s easy for me to say. I tried to participate in everything, from birth coaching to feeding and the changing diapers. I even got to dispense the milk my wife would laboriously pump.
After Sarah, our third child was born, my wife kept breastfeeding for years. I suspected she was trying to delay the onset of her period and thereby avoiding getting pregnant yet again. Perhaps she was trying to hold on to that feeling of closeness with her daughter. By the time we got back to business it became clear that God had other plans. After the third miscarriage we were resigned to accept the gift of our three children and the completion of our family. The problem is that try as I might, I could not move on. To this day I find myself going straight for whichever baby is within arms reach at our synagogue and singing baby songs in spite of the pronounced distress of my adolescent children. I am secretly envious of the stroller set, hungry for the days of portable children that don’t say no.
I knew I needed some help to let this inner ache go away and made an appointment to speak to my rabbi. I don’t remember his exact advice but it was something like, “man up, move on and count your blessings” or something like that. I bear him no malice; he is a righteous man that has better things to do, like counseling childless couples. I eventually got used to the idea that sex no longer had anything to do with reproduction. I also had to get used to the return of my wife’s cycle and the joy of separating half of each month. Arrrgh!
The next lifecycle event came on the heels of our last child becoming a Bat Mitzvah. Sarah turning 12 means that Max is a senior in high school. Yes, my friends, the empty nest phase is approaching. We are now in the midst of SAT’s, college applications and researching yeshivot in Israel. Last month he went on his senior trip in which the class goes to Israel to see firsthand the top fifteen academies that are recommended for their gap year of study. This is all very exciting for Max. But it’s a bit heartbreaking for me. Our official annual vacation this last January was our last as a whole family, at least for the foreseeable future. Next year he won’t be with us for Pesach. Or High Holidays or Chanukah for that matter. We won’t enjoy his brief appearance at dinner every night. And Jesse, who is only a year-and-a-half younger soon will be following in his footsteps. I’m getting weepy writing this. I know I should be stoic and matter of fact. But I will leave that for my wife, who wears the pants in the family. (Actually I wear the pants, but she tells me which pair.)
The bottom line is that there are plenty of micro-milestones that are under reported but highly impactful in any parent’s life. More are on the way: a completely empty nest, menopause, college graduations, weddings (God willing!), grandparenthood and avoiding senility. No one prepares you for this life when you are a teen and think you are going to live forever. The only constant in life is change. And riding this roller coaster with your sanity intact requires a good spouse and good spiritual guidance, or at worst, self medicating or becoming a hermit. Or there’s another way: live the life of a rock star and never grow up.
Just know that if I ever beeline for your babies, I mean no harm. I’m a perpetual kid and a loving dad trying to get a fix of the dreamy feeling of having an infant falling asleep on my shoulder. Last week a friend’s kid was on my lap playing with my tzitzit and drooling on my suit, laughing as I sang “Swinging,” “Pony Boy” and “Run Away.” I know my wife shares my desire that our kids do the “be fruitful and multiply” mitzvah sooner than later so that we can enjoy what my parents consider the ultimate pleasure: being a grandparent. May we enter our golden years with health and love for each other, filled with the wisdom that only comes from surviving these bittersweet bumps along the road.
What did the moel bring to the bris?
Two days later came the fancy bris of the month. All of the neighborhood big shots were assembled and it was anyone’s guess which bearded sage would be graced with the highest honor of sandek, the person who holds the baby in his lap during the ceremony. It was the father’s fourth child but he was as touched as if it were his first. His beautiful wife sobbed as she looked on. Amidst the pomp and circumstance of this first class affair there was still a simple presence of the Shechina and sure enough I found myself getting misty eyed once again. I was still wearing my tallis and tefillin from Shachrit and even though I had prayed in rote fashion, the power of the words I had already uttered somehow landed in my atria at the moment of the incision. One lesson learned: most attendees come for the mitzvah and not the meal. The ample delicacies were artfully displayed in stations across the vaulted lobby of the Museum of Tolerance and yet about 10% was eaten by the time the room cleared out.
There is special significance in the fact that we are commanded to carry out this holy procedure on the eighth day. Kabbalah teaches that seven is the number associated with the intersection of the human sphere and the divine. That is why our weekly communion with our Creator and Redeemer, the Sabbath, is every seventh day. Eight is one step beyond, entirely metaphysical, the realm of the supernatural. It is interesting that eight is simply the vertical representation of the universal symbol for infinity. Eight is also the number associated with Chanukah where we celebrate the miraculous victory of the Maccabees and the length of time that the single cruse of oil burned. Some say that the miracle of Chanukah is the fact that we bothered to try to light the menorah or fight the Syrian-Greeks in the first place. After all, isn’t it wiser to surrender when all the chips are down, when defeat is inevitable? NO, says Jewish tradition. That is precisely when we must remember that we are a supernatural people that defies all laws of conventional sociology and, with God’s help, we are invincible.
December is a time for new possibilities. Thanks to “holiday spirit” the world becomes a kinder, more colorful place. I just returned from Manhattan where the midtown buildings were transformed into magnificently wrapped presents. Even the cops were friendly. December means that our fiscal year is ending and we ponder what we might do differently when January comes around. Inclement weather demands that we spend less time outdoors, more time with inside activities that make us more internal, intellectual, introspective. The Torah portions of the season deal with dreamers; between Jacob, Joseph, the butcher, baker and Pharaoh we have eight dreams to cross-reference and inspire our own musings. Finally, Chanukah calls on us to fill the darkest, shortest days of the year with light and we are challenged to unveil our own unique light unto the world.
method of inspiring transformation. Like me, he performs and teaches for a living. But I now see that there is a tremendous difference in our approach, thanks to “The Possible You,” a powerful seminar that he has founded. He takes responsibility for every one of the attendees in his Jerusalem-based twenty-hour program. He will work with anyone who is not getting it, and relentlessly pursue those who bail before “graduation.” With an intensely paced delivery of profound insights coupled with music, visual aids and group sharing, a crucial set of life tools are communicated to the full spectrum of learners in all modalities. The results are nothing short of astounding and my brother’s reputation is growing exponentially. He has cobbled The Possible You from the wisdom of kabbalah, mussar, surfing and a variety of transformation technologies of the past several decades. It’s tailor-made for the Jewish neshama. Now with several thousand graduates, myself included, I see The Possible You changing the world.
Over twenty hours, strangers become allies and loving friends, taking a stand for each other’s success in life. They open the door to estranged family members and experience real healing for wounds gathered over life’s journey. It sounds too good to be true, right? I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes.
My wife buys the smallest packages of food in order to conserve space in our three-shelf pantry. When I open it on any given morning and find one of those 10oz. boxes of Cheerios I cringe and dream of a time when we can shop at Costco. Furthermore, I insist on having a plethora of cereal options so that I can mix and match my breakfast. She retaliates by buying the mini jars of peanut butter. I get the same grief when it comes to my closet full of clothes. She argues that I have more than she does and calls me a pack rat. I respond that I like lots of choices and see no reason to throw my old favorites away, as long as they still fit. So too with my CD collection, the gear in my music studio, my library. Am I too attached to material things? Yes. But I prefer to give my obsession another name.
correctness. We live at a time when conscientious Americans are trying to reduce our carbon footprints, bringing canvas bags to the supermarket, driving hybrids and recycling. I’m not suggesting that we abandon these astute practices, God forbid! I am suggesting that we distinguish between minimizing our consumption and maximizing our joy.
“magnets”; if we prove that we know how to do the right thing in any situation, clearly God can trust us with abundance. God aches to give us more, but we have to CHOOSE the relationship, we have to ASK for what we want and we have to BUILD ourselves into individuals who can handle abundance.
and should use our Jewish institutions to enhance our connection rather than provide a glass ceiling to our growth. My friend David Suissa comments that in religious life we decide, “that’s not what I do” and then defend that stance religiously! We argue: why try a mitzvah one time if it makes us a “hypocrite” for not sticking with it? As Jews, our access to shefa is closely aligned with the mitzvot that we take on. Take a chance! Be a hypocrite once in a while. Suissa quotes Rabbi Shlomo Schwartz as saying “God counts only the mitzvahs you do, not the ones you don’t.”
I just returned from my distant cousin Gene Samson’s funeral. I must admit I left my home this morning a bit frustrated that I was going to “lose” half my day and had to wear a black suit on a 90 degree LA scorcher. But as soon as I entered the mortuary I was immediately uplifted by the faces of my extended family and felt the soul-satisfaction of performing the ancient and powerful mitzvah of participating in the burial of a loved one.
couple married for over 50 years, wearing white, exploring the verdant burial ground of our extended family. I got to cry simply because I love my parents so much, because I miss the relatives that have left us, because I’m human and have a God-given need to open my heart and just have a “good cry.”
Isaac says “Hineni,” (here I am) and seems to be complicit in his own demise. Avraham is asked to destroy everything he has worked for. The midrash tells us that the angels were crying tears of disbelief and awe at the commitment of our patriarchs and that these tears fell into Isaac’s eyes and led to his blindness. These angelic tears are the tears of injury, tears that are real and damaging and stay with us forever. We have all experienced crises, trauma and tragedy. The question is if we let the damage sabotage us or if we rise from the ashes stronger and more deeply connected to our Creator.
alone. This is the time to make a written accounting of who we are, who we want to be, who we’ve wronged and need to ask for forgiveness. Only when we are at peace with our friends and relatives and in touch with our personal mission can we let the cries of the shofar enter our hearts and tear down the walls of complacency.
trying to hold onto my kids just like I’m trying to hold onto this water.” As I reached into the river for handfuls of water it just escaped through the cracks in my fingers and continued on its inevitable descent. I sobbed tears of sadness and relief as I acknowledged this bittersweet pain that I have been carrying inside.
God’s ability to sustain me and keep my family together is crumbling. Rather than serving as an example of holiness and living at peace with the Universe, open to whatever God has in store, I am a frightened child trying to protect all my toys from the neighborhood bully.
clearing in the forest where we could peer into the pitch-black new moon sky with a sixteen-inch mirror telescope. My friends, I saw a global cluster, the Whirlpool Galaxy and “eye of God” Ring Nebula with my own eyes! All of these celestial bodies have a specific place in the universe, predictable orbits that they follow, so reliable that we can use their light to steer our ships through the night. All of creation is on a path, with atoms in ordered arrays, electrons and protons spinning around nuclei, trees arching towards the sun, ants marching in single file, pelicans drafting off each other’s wingtips. Why should I dread any aspect of my own path, my lifecycle? Thankfully the Jewish People have been given the gift of a long and winding road of 613 mitzvot, in a system called Halacha, the path. Jewish law can be seen as oppressive and burdensome, or as a collection of helpful spiritual signposts to keep us joyful and inspired on the annual orbit of the Jewish year.
amazing tools to stay on track but I can testify that it is possible to live within halacha and become a robot. I think the key is focusing on filling our lives with kindness to others and gratitude to our Creator. I am grateful for the time God has allotted me to be with my children. I am grateful for vacations and National Parks. I am grateful for stars, rivers and friends. I am grateful for the air that I breathe. I am grateful for my wife, my children, my parents, my extended family. I am grateful to be Jewish. I am grateful for skateboards, skis, guitars and gravity. I am grateful for challenges to overcome. I pray that all of us learn the art of letting go, prying open our hearts to the messages of Heaven and finding our true path. Thanks to a river, a telescope and a new friend, I am a bit closer to finding my own.
is completely open and there is no one imposing deadlines except you. Being a self-employed musician is even harder. The craft is vastly time consuming, goals are difficult to quantify, and the quality of the final product is entirely subjective and resides in the ether. Most of my peers survive from gig to gig, no grand schemes or business plans. All of my kids are becoming musicians in their own right and while I am gushing with pride at their accomplishments, I am not pushing them into the field as a profession. It’s so easy to flake, to get distracted, to start projects and never finish. If by some miracle you manage to get that masterpiece shrink-wrapped, you then have to put on the businessman’s hat to bring your product to market. Musicians don’t like switching hats; they feel it isn’t part of the job description.
attention save for the furtive glance at his iPhone every few seconds in case a text has arrived. Jesse is a joy to behold unless he’s on headphones mid-battle in his World of Warcraft universe. Sarah plays Mindjolt and Super Mario via Facebook while watching the Food Channel on YouTube. Did I mention we don’t have a TV? We don’t! But everyone has a computer (for homework, of course.) When I get a word in about the importance of self-mastery or using time wisely, I get that look that tells me “you are the ultimate curmudgeon on the planet!” I feel like I’m in a desperate race against the clock to get my kids to appreciate and use their free will wisely while they are still living in my home.
best in his unconventional description of hell in “If You Were God.” According to our sages, we are constantly being measured on how we are maximizing our potential. We are not judged against our peers. Instead, at the end of 120 years, we face the distinction between our potential and actual selves. The degree of difference between them is a source of tremendous humiliation, the “fires of hell,” if you will. Were you the best you that you could be? By maximizing “choose life” moments, we have a better chance of finishing the game in alignment with our greatest potential. According to author Leo Buscaglia, “Who you are is God’s gift to you, who you become is your gift to God.”
So what are we going to do with the kids this summer? Well, for starters, the ultimate Jewish pride builder: a month at Jewish summer camp. The rest of the time we’ll try to keep them away from screens as much as possible. Yes, we have to intervene…for most kids, time management is bigger than them. We will use the remaining six weeks to nurture existing hobbies and jumpstart new ones. Double up on instrument lessons, lots of Krav Maga, a filmmaking workshop. I am taking my oldest son into the wilderness for a week and will take lots of pictures so that he can look back and see that his old man cared enough to do something about it rather than just complain. And yes, we’ll see some 3D movies, visit the waterslides and go to Ben and Jerry’s. We may be strict but we’re not crazy.
My cherished custom every time I land in Florida is to head straight to the beach and jump in the glassy, warm water. The shock of the Pacific chill is absent…no wetsuit required…and the white sand unfolds to the North for hundreds of miles. Upon arriving on this last trip with my fellow Jewish singer and good buddy Todd Herzog, we dropped our bags at the beachfront hotel and davened a peaceful mincha (afternoon prayer) before jumping into the shallow blue-green playground. As we pondered the pelicans and sandpipers, Todd asked me some penetrating questions about why one would want to say the same exact words three times a day. He was curious what I get out of it. Am I was focusing on just getting the words out or am I actually thinking about meanings? Where do I add my own thoughts? And what happens on Shabbat when we stop making requests from God…what am I praying for then?
central prayer nearly 2500 years ago…and it was clearly already in use when they did so. Among their ranks were several sages of prophetic stature. They boiled down God’s will for the Jewish People in eighteen (later nineteen) crucial categories. When we repeat this menu of our deepest needs, we enact our partnership with God in bringing them to fruition. So central is this prayer to our existence that it is simply referred to as tefila (THE prayer) when discussed in the Talmud. The Sh’ma and psalms are important, but the Amidah is IT. I think Rashi says it best when he explains that l’hitpalel, or to pray, means to dream or think ultimate thoughts. We utter nineteen dreams for humanity and those dreams become part of us, defining our aspirations and clarifying our service to God.
there’s any place that you want to deeply focus and use the formulaic words of the millennia, this is it.
This Rosh Chodesh Nissan I had the pleasure of culminating my eight-day tour of Florida with a Shabbaton in Cooper City, just north of Miami. Just before launching into Kabbalat Shabbat services I sang Auld Lang Syne. After all, we just concluded Adar, the final month of year in terms of the biblical count. That makes the transition into Nissan the true New Year’s Eve. As soon as the moon is full, on the eve of the fifteenth night of the first month, we celebrate our annual birthday as a nation. Some 3000 years ago we were a nation enslaved by a decadent tyrant, yearning for freedom. At the stroke of midnight that first Passover, after nine months of plagues, we emerged from the womb of Egypt to our destiny of freedom. The concealment of Adar gives way to open revelation at the Sea of Reeds and Sinai, and thanks to our remarkable custom of making an annual Seder, we still relish in the birth of the unbreakable soul of our nation.
insists that this body is no more than a meat-jacket that we must maintain with food, water and exercise so that it can continue to shlep the precious, divine soul on it’s mission. Throughout the year we indulge in petty material concerns and accumulations. Come Pesach, along with our physical spring-cleaning we have the opportunity to get down to the soul level in our worldview and interpersonal connections. Kabbalah has given us a window into the soul that is a perfect user manual that engenders pride in ownership. For those empirical types that must see it to believe it, our tradition teaches a “five levels of the soul paradigm” that clarifies the outlines of the ephemeral self. In the interest of having a wide-eyed, openhearted Pesach, allow me to take you through the journey of these five levels, based on the teachings of Rabbi David Aaron and Rabbi Tom Meyer.
during the Holocaust was meaningless manual labor. Without meaning, our lives become living agony. Also, the nefesh is being expressed when we hear the voice of the conscience speaking, that fundamental, cross-cultural concept of good and evil. We know it’s inherently wrong to punch an elderly stranger in the street. Hollywood movies with heroes and villains sell worldwide because all humans share certain internal ethics. That’s our nefesh speaking. Darwinian evolutionists and physicists can’t quite explain why it’s there. But it is. And we know its voice like we know we have five fingers on our hand.
unique, in spite of the fact that we are one among billions of similarly entitled beings. It’s our neshama speaking when we pursue happiness. I’m sure scientists might have convincing theories about why we strive to feel in sync, on a mission, why we feel we are deserving of happiness. But any true pleasure seeker does not need science to explain this universal drive. When we stop to think about it, it’s clear we have a neshama, a divine force informing our every motivation.
idea of being separate, alone with another. The yichud room at a traditional Jewish wedding is when the bride and groom are secluded in an intimate space just after the ceremony. We’ve all felt yechida: those times when we are deeply connected and empowered and totally blown away. For some of us, it was the birth of our child. For others, a perfect ski run on the back bowls of Vail. Some find it in Yosemite or surfing a glassy, overhead, bowling wave. Ask anyone who feels they were saved from a potential harrowing accident by a miracle. The Seder is a fifteen-step opportunity to spend an entire night in yechida. We say the Sh’ma twice a day to remind ourselves of the possibility, just for that moment, to love God with all our heart, soul and might.
field, Raymond Moody, interviewed thousands of individuals that “flat-lined” for over twenty minutes and then came back to life. Many report a multi-stage chain of events that parallel the description of death in Kabbalah. Commonly experienced phenomena are seeing their body from above, hearing everything that was going on and enduring a rapid review of their lives (much like the great James Brooks movie Defending Your Life.) Some are met by loved ones and are then sent back or feel they must return to their corporeal existence to complete a task. Nearly all see or feel a powerful light that is loving and comforting. Our rabbis tell us that this is the “ziv hashechina,” the light of God, of creation. After all, the sun wasn’t formed until the fourth day…could this be the light that God stated was “good” on the first?
Shlomo Carlebach and Debbie Friedman started something big. Much like the Internet freed visionaries to rip away the barriers of industry, these two composers wrote music from their hearts and delivered it directly to the people. They didn’t go to a conservatory to get degrees in composition. Nor did they spend six years at a cantorial school. They heard music in their heads, translated it for the world to access with simple guitar chords and sweet, non-operatic voices, and hit the road to any venue open to their spiritual message.
unprecedented tranquility, success and freedom. It is the music of a profound and unprecedented byproduct of the 20th century: the optimistic Jew.
CD titles on its website; Mostly Music, associated with the Orthodox movement, carries the work of over 1300 different artists. Just last week the annual Song Leader Boot Camp offered three full days of training in the art form to over 90 young singers and composers. The main CJM online outlet, 
about 1500 CDs to break even on production costs. That was based on the $15 per album that they could typically charge audiences after a concert, a goal that the average working musician could fathom. With iTunes, the breakeven point jumps to nearly 50,000 singles that must be sold. The new model has emasculated the long form album, the beloved collections that gave singers a dozen songs to make their artistic statements. Spotify, the rising star of subscription services, referred to as the “iTunes killer,” pays the artist .3 cents per listen. I shudder to do the math.
Haftorah trope with our organist Aryell Cohen, and mastered Mussaf with Cantor Joe Gole who took me under his wing. I had to learn the portions both for my LA ceremony and the one that followed a few weeks later at the holy Western Wall. One night my mom recognized my accomplishments in that short period of time. She came into my bedroom as I negotiated our ancient texts and said, “Sammy, if you keep pursuing your goals like you did this year, there is nothing that will stop you.” Thanks Mom…I’ve been a workaholic ever since.
