Son of the Faith

Last week, at the suggestion of my brilliant sister in law, I made my first audio file - and then another, as a preview version of the first one. The preview file has more bells and whistles, thanks to Aurora Publicity Goddess Pam Labbe - Woo hoo! 

I was terrified about creating this, but after rehearsing the chapter I was reading about fifty times (well, really more liked fifteen), I plugged a small microphone into the phone and went at it. The Director of Digital Marketing (also brilliant) suggested the mike, and it really works to block out ambient noise.

The result is something I want to share with you, and comes from my new book, Crooked Lines: A Single Mom's Jewish Journey, which will be released on September 5 by Koehler Books.

The chapter is about the washing of the dead, and how I decided to choose this ritual for my father (shown here with me on his 93rd birthday). 

I've included the preview chapter below and you can find the full one on my website (scroll down to find the full audio file).

I recommend starting with the preview, which you can link to here.

And in case you want to read an excerpt of my Son of the Faith chapter, here you go!

Because he had never been in a war or had other intense life and death encounters, Mitch thought joining the Society would bean important experience for someone starting a career in the clergy. He also believed the Society was a group willing to do what no one else would—and that intrigued him.

I thought he was nuts. My mother and friends also thought he was nuts, but how could I tell him that? When I pressed for more details, he said he had something to show me. Instead of taking me to a funeral home, he brought me to a hair salon, where, to my surprise, he introduced me to the owner, who shook my hand and offered me a free haircut.

I watched her as she pumped my seat higher and placed herscissors out on the counter. Her name was Nancy, and she was amember of Mitch’s congregation. She was close to my age, in herlate twenties, with a fountain of long curly hair, tight black leatherpants, and long red nails.

“I heard your husband is a member of the Hevra Kadisha,” she said as she lifted my hair while grinning into the mirror. Then sheleaned over and whispered, “Me too.”

I looked up at her as she smiled. Those slender white fingers with perfectly polished nails were going out at night and washing deadpeople. What’s more, they were people Nancy knew. As she started cutting and layering, I knew I had to learn more.

Crooked Lines is now available for preorder at the following booksellers:

Indiebound

Barnes & Noble

Amazon Kindle

Amazon Paperback/Hardcover

 

 

Dying Lights

My mother died on the 30th of October, and I was not able to be with her, so had to hear about it from my sister, who called at midnight. I had been there just a few weeks before, and knew she wasn't doing well, but I had convinced myself she would rally, and was surprised when she did not. I was glad my father was with her, but I am not sure if he was sleeping when it happened.

I have been thinking about this all day because the anniversary of her death is coming up and I can't help it. And because I may be in denial about death altogether, and refuse to believe it will happen to the people I know. Scratch the word "maybe." I am in denial.

My mother-in-law Tews kept trying to tell my husband Pete and me that she was, in her own way, making some decisions about her death. She had a difficult blood-related condition and was becoming thinner and thinner. At my son's college graduation, I was quite shocked at how much weight she had lost, but I kept telling myself she would get better, we would figure it out, she wouldn't stay this way.

That summer, Pete and I went out to dinner with Pete's mom while visiting his family cabin. Tews told us she was stopping her medicine, as she was weighing the balance of good days versus bad, and bad was irrevocably winning. Again, I didn't quite understand this and the next day created several menu ideas while trying to persuade her to eat more. 

My mother in law just smiled at me and let me go on with my menu making. I think now she must have thought I was insane, though she was wonderfully kind about it. What I remember now, besides her progressing illness, was how the family gathered around her, during her last few weeks of life.

Tews was in a hospice setting, and more and more family and friends were coming to visit. Though she couldn't leave her bed, my mother in law seemed chipper and happy to see all of us. Her sons brought their instruments -- guitar ad mandolyn -- and serenaded her, and because they are accomplished musicians, nurses and staff gathered to hear them play too.

I recall this as an extraordinary time, though I still kept trying to convince myself there was a chance, maybe, maybe, that she would get better. Though she didn't, I loved how her family kept vigil; with music, laughter, sometimes tears but mostly keeping her company with songs, readings and love.

If I am ever in a similar situation, I know I'd want the same--with family and friends gathering to send me off with songs and stories. I can think of no better way to go. 

I wish we'd had the ability to figure this out for my mother, too, but understand we can't change it now. We did do a little better for my dad, who had a beautiful hospice room and music and people with him, including me, holding tight to his hand. Being there meant everything to me, and I will always be grateful I could be. 

I read once that Mozart had said death was the purpose of life. I still don't understand what that means, but if it is true then we need to send a little life along with it, reminding the person whose life is ending that love is eternal, and that some part of our music and light and songs will accompany them as consciousness fades.

It is the least we can do for each other, but most of us never realize the least is so much more than what it seems. I think I do, now. I think I finally do.

Hands Photo: Liz Jones

Death Wish

This week I read an article about Silicon Valley (spearheaded by Google) working on research projects to expand longevity by centuries and eliminate death. This made me think of another article I read about multi-millionaires buying up "apocalypse" housing in case there's a huge earthquake or nuclear disaster.

So this is what these guys are spending their time and money on these days, except for people like Bill and Melinda Gates, whose foundation actually focuses on poor people across the globe. But reading the article this week made me think about death and if it's the tragedy the folks in this article say it is.

Maybe I'm crazy, but to me, the answer is no.

Sure, I would like to see diseases like Parkinson's and Alzheimer's eradicated. I'd like to get rid of all the deadly diseases attacking us, and the violence and wars. But do I want to live for 300 years?

On the face of it, I suppose we all want to live a little longer, if we're lucky enough to be living well. I have questions, though.

Some of the "inventions" being talked about in Silicon Valley include meshing human genes with computers. So we'd become part cyborg, right? What if some of those eternal dictators were people like Stalin or Pol Pot? Would they stay in office, year after year?

I'm also wondering about resources, because last time I checked they weren't infinite. Shouldn't we be leaving some of what we have to the next generation and the ones after that?

Next question: what kind of world will our kids inherit if we're more concerned with living forever and hiding from disasters than what we leave behind? Shouldn't the focus be on what you do--whether it's writing a book or play or composing songs or creating paintings or inventing immunizations that prevent polio or AIDS or diphtheria or diabetes? What about building affordable housing communities and helping people live better lives?

Maybe ideals like these are hopelessly old fashioned, but I can't help thinking that if there are just a privileged few who live to 300 and hide away in luxury housing, what's the point of their lives?

I'd rather concentrate on leaving something lasting behind that you'll remember. To me, that's the only real way to transcend death. And life, for that matter.

So if you want to talk about that, Silicon Valley... I'll be listening.


Hand in Computer Photo: Sarah