sarah in nyc

 Wednesday night was the beginning of Tisha B'Av, the Jewish national/religious day of mourning. We chant  Eicha/ The book of Lamentations . As various members of my community led the reading, many of us softly chanted along  The text particularly spoke to me this year. We are living through difficult times. I was struck this year by how deeply familiar the text is. Verses and verse fragments are part of our liturgy. So many of the verses expressing loss and grief are inscribed on gravestones. Snippets of the text are incorporated into Hebrew poetry both hundreds of years ago as well as in contemporary Hebrew/Israeli poetry and song.  And of course the longing for the return to Zion that is encoded into our religious DNA. It was a moving evening. And on a completely different topic... I am writing this post on a bus that left from the Port Authority Bus station. Hold on to your seats. The bathroom was spotless and smells clean. The Port Authority bathroom is no longe...

 My mother never took a pocketbook to synagogue on Shabbat or holidays. To her, a pocketbook meant that you were taking money or your car keys to synagogue. Both would have earned a sniff from my mother.  My mother always took along tissues in her pocket or in the cuff of her sweater because she had terrible allergies and a tissue was always needed. Decades ago my late friend Fred told me that he grew up in a family that was irreligious. Fred, as an adult felt drawn to greater observance. He once told me that he married his ex wife because he was so impressed  she knew that that it wasn't proper to take a pocketbook to services. He laughed ruefully because he discovered that this was ALL that she knew about Jewish observance. ( And no, the marriage didn't last). All of this is a long introduction to the fact that now I carry a pocketbook to services every week. I have a pretty severe sesame allergy. I have to take along my Epi-pen because after services every week there i...

Normally I associate the smell of a wood fire with delightful things. I have fond memories of walking home from the Quincy Center Station on cold wintery evenings when I was in High School and smelling the lovely  homey smell of fireplaces warming homes along my cold walk home. I also associate that wonderful scent of woodfires from the special bonfires at camp. Today though, we woke up to the scent of wood smoke but it wasn't something homey or celebratory but it was the sickly smoke that has been blanketing us from the forest fires in Ontario. The air feels heavy and sickly.  The light is a heavy ochre color.   It isn't quite as bad as the it was a few years ago when the sky was orange from the smoke and it felt like the end of  days. I hope that these fires are soon quenched. I have managed to get a few more miles of ribbon embroidered. I leave you with a shot of shadow from a friend's house.

  Yesterday we went on a little adventure---to Hoboken. It's the birthplace of Frank Sinatra.  I don't know how many people would choose to make Hoboken a day trip destination but we are a sucker for old cities so off we went with our friends Alfie and Judy. One of us was in need of a nap and stretched out on the grass in Frank Sinatra Park for a nap. The rest of us watched this photoshoot with a  quinceañera and her parents. The dress was impressive. The girl's parents wrangled the dress up and down the promenade. The girl wore crocks and ankle socks under the dress. Her parents acted as stylists arranging the skirt for every shot. After naptime was done, we walked to the  Hoboken Terminal . It is a pretty fabulous building that was created when train travel wasn't just transportation but was an EVENT. I am going to pause here to complain for a moment---no, not about our lovely day in Hoboken but about the fact that Blogger has decided to make inserting images into ...