The folks at Daily Jews are featuring the Yarmulkebra this week; which is so fabulous.

‘Course I did blog it a while back, but it warrants another look, nu?

The good news is that I got the job at J.; the bad news is that this Yenta can only wear so many hats at a time (and Lord knows I LOVE hats.) So posting might be a bit slow this Yom Kippur week.

But I did come across this op-ed piece from Salem, OR about how school legislators need to check the calendar before scheduling teacher in-service days so they don’tconflict with the High Holidays. I’d like to extend the same admonition to the people who originally scheduled my son’s class camping trip on Yom Kippur. (“Well, we checked the calendar,” was the parent-in-charge’s lame response. They moved the trip after I galvanized the two other Jewish families to complain.)

In order to prevent such a shanda from happening again, I took the liberty of printing out a five-year calendar of the Jewish holidays for the school’s secretary, principal and PTA president. Was this too pushy or the noblesse oblige of the Jewish mother?

…or if I prefer, Hau`oli la hanau! (Hawaiian.) Or perhaps in Esperanto? Felichan Naskightagon!

So many ways for you to wish me a Happy Birthday, if you’d like. I promise it’ll make my day — the older you get, the more each greeting means.

Rabbi Marc Gelman’s column this week is quite inspirational. He sermonizes on the commandment al tirah — be not afraid – and distills faith down to its essential truth:

Hat tip to my beloved husband.
Hamsa image c/0 Pyramid-art.com.

This poem for Yom Kippur was posted by my new blog-crush, Rabbi Daniel Brenner, who’s deep and funny.

Stains

Stains, sins, impurities,
He searches for a liturgy with deep scrubbing action,
All-purpose cleaner,
Not for use on delicates.

But everything is delicate,
A broken zipper over the heart exposes
a balled-up handkerchief soiled with blood, tears, feces, gin spilled from the flask his mother kept in her denim purse after the great unraveling.
Residue.
Memory plays tricks,
But residue retains the stench of it all.

You’d think that the smell would go away as the years stretch on,
the fir trees grow tall as the house, the old neighborhood is gentrified,
but smell is eternal, of God.

Waters of purification, divine bleach,
Flow for me tonight,
Wash over me,
Cleanse me,
Heal me,

I want to tingle again.
I want a fresh scent.
I want to believe in something other than my own cynicism.
I want to feel the radiating spirit of static cling between me and all sentient beings.

From the Miami Herald: An afternoon Rosh Hashanah service ended abruptly at a Chabad synagogue in Boca Raton after 79-year-old man shot a fellow worshiper. Full story.

The victim is expected to survive, thank Hashem. The rabbi was able to blow the shofar, albeit in the parking lot, after the commotion subsided.

Sorry for the flip headline; it’s been four days and I’m still just…so…pissed.

(Hat tip to Jewschool.)