So much rawr-ing in the last few weeks about Amy Chua’s shocking mothering memoir, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother!

The explosion began with Chua’s piece in the Washington Post called “Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior,” where she proudly announced her strict parenting regimen of three-hour violin and piano practice sessions, shame-inducing insults and a no-sleepovers-or-anything-fun-EVER policy for her two daughters. Chua insists that the kind of cruel discipline present in first and second generation Chinese (and other immigrant) families is necessary to produce skilled, responsible adults—or at least avoid raising the kind of bratty, entitled shmucks who seem to be overtaking our country.

Folks, especially Jewish mothers, are pissed. The New York Times reports Chua has been called a “monster” and received death threats for her provocative support of a parenting style that’s put many into therapy for life.

Personally, I’m impressed Chua has enough confidence in her parenting skills to share them as if they’re actually working. I mean, how do you know? When they get into a good college—but then binge drink and screw the debate team? When they score a fat job after graduation but develop a secret heroin problem? I want my kids to be happy, productive citizens, and all I know is that they absolutely cannot be trusted to figure how do this on their own.

While I worry terribly over their self-esteems, and El Yenta Man cannot seem to give up his penchant for getting a little too involved in science fair projects, I kind of believe in Chua’s philosophy of demanding they do their homework, respect their elders and work their little tushies off to excel:

What Chinese parents understand is that nothing is fun until you’re good at it. To get good at anything you have to work, and children on their own never want to work, which is why it is crucial to override their preferences. This often requires fortitude on the part of the parents because the child will resist; things are always hardest at the beginning, which is where Western parents tend to give up.

Fundamental stuff, no? Not that anyone would ever accuse us of being Tiger parents: Last night at 10pm, one kid had literally have his iPod pried away from him because he said he wouldn’t go to sleep until he surpassed Level 16 on “Angry Birds” while the other one was riding a broom around the house in her underwear pretending to be Witchy Lady Gaga.

You’d think we could count ourselves as doing something right since Yenta Boy practices piano for hours a day without being asked. Yet this does this not puff my pride up like a mother peacock whose progeny has scored with every hen in the yard. Why? Because instead of tackling the simple arrangement of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” that his teacher assigned him months ago, he gleefully bangs out the same damn jaunty three chords of Cee Lo Green’s “F*ck You.”

At least he sings the clean lyrics?

Well, this certainly was fun to see on Saturday night—but really, do American TV audiences get references to sitting shivah, Mishnah and Cee Lo Green spitting Yiddish?

According to a recent Gallup poll, American Jews are the happiest people out of any religious group:

The Gallup-Healthways Well-Being Index is based on a survey of more than 550,000 people who were scored on a number of categories, including emotional and physical health, work environment and healthy behaviors. Jews were placed in the No. 1 spot, with an overall “well-being” score of 69.8, followed by nonreligious or atheists/agnostics, Catholics, Mormons, Muslims and other religions. Protestants scored the lowest, at 64.8.

I guess this means all the therapy is finally paying off.

(Thanks to Amanda ZR for reminding me of this post!)

Growing up with a feminist mother who also happened to own a modeling agency, I am no stranger to the paradox of the Miss America pageant. Yes, for 90 years it’s been about pretty girls with stupendous orthodontia parading around in nude pantyhose and bathing suits and high heels. But it’s also about talent, presence and community service and scholarship—the winner gets her post-graduate college education fully funded. Yeah, I know—you’re rolling your eyes. No one watches it ’cause these girls are smart, right?

In the early 80s, with a mouthful of dental hardware and the slumped shoulders of one whose chest entered puberty before the rest of her, I was in no danger of being swept up into the sparkly sequined world of teenage pageantry. Though my mother’s agency occasionally brushed into this realm when a stage mother pushed headshots of her pancake-make-up’ed little princess into Scottsdale’s small fashion industry, I remained far on the fringe of rhinestone tiaras and Vaseline smiles. I thought it was all so weird and false, especially at the local levels it seemed like only the snottiest, super holier-than-thou girls entered beauty contests. No one had to tell me that that pageants were not a place for nearsighted Jewish girls with big boobs.

But when the BIG show from Atlantic City aired, I was always in front of the TV, making fun of the opera singers and ballet dancers (unoriginal, IHMO) and being awed by the pianists and harpists (is there anything more captivating than a gorgeous woman playing a giant wall of strings?) I never felt much of a kinship with the inevitably vanilla contestant from my home state of Arizona and I definitely had an unreasonable prejudice against the Texans (something about combo of the drawl, the big hair and obviously false dental veneers offended me.) I usually rooted for the African-American women and practically choked on my retainer when Vanessa Williams won in 1984.

Come to think of it, that may have been the last time I watched the Miss American pageant. After they dethroned VWill when her (admittedly racy) nudey pictures surfaced in Penthouse, the whole phony-innocence ideal of the “perfect American woman” seemed ridiculous. I decided whomever it is wearing the sparkly crown and waving her hand like she’s got the palsy, she probably ain’t representin’ me or mine.

But it’s 2011, and whaddya know—we got ourselves a nice Jewish girl to cheer on come Saturday night. I can’t claim to have a whole lot in common with Lauren Galler Rabinowitz, the current Miss Massachusetts: She’s a former champion ice dancer, a Harvard graduate whose been recognized for her poetry and will attend any medical school she likes in pediatrics. She’s a world-class pianist related to Leonard Bernstein, the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors and has already raised tens of thousands of dollars for charities that benefit sick and hungry children.

She’s adorable, her teeth are fabulous, and she’s a genuine mensch (too bad Yiddish doesn’t have a feminist version of that word, but let’s say in this era is just means “good human being.) And a fine reason to break my pageant boycott. Listen to some of Lauren’s cute Dr. Suess-y poetry here (I’m positive her Harvard poetry thesis was much more complex) as well as vote for her as your favorite.

You may already know that if Lauren wins, she wouldn’t be the first Jewish Miss America: Bess Myerson shocked the world when she won the crown in 1945, becoming a “modern day Queen Esther” as she stood up to anti-Semitism and bigotry throughout her reign and after. She went on to work for the Anti-Defamation League, served as Ed Koch’s mayorial campaign chair, ran for Senate in 1977, raised over a million dollars for Israel and worked for the state of New York. She survived ovarian cancer and scandal in the 80’s, and by all accounts, is living out her golden years in Florida. I’ve give anything to be able to watch Saturday’s pageant with her.

So the chances of another Jewish Miss American are obviously one out of fifty, which isn’t too bad, and they’re even higher if the judges are as sick of Celine Dion covers as I am. You know El Yenta Man will have no patience for this and my kids will be out of town with their grandpa, so it’ll just be me and my adolescent judgements on the couch. Let me know if you want to come over; I’ll make Jiffypop and we can try on each other’s headgears and braid each other’s hair.

Jewish muse Debbie Friedman has left the planet.

Armed with a guitar, a cheerful love of God and a deep belief in the power of the people, she changed what it means to worship Jewishly. She offered a genuine interpretation of traditional prayer that inspired joy, community and a sense of the sacred. She brought the women of the Torah to our consciousness and brought the voice of everyday women to the bima.

When so many facets of modern Jewish life are rife with contention, she gently admonished us that not by might, not by power, but by spirit alone shall we all live in peace.

Her music had a much more profound impact on many of us than any rabbi. It’s a happy irony that this “rebel” ended up becoming an “official” cantorial teacher for the Reform synagogue movement in 2007. She leaves behind a body of work that will continue to enrich the spirit of people around the world, and us Jews who want ruach in our prayers will continue to sing her songs in shul, at camp, at religious school and at home for many generations to come.

I had the honor to share a stage with Ms. Friedman in 2007 at Craig Taubman’s awesome event Hallelu Atlanta—she was fierce, a diminutive but dynamic force (read here for the play-by-play.) Backstage after the show, she was warm and humble. She looked exhausted, but hugged my children and patiently listened to my sycophantic blathering. She bowed out of the afterparty, and there were whispers that she had not been well for some time. It was reported that she was hospitalized last Friday for pneumonia after years of struggling with a dehabilitating neurological illness that kept in bed for weeks at a time and in pain constantly.

Somehow, she used her illness as a blessing without us knowing. She could have retired, stopped touring, given in to the pain, but instead she used it. Listen to her “Lechi Lach” while you read her thoughts on healing from from her website:

We are powerful. It is hard to remember that. Sometimes life takes its turns into the unknown and presents us with challenges we would have preferred not to encounter under any circumstances. Suddenly we are confronted with our pain…The willingness to both offer and receive blessings of healing and well-being allows one who is wounded to transform and unravel their pain. Our pain need not bury us, instead it may elevate us to the point of healing – if we choose to allow it.

With this, you become the messenger. We are not just the recipients of blessings, but the messengers of blessings as well. Remember, out of what emerges from life’s painful challenges will come our healing. And ultimately, our greatest healing will come when we use our suffering to heal another’s pain – ‘to release another from their confinement.’

I am grateful this true spiritual leader has finally been released from her pain. May we all be the blessings she knew we are capable of bringing to the world…go forth.

The Jewish Journal reports that beloved songwriter and composer Debbie Friedman has been hospitalized in Orange County, CA.

She is reportedly sedated and on a respirator, according to an email sent Wednesday from the West Coast office of the Union for Reform Judaism. The email asked that prayers be said on Friedman’s behalf, as well as for her mother, sister and aunt. An immensely popular singer and songwriter, Friedman, who is in her late fifties, is widely credited with reinvigorating synagogue music by introducing a more folksy, sing-along style to American congregations. In 2007, she was appointed to the faculty of the Reform movement’s cantorial school in a sign that her style had gained mainstream acceptance.

As we power down for Shabbos, I know many will be thinking of this great woman during the singing of “Mi Sheiberach” during services—it’s the lovely prayer for healing that she herself composed. It has brought solace to so many, and I hope it will bring the same to her to and family during this time.

Grateful for my health, the health of my loved ones—heartfelt prayers to all those struggling with theirs. A peaceful Shabbat to all.

And it just so happens that the Sisterhood blog reported this morning that there’s one looking for a job.

Alysa Stanton, who became ordained as the first African-American female rabbi in 2009 and has served at Congregation Bayt Shalom in Greenville, N.C. since, will not be renewing her contract after it expires at the end of July.

Rabbi Stanton said the challenges that she faced at the Bayt Shalom weren’t all that different from those of any other first-year rabbi, but hers ‘were more visible because the world was watching.’

As far as I know, there’s a certain congregation in Savannah, GA that will have an opening for a new rabbi come this summer. I’ve lived here long enough to not get any hopes up for big changes that would upset the delicate constitution of aw-wah Suh-thern Classic Re-fohm trah-ditions, but I’d sure love to see her throw her yarmulke in the ring.

Read more here.