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.

So much is afoot, it’s hard to know where to begin.

The top news in Yentaland is the imminent launch of El Yenta Man’s gym and personal training studio, Strong:

The place is coming together and the equipment is on the way, so Savannah better get its leg warmers and sweatbands on! Strong will offer one-on-one sessions, affordable group training, injury rehab and classes in a clean, well-lighted place. No drill sargeants, no techno soundtracks, just super-educated, experienced, compassionate trainers who can help everyone with a body become stronger, healthier and lighter. And yes, I’ll be teaching classes, too! Personally, I can’t wait to my tuchus on the new elliptical—EYM promises it’ll feel like I’m back climbing the hills of Marin County.

In other good new year news, my children are completely excited to get back to Shalom School. I found my first grader chanting the “V’havta” in the mirror this morning while brushing the snarls out of her hair, and when she got to the English, she stopped and looked at her reflection calmly and said “You shall love God with all your MIGHT, with all your STRENGTH, with all your BEING.” Our interpretation of Jewish teachings is that we are all Divine, and it was a really lovely moment to see my daughter connect spiritually with herself with a traditional prayer in an everyday setting.

The boy came home yesterday from Hebrew school all psyched about visiting Israel for his bar mitzvah (eliciting a small anxiety attack when I realized that it’s only two years away!) His teacher is this year’s shaliach, the Israeli emissary sponsored by the Jewish Federation. The shlichim that come here every year are phenomenally educated and enthusiastic, throwing themselves into the community to educate Jews and non-Jews about Israel’s history, culture and yes, its politics. Yenta Boy especially enjoys learning Hebrew from Gershon the Shaliach as well as Israel’s scientific accomplishments, and I think it’s important that Jewish kids know more about Israel than the conflict we see on the news.

Sheesh, it’s important for us to know more than that. I often encounter well-educated Jews who actively distance themselves from the Jewish state, some going so far protesting Israel as “apartheid.” Someone sent me a link to Peter Beinart’s May 2010 article, “The Failure of the Jewish American Establishment”, which describes how Zionism (the support of a Jewish state) is no longer an inspiration to anyone but the highly religious and the older generations and that American Jews are some of Israel’s biggest detractors.

I find this sad, of course, but potentially suicidal. Isn’t it possible to criticize Israel’s administration and mistakes and still stand with it, much as one can question the motives of the bloated corporate puppets we call U.S. Senators and still be a patriot? This notion among Jewish American liberals that “standing with Israel” means swallowing one’s outrage over the settlements, over humanitarian conditions in Gaza or obfuscating one’s compassion for all who suffer regardless of what side they’re on makes me think these people are reflexively attaching themselves to the underdog rather than considering the facts.

It’s a complicated situation, to understate it. Surely, racism exists in Israel, even among its leaders, and any kind of diplomacy is a challenge. But as a Jewish person on this planet with children, supporting the only democracy in the Middle East—with eyes wide open to its flawed, dynamic, very young existence —is in all of our best interest. And certainly not what Beinart calls “a moral abdication.”

So I’m grateful that my kids are able to learn about Israel from someone who calls it home, who’s served in its military and who I’ve only heard address the conflicts in a balanced, fair way. They’ll be able to shoulder the complexity of supporting Israel with pride—and with facts.

Sadly, actual facts are scare these days. Check out how much students know about the Middle East on the UCLA campus:

This one, if you can forgive the creepy panda bears and robot voices, speaks volumes about the misinformation about Israel that’s oozing around the world:

I’ve probably ripped open a can of nasty by addressing this here. I guess as American Jews we feel somehow responsible for the chaos “over there,” and by opposing Israel’s “right to exist” that somehow abdicates a person from the association. But the truth is that the world sees us and our children as Jews, like it or not. We should all be proud to stand strong with and stand up for Israel—even if we disagree with its actions.

I know Hollywood isn’t known for its functional relationships, but what has gotten into our hot Jewish icons?

First, Scarlett Johanssen divorces “Sexiest Man Alive” Ryan Reynolds. Actually, in spite of his truly amazing abs, he’s always seemed like a tool (Two Guys and a Girl and A Pizza Place, anyone?) So maybe this isn’t so bad. No kids, and he’s not Jewish anyway. The Jewish single men of the world best get themselves some haircuts and start a’courtin’ Miss ScarJo, nu?

But then there’s Oscar winner Rachel Weisz, who married Harvard-educated director Darren Aronofsky in 2002, a had a sweet little boy named Henry and appeared to be a perfectly happy Jewish family. Then she had to go and jump the Bond guy (who, in spite of his smoldering performance as ass-kicking Pole hiding from the Nazis in Defiance, is not Jewish.)

And this one REALLY hurts: Natalie Portman, who’s got the world buzzing about her performance in Black Swan (directed by poor Darren Aronofsky), who was the nice Jewish movie star I thought I could count on to be sensible, the one damn example I had to hold up to my children that not every child actress turns out to be an embarrassment to her mother, is knocked up and engaged to French choreographer Benjamin Millepied. No, that is not a Jewish name (though it does translate into “a thousand feet,” which is a ridiculous/fabulous name for a dancer.) Look, I wish them happiness doing their tragic ballet thing together, but I sure do hope that kid gets a b’nai mitzvah.

As much as this mishegoss appears to be an epidemic, El Yenta Man has nothing to fear of this Jewish wife’s decampment. First off, EYM’s abs make Ryan Reynolds look like a couch potato. And anyway, Sean Connery will always be my favorite James Bond, and he’s so old just fantasizing about it makes me think about Depends.

I tend to shy away from the inevitable lists that appear that last week of the year on websites since they activate a neurosis that I must read every single one of them to catch up on all that I’ve missed before I can start the new year, which might put me way into March.

But Tablet’s 100 Best Jewish Songs managed to override the crazy because it’s just SO amazing for its breadth, depth and sheer audacity (Really, Sacha Baron Cohen’s “Throw the Jew Down the Well”? And what’s up with placing The Shema after Al Jolson’s “My Mammy”? At least it’s one up from “White Christmas.”)

Embracing the greats (Manilow, Streisand, Diamond), obscure shtetl folksongs, Israeli anthems and wackadoodle pop culture icons (Beastie Boys, Amy Winehouse, P-Funk) in the same giant hug, this amalgam is a gleefully awkward mash-up of the sacred and silly. Particularly #37, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”:

Johnny Marks’ “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” is the Christmas song-as-Jewish-wish-fulfillment fantasy. It’s the story of a social outcast with a funny schnozz who saves Christmas, earning the love of the goyim and a place in the history books.

Of course, we are Jews, and there’s bound to be some contention. Judging from the cheeky tone of the editorial, this list wasn’t so much meant to be definitive as it was to be entertaining. A reader in the comments section points out that this is really only a list of Ashkenazic tunes, meaning the traditions of the world’s Sephardim was ignored—IMHO, the Ladino “Ocho Kandelikas” could have replaced Adam Sandler’s “The Chanukah Song.” But including Beck’s “Loser” as a “schlemiel’s lament”? Classic.

Here’s the simple list of the 100 Best Jewish Songs, but you must check out the full descriptions for fascinating background and some major chuckles.

Seeing as some of these songs are on the Glee Wii karoake game that “Santa” left on the TV, I feel much less guilty for the crime of throwing my children a Christmas bone. Off to tackle “I Say A Little Prayer” (sung by Aretha, written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David) with new ruach.

This morning at 3am, I was lying on the front lawn watching a red shadow creep across the moon.

If this had been 1991, this might have been attributed to a bad acid trip followed by cheap Mexican food. Back then, seeing the moon go dark on the Winter Solstice would have been proof positive that the world would be ending very soon, and there was little point in thinking about getting a real job or paying the rent on time. I would have attributed the double whammy of the shortest day of the year coupled with the Lunar Night Goddess being robbed of her light as an omen that The Great Evil had finally taken over the world. I probably would have hunkered down right there in the leaves and grass and prepared to disintegrate or be eaten by robots or for whatever fate awaits those of us who don’t get Raptured.

Of course, I would have woken up stiff and cold with a homeless guy peeing in the bushes next to me, the world still chugging along on its inexact, yet very much existent, path.

Nearing up as we are on 2011, I spent last night’s astronomical exhibitions with my son tucked under my arm and the dog snuggled in my lap, a wholesome family moment that I never could have imagined back in the bad old days when I wore angst like my favorite pair of patched-up Levi’s. My mind tried to work its way into some alarming significance about the deep darkness all around, but I wasn’t really listening. I was busy marveling at how we view time as linear because we are born and then we die, but if we really look, the universe is built in cycles, with no beginning and no end—the moon endlessly spinning around the Earth as the Earth does its eternal dance around the sun. Perhaps someday it’ll all spin up together in the cosmic blender as a frozen margarita of hydrogen atoms and wormholes. But last night the celestial bodies all lined up for a few minutes, then kept on their merry ways, just as they’ve been long before they had monkey-minded humans to witness them and surely will long after we suffocate ourselves in our own garbage.

There’s no denying that twenty years has taken its toll on this monkey body, and twenty more will surely bring more aches, wrinkles and dimples in the wrong places. If I’m still here in twenty after that, then I’m definitely going to start smoking again. Laying in my own front yard (I’ve got the mortgage to prove it) with my family, unsure of the future but ready and willing to entertain it, I came to a realization I would have liked to have shared with my 19 year-old self: Get up and go home, asshole. Ditch creative writing as a career choice and major in mechanical engineering, because in the future everyone will be a writer with their own things called blogs but there will be a ton of bridges that need rebuilding. Start a savings account. The end of the world is for pussies.

Just in case you stayed in your lovely warm bed last night:

2011 Winter Solstice Lunar Eclipse from William Castleman.

And because that lunatic on the grass weird angsty girl still kicks around in this bag of bones somewhere, here’s a little something for her:

Big ups to my homegirl Excruciatingly Normal for turning me on to Kveller, a new Jewish mother site out of New York with delish blogs, advice and community for pregnant Jewmamas to those with preschool aged kids. ‘Course, that’s not me anymore, since Yenta Boy is grousing around like a real adolescent with his Justin Bieber swoop and Facebook page, and Little Yenta Girl just lost her first tooth.

The link EN forwarded had “Blossom’s F*cking Nuts, yo!” in the subject line and led to a guest blog by Mayim Bialik, kid actress turned brilliant neuroscientist and now big ol’ lactation advocate, evident from the post’s title: “I Breastfeed My Toddler. Got A Problem With It?”

Nope, neither me nor EN have a problem with breastfeeding a two year-old, since we have both experienced the alternating joy and sheer insanity of breastfeeding a small person who walks and talks. EN’s still nursing her little boy and though mine have long forgotten the boob, all of their robust health, keen intelligence and emotional security speaks volumes for this practice.

EN thought it was crazy that Mayim’s kid doesn’t eat solid foods yet, which means mama is still providing all the nutrition. Me, while I am super behind my girl Blossom’s commitment to attachment parenting, which involves extended nursing, toting your little hairless monkey around in a sling and co-sleeping, felt annoyed that the woman already has her freakin’ phD in brain science and gets to attend red carpet functions for which she can afford a babysitter, she has to be a perfect mother who cooks vegan snacks, too? Way to make an underemployed mother of two feel like an inadequate, self-absorbed sloth for letting my kids watch TV and feeding them instant oatmeal for dinner last week because El Yenta Man was working late and I just could not make myself go to the store for broccoli.

Mayim’s post ignited quite a riot in the comments section and a witty plea from fellow Kveller blogger Carla Naumburg to “get real” about the dirty truth of parenting. I agreed—if you’re not the kind of mother who’s truthful about the tears, the exhaustion, the evil thoughts of driving your children to their grandparents’ and leaving them there forever, then you kind of suck.

But this morning, Mayim posted a response to Carla’s, detailing her painful nursing experiences and getting no sleep and losing it with her kids, though her hissed “Just go to sleep already” really makes my constant use of the F-word look worthy of a visit from Child Services. I’m impressed with her willingness to face of the criticism for her original post, I’m guessing she could handle it quite well, or she wouldn’t have had the chutzpah to write it in the first place.

Anyway, it was fun to visit the old days of cuddling up and nursing someone’s boo-boo, and I just adore EN and Mayim and Carla and Kveller.

And I’m damn glad my own kids are old enough to be at school all day while I go have a glass of wine at lunch.

Thank you all who entered the Yo! Yenta’s Gone Nuts Chanukah Contest with your tales of gift-giving gone oh-so-wrong. If the folks at Oh Nuts! would let me reward all of you, I would—even those freaks who say they don’t like chocolate.

El Yenta Man and I had a quite a few chuckles sifting through your entries of creepy candlelabras, stinky candles and gross grandma sweaters, but one entry in particular had us both snorting sweet tea out our noses: Beth Van Tosh’s Santa g-string given to her by her 80 year-old mother-in-law.

BVT, you win $25 to use at Oh Nuts! as well as a recommendation on a gift for your mother-in-law next year:

Really, nothing says “please limit your visits to three days” than a Chappy Chanukah thong.

Now that our holiday is over, Imma ready to let the rest of the world get down to the business of Christmas while I enjoy a nice, quiet Shabbat picking wax out of the carpet. Shabbat Shalom!