




The first line of my Torah portion reads, “When a man has taken a bride, he shall not go out with the army or be assigned to it for any purpose; he shall be exempt one year for the sake of his household, to give happiness to the woman he has married.” Without realizing we were following Jewish law, Josh and I took this guideline seriously, avoiding the trials of war and enjoying each other’s company for 5 happy years. And by war, of course, I mean the hardships, battles and marital strife that result from the blessings of small children.
Our daughters, despite their periodic temper tantrums and sullen silences, are dear to my heart. And they are also the main reason I’m standing up here today. As many of you know, my father was a diplomat and we were stationed in Pakistan when I was 12 and 13—the time a girl typically becomes at Bat Mitzvah. If you’re looking for a place to explore and celebrate your Jewish roots, let me tell you it’s not Pakistan.
When I returned to the U.S. at 14, I attended Confirmation class and stayed involved with my synagogue through high school. And while my rootless upbringing wasn’t remarkably Jewish—we neither socialized with many Jews nor kept Kosher–I felt increasingly drawn to Judaism. It became clear to me that my Jewish heritage was key to my identity and a foundation upon which I could build a sense of home. Still, I couldn’t bear the thought of joining a bunch of 12 year olds for Bar and Bat Mitzvah study. Instead, I promised myself I would eventually make it to the bima. And I would do it before—or possibly alongside–my own children.
So here I am. Over the course of 2 years and with the help of a number of Temple members—I’ve learned Hebrew. I’ve mastered Cantillation. And I’m reading Torah. And I have to tell you, the first time I came up, placed a silver yad in my right hand, and chanted from a 100-year-old scroll, I felt so moved…so connected to the Jewish generations that have proceeded me…and to the Jewish girls I’m raising today. Today may not mark the beginning of my life as a Jewish adult, but it is a homecoming of sorts, an affirmation of my roots.
We live in a world where it is easy to wander to away from Judaism. And yet, despite the ease and appeal of assimilated life with its bagels, lox and Christmas trees, I’ve chosen to step toward my religious identity. To come home as a Jew.
I scored a few bargains this week, but the one I am most proud of is a $39 Calvin Klein contour bra I bought for just $6.57 at Loehmann's. It was on clearance for $14.98, but all clearance items were 50% off. This postcard took an additional 20% off the final sale price.






One small roll-aboard carry-on, packed. Sessions, meals, cocktails and parties have been programmed into my Blackberry. My boarding pass is printed. And a cab has been called.







Did I mention I spent 4 hours at the Pitchfork Music Festival with Josh and the girls Friday evening? Oh right, I saved that anecdote for my first ever post at the brand-new collaborative mom-blogging site TheChicagoMoms.com. 

In This Is Not The Story You Think It Is: A Season of Unlikely Happiness, Laura Munson recalls a what could have been a sad, sad summer. Her husband announced he didn't love her anymore. His business was failing and she was writing novels that never got published. The dream life they'd built in Montana was a house of cards in danger of tumbling down.
Have you ever had a day when you go to work and work through lunch and two people cry in your office and you rush home because you're having your neighbors over for dinner and your kids barely eat but they have so much fun playing that they throw a fit when the evening's over and one is still tantruming in the bath as you leave for your Hebrew lesson? And you go to Hebrew and then to the grocery store and come home and check Facebook and then, just as you're about to plug in your phone and go to bed you find The Book of Poems!!!



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