Why was last night different than many other nights? Celebrating Passover with a little local style

A seder in Hawaii is much like any seder around the world. We tell the story. We eat the traditional foods. And then there are a few special moments that highlight that we are celebrating in this particular place and possibly nowhere else.

Last night was no exception. The Aloha Jewish Chapel seder at the Hale Koa Hotel was a pleasure. The table was set with a beautiful seder plate and we told the story that Jews around the world had been telling all day long in different time zones.

This particular event has a personal story our family likes to tell. Every year when we attend, we remember that it was at this very seder, eight years ago, that my husband and I had our “Almost First Date.” We have been going every year since–except in 2005 when he was deployed in Iraq.

2006

2007

2011

The seder also has some local flavor, but not in the cooking.

How many seders have you been to where the guest list is a balance of  names such as Watanabe, Fukuhara and Hashimoto?

And then there is the music. Rachel Haymer played the ukulele at my wedding, my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah and at most of our Temple events. The addition of her ukulele and her voice last night was a real treat.

Finally, comes my favorite, and the initial inspiration to write this particular blog entry. When we were singing the four questions, during the part that asks why on some nights we eat either sitting or reclining, but on this night we only recline: She b’chol haleilot anu ochlin bein yoshbin uvein m’subin. Halailah hazeh, kulanu m’subin., both my husband and older daughter changed the word  m’subin-reclining- to musubi which is a spam and rice sushi snack that is so far from belonging at a seder that one can only laugh.

Try singing it.

Only in Hawaii.

Happy Passover.

Local snow bunnies hit the slopes

Until recently, my kids had never really seen the snow. Once or twice we were on a vacation at a  mainland destination where a few flakes came down, but melted as soon as they hit the ground. One spring break trip to Kansas City offered enough  for my older girl to make a sort of muddy snow man, kind of like the one Jem made in “To Kill A Mockingbird.”

When it comes to good old-fashioned, winter snow, neither of them ever had the chance to romp and play in piles of that soft white cold stuff, or to slide down a hill in it or to freeze their little tushes off. My kids complain that it is cold when the temperature drops dangerously below 71º. That’s why I took them on “ski” trip to Heavenly in Lake Tahoe last month. They needed to get their inner snow bunnies on!

I have heard that local kids are naturals at the sport and that proved true for mine. My older girl was snowboarding like a pro by the second day. The younger one was sliding around on intermediate slopes long before I made it successfully down “The Big Easy.”

While they were surprised at the cold, they were not uncomfortable. We took the advice of my expert sister and “layered.” Add to that the boxes of snow pants and gloves and hats and long underwear that she sent from her East Coast collection, we were well prepared in that department.

We did it all, from skiing and snowboarding, to old-fashioned tubing and snow ball fights.  My family embraced the opportunity and relished every minute in this foreign environment.


While the thrill of the ride was certainly exciting for all of us, for me, the magnificent backdrop of beautiful Lake Tahoe made it sublime. Heavenly is aptly named.

Just as I am filled with awe and excitement every time I glimpse the ocean from Farrington Highway as I round  Kahe point, the minute I stepped outside in the bracing cold, I had to catch my breath. Not because my lungs were constricted, because I was filled with the power and strength of this amazing place that dumped piles of snow in perfect little flakes on us from the minute we got off the plane until the day we returned to the airport for our flight home.

I know that there is a blessing when you see a rainbow. That  comes in quite handy in Hawaii where we see them on a regular basis–but are still excited every time. I kept wondering what specific blessing I would say for this place. Even though I did not know the words, it was certainly in my heart. I have come to learn that Shehecheyanu would have been perfect–especially for this Hawaii family’s first time.

Blessed are You, Lord our God,  Ruler of the universe, who has kept us alive, and sustained us, and enabled us to reach this moment.

My daughter won first place in the science fair

The reason I am posting this blog entry is not because I am bragging about my daughter who won FIRST PLACE in her category in the Science Fair at her school today. Yes, of course I am proud of her. What mother wouldn’t be? Jewish or not.

But there is more to the story than  her FIRST PLACE award and that is the story that I want to tell.

There’s two parts. The first one is about expectations. I have often been accused of setting very high expectations: for myself, for my students in a past life when I was a teacher and for my children. I can’t help it. My parents had high expectations of me and I learned my M.O. from them.

I have learned on my own that for maximum results I need to strike a reasonable balance between demand and motivation when it comes to getting those expectations met. In my experience, teenagers do not respond well to too much pressure, especially my daughter.

I was not at my stellar best when it came to communicating expectations in regards to this particular project.

Her award is the “I told you so.”

I was not as supportive and motivating as I should have been. I suggested, not too subtly, that she should have done more research and worked harder. I nagged her to finish it early so she would not be working at the last-minute. It did not create the most joyful environment.

She did say that she was glad she finished it before winter break so that she could relax while some of her friends were still stressing about getting it done.

When they announced her first place award at the assembly I was duly humbled. She had it under control all along. I will give her more credit from now on.

The other thing I can’t help but think about in relation to her success on this project is that it has to do with her Bat Mitzvah. How are a science project and the  rite of passage for Jewish  thirteen-year-olds connected you might ask.

The way I see it, not only does becoming a Bat Mitzvah have great significance in relation to her role in the Jewish community, it also affects her secular life as well.

Making a presentation in front of her class was no big deal after leading a congregation filled with family and friends and community members in prayer–in another language. Writing a 5 paragraph essay was a drop in the bucket compared to composing and giving an introduction to  a Torah portion a Haftarah portion and a D’var Torah.

This rite of passage served to deepen her connection to our Synagogue and the wider Jewish community.  It also enhanced her confidence and reinforced skills that she will apply as a leader in her secular life as well.

While it will be a long while before I am prouder of her than I was a year ago, on the day of her Bat Mitzvah, I will take every moment I can get, like her FIRST PLACE award at the science fair today. Even if this particular one comes with a bit of chagrin.

Melekalikimaka and Hau’oli Makahiki Hou. Keep your eyes closed for the picture of the ham if you keep kosher.

I am always clear that we do not celebrate Christmas. That does not mean that I begrudge others their celebration. On the contrary, I fully support whatever is your family’s tradition and the great joy it brings for you.

It just bugs me that it has to be so public and that there is no consideration that it might not be my tradition. Local culture as well as most retail establishments assume that everybody wants to get in the holiday spirit before the Thanksgiving turkey can be served as left overs and sandwiches.

At my kids’ school the Christmas trees appeared in the lobby on the first day of Chanukah and one of the teachers dressed up like an elf for weeks before the winter break. It makes my kids feel left out, not to mention that she looked a little silly.

I’d say it wasn’t a until a few days ago that I was ready for the world to enjoy Christmas, and I did manage to get into the holiday spirit in my way.

There were many firsts for me this year.

Since I helped organize the Kukui Center’s holiday party, I bought Christmas decorations for the first time in my life. I strolled the aisles of Longs and picked up some tinsel and ornaments and a couple of stockings. It felt weird and I hoped nobody I knew would see inside my shopping cart!

But the party was very nice and all the staffs of the 8 non-profits co-located at the center came together for a joyful afternoon and celebration of a year of hard work and helping people.

While it has nothing to do with Christmas, yesterday I went to my first tailgate party at the Aloha Stadium where UH played in the Sheraton Hawaii Bowl and, more importantly, my older daughter danced hula in the half time show.

We got there early and set up and spent the day relaxing and enjoying the delicious hamburgers and sausages my husband grilled.

The girls got ready and nervously awaited their international half time debut. They and the other 300 hula dancers were televised and aired across the nation and in Japan.

And today I made my first ham! My husband’s battalion held a gathering at lunchtime and he was in charge of the ham. Never before have I cooked a holiday ham, but for the soldiers I did.

There wasn’t much to it. I put it in the oven and when it was warm he took it out. I’m sure there are others that employ much more art for their hams. But for this Jewish girl’s debut, I do think it was quite successful.

I did not join him and his soldiers to find out how it tasted. Instead, my younger daughter and I went out to deliver meals for Lanakila Pacific’s Meals on Wheels. This has become our annual Christmas tradition. We started last year and were pleased to have the opportunity to do it again.

She is thrilled and I am satisfied to do our part to bring some food and joy and company to other people’s holiday. We made goodie bags and she made cards and we hit the road to pick up the meals and distribute them on the west side.

So when all is said and done. Melekalikimaka to you and your family, even if you don’t celebrate.  It certainly has been a nice one for ours.

It was a happy Chanukalulu

I’ve noticed that the media has coined various clever, inclusive titles for the holiday season such as Christmahanakwanzaka or Knishmas. I’d like to add one of my favorites to the mix, “Chanukalulu.”

While it does not necessarily include other holidays, I think it is a nice way to describe celebrating Chanukah in Honolulu. And I have to say that this year it was a totally a Chanukalulu celebration, especially last weekend. I might even venture to say it was a Chanukapalooza!

We began lighting the candles on the first night, but since it was a school night we kept it pretty mellow. I chose the Menorah my mom gave me, the Menorah she gave my daughter, the Menorah my  husband’s mother gave him and the Menorah she gave his daughter.

Our kids get gifts, but we tried to keep it simple this year. The party really started on Friday evening.

The annual Temple Emanu-El and SJS Chanukah potluck dinner and family service brought the congregation and school families together for food, fun and worship. We lit the candles together as a community and celebrated the third night of Chanukkah and Shabbat together. It was nice to  connect in mutual celebration.

On Saturday we went to the Rock of Ages concert at the shul featuring a local band Flux Capacitor.

It was a fundraiser for the School of Jewish Studies and a night out for the family. How often does one get to go to a rock concert at the Synagogue.? The kids danced, the grown ups danced, the band danced.

The final activity in what our Temple President has referred to as a “Trifecta” was the SJS Macabiah games on Sunday morning. The kids played Jewpardy, dreidle and a host of other games as well as ate latkes in the name of Chanukah celebration.

By Monday morning I had what I like to refer to as a Chanukah hangover. We truly celebrated to our limit. Of course we lit the candles as a family  at home until the last night, but our supercharged celebration was concentrated over the weekend.

What I like about it is that it did not focus on presents and getting stuff. Instead, it brought together  our family and our community in mutual celebration. We enjoyed the company of friends new and old and shared the rituals and traditions of our faith that bond us during this holiday season.

Our Rabbi sent us a message the other day and at the end  it said, “May the lights of Chanukah continue to burn brightly within us and bring us and the whole world wisdom, inspiration and peace.”

Now that is the true meaning of Chanukalulu.

Bring on the Thanksgiving noodle kugel

In the 20 years I have lived in Hawaii I  only traveled to the mainland twice to spend Thanksgiving with family. Once I met my mother and youngest sister in L.A.. When my daughter was a toddler,  I took her to Kansas City to share the holiday with my mother and oldest sister.

Both were disastrous. Not in the family dynamics kind of way, when one part of the family is not speaking to another part so you can’t sit them next to each other at the table type of thing. We always enjoy the company. It was more about the logistics.

From L.A., my plane was terribly delayed and I did not make it home in time for work on Monday. That soured me on peak travel dates forever after.

In Kansas City it was cold. “Duh,” you might respond. “The Midwest in November? Hellooooo.”

Yes, I knew it would be cold. Yes, I took warm clothes. My mom bought cute little puffy snow jackets at Steinmart for my daughter and greeted us with gift sets that included ear muffs and warm woolen gloves and caps suitable for the most fashionable of bunnies on the slopes. We were suitably armed.

However, I did not take into consideration the discomfort  of  my three-year-old who was used to wearing slippers all year round and who had never experienced the stifling feeling of  thick socks or a jacket that looked like it was made of jet puffed marshmallows sewn together by the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

She was fine when we were in the house. My mom turned up the heat and my daughter did not have to don layer after thick layer for protection against the elements. She was free. It just turned out hard to  hard to go anywhere without a fuss. So we stayed home.

One year my family came here. They stayed at Ko Olina. We had Thanksgiving at the Ihilani. All was good.

I have gotten used to not being together on holidays. I’ve comfortably absorbed into the local families I know and put together one of my own in the past few years.

This year we spent Thanksgiving in Makaha with the Suisos. One of our favorite places and definitely some of our favorite people.

I knew I would not miss my mother due to distance. I did know that I would miss her because I miss her every day. Because it is a special occasion and I would not be able to call and say hello, I wanted find a way to honor her memory and feel her with me in some way.

I wore jewelry she had given me over the years: a ring that my father had given her that I’ve been wearing since high school and some earrings that I bought with one of her birthday checks a few years ago.

And I made “The Kugel.” My mother’s noodle kugel made its appearance at every festive meal except Passover (no noodles on Passover.) We enjoyed its buttery cinnamon sugar goodness  on holidays, Jewish or non.

I started making it almost ten years ago as an addition to our holiday menu. She sent me the recipe. It made my exotic life feel more like home. I don’t prepare it for every holiday. This year I did.

It came out perfect and tasted delicious.

As people passed through the improvised buffet line I heard them ask, “What is it?” With each explanation that “Kugel means casserole in Yiddish and it was my mother’s recipe,” I felt a  connection.

Not enough to completely replace my mother’s presence at the table at which she would not usually sit. But certainly sufficient to brighten her memory and let her distant presence  energize its sparkle in my life and enrich our celebration and appreciation.

Thank you, Mom. Very much.

Drive nicely, or GET OFF THE ROAD

I used to be a good driver. At least that’s what I thought.

Other than  a minor fender bender in the middle of rush hour traffic in West L.A. when I was in college a very long time ago that was never even determined to be my fault, I have suffered no major car accidents

The only speeding ticket I ever got was in the spring of 1991 when I was driving the almost 200 miles from Kansas City to Omaha for my Uncle Buddy’s birthday party.

I had never driven that far by myself, but my mother did not want me to miss the party and my work schedule was not conducive to me riding with her or my sister. So I chugged my little rented Geo Tracker (remember those) along the highway as fast I as I possibly could so that I would arrive in time.  That’s when I got pulled over.

I still made it to the party and my family’s side with moments to spare and my mother, in a gracious gesture of understanding, paid the fine. It was altogether a very long time ago.

I do not think that either of these incidents even remotely suggests that I am in any way a bad driver.

It was not until I married my second husband that I got the slightest inkling that I might not be up to standard, in the driving department. According to him, I might even be considered a traffic hazard. But certainly not for going too fast. Speedy Gonzales is not my MO.

He never commented on my skills. I don’t even think he realized this particular shortcoming. It was I who brought it to his attention.

When we got  hitched a few years ago, my husband was an Assistant Professor of Military Science at the University of Hawaii at Manoa. He commuted from Kapolei to UH each day which meant he was often stuck in traffic. Yes, Hawaii has traffic, in abundance.

This gave him plenty of time to reflect on the deficient skills of the drivers around him who created much of the congestion that was so understandably annoying.

The drive home was the worst. What should normally take about 30 minutes to drive the 23 miles between our house and the university could easily suck up 90 to 120 minutes of his afternoon. That’s how bad the traffic can get. It totally sucks. Thank goodness he doesn’t have to do it anymore. Now he works  in another direction and comes and goes in about 20 minutes. He is a much happier man.

I noticed that the frustration induced by the demanding commute translated into him becoming a slightly more aggressive driver.

One of the things that I liked about him when we were dating was that I felt safe in his car when we were on the road. He never seemed to be in too much of a hurry. He did not tailgate. He kept two hands on the wheel (most of the time) and his eyes on the road. I’d had a few scary incidents in my past and it was comforting to be in a man’s car with whom I felt safe.

I still feel safe in his car. I simply saw a shift in his driving habits when he worked at UH. Mostly he drove faster and was more likely to change lanes to get around somebody who was traveling too slowly.

Over dinner is when I heard his complaints. From his perspective, a majority of Oahu’s drivers  do not understand what is considered common rules of the road, especially when they are  on the freeway. Due to their lack of consideration for the flow of traffic, they create more congestion than necessary.

As he delineated the details of their violations, his description of how each lane should be traveling faster than the one to the right of it, allowing for lane changes as drivers accelerate or exit, his complaints about people who brake in the middle of traffic for no discernible reason or to look at something happening on the side of the road and the subsequent chain reaction this braking causes for miles behind, hit home.

“That’s me,” I thought–except the “Lookie Loo” part. I do not slow down to look at other people’s problems on the side of the road. I have always thought it was an invasion of their privacy at what is usually a very stressful time.

What I had perceived as protecting the safety of me and my children, my cautious, defensive driving was actually causing problems for others and creating minor hazards on the road. HELLO!

With my new-found  understanding of the rules of the road, I changed several of my habits with great success and little compromise.

Turns out I get places faster these days as I move with the flow of traffic. I still boast a clean driving record. I can also add to that list  that, even though I know he was not directing his criticism at me, I am completely confident that if my husband and I were to meet on the road, he would feel no nagging annoyance at my ignorant driving habits. Instead, I would garner his admiration and appreciation anywhere we go.

Happy Birthday Boo

For those of you who know my family, this is not a birthday homage to my youngest sister who goes by boo, although I will be happy to wish her a happy day next month.

Those of you who know her, knew that already by the fact that I used a capital B. She always uses the lower case and I would never  dare to consider changing that, even for grammar and spelling.

And while October 31st is just days away, this is not a post about Halloween. Our house is decorated and the kids have costumes and I plan to buy candy (not too early like my mother always said or I’ll have to go buy it again because we enjoyed too many samples) and we plan to celebrate, but not in this particular blog post.

This post is about my all time favorite novel To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee that is celebrating the 50th anniversary of its publication this year. And I am celebrating too. Happy Birthday to you.

Anybody who was ever a student in my classroom when I taught English at Waianae High School in the 1990’s  also knows that it is my favorite. I taught it every single year to the Juniors in my American Literature classes and it was one of the highlights of my career.

I read much of the novel out loud class period after class period, helping my students appreciate the rich language and deeper meaning infused in every paragraph. And I never, ever got tired of it.

We drew pictures of the street where Scout, Jem and Dill played, the Radley’s  porch that sagged and the town square where the tired courthouse stood. We discussed tolerance and racism and hana bada (childhood) days. I read that novel so many times that it felt like the series of events  so masterfully woven together, narrated in Scout’s childhood voice, actually happened to me in some surreal, other life type fashion.

Since I heard the anniversary mentioned on Oprah last summer,  I have been wanting to read the novel again. I also wanted to share it with my children. I bought the audio book last week and we are listening to it in my car and loving every single minute of it–the kids too.

I started to listen to audio books on a regular basis last summer for some very compelling reasons besides the simple pleasure of listening to a good book. My blue tooth headset broke for the upteenth time. I was not enjoying music or talk radio and I needed something to relieve the stress of being stuck in traffic. Combine that with the fact that I used to call my mom on a regular basis while driving in the car and I missed that very much, I needed a distraction.

When my younger girl became interested while I was listening to The Memory Keeper’s Daughter and kept asking for more, I decided to get a book that was family friendly, To Kill A Mockingbird.

I don’t miss teaching very often, but on occasion I am reminded of the familiar good feeling of 20 years in front of a class of students.

I miss it very much when I am listening to this book.

The familiar phrases and language. The story that speaks to my soul. The brilliant masterpiece that became the signature unit of my Language Arts teaching career. It takes everything in me not to press the pause button every few minutes and try to teach it to my children. I don’t think they would appreciate it very much.

Besides my overwhelming pleasure in the book is my even deeper thrill at their pleasure in it as well. My younger daughter is mesmerized. She asks questions and contemplates the meaning of each chapter. My older daughter is captivated as well. She has surprised me by asking if she can play the CD, forgoing her usual demand of pop music and annoying habit of constantly changing the station in search of her favorite songs.

All three of us drive along together in silence, sharing the moment, sharing the story and sharing the experience of this wonderful novel. What more could an English teacher and mother ask for but to love a book together with her children?

Thank you Harper Lee.

And happy birthday Boo and Scout and Jem and Atticus and Dill (and my sister next month) and all the other characters in this beautiful story that has now become a part of my life in a new and meaningful way.

And then came Sunday school and the parents said, “Ki Tov, it is good.”

My husband actually suggested that I post this entry. We were relaxing in the family room on  Sunday. He was watching football, I was reading and the kids were at Sunday school. We were savoring our last few, precious, quiet moments before the carpool  returned them to our door, filling our house with energy and the demands of parenthood.

Of course we send them to Religious school for a Jewish education and the chance to be with other Jewish kids since there aren’t a whole lot of those in our neighborhood or at their school  on this somewhat remote side of the island.

It is truly with their best interests  in mind that we write that tuition check, organize the carpool, hand them money for the tzedakah box, pack them a snack and religiously deliver them to the shul every Sunday at 9:00 am where they stay until  noon for their formal Jewish education.

But I would be lying if I didn’t also mention that I look forward to and completely enjoy those THREE fabulous child free, morning hours that I get to spend relaxing at home with my husband on the days that we do not drive from Kapolei to Nuuanu with a carload full of kids, special delivery to the School of Jewish Studies at Temple Emanu-El.

I will spare you the intimate details of how we choose to spend that time together. I will simply say that it is good for our marriage. We are not opposed to hiring a babysitter so we can catch a Saturday night movie or attend the National Guard Annual Birthday Ball. We get a reasonable share of alone time considering our busy schedules.

But there is nothing like a Sunday morning with nowhere to go, lounging around the house, eating pancakes for breakfast, having a second cup of coffee, reading the paper and doing it all together with no one else in the house but me and my handsome, charming husband.

We did not live together before we got married. We each brought a child with us into this marriage. There was no us before kids, no romantic weekends spent in bed or lazy Sundays reading the New York Times and doing the crossword puzzle together. From day one we hit the ground running.

And we have hit a pretty good stride. So I guess you can’t blame us for counting our blessings where we find them, taking a break when we can.  Sunday school has definitely done its job, for us and our kids.

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