A Letter

77% Weekly Newsletter

A Letter

Beloved,

Let me tell you something I often say when counseling those mourning the loss of a loved one.

“Unless you are a rabbi or minister, you shouldn’t be good at writing eulogies.”

And then I add: “Let me give you a pro tip—think about writing a letter. Because you know how to write a letter and this way you don’t have to stare at a blank page not knowing how to start.”

They usually grasp the idea instantly and are then able to start writing.

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I just did something similar in the writing of this article.

I didn’t know what to write today’s article about and found myself staring at a blank page.

Stuck.

So, to get myself started, I began by writing a letter.

And it worked!

I figured out what you are about to read below.

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Human spoken language is estimated to be tens of thousands of years old—likely over 100,000—while written language is only about 5,000 years old.

Written language is a game changer—enabling us literate humans to communicate thoughts to the future.

Which is amazing!

But what of it?

Depends on what we wish to communicate.

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Imagine you can write a note to future generations.

What would you want to convey?

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Me? Here is mine:

Beloved,

Lean into love.

See if you can love more today than yesterday.

Love yourself. Love others. Love more.

Stop rushing.

Slow down.

Be kind.

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What not-perfectly-polished message would you send?

(You might start it as a letter so you don’t stare at a blank page.)

✧✧✧

Misplaced Righteous Indignation

I’m fuming. FUMING. F-U-M-I-N-G! I’ve just removed my key from the front door and crossed over the threshold. The setting is my first floor apartment at 7 Keren Hayesod in Jerusalem.  I lived there for a year — two buildings down and across the street from the Super Sol where King George starts. About a 1¼-mile walk from the Western

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Refractory Anxiety

I am supposed to arrive at the wedding rehearsal at 4 p.m. I planned on arriving 15–20 minutes early. Because I don’t like being late. However, I took a wrong turn. At the intersection of the I-5 South and the I-405 South, I went the wrong way. Now, I’ll have to turn around in a mile and a half and

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No words. No words.

To offset our discomfort about our upcoming visit to the Terezín (in German: Theresienstadt) concentration camp/ghetto, Emmett and I fall into making dark jokes. Gallows humor. “Do you think they still give free tattoos upon arrival?” “Want to wear matching pajamas for our tour?” Dark, ugly jokes.  Because reality is just too overwhelming. The feelings are too overwhelming. So we

Read More »
77% Weekly Newsletter
77% Weekly Newsletter