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Hi. It’s me. Brian. Rabbi Brian. Writing to you, beloved. How are you?What’s going on?How’s life? Me?Getting used to having a house without my son. Earlier this month he started his freshman year at Wesleyan, in Middletown, CT. And, I’m writing an article—in the form of a letter—that I’m planning to send to the ROTB […]

  4:1 Rule — It’s not easy. But it’s doable. And, worthwhile.     I hear the canister signaling that the process of carbonation is complete as the button is rhythmically, continually pressed.   Psssh. Psssh. Psssh.    Psssh.    Psssh-sh-sh-sh-sh.    Psssh. Psssh. Psssh Psssh.  Psssh-sh-sh-sh-sh.    Psssh. Psssh. Psssh.  Psssh-sh-sh-sh-sh.    Emmett presses the carbonating button on SodaStream

  5:6 WHERE LOVE MEETS US   One day, after swearing me to secrecy, a friend, stammering and sheepish, admitted she was experimenting with wearing a binder to flatten her chest, hoping to present as less female.   She also told me she was considering taking voice lessons to sound more masculine—or at least more

  I know better.   I know better.
   But I made a mistake.   I wish I had known better at the time.   But I didn’t.   And it cost me (1) a pair of prescription sunglasses, (2) a favorite sweatshirt, and (3) the case for my French horn.   Moreover, my mood

Portland, Oregon  Winter, 2012   Emmett, age five, is in the backseat, and I’m driving.   We approach a red light, where there’s a man holding a cardboard sign.  “What’s the sign say?” my boy asks.   “Homeless. Hungry. Need $18 for a shower and some place to stay. PLEASE HELP.”   “Can we give

Sometimes the pain is too much to feel—and that’s okay, too.   I’m in a quandary. Jane is weeping hard, her head pressed to my chest. She sobs. I hold her, and she holds me.  Tightly. Jane’s crying over the death of someone named Anne—but I’m pretty certain she’s not crying about the same Anne

The exercise of writing 40 articles a year helps with keeping me in practice. Practiced at writing. And also at forgiveness. Because it’s simply not possible to write an “awesome” article every single week. (Or 40 times a year.) And, I have (mostly) learned to forgive myself for that. (Also, it helps to know that

Right, Happy, or Kind?   My boy, my son—my beloved Emmett, is heading off to college in just six weeks. He’ll be going to Wesleyan University in Middletown, Connecticut.   I had been very upset about him leaving—until I had this realization: The whole point of this 18-year experiment has been to launch him—you don’t

  As I approach our parked 2010 blue Subaru Forester, I hand the remote and key from my left hand to my right.  Hardly thinking or noticing my actions, I insert the metal key into the door lock and twist. I feel the mechanism turn. I pull out the key, open the door, get in,

Beloved reader, a few weeks ago—and again last week—I asked you to compare the responses of two imaginary friends, Georgia and Clarence. In their first tale, we learned the wisdom of kindness/non-judgment over criticism—making the vow to be more Georgia, less Clarence. Their second, a dinner scene, showed: we get more of what we want