Day 2: Posts about a person who inspired you to excel in life or who actually saved your life.

Well, parents of course.  I have a good picture of my father who had to have his portrait taken for an official position.  I don’t have such a picture for my mother unfortunately.  Both of them pushed and encouraged me.  But let me jump to non-family.

When I was in college, I do recall a psychology professor saying that having bad parents was no excuse; you always had the option of picking new “parents” or mentors.  Even with good parents, I found myself picking new “parents” as time went on.

Michael Alpha ran the synagogue where I converted.  He wasn’t the Rabbi or the Cantor; he wasn’t the executive director.  But he was the equivalent of a hotel manager there.  (In fact, I think that was his training.)  He knew where everything was; he knew the politics of the place and how everything “really” worked.  He knew the minhag of the temple.  And he taught Hebrew to whoever wanted to learn.  I took Hebrew at LSU—to my mother’s consternation, no doubt.  It was as close as I could get to Judaism before I left home after graduation.  But if you don’t use it, you lose it.  Michael made me use it.  And when the Rabbi asked me to do an adult Bat Mitzvah, Michael was my teacher.  When later, people asked me to teach Prayer book Hebrew—Michael was the one who I called up desperately to ask if my pronunciation was correct.  When he died, it was like losing my father again. 

Kalamu ya Salaam.


  I was absolutely certain that I was a horrendous writer.  No one ever understood what I was saying in prose or poem.   When I first read a poem in Kalmu’s workshop and timidly said that I didn’t know how to end it, he said that was because it was finished.  And everyone in that group of writers understood what I was saying.  I was astonished to find an audience that understood my words.  Now, that doesn’t mean that I am a great writer.  I’ve had many a knockdown session with my new workshop about misplaced metaphors, definite articles, rambling text, and just plain incorrect assumptions.  But I don’t feel irrelevant there. 

My sister.

 Who has had to listen when I called her up at the worst of times and said—don’t try to solve this problem.  Just listen.  I have got to scream to someone.  And she did listen.  We are only 2 years apart and despite all of the new tales that I get to hear now of how I bossed her around, we are still each other’s support when need be.  (Lucky her, she has a husband to bear part of the burden.  See what a smart sister I have!)

There are people who saved me physically.  I’ve had health problems in the past.  But these people saved me mentally when the world was trying to take me apart.


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