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Posts Tagged ‘storytelling’

Prologue:
My father died 17 years and one day ago. While the loss feels fresh, it really was 6,206 days since my beloved father took his last breath. He left behind seven grandchildren who adored him along with their parents too. There is not a day that goes by when I don’t think of him or the way he walked in the world.  My father loved to tell stories, he was always telling stories. 

~ ~ ~

 “There’s always room for a story that can
transport people to another place.”
~J.K. Rowling

As a little girl, I remember devouring story after story. It didn’t matter how a story came to me. Good storytellers and good books held equal footing as far as I was concerned, but the man who will forever be remembered as the most amazing storyteller in the world is none other than my dad, Morry Bloomberg.

My father had a way with words. He could engage friend or stranger, child or adult. Wherever he went, he would find a perfect story to share and a way to lift people’s spirits.

As a young girl, I remember going into Giant, our local grocery store, and each and every cashier wanted Morry in their lines. It seemed like everyone would address him by name and take a moment to say hi to him. I loved how people knew my father and wanted to connect with him.

booksDad gave me love of words, all words. While he riveted me with his stories, he also loved reading and encouraged me to read and then read some more. It was through my own reading that I was able to visit far away places and navigate childhood as I did.

Gratitude Abounds:
Today, I can always be found with a book that I am reading, a podcast that is keeping me on the edge of my seat, and my own creative writing. Words fuel my soul.

And as luck would have it, I love telling stories and can sometimes be found sharing those stories with others whether in a grocery store line, an elevator, a classroom, or even a stage.

I am the storyteller and writer that I am because my father filled my world with stories.

My father will always hold the sacred space in my heart as being the best storyteller ever! If he is looking down at me, I hope he is proud of how he taught me to honor the power of words and inspired me to share my own stories.

NOTE: Please offer feedback by commenting on this post or letting me know that you like it after reading it. Thank you!

 

 

 

 

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(Note: If this is your first time you are stepping into my Elul Reflections 5776, please read the Introduction to this series at http://wp.me/pthnB-1Nm.)

Chava's Shadow 17January2016

Over the last many years, I have found myself struggling with communicating my thoughts and my feelings within close relationships. While intellectually, I know that I am articulate, the inner child in me has had to cope with feelings of inadequacy and feeling like I am sometimes invisible.

In truth, I understand why this is. This has been a reaction to losing a couple of my closest friends who didn’t want to hear my voice any longer. I may never know the full story, but it probably doesn’t matter. It is what it is. At the time, those experiences triggered memories of my childhood. During those early years, I learned that that I was insignificant; no one heard my cries or helped me in any tangible way. So I learned to hide behind the shadows. Sometimes that is still my safe space; sometimes I still go there.

What’s beautiful is that there is a part of me that understands how articulate I am. And there is another part of me that knows that my thoughts mean something to my family, my friends, and my community. My holy work is to fight the demons that try to silence me.  You know the voice in your head that tells you that you aren’t good enough to share your thoughts; or that voice that reminds you that you are showing too much passion. My job right now is to stop that voice from affecting how I communicate.

 

Moving to Houston just over 16 months ago has contributed so much to my healing from loss of loved ones. It has also helped me to see that I have not been silenced by those closest to me unless you count me.

People want to hear my thoughts, my stories, my ideas, and most don’t mind hearing me fumble with words. I don’t always have to be articulate.

Over the last year I have listened to Magic Lessons with Elizabeth Gilbert. I love these podcasts that have inspired me to honor my creative soul and was especially touched by Episode 205 that I heard earlier this week. In it, Liz shared that our words are “better out than in.” While my passion sometimes feels unweildy, it is always intensely real and from my heart. As long as I remember that sharing my voice is like speaking my truth, I can ride the waves of life with a little more ease.

Plus it came at a time when I am planning to share more of my stories and ask others to share their stories of childhood and life traumas. I am starting a project in which I collect stories of positive souls that have had to overcome harsh traumas. I want to hear how people navigate the darkness and ultimately find light.

Hearing the podcast felt like a huge punch into my gut because it helped me to realize that I have been minimizing my voice instead of sharing it with the passion that is part of me. The good news is that this didn’t happen all the time, but it happened too much. So as I get ready to address some hard stuff in my writing and storytelling, and even within my personal relationships,  it is ok for me to also say that “it’s really scary for me to let this out, but I’d so much rather it come out all wrong than stay in all wrong.” My voice matters.

Being emotionally honest is how I navigate the world. Thanks for joining me on this journey.

Onward with light & love,
Chava

 

 

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Note: Storytelling is one of my favorite past times.  What I love most about them is that a good story sometimes changes over time.  I wonder if my sister-in-law Eudice would remember this story as I did.  Hmmmmm. . . . 

Traditions and/or rituals.  Many of them have the potential to keep our family grounded and  actively engaged in life.

Since my later teenage years, I have grown to love family traditions around Shabbat and other Jewish Holidays; nearly every Jewish practice incorporates food.  From nuts to bolts, my family always tries to create tasty and healthy meals that conclude with dessert.  I love that this particular tradition was due to my amazing sister-in-law Eudice (who probably dragged my brother Ricky along for the ride).

Traditions need to be followed.  Regardless of whether or not, money is tight or any of us happen to be on diets; dessert is always part of the our Shabbat/holidays equation.  And if you are blessed to have an occasion when you may have financial challenges and/or weight struggles.   Oy.

With this in mind, I feel compelled to share one of most treasured memories because of the ridiculous nature of how it unfolded.

When I was a teenager and living in Israel, my sister-in-law and I were trying to honor our limited budget and our health journey too.  We had no extra money, but company was coming for Shabbat dinner.  With a tight budget and our diet looming, we started looking for a cheap dessert recipe that neither of us liked in the least.

After what seemed like hours of looking , we found it!!!! We found what we were looking for, a dessert that sounded disgusting to both of us.  I think that we believed that since it was called a dessert, it must be good to everyone else.  Somehow we lacked the wisdom to think that if it looked  gross to us, it probably wouldn’t be good for anyone else.

The making of  the ‘Orange Rind Pie’
As luck would have it, we not only found a recipe for what would ultimately become our infamous Orange Rind Pie, but we also had all the ingredients in the house.  We couldn’t help but laugh at our great fortune.  We were so happy to find a dessert that neither of us thought we would like.  So we mixed all the ingredients together and baked our scrumptious dessert.  When it came out of the oven, we looked at it with disbelief.

The pie looked absolutely disgusting.  It looked so yucky that my brother suggested that he try just a sliver to make sure it was edible.  Well, it wasn’t. . . .if I remember correctly, my brother took one bite of the pie and ran as quickly as his legs could carry him, he ran to the bakery so that he could buy some ‘real dessert’.  So much for finding a recipe that was gentle on our budget and good for our diet.

Guess now it is a good time to reflect that sometimes looks can be deceiving, but not always. 🙂

The D'Isa family's teeny tiny pie.  Made with love. (No doubt, THIS pie was amazing.)

The D’Isa family’s teeny tiny pie. Made with love.
(No doubt, THIS pie was amazing.)

With blessings & light,
Chava

PS- In case you are wondering, the reason I thought about the Orange Rind Pie today, was because yesterday, a good friend of mine emailed me a recipe for a dessert that needed orange rind.  Do you think I should try making it for this coming Shabbat?

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