reflections

petite essays

Welcome to a new JN feature. Each month, we’ll ask community members to weigh in on a single topic. This month: New Beginnings.
Just to get things started, we asked some folks we know can write — a few JN contributors and Rabbi Aaron Bergman — to provide petite
essays. If you are interested in participating, contact Keri Guten Cohen at kcohen@renmedia.us and put “essay” in the subject line. Enjoy!

RABBI AARON
BERGMAN

RONELLE
GRIER

DEBRA
DARVICK

STACY
GITTLEMAN

ANNABEL
COHEN

“I did not grow up wanting to
be a rabbi. I wanted to be an
astronaut from the moment
Neil Armstrong walked on
the moon. Unfortunately, I
did not have the hand-eye
coordination required for
playing video games. Space
was out of the question.
This is just as well because I
found something that lifted
my soul even higher.
When I was a student at
the University of Michigan,
I attended a lecture at the
Hillel House by Rabbi Efry
Spectre, who spoke about
his teacher Rabbi Abraham
Joshua Heschel. I was
intrigued and read Heschel’s
book Man is Not Alone. This
was during a time of great
existential doubt about what
to do with my life. Heschel’s
book gave me the clarity and
inspiration I needed. During
a walk in the Arboretum
in Ann Arbor, I decided to
become a rabbi and attend
the Jewish Theological
Seminary, where Heschel
had taught.
I met my wife when I was
a student at JTS. I am now
the rabbi of the wonder-
ful synagogue that Rabbi
Spectre served for so many
years. I may not make it to
the moon, but I am over the
moon thanks to my decision
to be a rabbi.”

“It began with a phone
call. Long-awaited fund-
ing had come through for a
group home for my nearly
30-year-old daughter, who
has autism and a garden
variety of other issues. Molly
(who prefers Moll) would be
moving out of our home and
into a house with two room-
mates, the daughters of long-
time friends, and a full-time
staff of caregivers provided
by JARC.
I wasn’t ready for such a
momentous transition, but
the mental health system
didn’t not allow the luxury
of waiting.
In a few frantic weeks, my
new “in-laws” and I readied
our daughters and their new
home for a journey none
of us knew how to begin.
Moll settled into her pretty
new room, with its colorful
artwork, bookshelves stuffed
with storybooks and a collec-
tion of Cookie Monsters.
Four months later, I am
still riding an emotional
roller-coaster, fraught with
twists, turns and worries I
never experienced when my
other two children went off
to college, including whether
her toenails are being
trimmed and her bra is on
straight. Some days I feel as
if I’ve abdicated my mother-
hood. I’m trying to let go and
enjoy the ride. It’s a start.”

“So who’s correct?
Ecclesiastes, which taught
‘there is nothing new under
the sun,’ or Judy Collins,
who sang ‘Everything must
change, nothing and no one
stays the same?’ Is any ‘new
beginning’ truly new or con-
firmation that nothing and
no one stays the same?
We became grandparents
last month. Three words
— It’s a girl! — and our lives
were changed forever. Our
son was one of innumerable
sons reporting to uncount-
able parents across time and
history. Like parents every-
where, back to our matriarch
Sarah, we laughed. We cried.
We thanked God for her and
her mother’s safety. Nothing
new there.
And yet, there was never
born this child; this sweet
granddaughter with these
round cheeks, this rosebud
mouth, mere hints of these
eyebrows, these tiny eye-
lashes. Indisputably, Olivia
Frances is something, and
someone, new under the
sun.
Perhaps life’s deepest
meaning flowers at the
intersection of Collins and
Ecclesiastes, where nothing is
new and everything is new;
where nothing has changed
and mercifully, thankfully,
gloriously, everything has
changed.”

“What do you do when
your spouse’s company relo-
cates your family from little
Rochester, N.Y., to sprawling
Detroit? You look around
the house your family called
home for 14 years, the rooms
that were touchpoints to your
children’s babyhoods, the
newly painted dining room
you worked on all summer
after a decade working up the
guts to color it the deepest
burgundy. You sit under the
ancient maples in your yard
and have a good cry.
An unexpected move is a
tough yet exciting new begin-
ning. After you dry your tears
and face the good-byes, you
have the opportunity to rein-
vent yourself.
Four years later, this New
Yorker is grateful for the
friendships and opportuni-
ties that have come my way.
I took the cue from my three
children, who jumped into
their new lives feet first. I
found my own social, writing
and creative outlets. I found
extended family at B’nai Israel
Synagogue.
The toughest part is the
physical distance between
you and those who knew
you way back when. If you’re
fortunate to have never left
your hometown, never take
for granted the ease of getting
together with old friends who
still live close by.”

Seems I’m always beginning.
A free spirit. I’ve started
businesses, expanded my
work experience, traveled
the world. I married and
divorced young. Yet, I lived
in my home for 32 years,
worked 20 years at wonder-
ful companies within the
parameters of my college
degree — advertising/mar-
keting. And I had a near-
perfect credit score.
Though it seems I catered
for so many around town, I
was a part-time company of
one — just me. I was liter-
ally chief cook and bottle-
washer. Thinking expansion,
I did. Sparing details, it was
painful, physically/emotion-
ally. I’m not built for drama
and I now had plenty. And I
asked for it.
So I scaled back. I
changed. I bought a ware-
house for a cooking school,
catering, writing space. I sold
my beautiful house.
Free spirit? Sort of. I’m
starting fresh, rebuilding,
rebranding, re-emerging,
calling my own shots, doing
what feels right. I’m 25 again,
only three decades later.
In my youth, I was too
naive to be afraid. Now I
know fear is useless. I’m
working hard. The future
looks … promising.

Aaron Bergman is a rabbi
at Adat Shalom Synagogue
in Farmington Hills and is
married to Ruth Bergman, a
Jewish educator. They have
four daughters. He loves to
create music and art.

Ronelle Grier of West
Bloomfield is a JN contrib-
uting writer and freelance
writer who loves murder
mysteries, true crime and
legal thrillers.

Debra Darvick of
Birmingham writes the JN’s
advice column and is a blog-
ger and creator of Picture a
Conversation with her hus-
band, Martin.

Stacy Gittleman of West
Bloomfield is a JN contribut-
ing writer and bar/bat mitz-
vah tutor who loves meeting
new people, taking walks and
Broadway musicals.

Owner of Annabel Cohen
Cooks Detroit catering, she
also is a cooking instruc-
tor, food, travel and lifestyle
writer ( for JN, too) and Four
Story Burger’s executive chef.

4

jn

February 2 • 2017

