Pesto Veggie Focaccia

Life hack! Store bought, raw pizza dough from your favorite pizza joint has many uses. Here I have this super easy, yet impressive, focaccia. This can truly serve a crowd. For a large group I suggest serving two or three different varieties. This cuts beautifully and the veggies stayed intact. I love this starter for all the outdoor summer meals I’m serving.

You’ll need:
Store bought raw pizza dough
Some flour for rolling
Store bought or fresh pesto sauce
A mix of your favorite colorful veggies, diced and sautéed until tender but not soft.

Preheat the oven to 400. Flour a board and spray a baking sheet. Roll the dough out on the floured board, flouring the top side of the dough as well so the rolling pin won’t stick. Spread a layer of pesto around, leaving a two inch border plain. Spoon the veggie mix onto the dough and lightly press down. Drizzle with olive oil. Bake for about 25 minutes until the dough is golden brown. Slice and enjoy!

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New Patterns

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I’m wild about this two piece ensemble from Century 21. I stopped in my bargain shopper tracks when I spotted this, while shopping for the Passover trip that never happened this year. It looks so high fashion. I love a good bustier, and this whole look felt clever. The over sized button down can serve as a caftan or loose dress without the belt, but the belt cinches for a flattering effect. There is a reason you’ve seen this belt a million times on me. A great belt is such a smart investment. I’ve had this one for 14 years. The bustier top can be worn in other ways as well; under a pantsuit, as a top with high waisted black pants or flared jeans, or with a long, full skirt. I love when the pieces of an outfit can go off and do their own thing, the mark of any healthy relationship.

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Take Heed

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In the Soto Zen Buddhist tradition, that I began to learn exactly a year ago on a silent retreat, I was so moved by the nightly Evening Gatha. One of my teachers bellowed this in his deep baritone every night before bedtime. I loved the words but thought it was something he made up. He didn’t; it’s been recited nightly by zen practitioners over 2,000 years. There isn’t much for me to say, since the words and message speak for themselves. It’s plain truth; each time we go to bed for the night, our lives are indeed decreased by one day. How did we spend that day? Just getting through it? Doing errands? Did we spend it at a job we love? With people we love who love us back? Did we make the past 24 hours count by widening our impact, even just by a little? There are so many questions but really one answer. We gotta make it count or there’s no point. This gatha is recited to wake us up before we go to sleep. Take heed, don’t squander your life. Just don’t. I love you.

One Bowl Banana Muffins

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These quick and easy muffins have been a favorite snack during lockdown. There is no reason to toss overripe bananas, as they have tons of uses. My kids love these for breakfast too. They freeze beautifully.
Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp EACH baking powder and baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
3 large, ripe mashed bananas
3/4 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1 tsp cinnamon
1/3 cup melted, cooled unsalted butter
1 large egg
3/4 cup optional add ins of your choice.

Prepare a 12 cup muffin tin with sprayed liners. Have a lucky child ready to lick excess batter. You count as said child as well.
Mix all in a bowl until combined. Sprinkle each top with a mixture of extra cinnamon and sugar if desired (we desire). Bake at 350 for about 20 minutes, possibly between 18 and 22 (each oven is different). Use a toothpick to test if ready.

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Death Becomes Her

Death is everywhere. It was always obviously there, but it is simply unavoidable today for so many reasons. Denial won’t hide us any longer. With this deadly, scarily contagious virus and all the terrifying deaths of Blacks and trans people lately, death is a constant topic. Going about “normal” life isn’t possible at the moment. We can’t cower under the comfortable blanket of routine and pretend like uncomfortable topics don’t exist. I don’t mind this. In the Zen center that I belong to in New York City, we discuss death all the time. During covid I have taken a number of virtual programs and classes all centering on death. What it entails, how to prepare for it practically, emotionally, and mentally, and how we want our bodies to be handled once we no longer inhabit them. In one of my classes, Living Fearlessly, we had to write our own obituaries and research the advanced directives for our respective states. In March, a cousin of mine advised me to designate my health care proxy. I didn’t know what that even meant at the time. I did choose one, spoke to him about it, and had him sign all the paperwork with his family as witnesses a few weeks ago. One of my lockdown summer goals is to finalize all of my death plans, and put together my dharma box containing all my instructions and desires. I’ll make copies to give to close friends. I don’t plan on going anywhere for a very long time, but if this pandemic has taught us anything it’s that only uncertainty is certain.


As I’ve written in the past, one of the gnawings of my first inner shift began years ago, unbeknownst to me, when every eulogy sounded the same to me at the funerals I attended. It was shocking; different people all going down with the same trite, depressingly unoriginal sentiments. It truly terrified me; would this drivel be said at my funeral too?? Would anyone, even those claiming to be closest to me, really know what to say about me in a eulogy?? What kind of lives are being “lived” if the bodies of the deceased are being laid to rest with a template of the blandest farewell speech imaginable? I was gripped with fear about this and I didn’t see a way out of that at the time. Where I sit now, I no longer have this fear. I have reworked and reshaped my life to one that’s true and authentic to my soul. My life keeps widening as my heart and mind expand as well. I have created a life that’s interesting and unique, one that should easily produce a kick ass eulogy. One of my friends told me last week that she hopes she goes before me so that I can speak at her funeral. I’m actually a real speech snob. I’m going to assign my eulogizers so that my funeral isn’t filled with lame, boring speeches that have people checking their watches. Who knows if I’ll hear it, but this is part of arranging how you want to be memorialized. You get to make these decisions. I get to make these decisions. It feels like such a loving process, a way to honor myself and my deepest spiritual needs. The more I am taught by my teachers to befriend death, the less scary it feels. Since the opposite of fear is love, that means that this process naturally comes to feel loving and caring towards myself. Death has morphed from being this horrible thing that I must avoid at all costs, to this inevitable truth that I can meet with grace. I mean, we all know it’s coming yet we refuse to deal with it in a healthy way. One of my teachers put it like this, “ death makes life sparkly and golden. It reminds us how magnificent this life is. Death teaches us how to live.”  I love how she put this, so elegantly and gracefully. And it’s true. The more fully I can approach death, the more fully I approach actual life. It’s a reminder to make each moment full and alive. No one expects all their moments to be happy, that’s impossible. But the goal is to see how we can dive deeper into each moment and meet it and its contents with honesty and appreciation. To ride each breath, to savor each sip, to see each lesson. To live well is to love well. To do both of those is to die well. And who doesn’t want to do that?


I have concluded that it’s ok if I don’t want to be laid to rest in a typical Jewish cemetery. That if I get a tattoo I won’t be rejected by said cemetery (that’s a farce, btw. Many Israelis are inked to the max and are accepted just fine). I have concluded it’s ok to have my funeral list written out, so that only those close to me or that I like can attend. I don’t need fake crocodile tears from abusive relatives or neighbors who didn’t like me while I was alive. I have concluded that it’s ok if my burial ceremony isn’t conducted by a rabbi who doesn’t know me. No rules, no givens, all choice. Loving action directed inward is what becomes loving action directed outward to those around us. Respecting our choices allows us to respect the choices of others. How can we be of service to others leaving this life when we can’t do that for ourselves?


I made my death shroud for my final Zen Foundations program project. It took ten hours, a California king size sheet, and fabric markers. I had to present it to my class and teachers. It wound up being a sort of spiritual road map for my kids, full Of teachings, quotes, and knowledge that changed my life. Things I’ve learned that cracked open my heart and soul, all leading to a richer life that I’m so proud of. I learned these things on my own, guided by Source to so many wonderful teachers over the years. I hope I have many decades to add to my shroud, and that I’ll leave my children and loved ones with this treasure trove of information and inspiration. At that point I’ll just be a messenger. The way we live determines what our message is, both to ourselves and to those we leave behind in human form. We have only this chance to create our message and live by it. One birth, one death. Billions of choices and chances in between. How we live really, really matters. We aren’t here to coast and kill time. We are here to accomplish and enhance. To contribute, create, support, and enrich. To love, laugh, and have a kick ass time doing it. We have no choice in death, but we do in how we approach it. If we can embrace it, then we can embrace anything.

Denim Daze

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 Let’s face it; I’m going nowhere in this denim jumpsuit right now. I do love it though. It’s soft and is the right retro wash. I’ve been on the jumpsuit train for years now. The right one is such a cool and controlled look. Nowadays there are so many styles of jumpsuits to serve every mode of taste. This particular one would carry into cold weather over a warm toned turtleneck and high heeled boots. Hats and skulls are also fave details of mine. This fedora is almost 20 years old. There was a fabulous millinery called Cha Cha’s House of Ill Repute that made it. I was so in love with the name that I didn’t even care what the hat looked like. These days I’m more into a wider brim, but I hold onto all my stuff, knowing I’ll cycle back to anything rad eventually. Sigh, cycles. I can’t believe quarantine is still going on...

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Slacking Off

For my son’s 8th grade graduation bbq I wore these fun, printed slacks. They were another find at Century 21, when shopping in an actual store was still a thing that didn’t require a hazmat suit. The bright green and lively pattern, paired simply with a clean white top, made for an effortless hostessing look. The top knot was not only cute but practical, since I hate feeling hot when I’m entertaining. The white shades that give faux Versace vibes was the accessory that tied everything together. The pattern on the pants felt retro and the big sunglasses did too, that’s why they worked so well together. An easy way to keep an outfit consistent is to play off of one thread that’s common in at least two pieces. It felt so nice to have a special occasion to dress up for, even while remaining safely at home. There still are, and always will be, milestones to celebrate. Finding these bright moments are so important. I was determined to look festive and have my son enjoy his special day.

GG S’mores

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It ain’t summer sans s’mores! Realizing I could make this classic treat in a healthier way really got me excited. It’s as easy as the original version. Simply substitute any sweet GG flavor for the graham crackers, and use a lower sugar kind of chocolate. I like the Lily’s stevia sweetened bars in salted caramel flavor, and the raisin honey GG’s. Layer one cracker, top with a few squares of chocolate, top with two regular size marshmallows, and put in a microwave, oven, or toaster oven for just a bit. Smush second cracker on top when done. I put mine in the toaster oven for a couple minutes until the marshmallows are puffed and brown. The oozier the better!

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LATE CHECKOUT

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There wasn’t a meal or a thought I didn’t want to share with him. Our thought process, speech, and hyper analytical notice of every surrounding detail was eerily in sync. Beyond those few initial dates, we eventually settled into a farce of a friendship. That was all he offered and I took it, so terrified to not have him in my life in some way. It was farcical in the sense that I, of course, didn’t want to be just friends. My therapist kicked my ass on that point one day. He knew that and gave me the choice, saying many times he was terrified of hurting me. There are two reasons men say that; it’s a bandaid for not returning your feelings or it’s true. I can’t say what he was thinking, though I’d guess 25% the former and 75% the latter. When we did hang out it was always really great, full of endless conversation, tons of laughs, and deep curiosities about a range of topics. We loved talking about books, articles, and movies. He often came to me for advice about important issues, which fed into my rabid need to be needed. I didn’t care how objectively unhealthy the topics were (analyzing his ex wife’s behavior till the cows came home) as long as we were in contact. When you are a giver who has never modeled healthy boundaries, you have to be really careful about how you expend your energy. Boundaries as a concept to me equated selfish walls, since I grew up in an emotionally chaotic, anarchistic home that had zero. If you said no to anything, you were automatically a selfish asshole. My parents treated me like that well into adulthood, until I shut that down. My marriage wasn’t the type of environment to have boundaries either. Truthfully, I see very little boundaries in general amongst the couples I know. A religious environment full of rules and roles often puts women in the race for biggest martyr. Selfless gets you the trophy where I’m from. Now I see that as rampant, chronic self neglect that causes oceans of resentment. Any time a woman wants something purely for herself it is seen as selfish. Therefore, even if there would be a pit in my stomach (my personal control center) while discussing certain things with him, I’d ignore it. I had no idea how to put the brakes on.

Another reason I was so “in love” with him was because he saw me completely. This is a fact. I have been aware of the humanly universal need to feel seen from a very early age. I remember asking teenage boyfriends why they liked me. I knew why but I was testing them. I wanted to hear them spell it out. They all failed, except one whom I didn’t have to ask because I knew he knew. When in love, the need to ask and be answered lessens, because the truth of how the other person sees you is clear. No test required. I believe to this day that this person sized me up instantly. He’s very smart and deep, a quick study (just not with himself). Every bozo tells me “they see me”, but they are fooling themselves by believing that. Perhaps it’s just a lame line.  I wasn’t fooled, since I know there is a lot to see in me and they never came close. I went to him too when I was having a hard time with certain things. He’d listen well, make me laugh, and comfort me. I received his advice and concern because it was genuine and his vision into my process was real. There were some wonderful elements of friendship there.

The night we met contained an unusual level of honesty for a first date. I used to have a tendency to over share too early, another unhealthy reach for connection driven by emotional addictive codependency, but this was different. Talking to him was as natural and easy as breathing. We once hung out with a third person who had thought we grew up together. She was surprised it had been only a little over a year that we knew each other. My Spanish speaking housekeeper once saw us talking for five minutes and described it as “simpatico”. Feeling so in sync with another person is it’s own type of fog inducing drug. Mix that with infatuation, throw in some loneliness, and you have yourself one potent cocktail that will rob you of the ability to see red flags. They could be 100 feet tall and wide, flapping in the wind, and you will just not see them. It’s a fascinating mental phenomenon. That when our neurotransmitters are all fired up, and we are foaming at the mouth in search of that fix, we become selectively blind. I guess it’s hypocritical of me to say that he saw others so clearly but not himself; I did the same thing. I had no handle on myself when it came to him. That self loathsome shame spiral we go down when we send that text against all judgement, is not reserved for adolescents. The part of me that knew better and wanted to not need it was at war with the addiction. Logic and dignity lost every time. This produces deep shame, and shame is a corrosive emotion when it’s not faced head on. I have mentioned her before, but Dr Nicole LaPera, the holistic psychologist on Instagram helped me learn/unlearn all of this. That, together, with my Jungian zen Buddhist program, taught me how to deal with my thoughts and emotions on the most inner level. I found this book in hindsight, but “The Wisdom of a Broken Heart” by Buddhist meditation teacher Susan Piver also explained a lot. She said the most wonderful thing; that once love is liberated from its object then it is unbound. It flows free and everywhere. This is true. By removing all of that intensity from this person, I directed it back to me, which then caused so much in my life to multiply and flourish. My creativity exploded. My DJing improved dramatically. I poured my soul into a nationwide charity give back during lockdown. I became a better parent; my kids had a compartmentalized mother for too long. Everything just felt more juicy and lush. All the feelings that had been bound to him were oozing into the other parts of my life.

Susan Piver is found on Instagram under her name. I promise you, if you are reading this and suffering from heartbreak, you are not alone. There are tools to help you. The worst thing you can do is pretend you don’t care, that you’re over it, and to wrestle with the stock ticker of thoughts you’re having about this person. Don’t deny your heart the beauty of shattering. The best things are rebuilt after they are blasted clean. Crack open, and let the shrapnel land where it will. This is a very human event. It’s natural. Don’t fight with nature, you won’t win. The painful bursting of your heart will create space for the right one. It’s a transformation and a hatching. It’s a rebirth, but only if you learn from it. Radical honesty is required, as is radical compassion for yourself. Buddhist teacher Tara Brach’s book “Radical Acceptance” saved me during this time. It taught me from the ground up how to recognize a thought and a feeling, hold it lovingly, investigate it, and nurture my soul throughout. Her method is RAIN: recognize, allow, investigate, and nurture. Never had I experienced such loving kindness AND IT WAS COMING FROM ME. What a magnificent revelation. How could I possibly identify loving kindness coming from another if I don’t know what it looks like on the most sacred of inner levels? Now I know. I have been practicing for quite some time. I came to this because of him. This is huge. After a long time of studying emotional intelligence and deepening my spiritual practices, I was able to demonstrate self respect and extract myself from our unhealthy dynamic. It was time to integrate all I’d learned. Otherwise, there’s no point. It was time to test out alignment and do the hard thing. At a certain point self betrayal feels scarier than losing someone. This is an excellent sign of growth. He was surprised and seemed annoyed. I had never said no to him and he took great comfort in our connection. My life will never be the same because I’m not the same. I am changing and flowing according to the laws of nature. I am earth, strong and solid, but a small child can run my soft dirt through his chubby fingers. I am water, fiercely rising up as a tsunami or cooling your drink as an ice cube on a summer day. I am air, gusty or breezy, giving you breath and life. I am the fire that can burn a house down or warm you on a winter night as you watch Netflix. The nature of the heart, like nature as a whole, is extreme. It changes, expands, contracts, ebbs, and flows. The pain of heartbreak is visceral; it deserves attention, kindness, and patience. If you let it it will teach you trust, even if only because you will lose your mind if you don’t believe that something right for you is waiting on the other side of this emotional ravine. Surrendering to the pain and uncertainty is a direct message to the universe. It says you are ready to partner with it for your greatest and highest good. That base of trust is a gift you’ll give yourself for life. Pain isn’t a punishment; it’s proof you are ready for greater. Olympians don’t win medals by skipping rigorous training. It’s an honor to receive such a lesson, though a dubious one. If you are forced to learn the lesson of a heartbreak so painful you feel it will break you, let it. Piecing yourself together will give you an unknown strength that’s been inside you forever. You are the tree trunk. You aren’t going to be uprooted no matter how hard the branches shake. I use a tree meditation that I love, as well as a water one. Let nature remind you of your ability to withstand all seasons. Change and growth are your birthright. This won’t kill you, I promise. And it really will make you stronger.

The astrologist I work with, Elaine Ziner, is usually quite private, but she truly loves helping people peel back the layers to step into their power. My relationship with her is very sacred to me, the details of which I hold close. Elaine can be reached on Instagram at elaine_ziner Her Sovereign Mastery podcast on Spotify has also helped me a great deal.

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Dazed and Confused

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My friend Emily has named this summer “summer of the 70’s”. No one is going anywhere. Kids are home roaming the streets, having to make do without camp and fancy trips. Parents are home roaming the streets, having to make do without camp and fancy trips. In the spirit of this throwback summer, here is a look inspired by the film Dazed and Confused. A patterned bodysuit, bellbottoms, cool shades, natural flowing hair.
My 9th grade brain did not understand this brilliant movie at the time, but my 42 year old one sho does. I have actually been loving these simpler times lately... alright, alright, alright.

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Heartbreak Hotel

There’s no other way to say this; my heart was put through a meat grinder 2 years ago. I have never experienced heartbreak like that. It was an all consuming pain that was physical, as well as emotional and mental. Only during this period of global lockdown, when the entire world was given a chance to scrape itself clean and reset, was I able to finally wriggle out of this particular straight jacket. Recently my friend, who is also one of my chosen sisters and a magical astrologist, saw a photo of me and commented, “You clearly have sloughed off a lot”. We hadn’t spoken in awhile but it was clear to her without my saying a word. It’s true, my aura is lighter, cleaner, more pure. I feel more intact and aligned than ever before. The past two years were torture. They were also the biggest act of love Source could have done for me. I would not trade them for anything, and I am not just saying that in hindsight. I always knew that whether I was going to wind up with him, which I thought for a very long time, or someone else, that this specific pain was more purposeful than I was meant to understand. I hated every minute but it was impossible to resist it. I loved this person and it just was what it was. I accepted that as fact.


Ego: Do not write this. Want me to list the reasons, Dummy?
Spirit: All good:). Let her do her thing. She knows what to do when she feels at peace.

Now there are deeper cosmic and spiritual elements at play here, but that’s for another time. I feel like writing now about the countless nights I cried myself to sleep, the physical ache of feeling like a limb had been torn from me, the times I’d talk to him when I was alone, the sheer terror that would paralyze me when I thought he wouldn’t be in my life, the heavy dread that I felt when I didn’t hear from him, and the inexplicable highs I felt when I did. Sound like love? No? That’s because it is emotional addiction. I recall a time where I was in an Uber with my daughter, and I got a text from him and I burst into tears. So flooded was I with the crack high from getting my fix that my body just sprung a leak. My daughter, wise beyond her years, took my hand and squeezed it, and said she understood. She was kind and supportive. I didn’t even know I needed that in that moment. I didn’t know I needed that until recently in general, so unfamiliar are those two qualities.
 There haven’t been many, but I have met a few men the past few years since getting divorced. All came and went, all unknowingly taught me something about how to keep leveling up. They rarely cross my mind, and if they do it’s met with an ugh, an eye roll, and a thank you Jesus. This man was different, very much so because of my cryptic mention of those cosmic and spiritual elements. But also because I had never come across someone that good looking, that funny, that smart, and that talented before. All terribly human qualities that are objectively spellbinding. I have yet to meet a chick who wants someone ugly, dumb, and boring. I feel badly that I suspect that to this day he thinks I fell for him because he was an emotional project. This is partially true; I was a hot mess (though I did not know that) and a lot of our issues were mirrored. I was ahead of him in the divorce timeline and I had done quite a bit of spiritual work. It’s so embarrassing to think of all the ridiculous advice and guidance I gave. He loved it though. When he drank from my trough of dime store wisdom I felt like the luckiest, most special faucet in the world. I wanted to help, fix, teach, guide, all unhealthy things unhealthy people do in order to feel needed, valuable, and nurturing. It’s much easier to nurture others than to nurture ourselves. Deeply sensitive, codependent empaths like myself will give and give and give. We do not know when to stop. I also wanted to clean him up for the obvious, selfish reason that he’d then wake up and see the light that we are meant to be together.


Ego: Stop. This is social suicide. What if he reads this??
Spirit: Shhhhh, relax. If he does, ok. If he doesn’t, ok. Let it be.

Meeting him was like being hit by an asteroid. Even the name of the place we met held meaning (I can find symbolism anywhere. It often just adds to the confusion). I immediately felt like it was love at first sight, that unicorn love I remain certain I’m destined for. From where I stand now, clear and strong, I can know that while there were indeed seeds of gold planted that night, my being was lit up because my nervous system had been fully highjacked and activated. I am an excellent first date. I look nice, am fun, make good conversation, etc. Unless I’m instantly miserable and looking for an escape route, which has happened a couple times, my first dates generally go well. This was unlike anything I have yet to experience. I remember every detail, and have spent the past two years replaying them in my mind. It has taken this whole time to be able to hold the memory gently and well, and know that it was just that; a memory. This person was the biggest catalyst in my growth. I define my life as before and after him. Cosmically, there are certain people who get delivered to us in order to bring up all the warring shadows that have welded themselves to our psyches and subconscious. We can only face, tend to, and work with that which rises to the surface. This man did that for me. It had to be him, in his spectacular package of various components. Maybe I wasn’t getting the message on my own (probably not), so Source had to hit me over the head by introducing us at this time. It knew I was ready to advance but it had to put me through the toughest emotional boot camp first. I did not volunteer for this, but without it I’d still be consumed with shadows and demons. Man, I always tried but I was just outnumbered and ill equipped. I remember the night we met, in the Uber home, that I was practically convulsing with fear I’d never hear from him again. After. One. Date. Granted, it was the date of the century, but still; he was a stranger (in the human sense...). To allow myself to be rendered non functioning as soon as we kissed goodbye was not healthy. Again, I thought it meant love because love to me was always chaotic, unattainable, unsure, unreliable, inconsistent. And painful. So when the pain fully set in after knowing we wouldn’t be a couple, I was unable to recognize that love is actually not painful. It’s the opposite, in that it is peaceful. After we parted/he pursued me then dropped me on my ass in midtown Manhattan on a Friday afternoon (I was wearing suuuuuuccchhh a pretty Isabelle Marant outfit), I could not breathe. For a very long time. I was totally miserable. I’d talk to anyone with ears about this, another tell tale sign of emotional addiction. One time in therapy, I spent the whole session talking about him. Not him in relation to me, but like, what he eats for lunch. That type of bullshit. My therapist looked at me and said, “so are we going to talk about you today or just this guy?”.


Ego: Ok, now I’m begging you.
Spirit: Nah, vulnerability and honesty is vital. This is what humans are meant to do.

Speaking of the aforementioned astrologer, I met her when I was in the throes of this addiction. I sat down at her chart reading table at a party I was DJing at. I said nothing except my birthday. She looked at my chart for a minute and said, “Something major happened to you 8 months ago. Something that changed you”. Again, tears. It had been 8 months exactly since we’d met. I could not believe I was meeting someone who I could really talk to about this, not just in the way my friends and I spoke about it. The things she explained, and there were many, made me feel not crazy for the first time since he and I met. Again, Source sent me someone to explain what I could not (classic Source). My friends reacted to this whole scenario in various ways. My tough love friend, in her staccato, blunt delivery was like, “over and out. Move on. He sounds like a dysfunctional mess. He’s not offering you anything anyway. Byeeeeee”. Boom, pow, punch. Some of them, the ones who want what I want no matter what, held onto the belief alongside me that it wasn’t the right time, but that one day it will be. That it will happen, and that when it does it will be even more powerful and special. None of us believe that anymore, based on a number of truths. It has been so liberating to be able to let go of that story. Anytime we drop any story, even the good ones, we float higher. When we remain tethered to any narrative we limit ourselves. We block possibility by clinging to specifics and wanting to control the outcome. It never works.


I am very well aware of how honed I became from having his asteroid crash into my planet. I am truly grateful. I became a better writer, since he often read the blog and I wanted to seem clever and impress him (note to self: if a man doesn’t read your writing then your mind is of no interest). My bank of musical knowledge expanded since he’s a musical prodigy and taught me a lot. I was so desperately sad and shame filled from being addicted to him that I had to learn to manage that. This led me to deepen my spiritual practice a million fold, and now I have this incredible tool kit to self regulate, love, and trust the process. My body became better because in the event he and I ever got together again, I needed to be ready. I’d literally be dying on the SLT megaformer and thinking that this will be worth it when...


Ego: I give up.
Spirit: Hooray!

Meeting him led me to be shaking in the chair at the astrologer’s table. The work I have done with her has been utterly transformative. It led me to go into past lives that explain a helluva lot. It also helped me understand the psychic visions I’ve had of him, which turned out to be accurate. I brought them to him at the beginning, and he told me I’m a prophet. I have never had such clear visions of another person. That alone taught me worlds about myself and the human ability to connect to the unseen. This knowledge of trusting in the secret, intangible forces at work that always sustain us has catapulted me into other quantum dimensions. My meditations are deeper. My powers of manifestation are stronger. I also learned, on a human level, what I want and deserve in a partner. For example, damn right I need someone gorgeous, hilarious,musical, tall, and with good hair. It’s so important to know what qualities lead to major attraction. I’m not talking about superficial attraction that is a distraction from toxicity, but in a physically interpersonal way. We can have anything we want if we believe that.


Universe knew that in order for me to learn what love is, I also had to go through a very painful curriculum of what it’s not. This curriculum gave me a crash course the moment he crashed into me. My heart needed to be broken so that I could collect all it’s millions of pieces and put it back together. By myself, slowly, carefully, with the attention and gentleness it needs and deserves. My life has always been a series of extremes, which is why what is waiting for me will be wonderful. We draw in what we are, like an energetic boomerang. Since I am a different version of myself since I met him two years ago, and since I had to get really sick in order to become really healthy, I can now draw in the same. My meditations and mantras on love look very different now. Love is exciting and all encompassing, but it also flows like a steady stream. It’s reliable, consistent, it gives and receives with grace. We don’t take from it, we draw from it. It is truly your best friend. It is a wellspring of peace and well being, even when it’s challenging. It doesn’t overtake your nervous system. Love, whether it’s from Source, a friend, a lover, a pet, nature, music, yoga, or a child, should feel like the most delicious, quenching, supportive, pure, honest, safest space. It’s not your foundation, that’s your job. But it will never abandon you. It will never blow you off when you reach out in a pandemic.
I think of him every day. It took me a long time to be ok with that and not fight it. The thoughts are there but they aren’t weighed down with heavy emotions and expectations. I have no idea if he thinks of me and that’s fine. His process is his own. I send him peace and meta all the time. I actually mean it. I wonder if he feels something at 3:34 pm if I shower him with golden light at that time. I hope he’s doing the work he so wanted to do, for his own sake and not mine. That would be conditional, and love is not conditional.   
Thank you, Source, for loving me enough to allow me to hurt in order to heal. Now go find me a funny Jew with creativity and hair.


Ego: Maybe just take what is offered to you so you’re not alone.
Spirit:STFU

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Leafy, Nutty, Farro Salad

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This title sucks but I was at a loss. When in doubt, just call it like it is:)
Summer salads have a whole new meaning for me, now that I have gorgeous organic lettuce growing in my garden. I couldn’t join my gardener in planting this year due to Covid, so I delegated that from inside. I figured it would be the usual herbs and vegetables, but when I went to scavenge for mint I found beautiful, bountiful bunches of lettuce. I kept the leaves whole to showcase their fresh magnificence, when I made this salad for an outdoor corona approved crowd. I had five families over on Shabbat to celebrate our kids graduating. This salad was a huge hit. I stored the herbs and lettuce upright in vases of ice water. They stayed crisp overnight. I rinsed them just before usage so that water wouldn’t wilt it. I dried them in the salad spinner, then pat them with paper towels. The rest of the ingredients were found in my pantry. Overall, a truly winning marriage of greens, grains, nuts, and seeds. Feel free to lessen your measurements when serving less people. Those instructions panicked me as a new cook many years ago, but this is not an exact science; you can’t go wrong.

Ingredients:
6 cups of mixed greens
Two cups of farro prepared according to package directions. Make sure it has a drop of a bite to it.
A cup of chopped fresh mint
A cup of chopped fresh parsley
A cup each of toasted pumpkin seeds, sliced almonds, and roasted soybeans

Dressing:
3/4 cup each olive oil and fresh lemon juice
1 tbsp and a half Dijon mustard
2 tbsp of your favorite vinegar
1/3 cup chopped fresh dill
1 1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper

Mix salad ingredients and toss gently. Whisk vinaigrette together and toss all to combine.

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I Can’t Breathe

The conversations most worth having are the hardest ones. The topics that activate our flight instinct are the ones that demand that we stay in our discomfort, so that we can learn to practice through our fear and resistance. Most often, what we resist facing is exactly what is needed to grow; they’re called growing pains for a reason. The topic of race is such a difficult one, and right now our entire country is emotionally ablaze with it. It is on my mind all day, as is the case for the majority of the country, following the murder of George Floyd by a White policeman. George Floyd’s tragic and infuriating death at the hand of those tasked with protecting and saving us, was the straw that finally broke the camel’s back. After a long string of undeserved, unfair, and unwarranted Black deaths at the hands of White law, Floyd’s desperate cries of “I can’t breathe” while a White cop kneeled on his neck, literally squeezing the life out of him, became a metaphor for suffocation of an entire race. I know that on one hand there is only one race, the human race, but on the other hand people are indeed different colors that all must be seen and honored. One of the things I have humbly learned during this time is that People of Color don’t really want us to “not see color”. They wish for the world to absolutely recognize their color and it’s implications; what they want is for it to be honored and not held against them. To ignore their color is to ignore the suffering and pain they have endured. To ignore their color is to not give credit to what their cultures have contributed to the rich landscape of humanity. From a musical perspective alone, could I ever ignore the fact that Black culture birthed hip hop? Of course not. To deny that would be to discredit the unique genius, suffering, joy, and passion behind it. I am so proud of important Jewish figures who have contributed to society; it would bother me for someone to strip away that credit and acknowledgement. The goal isn’t to BE the same, but it must be to be TREATED the same. And right now that is sadly not the case. The residual effects of the despicable slavery system, in which Blacks were believed to be inherently inferior, still linger, even amongst well meaning, kind people. The problem doesn’t really lie with the small pockets of idiotic KKK groups. No one normal is listening to them. The problem continues as a result of majority of “good” society members unconsciously perpetuating destructive beliefs. During this time of uncomfortable and shameful education, I have realized I have been guilty of certain ignorances too. It is very hard for me, due to my own deep cultural conditioning, to not see the world through a Jewish lens. Sometimes I can and sometimes I can’t. Sometimes I want to and sometimes I don’t. When the topic of race comes up, I get very reactive. Anti Semitic behavior is a fact of Jewish life. I don’t even expect differently, which is sad for many reasons. One of those reasons is that defending Jewish lives will never be popular or trendy. No Instagram account will ever likely “take a week off” to educate themselves on Jewish suffering and mistreatment. Jews are killed ALL THE TIME. The world is always silent. When these incidents occur at the hands of broken madmen, not at the hands of the police, none of my non Jewish friends reach out to me. When I post an emotional message on Yom HaShoa about how my whole family was killed in the Holocaust, my POC friends don’t comment or acknowledge it. I never even noticed until recently, because as previously stated, I don’t expect it. Jews have always been alone. Just like there is this messed up view about other cultures being inferior, so too is there this ignorant belief that all Jews are rich and don’t need support. Oh, not only do we not need help, but we have apparently been the cause of most of the world’s problems. Let’s just say that ridiculous belief about all of us being wealthy were true (I can’t dignify this with further explanation). Would that mean that outrage isn’t called for when one of us is brutally attacked and murdered? Does that mean that we don’t merit the support of allies/rallies/ hashtags/ protests/ news/social media? Racism comes in many forms. To declare oneself anti racist is to include ALL races. A true lover of all of humanity doesn’t get to pick and choose who they defend. Truthfully, I can think of a lot of folks now who are militantly enraged about the senseless deaths of George Floyd and Breanna Taylor, AS THEY SHOULD BE. But these same people were silent when several Jews were gunned down innocently grocery shopping in New Jersey, our own backyard. Or when a gunman opened fire in that synagogue in Philadelphia last year, killing many. Jews were sad and shaken, but not one of my DJ friends skipped a beat on their Instagram accounts. It was business as usual, as is always the case when a Jew is killed. If it even makes it into the media, and that’s a huge if, it doesn’t seem to land with a mass thud. I don’t know how not to resent this. Maybe I don’t have to, and the challenge is to hold that while honoring the suffering of Blacks now. Our suffering being met with apathy doesn’t mean they don’t deserve my bleeding heart right now and always. While I understand that these antisemitic acts were carried about by private citizens and not police,  we should all stand united regardless of the details. Anytime someone is brutality killed on American soil we must react.  Hate is hate.I have been gathering and channeling my rage, resentment, and Jewish frustration this week. I have vowed to do what I can to never let another group of people feel the way Jews have felt throughout all of history. You don’t know aloneness until you have stood in the hollowed out shell of a gas chamber, tracing claw marks with your fingers, picturing people exactly like you begging bricks to help them breathe. There was no #icantbreathe in a gas chamber in a concentration camp, and not just because social media wasn’t yet a thing. Those atrocities took place in the middle of cities, while those safe and unaffected were chilling as usual. The words “people” and “smokestacks” do not belong together. The world is basically just as silent now as it was then, as it was during the many other times in history when one fearful lunatic tried to eliminate every single one of us from the face of the earth. Not that long ago, there were meetings in ornate banquet halls on how to solve The Jewish Question, that question being, “how do we get rid of them?”. To this day, when my kids walk to synagogue on Shabbat my heart is in my throat. A Kippah is a bullseye to me. I distinctly recall walking to my own synagogue as a child, in my white sweater and black Mary Janes, hearing teenagers speed by screaming, “Hitler should have gotten the rest of you!”. Yes, I “can pass” as I have been told by my POC friends, but Jews in overtly religious dress cannot. An ultra Orthodox Jew is recognized from space (those baseball hats fool no one). No one should have to avoid religious garb to save their life. During WW2 Jews that were hidden were always in danger of being checked for circumcision; a bris back then was the kiss of death.


One of the things I’ve been working on for many months, especially now, is to not make this about me and my lens. To not allow my own racial suffering to take over the current narrative. This time is about Blacks needing to feel that they matter, and that their lives are seen as beautiful and valuable. In thinking of being able to pass due to my white skin, I have had to admit that I can. In regard to my prior point about Jews that were hidden in gentile homes by the few gentiles willing to do so (some out of kindness, some out of making money off it, some who used Jewish children as slaves), I have also admitted that Blacks cannot get away with that. They cannot be concealed. They don’t have the privilege of passing. If one wants to harm them, they are entirely visible. And though Jews often face brutal anti Semitic acts, we aren’t followed around  in stores or wrongly accused of crimes. People don’t shrink when we enter elevators, or cross the street when we walk alongside them. Policemen don’t kneel on our necks in broad daylight, snuffing the life out of us as we cry for help in public. And if they did, our armies of lawyers and judges would rise up immediately. We can get away with defending ourselves in a way Black people can’t. These are all very sad realities that must be faced under glaring lights. This new level of awareness must be honestly studied and used as cause for action. I don’t see myself as the average White person, since I am a minority too. But the world sees a White woman and that comes with major responsibility right now. I have always said to my kids, when they are uncomfortable on Holocaust Remembrance Day, that six million souls who perished deserve our tears. Not only is it ok to cry, but it is our duty. I will now apply that same level of empathy to others, more than I ever have before, as that same duty to any member of the human race. Yes, we are magnificently different, but underneath all the human stuff we are exactly the same. We all were built to breathe. As one who has a regular mediation practice, I spend a great deal of time focusing on the profound gift of breath. Floyd’s pleas to breathe were denied by someone who had no right to take his inhales and exhales away. To inhale and exhale is the greatest physical gift. Breath is life. It is a physical, spiritual, mental, and emotional act all at once. When I am actually able to luxuriate in my own breath I feel like I can conquer the world but that I don’t even need to. To breathe is simply enough. George Floyd could not have chosen more impactful last words. Those words started a much needed movement. What they represent is life itself. “ I can’t breathe” means “I can’t live”, and no, Blacks must not have to live a moment longer in a society that gives them subpar treatment. Their cries to matter are heartbreaking. The fact that there was a need for the Black Lives Matter movement is heartbreaking. The pandemic happening alongside the racial crisis boiling over is a clear message that the entire world must be jackhammered and rebuilt. We are being asked to change because we are ready for better.


I have always treated every person with kindness, empathy, and respect. I know this. I have taught my children the same. This last week we have been talking about the unjust horror of recent events, and how it’s our responsibility as a hunted people to not let others be treated terribly based on race, religion, gender, or sexuality. My kids are being raised in the same protective Jewish bubble in which I was, but I’m determined to widen their young lenses. Access to social media makes them far more aware of world news and events than I ever was. We have these important discussions, which include the privilege that comes attached to our skin color. They don’t need to apologize for that, but it is an awareness that breeds deeper sensitivity and understanding towards those punished for being a different color. That must stop. Those broken people hurting others need to be so scared of the consequences that they’ll think twice. Meaning, the laws must change to protect and serve all people equally. No one should get away with anything like this. Our government has failed, it must do better. Our police force has failed, it must do better. Our society has failed, it must do better. We can’t expect crazy people to be better, but most of us aren’t crazy; the job falls on us to rise up together as brothers and sisters. We can, however, demand that the crazies be so severely punished so as to serve as a cautionary tale.


I heard a fierce dharma talk tonight by Black gay zen priest, Zenju Earthlyn Manuel. She said we honor our ancestors by practicing, them being the earth, the sky, all of nature. They are all so different yet live in harmony, and look how long they’ve lasted. They are far stronger and wiser than us. But we are human, and that comes with rage, fear, and sadness. We are angry but we practice. We are sad but we practice. We are scared but we practice. Each breath leads into the next, it is one continuing circle. A circle encompasses all in it. Night to day, winter to spring, young to old, birth to death, it’s all the same. Beginnings to endings then back to beginnings. We can always begin again. A new dawn is always just a few hours away.

We practice until we can no longer breathe.

And sometimes when we can no longer breathe, we become the change the world needs.

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The Beat Goes On

This past week was one of the brightest highlights of my entire life, when Lady Blaga hosted a nationwide hospital give back called Eats&Beats. In an effort to give back during this insane time of COVID19, the aim was to let our superhuman front liners know that they are seen, loved, and appreciated. What has been asked of every first responder and hospital staffer throughout this time has been completely crazy. From security guards and janitors to doctors and nurses, they have been putting their own lives at tremendous risk to fight the war on this deadly virus. They don’t have the luxury of staying home in quarantine and waiting for Amazon and Instacart deliveries. This pandemic is extremely physically and emotionally challenging for every human on earth, but to the medical community it’s next level scary. With the Eats & Beats mission, we so badly wanted to give joy, strength, and encouragement to as many front liners as possible. This mission was born on a phone call with the idea to help, pure and simple. It was a grassroots concept put together by two harried, stretched way too thin moms (me and Tzvia) who were intent on using our resources to spread love and light. Giving back has always been part of the Lady Blaga framework. This brand is a direct representation of who I am as an individual, and I feel grateful that my giving nature has always shouted loud and clear. Our goal was to enlist hospitals who would want to receive lunch, masks, and virtual entertainment for roughly 300 staffers in each facility. We had so many bumps and roadblocks. At times I doubted to myself if this was going to work. It didn’t feel so daunting at first, but things kept snowballing into an overwhelming amount of details and technicalities. Many doors were slammed in our faces, from family, friends, and contacts alike who we really thought would help. It was very disheartening but we kept going, believing all would unfold as it was meant to. Trust isn’t a one way street. We don’t get to say we trust only when things work out the way we want them to. It’s easy to thank “the Universe” when we win the lottery. It’s much harder to test the trust muscle when things are falling apart. Flexing that muscle has been what has gotten me through every hard time and situation, from the minor to the major. I did ask Source through the rocky planning of this event if it was going to work out. The answer was always a resounding yes, but so many factors were just not pointing in the direction of success. At that point there was nothing to do but surrender to the process and just do my best, regardless of the outcome. Zoom is a terrific platform that has been keeping the world afloat during lockdown, but it’s meant for meetings, not for music. It actually compresses sound, and much is required on the back end in order to get clear sound transfer. Each DJ has a different mixer setup to facilitate this. I don’t have a mixer at home yet, so we were attempting this all through other means. Every rehearsal involved a heart crushing amount of static. I worked so hard on curating an uplifting, positive, joy infused set. I just wanted to make the hospitals happy. Letting them down was terrifying to me. Until the moment I pressed stop at the end of the event, I had no idea how it was going to play out. I had every reason to expect tech hiccups. We had a plan for that but still; I just wanted all to go so well. This was my gift to the world at this time. When our need to give is stunted or blocked there is an emotional disconnect. I committed to doing my best as I always do, and that was all I could offer. That had to be enough. Looking back, I see how every single problem and complication was all part of my personal curriculum in letting go. In trust, in surrender, in brushing off my individual expectations and needs for how “things should be”. At one point I literally saw guru Neem Karoli Baba sitting on the bed next to my DJ setup, laughing at me when I was annoyed about something. As in, “oh yeah? You’re going to let THAT throw you off your game??” It helped me immediately release all the built up tension and constrictions that had been piling and hardening. As soon as that happened, which was right before I had to start, I surrendered to the moment. AND THE ENTIRE HOUR AND A HALF WENT PERFECTLY AND FLAWLESSLY. Tzvia, Esquire (who ran tech), and I could not F ing believe it. Ten minutes into playing, after the celebrity montage of well wishes we put together played, I burst into tears at seeing the nurses, doctors, cafeteria workers, and various other staffers dancing and singing. The true meaning of the event came crashing down on me and I forgot everything except who and what I was playing for. Each hospital brought the moves, the enthusiasm, and the love. I could not have done this without their magnificent participation. Giving through a screen cross country is a curious thing, but it worked. I was overcome with a fierce emotion that drove me song after song. Our zoom screen looked like a feel good, choreographed commercial about this time in history. Each time a certain hospital was featured in the middle of the screen, they erupted with dancing and cheering as if on a Jumbotron. It was wonderful, and I felt so blessed to be captaining the ship. I closed with Pride by U2. As I finally removed my headphones and danced like a maniac to the lyrics “in the name of love”, it was this clear awareness of the vast importance of the moment. I’m still processing it all. We were featured in magazines and on the news. I hope this encourages others to be inspired and pay it forward. It’s all part of walking each other home. My exercise teacher asked me the other day who we partnered with to do this. “No one, we did it all ourselves” was a statement that made me realize what we accomplished. I am so proud of myself and of my amazing team. I am endlessly grateful to all who allowed me to give on such a huge level. I want Eats&Beats to be the Lady Blaga mission statement. There will always be folks who need food, love, encouragement, and music. Providing that music and energy is one of the reasons I became a DJ. Every moment of my life, every trial and tribulation led to this moment. Every hardship, doubt, frustration, and fear. I trust each was a necessary part of my path. There will be more hardships, more fears, more difficulties. And yet the beat will always go on.

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Spread Love Not Germs

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I feel most beautiful in a natural state of giving. Giving love, giving birth, giving food, giving support, and giving musically or creatively. Since giving is our nature, when we do it, something within the innermost part of us clicks, connects, and lights up. That’s why giving is also seen as a selfish act; it feels really good when it’s done purely and with true intentions. It feels right. This past week I was given the opportunity to give on a mass level, through an event Lady Blaga hosted called Eats&Beats. This was entirely a grass roots effort that began just a month ago, with the intention to give love, support, and nourishment to the brave front liners fighting the war on COVID19. Our tag line was “spread love not germs”, which was printed onto thousands of masks generously donated by Swag.com. Being safe, thereby being considerate of others as well as yourself, is in fashion now more than ever. I felt beautiful putting this event together with my manager, Tzvia, and I was completely lit from within while DJing virtually for 15 hospitals in 5 states cross country. Giving with zero expectations for receiving is the most beautiful kind. All of our hard work and sleepless nights led to the most radiant hour and a half I’ve had during this devastating pandemic. Challenges great and small are an unavoidable part of life. The key isn’t to dodge them since they will always be flying at us in some capacity. But when we can stay open and keep spreading love during trying times of turbulence, we are reminded of the ever present beauty of life. The sun is always here, even on the darkest of days.

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