On gratitude.

We could all stand to say "Thank you" more often to each other.

I mean it.

If you live, as I do, in a first world country, even one where tens of thousands of human canaries are currently bemoaning the state of democracy every day, we've still got it good here.
I live in a house. With indoor plumbing and a warm, dry bed. There's a refrigerator with food inside it. There's more food in the cupboard.
I have a bicycle hanging in the entryway that takes me all over, and a bus pass when I'm not feeling so robust. And if worse comes to worst, Sweetie can take me somewhere in her car.
Did I mention I have a Sweetie? We've been together through thick and thin for over twenty years. She's my best friend and the queen of my world and I adore her beyond words.
We have two cats who are sweet and funny and bring us much joy.
And we are blessed with loving family near and far (that we don't get to see often enough, but we make the effort) who fill us up with so much love.

I say all this by way of setting up the need to say gratitudes out loud.

We are born, we live and then we die. And the time between birth and death is a speck, a microcosm of time so short in the scheme of things that almost no one will know we were here a hundred years from now.

So while we're here, we owe it to ourselves and each other to speak and sing and dance and love our gratitude out loud, as often as we can. We need to remember that our lives are miraculous and all too short, and acknowledge that miracle with thankfulness at least once every day.

I think gratitude makes me happier by keeping things in perspective.
Sure, situations and events can be annoying or even scary. But on balance, if we survive long enough, things have a chance to change. And that can be another reason to give thanks.

This morning at around 2am, our toilet clogged up. I spent close to an hour trying to unclog it myself, and when I couldn't I knew we'd have to call a plumber later in the morning. On the day before New Year's Eve. When everyone else in Portland was having a plumbing emergency. It took five tries, but we found a company with service slots available the same day. Sweetie urged me to go for the bike ride I had planned and not worry. When I came back later, the toilet had been repaired (it was not a big job). We had the means to pay for it, and that was that.

Tonight, I am reminded of a short little song I've used at worship services now and then.
We sing:

V'al zeh ani modeh
V'al zeh ani modah

(For all this, I am grateful)

After we sing the Hebrew words, I invite folks to call out something they are grateful for. The answers come forth like water: Family. Friends. My dog. My sister. Seeing my grandkids grow. Hiking in a beautiful place. Enjoying a home-coooked meal with friends.
And then we sing the Hebrew words again.

I learned this during my time in Kansas City and it immediately resonated with me. How simple it is to offer gratitude for our blessings. And how often we forget to do so.
So I've made it part of my nightly practice, before I turn in. I offer thanks for a few of my blessings each night. It's not fancy or especially articulate, but it's heartfelt and real. I'm convinced that I sleep better for it.

I hope the ending year will remind you of your blessings.
And I hope the year to come will give you more to be thankful for.

Thank you for reading.

Right now, it IS all about me. At least for awhile.

 

Some of you will skip this. That's fine.

Others will read it and that's fine too.

I'm going on a lot about ADHD lately because I was diagnosed a little less than three months ago, and a crap metric TON of stuff is happening as a result of understanding that diagnosis.

Years of masking efforts (where I had to pretend I was "normal" in order to fit in, get a job, find housing, find friends, etc.) are falling away like bad wallpaper.

I am becoming more annoying to folks who can't handle my sporadic energy or my inability to remember appointments.

And I am dealing with a surprising PHYSICAL response to this news, while all the pain and confusion and deep sorrow and even some anger are coursing through my veins and nerves and muscles right now. Which is why I haven't committed to a whole lot of stuff lately.

I'm dealing with a Whole Life Smackdown and it is hard.

If you want to inform yourself in tiny nuggets, check out https://www.instagram.com/adhd_chatter_podcast

on IG right now. It's very informative in tiny snippets, and sheds light on what it's like to realize this thing and begin to learn how to live with the knowledge, especially for those diagnosed later in life as adults.

And if you'd rather not be witness to this journey, that's cool. Just mute me or unfollow me, because after years of trying to live in ways that accommodate the world I'm now embarking on the project of learning how to hustle so the world accommodates me a little bit more for a change. Not sorry. Just honest.

And that is my gift to everyone.

Love, Beth Hamon

(artwork by Don Martin)

Chameleon

Growing up without a solid, stable community meant I was often left to my own devices -- emotionally, logistically, spiritually -- and in some key ways I raised myself. That's not an uncommon experience for Gen X'ers, most of whom were latchkey kids (because both parents worked or because they were living with a single parent) and whom lived in a time when kids had more freedom and angency when it came to free time.

In some ways, this served me well. I learned problem-solving and evasive maneuvers, and developed a keen sense of observation.
This, in turn, enabled me to become something of a chameleon in social situations.
I'd observe for awhile, learn the lingo and the look, and take on just enough of both to not seem like a complete outsider.
Years later, I understand that this was a defensive mechanism against loneliness, ostracization and even danger.
But as I grew older and began to seek ways to be more authentic in my daily life, I learned that taking on so many disguises had left me without a sure footing in myself. In my Self.

Today, I find that I am too Jewish for some, and not Jewish enough for others.
This seems unavoidable, hard to change at this time in my life. So I cling to authenticity when and where I can.

Now, I find myself in a bit of a pickle.
The synagogue where I've worked extremely part-time for the past two years, is evolving the way it does worship music, and is heading towards an approach that I don't really like and cannot keep up with.
I don't like it, and can't keep up with it for the same reason: I lack the patience and motivation to adapt right now. Still reeling from my ADHD diagnosis, and striving to figure out how I want to proceed, I don't feel especially motivated to undertake the project of evolving my musical self to stay employable. And in my heart of hearts, I sort of don't want to keep working in synagogues.

There. I said it.

I am burned out -- to exhaustion, really -- on being a synagogue musician.

I've always been asked to lead before I've fully acquired the tools to do so, and have had to jump in and rely upon my natural charisma and ability to improvise -- to be a sort of chameleon -- in synagogue settings. And now, I've reached my limit.
I cannot pour from a pitcher that feels so empty.
I want the luxury of being able to begin again, to sit in the back and just BE for awhile.
And because I'm a known quantity in the Jewish world, it's just not possible to do. Not without feeling the tension that arises from being a known quantity and having nothing to offer, and little or no desire to offer it.

So I feel like some more changes are coming.
I don't know what they are, but I suspect that they will have something to do with how I move through the world as a Jew, and as a musician.
That's all I know for now.

Guitar helps for arthritis!

 Guitar playing friends: as I continue to adjust to life with more arthritis, I’ve found something that actually helps.

These are silicon pick covers with the Fender brand, sold by Sweetwater online in 3-packs (first photo). I removed the medium picks from the cover, trimmed them to suit and put them lengthwise on my preferred picks (second photo). 

They work.

With the silicon cover, I have a really good grip on my pick without having to pinch my fingers nearly as hard. The result is that I can get through a full set of songs without much pain.

I’m going to purchase a couple more 3-packs and set up several of my picks this way.

Careening like a pinball.

Except it's not so funny.
I am deep in the throes of MEH, the kind of depression where I sort of don't care about much of anything.

I have to fly to Santa Rosa in two days and don't care.
Well, okay, I care a little. Because I like the rabbi and it's his last year before retirement and I would like to do well.

I did religious school tefilah on Sunday and it went okay, but my heart wasn't really in it.
I know how to move and act and be so it looks like my heart is fine, but when it was done all I wanted to do was get out of there and go home.

And today, this. I hope my counselor isn't too pissed. Because on the surface, it IS funny as hell.
But underneath, it is a fucking shitshow in my head these days. And maybe a little in my heart, too.

Who AM I anymore? What am I here for?
No idea.
When I'd realized my mistake -- the counselor emailed me and I didn't see it until ten minutes before the end of our time slot -- I felt deeply down for a few moments, then, well -- kind of empty and MEH. I sat and hugged one of the cats for a few minutes, which helped. Eventually I got back to getting something done. And now, all I want to do is lie down and zone out.

Is this normal? I realize that for me, it has been normal my whole life, but I've had to mask all that for so long and PRODUCE -- work, repairs, music, teaching, whatever -- that I haven't always had the option to lie down, so I just sat there and kept trying to look interested.

And right now, I realize why and how I am so fucking exhausted.

A big part of me wants to relearn how to love me as I am, which is hard because I'm realizing how broken and wiped out I feel.
At the same time, I just want to curl up in the fetal position and stop working so damned hard inside.

ADHD and depression go together very often. So it wouldn't shock me to know I have both in spades.

I'd like to wake up in a world where my needs are met, I'm thanked for all the years I contributed to the world, and now I just get to relax and not stress about everything that's wrong with me and with the world. Not realistic, but it's what I want.

I am typing this while I have to get ready for a gig. Ugh.

My brain is a pinball, careening off multiple emotions and feeling opposing things every half hour or less. I'd like to wake up in a world where that's okay and I won't be penalized or shamed for it.
 

Ever know something before you know that you know it?

I wrote this during my bout with Long Covid, when I was still wrestling with intense symptoms but desperately needed to express my feelings and worries at the time.
Returning to it now, as I practice for my Shabbaton next weekend, feels like both a relief and a realization of where I find myself.
I want to go and do well, of course -- I always want to do well! -- but I am also really, really exhausted by all that I've been carrying. AND it's okay to own that.
It HAS to be okay to say when you're tired, in public, without it becoming an indictment of yourself. That is where I am today.
I am tired, exhausted, by everything. By all the everythings that I have carried since at LEAST ten years ago, since twenty years ago, maybe since childhood. All the everythings that now point to where and who I am today, and how I arrived there not terribly supported.
The realization at just how much of this I've carried alone.
The aloneness has been exhausting, and so has its realization.

I am blessed to live in a time when I can say what I really feel, who I really am, without too many repercussions.
But it took an awfully long time to get here.

The Big Reveal.

 So if I seem like I’ve been a little off-balance for the last couple of months…

It’s because, in addition to the usual bodily peskiness I live with, I’m having some big amazement and other emotions from a formal diagnosis of ADHD.

It has thrown me for a bit of a loop, especially as I’ve read and learned more about it: 

— how it shows up differently and later in women (and how women and girls have long been under-diagnosed, correlating with the decades of neglect of women in general by the male-dominated medical establishment);

— how girls with ADHD learn early on to “mask” or hide their special brain quirks, adding layers of stress to an an already complex situation, and why many docs think at first it’s just straight-up depression;

— how so many of one’s life choices and decisions can, in retrospect, identify where and how ADHD folks have made choices to protect themselves without knowing why — even as those choices may have also held them back economically and socially;

— how various corners of the medical establishment disagree on whether ADHD is a mental disorder, or simply a different way of being in the world with its own set of gifts. Right now it feels mostly like a huge disadvantage, as evidenced by the way schools and workplaces have been so slow to acknowledge its existence, much less to create accommodation for folks with ADHD;

— how several major events in the past decade-plus of my life now sensibly correlate with ADHD, more directly than with other issues like depression. Ten years of not being diagnosed fully or being offered the right kinds of treatment. And a lifetime of not understanding who I’ve really been, or how much of my real self I’ve spent masking and/or apologizing for over the course of my whole life.

*Comic Relief Moment*: I actually got this diagnosis in 2019, when it appeared in a discharge letter from a counselor I’d been working with. A letter I got only months before Lockdown.

I didn’t notice that part of the diagnosis at the time.

I only noticed it this fall. 

Hilarious, yes? 

I’m still giggling a little at that one, and you should too.

As you can imagine, living with all of this has made it very interesting and challenging for me to be “productive” in a society requiring regular productivity according to a narrowly-defined standard, and making few allowances for differently-brained people who need regular rest periods and room to create, and cannot thrive in a 9-to-5 workplace. I am learning that I was probably never meant to thrive in such a workplace, and the lack of other options at various points in my working life is playing like a really strange life-movie in my mind as I process the ramifications.

I am working with a counselor to help me navigate all this new information, and I’m giving myself time to feel everything. 

There is a lot to feel right now. 

And it feels a little like a dam broke inside me. So many things I’ve been masking or juggling inside are coming to the surface now. So many things that I’ve tried to mask for so long are now rising to the surface as if they’ve been somehow freed to express themselves. 

I may not be terribly fun to be around right now, for my family and my closest friends. And the outside world in all its forms is virtually screaming its demands for my attention and energy, something I can’t really give a whole lot of right now.

Which is going to make me look really self-centered, but for now I just can’t worry about the optics.

I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances.

It explains so much.

I don’t know what it will mean in the long run, but for now it feels equally challenging and freeing, and I’m going to sit with that for awhile.

Please NO PITY PARTIES. 

I am fine, here and there a little fascinated by everything my body is telling me right now. I’m learning a lot. I feel supported (or at least fully accepted, which is a lot) by my family. 

I understand now why I use parentheses so much when I write. That’s a neurodivergent thing, too, an overreaching to be understood.

If anything, I am glad, grateful even, for the information. 

Information brings clarity, and I LOVE clarity. 

And I love you for being my family and friends.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

It's all in the hands.

For a few months now, my hands, especially my right hand, have been giving me grief.
Sharp pain in my thumb joint where it meets my palm, especially at the base of the joint.
Gripping seems to make it worse.
Having it looked at by my doctor and x-rays taken to ensure there's no bone damage, the consensus is pretty strong on some kind of arthritis.
It's honest wear. I've worked with my hands in some capacity for over forty years, turning wrenches at the bike shop and playing various instruments almost daily.
And now the chickens are coming home to roost.

I'm not super-depressed about it. My hands aren't falling off or in danger of being amputated.This is just plain old aging, nothing to do but soldier on with whatever ointments and pain meds I can use and hoping to wring a few more years out of my hands before I must stop doing it for a living.

I'm having a hand scan this week which will measure nerve response and possible nerve damage. I'm told it's done with a needle, and I hope it won't be so painful as to make me scream or force me to rest my hands this weekend.

I have a couple gigs coming up, this weekend and a longer one next weekend, and I am hoping that I can find a way to power through all that.

But yeah, this is the deal with getting older. I've used my body but good, and parts wear out over time.

Maybe this is part of some larger life-work shift that will become clearer over the coming year.

I'm listening.

(Photo: two of the meds I'm using to help reduce hand pain. The Lidocaine ointment is "Spearmint Flavored," apparently in case I decide to eat it, or huff it.)

Pardon my schadenfreude, but here we go. (Watching the music industry eat itself.)

It’s a gift article so can read it without bumping into the firewall.

https://www.facebook.com/100003556179660/posts/pfbid02Xv43d4koES2J4H78U5d83t56avFcRr735cmsR4iEkLdZpCFJvhfp5AoBLP7JhWCDl/

I’m so damned happy I didn't buy into the licensing thing, even with JLicense.

Because all their dreams are about to come true, but not at my expense.

Yeah, I’m snorting into my sleeve about this, it’s true. I fully expect that ASCAP will eventually follow suit. Why? Because making money is never enough when you can make more money. Sooner or later, someone always wants to make more money. It’s a carnival ride that can’t be stopped until it goes completely off the rails. And I don't really care when it goes off the rails, because I’m not on the ride.

One day, Bandcamp will falter or close down. It’s now been owned by three different companies in a year’s time, and the only thing I can be completely sure of is that whatever changes are eventually made to the platform will benefit the shareholders first, and the artists like fifth or seventh or something.

(I predict that the same thing will likely happen with  as well, if for no other reason than the great unchurching of America. There just won’t be enough synagogues with real music resources to support the model in the future.)

In order to get one of my songs from a previous album included on iTunes with the rest of the album — back before I knew better and still thought that was a good idea — I had to sign up for something called SounDrop. That was back in 2018. Five years ago. In that time, I’ve earned about twenty bucks from SounDrop in digital sales. 

Twenty bucks in five years.

However, I had neglected to give them my tax info so that they could release those funds to me AND simultaneously report it to the IRS on my behalf. Because sure, I dream of sitting around collecting those royalties, all twenty bucks worth, just so I can get taxed on them.

I think the idea of getting taxed on so little is offensive, especially since the Tech Bros are getting zillions of dollars’ worth of tax breaks. So I am content to let that money sit right where it is, and not share my info with SounDrop so they can rat on me. If they’ve made their cut (which presumably is at least as much as I’ve made, if not more), they can do whatever they want with mine, since they’ve cared so little about promoting my release when it was brand new. Because I’m one of a zillion very small, independent artists who will never make them enough money to care about me or my music. Because why? Say it with me kids, you know how this goes: because in the digital world, music is mere content, one’s and zeros — and not actual art. So yeah, the Tech Bros can bite me.

Forgive me for not caring what happens to these bloated juggernauts.

When it all comes crashing down in a decade or two, they’ll be holding the bag and I’ll still be picking through local “free” boxes for my next button-down shirt. Nothing will have changed all that much for me, and I am fine with that. I know all about impermanence, and I am largely okay with mine.

When too much is actually too much

Between the kidnapping reenactment videos (REALLY?! WTF?), the conspiracy theories (about what Bibi knew and when) and the entire professional media chewing every gory detail of the conflict like Marie Antoinette set pieces, I’m sorry but I just can’t anymore.

Facebook has become the de facto battleground for the armchair warriors, and I can’t handle it anymore.

So many millions of people pretending that what they share on FB can actually change the geopolitical landscape. 

As if.

Vietnam was a nominally better war because it was only on TV, and we KNEW we couldn’t do a damn thing about it until our leaders stepped up and did something. We were just as powerless, but the landscape was far more honest. If we couldn’t handle it, or if the kids were in the room, we could turn off the TV and get on with our truly private lives.

I sound like a cranky old fart.

Road signs

The case for my go-to guitar is twenty years old.

When I began touring, I started with a janky guitar and an even jankier case, because that’s what I had. Then, I had to fly to Florida for a Jewish Song Festival, and my guitar and case, with some help from United Airlines, showed me I’d need something tougher.

I was able to buy my touring guitar after the summer of 2014, and the case followed a couple months later. Both have served me very well since then. I get my guitar tended to periodically at Portland Fret Works, and on the rare occasions my case has needed care, I’ve handled it myself. Along the way, the case has picked up a few road signs, souvenirs of places I’ve brought my guitar to share my music.

Twenty years is a long time to keep a visual record of one’s travels. Here are a few high points.

The case is an SKB touring case with TSA-approved latches. Hard plastic outer shell, hard foam interior covered with velveteen and sized for my guitar. It’s very strong and yet lightweight enough that lugging it through airports and train stations isn’t so bad. 

It also takes stickers quite well, though I learned early that a few dabs of super glue underneath would ensure that sticker stayed on through all the bumps and grinds of travel.

Below are few key stops along the way.

— Soulcraft, a bicycle frame company that also reminds me what I’m doing on the road.

— Jeremy White Foundation, a musicians organization which helped me with a small financial grant in the first year of the Covid lockdown, when gigs were nonexistent.

— Kansas, where I spent six Incredible Junes leading music and prayer at a terrific Jewish Day Camp called Machane Jehudah. That experience changed my Judaism, and my life, for the better.

— ISH Festival, Cincinnati. See below.

— Yes, I played my guitar and rode a bicycle at the Grand Canyon. If you’ve never been, GO.

— Same thing goes for Joshua Tree, though time maybe running out for that magical place.

— St. Louis, home of Alvarez Guitars and Songleader Boot Camp.

— I serenaded the staff at Graeter’s Ice Cream in downtown Cincinnati just before hopping the bus to the airport, after my last trip to ISHfest. I’d love to explore and play more here, but it’s gonna have to be through a different vehicle than this well-intentioned but oddly-managed festival. I lost money both times I went. Live and learn, I suppose.

— And yeah, something in your living room really DOES want all your money.

Ahhh, Portland. My Glistening city, my Jerusalem. 

— Velo Cult, best bike shop hangout ever and now long gone.

— Pip’s Original Donuts. If you have issues about waiting in line, stay home. More for me.

— Portland Parks and Rec, occasional host of Shabbat Fusion. Bonus bets: Wilshire Park and Wallace Park.

— Hipster Herzl, a memento from when NewCAJE came to town in 2019.

Also here, my one visit to Lawrence Fucking Kansas, a cool college town and home to a hip little coffeehouse with its own Breakfast Cereal Bar. When Lawrence grows up it could be Portland, except for the snow.

Editorial stickers, a few homemade, include my sentiments about infrastructure and sustainable trans portion. I admit that while I’ll miss the people, when I retire from the road in a few years I won’t miss the airports or the freeways. It has always bothered me that I’ve had to utilize UNsustainable transport to tour. But based on where the audiences are and where I am, there’s no other real choice for now. So I live with the tension and look forward. But yeah, I’ll never forgive Robert Moses.

Top of the case: the point of it all. Why I do this thing. What music is for. Why live music is always best.

screw the tech bros and their quest for endless streams of mere content. I’m a musician like my father before me, and it is ALL about playing for and in front of people.

So spend the money, pay the cover and a drink, and support live music wherever you are.

Last but not least, a nod to my recent ADHD diagnosis and the work involved in honoring my real self.

This one’s a patch on my gig bag, which I use when I do local stuff, and short hoppers on small planes or the train and my hard case won’t fit in the overhead. 

Touring is frustrating and weird and inspiring and loads of fun. I’m blessed I’ve been able to do it for so long. And I’m blessed that I can see a time when it will all wind down in a few years. I’m okay with all of it. Happy trails.

Every time I think something is the way it is, the Universe mocks me. And I laugh.

In the midst of feeling down about the arc of my musical work, here comes another possibility of traveling to share music. A gig. And with it, the possibility of meeting online friends in person after five years of remote friendship.

Man plans and God laughs.

I flounder, and the Universe lifts me up.

What a crazy world. Like dangling a carrot just far enough in front of me that I will reach for it.

Insanity and gratitude and awe, all in one place.

Happy Friday and Shabbat Shalom.

What is “retirement” when you’re a freelance musician?

 My body was in much better shape back in 2019.

I still rode a bike for a lot of my daily transportation around town; I had just released my fourth album, featuring probably the best song I’d ever written; and I was planning to do a couple of regional tours to promote the new release.

Then, as so many of us say, COVID happened.

Over the next four years, I would struggle with inactivity, Covid and then Long Covid, and the virtual shutdown of a musical arc that was about to blow up, leading to intensified depression. I went through different antidepressive drugs, changes to my diet, prayer and crying jags before finally coming out the other side in early 2023. But things did not get a whole lot better.

Gigs became much harder to come by and I spent a ton of energy hustling for nothing. My Long Covid symptoms lingered for months, hampering my ability not only to work, but sometimes just to get through the day. Finally, I got a formal diagnosis of ADHD, and that rocked my world hard.

(Funny side note: the diagnosis was actually handed down in a written wrap-up from a counselor I’d been seeing in 2018-19, but thanks to ADHD I missed that part of the wrap-up. Like maybe I saw it but I didn’t see it. Until 2023, when my doctor asked for a copy and that diagnosis, which had been sitting on the page the entire time, finally registered in my brain. I’d laugh if it weren’t so pathetic.)

So just when I think I might be on the way back to something resembling even a part-time music career, my hands start hurting whenever I play. And won’t stop. I took Tylenol, rubbed balm on my hands nightly, and nothing resolved. I worked through my one big summer tour with my hands hurting every day, came home after ten days and collapsed, totally exhausted. It took me a week to regain energy after that tour. And my hands kept getting incrementally worse.

Between all these things and the ADHD diagnosis finally sinking in, I found myself a few weeks ago just reeling from all the changes, and their potential implications.

And now the medical roller coaster begins: getting referrals and setting up appointments for deeper examination of all these things, trying to figure out how to treat them, and wondering if I’m reaching the end of my body’s physical usefulness in professional settings.

I’ll be 61 in less than three months.

And I am exhausted.

So yesterday, I began the process of looking into filing for disability. Between Crohn’s, IBS, depression, ADHD and my hand issues, plus my age, it’s not like I’d qualify for a subsidized retraining program at this point. I’ve worked with my hands my whole life, and don't have 21st century job skills. So I have to at least explore the possibility.

I don’t know where it will take me, if it will be successful or not, or what it will mean emotionally once I really begin processing it all. I am still reeling from the ADHD diagnosis and waiting to get an appointment with a mental health counselor for that. But the fact is that I am wiped out. I have carried so much since Covid began, and have been unable to heal from all of it, and I am sad and tired most of the time now. So I figured I needed to at least look and see if it’s time to consider filing.

I wish I could play guitar without my hands hurting after ten minutes.

I wish I had the body I had before Covid.

I wish we had enough money for me to consider these things without a sense of urgency or stress.

But this is the life I’m living, and I have to walk through these doors and see what’s behind them.

Here I go.

I accept that I am different. It’s easier than pretending that I’m not.

I grew up nominally Jewish, raised by two nightclub musician parents who were the outliers in their respective families. My childhood home was not a Jewishly connected one. We were not Zionists. My sister and I did not go to Hebrew school. My parents could not afford to join a synagogue, or even to live near other Jews.

I did not begin to explore Jewish communal life until my mid-thirties. I liked what I found, I stayed, and have made the Jewish community the focus of my socialization and my work since then.

But it hasn’t been easy. 

Without those deeper roots that so many of my friends and co-artists have enjoyed, my Jewish geography is limited. Without the income and steady synagogue contracts to support them, my travels to Jewish conferences have been quite limited, and my travel to Israel nonexistent.

To be fair, as someone who had a mobile childhood I’ve learned to travel light and I tend to hold most people at a friendly arm’s length. As someone who did not grow up learning how to function in community, I’ve struggled with how to be in Jewish community. And I’ve struggled to figure out what to think and feel about Israel. Because I never learned to feel about it as my colleagues do.

Israel is not my home. My home is America.

Israel is not my vacation spot. Nor is it my refuge of last resort. I live in America and will die here, and I have never had any choice but to be okay with that.

Still, it’s hard to watch my Jewish friends and colleagues feel quite comfortable, sure and deep-rooted in their shared experiences and their shared love sometimes. Like this video that popped up in my feed.

https://www.facebook.com/24304897/posts/pfbid03dbmr5MAzSs3QLwvxzRHVu18WRNdzaqG48kvF64o4tKTQwUyfVvAyvPYp9wPfR3pl/

Some truly lovely people that I’ve come to know at the aforementioned conferences got together and made the video, part of some programming in support of Israel during the current crisis. They’re singing Hatikvah, the Israeli national anthem. 

I’ve been asked a few times to sing Hatikvah as part of my work in Jewish music and education. And I’ve done it. But I’ve never felt comfortable doing so. Not because I don’t think Israel should exist — I do. But because there’s an expectation that’s different from singing anyone else’s national anthem.

When I was a Girl Scout, visiting a camporee of Canadian Girl Guides as their guest, I and my new friends were asked to teach each other our national anthems, as a measure of respect and honor, so we could all sing both anthems each morning at flag raising. It was fun teaching each other our respective national anthems — I must admit I liked Canada’s better, finding it easier to learn and more musical — and to this day I am able to sing “O Canada” from memory and enjoy the sweet memories of that summer. But I am always aware that I am singing someone else’s national anthem.

That’s not how singing Hatikvah feels. There is an unspoken expectation that when a Diaspora Jew sings the song, there is — there’s supposed to be — an added sense of fellow feeling, as if Israel could be my home anytime I decide to move there. We call moving to Israel from elsewhere in the world “making aliyah” — going to a higher place — because that’s how the world’s Jews are taught to see Israel.

All the worlds Jews, it seems, except for me. When I’ve been asked to sing this song, I’ve always felt like I’m slightly outside, looking in. 

Israel is special, but it is not mine. I feel no sense of entitlement, and no sense of safety, knowing that I could emigrate to Israel and be welcomed without question as a Jew. Because while that may be true, it’s like saying that I can’t possibly belong anywhere else quite as truly. And so far, that has not been my experience. Call it white privilege, call it my birthright, call it social acclimation or whatever else you want. But America is my home, and Portland is my Jerusalem, and I believe I’m meant to stay here and do what I can to make things better and more fair for all of us here.

Jewish exceptionalism makes me as nervous as American exceptionalism does. 

I’ll admit it’s probably because I grew up always a bit outside the inclusion of the exceptional group, whatever their identifier. To belong usually requires one to stay put, and I couldn’t do that when I was young. By the time I was able to do that, I didn’t quite know how.

Let’s go deeper: as my ADHD diagnosis is compelling a long, uncomfortable backward look, I am faced with the truth of belonging in my family. And my family, consisted of four people who loved each other, but we seldom behaved as a family; and when we did it felt like a fiction, an attempt at being something we couldn’t be. I supposed I’ve carried all this unbelonging, this outsiderness, with me my whole life. But I’ve also carried an overwhelming desire to belong too. When the two things I’ve carried the longest sit in opposition to each other and there’s no way to understand that or deal with it, you tend to choose the easier path because your life is a.ready filled with more input than you can handle, and handle alone. So I chose not to dig too deeply. But it has certainly made a difference in my life, and the older I get, the more it shows, at least to me. I make no excuses or apologies for any of this. It’s just my truth and I live with it daily.

Last night I was supposed to participate in a concert of peace and healing for the Portland Jewish community. Issues with my hands have made guitar playing difficult and painful for the last month or so, and I was forced to bow out. But if I had been there, I would’ve been expected to stand and sing Hatikvah with the other musicians, and to sing it as if I believe it with all my heart.

Let’s be clear: Israel exists, and must continue to exist. I believe that wholeheartedly.

But Israel is not mine, and it would feel weird to sing — or speak, or behave — as though it is.

So I hope that in the near future I won’t be asked to lead a group in singing Hatikvah. Because I must admit that I’m not up to the challenge.

Heading into the winter of my malcontent

It's been a wild ride here at Rancho Beth these last few weeks.

I've got hand issues that are making playing instruments painful. Doc suspects either osteoarthritis or carpal tunnel. X-rays revealed nothing out of the ordinary, so my next step is very likely cortisone shots in each hand, with the hop that only one round will solve the problem.

I HATE cortisone shots. They hurt like hell.

I've been formally diagnosed with ADHD, which I've likely had all my life and only recently guessed at. No one knew what ADHD was when I was a kid, and only recently have scientists figured out that it can affect adults as well as kids. I'm on a waiting list to see a specialist and learn what kinds of treatments are available for me. Medical options (such as pills) may be limited because of my age and other medical issues (such as rising blood pressure, and the meds I'm already on). But I'm in line and will have to wait 2-4 months. Having the diagnosis helps to explain quite a lot, and I am grateful for that.

I've been offered some additional opportunities for paid Jewish work at CST, a monthly prayer service/song session for kids one Sunday morning a month. It's early in the morning, so that will be a challenge logistically and medically; but if I can make it work it will be nice to engage in an education role again.

I spoke with my MIL yesterday, about the situation in Israel/Palestine and about my ADHD diagnosis. Having her as a gentle, non-judgmental sounding board was very helpful.

I haven't done much songwriting lately. I also haven't been worried about it.
Right now, it seems that my task is to sort out my health and figure out how much to take on at any given time.

Folks I know are gathered in Wisconsin for Shabbat Shira, the annual adult music conference that I've attended exactly once. I'd like to go to these conferences, as they are great for both musical inspiration and networking. But they cost a LOT of money, and when you don't have a synagogue contract there's no money for professional development. I spoke with my MIL about this reality yesterday and she wholeheartedly agreed with my assessment: When it comes to supporting front-line teachers and musicians, our people (MOTs) are cheap. The admins of Federations and the senior rabbis at large synagogues draw huge salaries, often in the six-figure range, while a religious school teacher or music specialist is lucky to draw a wage of $25-30/hour for a job that offers maybe 10 hours of paid time a month.

It's no wonder there's a shortage of Jewish teachers these days.

My own synagogue is implicit in this scheme: When I wanted to attend a music conference seven or eight years ago, the conference organizers offered me a very small scholarship of $100 (towards a conference that would cost me $800-900 to attend, including transpo and lodging). I asked someone on the Steering Committee how to apply for some assistance and was flatly told, "Members here are volunteers, and we do not provide professional development for this sort of thing." So I scrambled and hustled and managed to come up with the cost myself.
When I was at the shul for a meeting, a member of Steering congratulated me on being able to go to the conference, and added, "Of course, we hope you might find some great resources for our community."

I was livid.

I smiled and replied, "Well, since the shul doesn't support its musicians with professional development help, and since I had to hustle my ass off to come up with the costs myself, I'm going to this conference for ME. If I find anything that's useful for the shul, great; if I don't, I'm not going to worry about it."

The Steering Committee member was offended and walked away. Which I must admit was partly what I had intended. Sorry/not sorry.

Jewish communal organizations are structured along the same lines as the rest of the capitalistic landscape. So no one should be surprised by any of this. But the memory still stings a little even today.

What's next for me? I honestly don't know. I am taking time this winter to get my health sorted out. Beyond that, I don't yet know what lies ahead. But don't look for me anytime soon at another Jewish conference or large-scale gathering. I can't afford it, and I'm not ashamed to admit that.

There's no shame in being low-income in a system that is designed to keep a majority of people that way.

Perhaps that's partly a gift of my ADHD: the ability to recognize big-picture systems quickly, and to discern whether or not I can make any part of those systems more fair.

Shavua tov -- have a good week.

I crashed today. But it’s good to know where I’ll land.

When I restarted this blog, it was with the intention that I would speak truthfully about what it’s like not only to b an independent musician, but to be an independent musician who’s a 60-year-old woman with multiple medical issues and limited resources, trying to make it in the world as best she can.

It’s damned hard to function in the Jewish musical world, as I’ve chosen to do, when you are also older, low-income and medically challenged. When you don’t come from the deeply-rooted, materially comfortable world of the Jewish establishment, and yet you choose to try and bring your music to that world.

I’ve been, to my surprise, modestly successful, in that my songs are sung in synagogues from coast to coast and that, when I’m well enough, I’ve managed to eke out a tiny living as a touring artist and educator. I’m not materially comfortable, though I do have a roof over my head and food on the table. But in order to have those things I rely on Medicaid and food stamps (aka SNAP). I could never earn enough money to pay for better health insurance to cover all of my stuff, so I keep my income low enough to qualify to get what I need, and live without higher-quality healthcare. I get the basics — medical care, referrals to specialists; no mental health counseling or vision, and I don’t complain because I don’t have to pay premiums. If the healthcare system is going to make my life harder, I at least get to game it in such a way as to not work myself to death. Sorry, not sorry.

A decade ago, I entered perimenopause without warning, without even knowing I had entered it. I struggle without knowing that I was struggling. Between the brain fog, episodes of fatigue and wild mood swings, I had no idea what was happening. I just knew that I was unhappier than I’d been in years and didn’t know why. I attended a Shabbat service at the synagogue where I worked as a musician and teacher n order to say Kaddish on my mother’s yahrtzeit, only to find myself repulsed by the ostentatious wealth and privilege on display. I said Kaddish, snuck out early to sneak some of the fancy buffet into a ziploc bag for that night’s dinner, and went home. That night, I stared at my plate of bagel piled stupidly high with lox and got really angry at the state of affairs, and wrote a scathing blog post about it. I felt truly alone and isolated in the Jewish world and had no one to talk with about it, so I blurted out my pain and hit “post”.

A few days later, I was called in to speak with the rabbi, who had seen the post and was furious.

I had overstepped, I showed a lack of judgment and I had bitten the hands that fed me. I shamed the synagogue and reflected badly on my employer and my work. And I was in so much pain that I numbly nodded and said little.

I was “allowed” to keep my job — in hindsight, I suspect because they had no one else to hire in my place at the time — and ordered to get some help. I was also told that my employers had been watching me for some time, which led me to wonder why they hadn’t said anything at the time they first noticed. I had no agency to do anything else about the situation, so I walked like a zombie through the hardest year of my life, pretending for the students that it was all fine. At the end of the year they lined up at my desk to tell me their B’nei Mitzvah dates and made me promise that I’d attend each one — a promise I could not keep because I knew I’d be let go and made persona non grata at the end of the year. 

It was the last time I would ever work regularly on contract for a synagogue. After that, I was an independent, a total freelancer, reliant on my own hustle to find gigs. It was hard, exhausting work that sometimes paid off, sometimes not.

To this day, on the rare occasions that rabbi and I bump into each other in town, he turns on his heel and walks away quickly, avoiding me. It’s been a decade, and my presence still bothers him. I’ve gotten far enough past it, and gotten enough help and insight along the way, that I don’t worry about it anymore. Along the way, I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and quite recently, with ADHD. I am on a waiting list for help with the ADHD and might see someone in 3-4 months’ time. In the meantime I’m reading up on it and trying to be gentle with myself. If I had been twenty years younger, I might worry about it more; but at sixty I feel like I’m the downslope of whatever career I may have left, and with the help of a loving, supportive spouse, family and close friends, a great deal of the pressure is off.

If that sounds like the coward’s way out, Sue me. I feel like my life has been hard enough that I’ve earned some time to breathe a little. The current events have taken a LOT out of me, and I am exhausted.

I think it’s also been an interesting time for me to ponder my place in Jewish communal life, which feels greatly in question in some ways. A lot of that is owing to my mobile, disconnected childhood, the pile of medical issues that have influenced my thinking and actions along the way, and recent events in Israel and Gaza which are forcing a lot of people to take sides and wave flags. As a career isolationist, flag-waving has always been difficult for me. Choosing sides has been almost impossible for me, especially when it comes to deciding that one group of people has a greater right to exist than another group. 

As someone who has spent a lot of time on the social margins, it is impossible for me to ignore the feelings and experiences of anyone else who’s been marginalized in some way.

Which is why the current events in the Middle East have made me feel marginalized again, and unsure of where I want to stand. I know where I am expected to stand, but that’s quite different. Whatever I do or say publicly now has the potential to derail the small gains I’ve made since the pandemic. I don’t yet know how I feel about that, and I am hoping to find some help in processing that. Not just medical help, but perhaps social and communal help as well. I’m not sure what that will look like yet, nor what the outcome will look like. I just know that at this point in my life, I’m not willing to be someone other than who I really am, because I believe that the place I stand in, a place of sire for universal peace, is the right place for me to be. If that compromises my Jewish identity or my Jewish belonging, so be it. I can’t be anyone other than myself.

The side I choose is humanity. Blame my parents if you want.

 I’ve never been to Israel.

It seems likely I won’t make that trip anytime soon, if ever.

I was never taught to love Israel, or to see it as “my” land. 

My parents stayed true to their demographic and generational compass and, like many Jewish parents born in America in the mid 1930s, elected to raise me as a good American and let me sort out religion for myself.

(They either never got, or never read, the memo about Judaism being more than a religious practice, but also a way of being in community and in the world.)

I’ve had to sort out an awful lot for myself, to varying degrees of success.

After being bugged for years to write a song about Israel, I came up with this several years ago.

It’s reception has been mixed to good, depending on who’s in the room. Most people have liked it. A few have told me privately it’s naive. 

But it’s what I’ve got, and I came by it honestly so I stand by it.

I’ll add it to the current discussions and expressions of pain and love, and hope it reaches someone who needs it.

And I’ll go to sleep praying for peace.

FB Music page is gone. What’s next?

Thanks to getting hacked, and Facebook having no live people to help with solutions, and thanks also to my fatigue, Covid, ADHD and general inability to deal effectively with the electronica, I was forced to shut down my FB Music page.

This means that my only online outlets for communication about music are my primary FB account, my Instagram, and this blog.

I don’t yet know how I will deal with this in the long term. The lockdown, two years of living with Long Covid, and now a second round of Covid that I just got through, plus my overall health and now these online hassles, are all conspiring to make me reassess my future as a working musician. 

I know that to be a “working” musician, one has to have gigs. I have just a couple in the coming months, and have been working on finding more; but focusing for so long on playing in Jewish spaces has meant that I haven’t learned how to get my foot in the door on the local, secular scene. 

I know that “working” musicians have a strong presence on social media. And I admit that I do not. Sure, my stuff on FB gets read and responded to, but ultimately that hasn’t translated into a lot of gigs. When I was working more steadily I could go to at least one Jewish music conference a year, which is a big part of how one gets seen and heard in the Jewish world. But Long Covid put me out of regular work, and I have not recovered fully enough to hustle my way back to earn enough money to go to those. It is unlikely that I’ll be able to attend too many going forward.

This is not a pity party, so don’t get any ideas.

I’m just exploring the landscapes of the music business and of my own mind. Both have taken a serious beating in the last four or five years. And the only people who have survived, who have thrived, are the ones who are adept and healthy enough to adapt. I admit that I have not been able to adapt so well. While everyone else was running around buying new equipment to improve their online presence, I was filling food stamp renewal forms, queuing on wait lists for doctor appointments and mental health counseling and trying to write new songs just so I could remain relevant to myself. A once-a-month Shabbat gig in town was an emotional and financial lifeline that has continued to be a real blessing. But the strength and stamina I enjoyed before Covid are gone, and I am tired all the time now. There is no way for me to work a day job and pursue music on the side as I did for so long, and I cannot seem to hustle hard enough to make up the difference. The landscape has changed. So have I.

The awful truth is that I simply cannot produce enough new content to survive in the digital download world. Because online platforms do not care about music, or the artists who create it. Everything is content, and product. We’ve lost the ability to slow down and let things germinate and unfold organically, because we’re all competing with the New World Order of churning out product as quickly as possible, to compete with other artists (because there’s no way we can compete with the platform owners and hope to gain anything).

So, with the end of my FB Music page, Bandcamp being sold to a music licensing firm, and my inability to work enough to pay for a new web site, I am left wondering if this the time for me to wind down my time as a “working” musician and ooze my way to my 65th birthday, when I can collect Social Security, be on the Medicaid version of Medicare and live as simply as possible for the duration.

I am proud of what I’ve done. I created five albums of original music, and they are out in the world for people to enjoy and to share. I don’t care about making tons of money as a musician — that was never going to happen anyway, and never happens for 99% of the artists out there — I just wanted to make enough to pay my bills. Since Covid, I haven’t been able to do even that.

What happens now? 

I have a gig in Northern California in early December, and I’m working at a local synagogue two days a month. I’d like to do more, but don’t know how to make that happen with my health, at my age, and in the current landscape. So for now I am living day to day and trying to keep my costs down. On my good days, I venture out to open mics to be heard and t9 hear new music. The world does not wait for my good days, and I don’t have enough of those to string together a solid month of work. So here I am. 

This is not uncommon.

The majority of musicians age and deal with health and financial issues that wind down their careers. I am blessed beyond words with loving family and a remarkable spouse who all love and care about me, and whom I love as well. We live in a house, there’s food on the table and my spouse reassures me that we re in any danger of losing our home. Our country is not embroiled in a war that could embroil us all in harm’s way. So I already have so much more than a lot of people who don’t experience this level of security and love. And I am grateful for all of it, every day.

So now I’ll get on with my day. Small things, one at a time, so I feel like I got something done.

And I will hold the truth in my heart of how sweet each day is.

Bandcamp just got sold. Again.

 ANOTHER IMPORTANT MESSAGE for my followers here.

Please read to the end.

Bandcamp has been the sole distributor of my downloads for some time now. They got picked up by Epic about a year ago, and I’ve just learned that they are being sold to Songtrader, an online music licensing and distro company.

How does this change things for me and my music?

Nothing is clear yet. The sale is in process and some details have yet to become clear. But here are some differences.

Bandcamp is all about indie artists and distributing their music.

Artist who use Bandcamp get a higher percentage of download sale proceeds than on any other music platform. Membership is free. Using the platform is so simply that even I, a digital non-native, can figure it out. My time using Bandcamp has been fuss-free, and for someone like me that’s saying a lot.

Songtrader charges an annual fee for artists to use the platform.

They also charge a monthly fee for anyone wanting to download music from the platform (I.e., you need to be a subscriber). So far, I’m not thrilled about that. 

Nothing has been done about Bandcamp artists and their status as yet. Right now, the focus is on streamlining the workplace. To that end, Songtrader has just laid off about half of Bandcamp’s paid workers — with a decided focus on letting go of recently-unionized workers. That tells me that Soundtrader isn’t stoked about unions and would rather not deal with them.

The speed with which this has happened is worrisome.

And I don’t know what I will do if Bandcamp artists are summarily folded into the Songtrader platform.

So I want to ask YOU:

How many of you:

— Buy my music online?

— would be willing to do so if you had to pay to access the platform?

— Buy my music in physical CD form?

— would be willing to pay additionally for postag and handling (as much as $5-10 more) to get future CDs?

I’ve remained devoted to direct access as much as possible. I want to keep my music easy to obtain and enjoy, with as few middlemen as possible. 

I HATE middlemen in the age of “content,” because they make money from what someone else has created, and because music has been reduced to mere “content” in this model. I firmly believe that when the recorded product is finished, the artist should get the proceeds for what they’ve made. 

I’ve been willing to work with Bandcamp because they take the smallest cut for every download. But if Bandcamp goes away — and it sure looks like it might — then I will have few other viable options that don’t reduce my artistic work to a few bytes of online content. That’s a totally different vision of the artist’s creation than I like. And it reduces the amount of paid performance opportunities that will be available going forward, because why pay to hire a musician live when you can just punch up the recording for your listening pleasure?

THIS is what the preponderance of online streaming platforms has done to musicians trying to earn a living by their hard-won craft.

This all comes at a time when I am considering how much I will tour in the future, and how many more albums I might have still in me. So I am following these events closely, and I think you should too.

I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

Thanks for supporting Jewish Music Made by Hand.