A meaningful life isn’t about the number of years one spends on Earth. The lives you impact is what matters. Molly has been physically gone for over 5 years. Yet, she saved a life this year when a woman inspired by her donated her kidney to a Palisades dad, Robert, whose home burned down and was in desperate need of a transplant. I shared his story and a lawyer mom from St. Louis, Missouri, became his living donor. Rob and his family attended our Inaugural Benefit. He’s returned to work and his family is beginning their next chapter. Molly did that!

The Molly Steinsapir Foundation positively impacts thousands of lives, making a real difference for those in need across LA.

Today would be Molly’s 18th birthday. Thank you for keeping her spirit alive. Please support our Youth Board - 19 teens who lead community service projects in honor of Molly. Whether $18 or $180, it all matters.

Read about the Youth Board’s work here

You can make a tax-deductible donation on the Molly Steinsapir Foundation website or Venmo @Kaye-Steinsapir. We’re $15k short of our goal to make our work possible for the upcoming year, which we’d love to raise today. Love never dies.

Team Molly is love in action.

Along the way, there have been rays of light. Hope stirs as we pass another house being framed. The annual Fourth of July parade was different this year but at least we were HOME. One by one, schools, businesses and places of worship are reopening. The road to recovery remains long but there’s a feeling of “the Palisades is coming back, baby!”

The reopening of Rick Caruso’s Palisades Village today is cause for celebration. Not merely because we’ll have more dining and retail options (though they’re desperately needed); the light at the end of the tunnel seems much brighter. We feel momentum building and the cloud that’s been hovering over us for the past 585 days beginning to lift.

Palisades Village first opened in 2018. It survived the fire because it was newer and had private firefighters. The shopping center nevertheless sustained smoke damage requiring extensive remediation. Many of the original tenants are returning, along with beloved local small businesses like K-Bakery and Loomey’s Toy Store.

Having met with Rick Caruso, I’m impressed by his motivation to help bring our town back. I believe in showing up and finding ways to be of service, however big or small. We all have a role to play. I recognize these values in Mr. Caruso. He’s a pragmatist who’s skilled at cutting through red-tape and working with government leaders across political and ideological spectrums.

Caruso’s model of private-public partnership initiatives is the way forward. As thousands of Angelinos discovered on January 7, 2025, it’s dangerous to assume that government will always function as it should. LA is a city of 3.87 million residents, the second most populous in the nation. Our governing structure is overly complex, making it difficult to get things done and enabling the blame game when they go wrong. Caruso’s Steadfast LA paves the way for private businesses to work with government to deliver better, more timely results.

My family is a few months away from being able to return to our home in the Palisades, which, like the Village, needed an overhaul due to its proximity to destroyed buildings, vehicles, etc. Over 90 percent of our street, along with our son’s school at the corner, burned down. He happily returned to Marquez Charter Elementary School this week. Now we’re excited for the Village reopening! We also plan to visit other nearby shops like Jaimie Geller Jewelry, Pali Trading Post, Elizabeth Lamont, and Palisades General Store. All beacons of light helping to illuminate the path home. If you live in LA, please support them!

Rick Caruso and the others that have opened deserve credit for forging ahead with only around 25% of impacted residents back home. Gelson’s and Ralph’s should speed up their reopening timelines. They’re waiting for thousands more to return first. Some people are unmotivated to hurry back without critical infrastructure (many have no choice).

The right thing to do isn’t always the most profitable. Large grocers and other essential retailers should temporarily adjust their profit expectations and/or receive government assistance to help devastated communities get back on their feet.

I’m the Founder and President of a local nonprofit, the Molly Steinsapir Foundation, that’s been serving the Palisades and greater LA for the past five years. We help Palisades and Eaton fire survivors, providing furniture and other necessities that are difficult for them to afford. Contrary to misinformation, Pacific Palisades isn’t full of wealthy people. I don’t know anyone who hasn’t suffered a major financial blow because of the fire. If anyone from Trader Joe’s happens to read this, there’s available retail space and awesome people in the Palisades.

Thank you to everyone who’s worked tirelessly to reopen the Palisades Village and each small business owner who claws their way back, making it possible for the rest of us to return home. Our community bonds have been forged through fire – literally - and none of us will forget how you showed up for us.

This essay was recently published in the California Post. https://nypost.com/2026/08/13/opinion/palisades-village-mall-reopens-we-are-coming-back-baby/.

Carrying the sorrow and longing for my girl while being present and enjoying my boys is today’s mission. Same as always but the holiday heightens the delicate balance of my high wire act. The sea, sunshine and some nice wine will be involved!

This day has been hard since my mom went off the rails while I was pregnant with Eli. It wasn’t the first or second time but it was worse and inflicted permanent damage. I haven’t seen my mother since before then. Not for lack of trying. She’s so far gone that we probably won’t ever be together again in this lifetime. There’s no undoing most of the damage to her brain and the rest of her body from years of abusing methamphetamine. She’s never been willing to try, refusing all offers of help, sinking ever deeper into her addiction.

Mourning the living weighs heavily on the soul. Untreated addiction and mental illness have robbed our extended family of so much. My mom and I were never close - emotional intimacy was impossible with her - but I never imagined she’d totally unravel and there’d be nothing anyone could do about it.

Expressing this particular sadness, which is exacerbated on Mother’s Day, makes it a bit lighter. Thanks for indulging me if you’ve read this far.

Motherhood is simultaneously the most magical and arduous journey. We experience a love that’s deeper than the oceans, more vast than the universe. It expands our souls. It also presents us with our greatest challenges and vulnerabilities. I represent every mother’s worst fear because my daughter is dead.

Given the choice of never having Molly or having her for 12 years, it wouldn’t have been a choice. Today, I’ll focus on the gift of being Molly’s mom on Earth for 12 years and loving her forever.

I’ll hug my boys even tighter (as they wriggle away) and give thanks to God for them. I must have done something right to be Mom to these 3 exquisite beings.

Scrolling through my phone to find a picture of me with our three kids (needing to go increasingly further back in time is its own source of sadness), I came across these of my grandmothers, Lois and Peggy. They both got married when they were young and had four babies in close succession. They both became nurses and cared for others, as they mothered their own broods. They always looked put together and made hard things look effortless. I know it couldn’t have been easy.

Thinking of Nanny and Grandma Peg and hoping they feel my love in whatever place comes next. Hug my girl for me. I’d give anything if I could.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mamas out there, especially those for whom today is painful. I’m sending you love.

I didn’t know any Jews when I was growing up in California’s Central Valley. I met my first Jewish friend, a ballerina/cellist/brilliant pre-law student named Daniele Werner, when I moved to Oakland for college. I was in awe of Daniele’s talent and polished grace. She wore a dainty golden Magen David on a chain around her neck. I noticed it above her pink leotard in dance class, not understanding its meaning.

Like Daniele, I was bound for law school after our graduation from Mills College. She stayed in the Bay Area while I moved to attend UCLA. There, I met and became best friends with a nice Jewish boy named Jonathan Steinsapir. We began dating during the intense summer between law school graduation and taking the bar exam. It was an odd time to move out of the friend zone, but the rest is history. Jon and I are celebrating our 20th anniversary next month.

Conversion was not a prerequisite to our marriage. In fact, we were married in a secular wedding performed by a federal bankruptcy judge for whom I had worked. I began studying Judaism in 2005 and ultimately completed a lengthy conversion process while pregnant with our first child, Molly Olivia (z”l), who arrived on October 21, 2008. The decision was mine alone. After completing my studies and passing a basic Hebrew test, I appeared before a beit din (a tribunal of three rabbis). They asked about my past and intentions, wanting to ensure that I understood what I was taking on. Not only things like keeping the Shabbat (our favorite Friday night ritual of lighting candles over wine and bread, as we give thanks for our blessings), but joining a tiny minority of 0.2 percent of the world’s population who’s endured thousands of years of persecution. I understood as best I could at the time, in 2008, when being Jewish didn’t feel particularly complicated. After all, we were in the “Golden Age” for American Jews, though I didn’t know it. I answered the Rabbis’ questions to their satisfaction, and was finally welcomed into the tribe. As I immersed my swollen belly in the mikveh (a ritual bath), I was grateful that Molly and I would be part of the Jewish people.

I had a knowing that our children would need more our family could provide them. I wanted them to grow up around lots of people whom they knew they could count on, which I never had. I needed other women to help me become the kind of mother I wanted to be. My own mom, who’d become pregnant with me at 17 and struggled with addiction, had never been able to show affection towards me or my younger sisters. Our childhoods were marked by neglect and violent abuse.

I found this and more at Kehillat Israel, which we joined when we moved to Pacific Palisades. Molly was five and her younger brother, Nate, was three. They attended the Early Childhood Center at KI (now the Molly Steinsapir ECC). Although Molly only spent her pre-kindergarten year there, it was transformational. Her teachers remarked on how she saw the world differently than most children her age and imagined she might become a Rabbi when she grew up. Molly was wise beyond her years. My husband thinks that Molly guided me to become Jewish, so that she would be. He accurately describes her as a “very Jewish girl.”

I, too, felt at home in our synagogue. I’ve always had a relationship with the Divine, talking to G-d in my head, since I was a lonely kid. I was a voracious reader and would read the Bible and talk to my sisters and younger cousins about it. But I never had a spiritual home. I felt embarrassed when the lyrics to “L’dor Vador” (“From Generation To Generation”) would bring me to tears when we sang it at KI, each family swaying under prayer shawls, their arms draped over each other’s shoulders. L’dor Vador is sung during every service and it has the same effect on me, all these years later. I once became so emotional during High Holy Day services that it was difficult to stop the flow of tears. I described it to Jon as feeling like a dehydrated plant in the desert that finally experienced rain. I didn’t know what my life had been missing before I became Jewish.

I was diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer shortly after our youngest child, Eli, was born, in 2016. My premonition that we’d need a strong community who knew and loved us was accurate. I had aggressive chemotherapy, as cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. I underwent countless surgeries, including bilateral mastectomies. I endured months of radiation, five days a week. I spent two years on an experimental drug in hopes of reducing the likelihood of recurrence. Nine years later, I still take daily medication with harsh side effects.

Our children were 8, 6 and 6 months old when my cancer nightmare started. Neither of my parents came to see us during any of it. The KI clergy, the preschool teachers and staff, and dozens of members encircled us with love and care from the moment of my diagnosis. They delivered meals. They took our kids out of the house when I was so sick, I could barely move. They brought flowers, challah, smoothies, books, you name it. I don’t know the names of everyone in the KI community who helped us during those dark days. If you’re reading this, thank you. I pay forward the kindness that you showed to our family.

Just as we thought we were “turning a corner,” and life felt a bit more normal, the pandemic hit. Then, on January 31, 2021, Molly was in an accident with a girl who’d been her best friend since their days at the ECC. Molly died two weeks later, on February 15. I still can’t believe those words as I type them. Our sweet girl was 12 years old, on the precipice of becoming a young woman. My health struggles became minor in comparison to the soul-crushing grief that consumed us.

I understand now that my cancer battle prepared me to withstand what came later. Our KI family once again circled the wagons. I can’t imagine how we’d have survived without them, especially Cantor Frenkel. There were moments when I wanted to die, to be with Molly again, though I knew I couldn’t leave Jon and our boys. It’s been five years since we lost Molly. She’d be 17 and a high school junior now. It’s heart-wrenching to watch Molly’s peers grow up and reach milestones that she’ll never experience.

Despite a deep ache that never leaves our hearts, we found a path forward. Nate and Eli are thriving. Jon and I have the kind of bond that only grows from enduring tragic loss together. Our home is one of a handful on our street that survived the Palisades fire. It’s been gratifying to help our community, after receiving tremendous support when we needed it. I’m proud to have regained so much strength that I have enough to share. I wasn’t sure if that would ever be possible. Our beloved KI Cantor, Chayim Frenkel, calls me a “Woman of Valor,” which always makes me smile.

I know Molly is proud of me. For emerging from darkness to embrace life again, as Jews have done for millennia. For how far I’ve come since my worst nightmare became reality, learning to live with Molly in spirit. For all the ways in which the Molly Steinsapir Foundation makes a difference every day. For being a proud Jew, even as the “Golden Age” has ended and the world’s oldest form of hatred has resurfaced with a vengeance. For standing up for our people, using my voice to speak for both of us, as I know exactly what Molly would say if she were here. Being Jewish no longer feels like a choice, but I’d make it over and over again.

This photo was taken of Molly and me at a bar mitzvah, in the sanctuary at KI. Obviously, neither of us knew we were being photographed. My hair is short, so it was not long after I’d undergone chemo. I don’t know if this was during a prayer or Molly was becoming bored, leaning into me. I love its simplicity. A moment in time. Molly’s still damp hair pinned back from her face, her dark lashes downcast on her freckled cheeks. What I wouldn’t give to hold my girl again. I love you, Molly, throughout all space and time.

Damon was hilarious. I loved being around him because he never failed to crack me up. He was a fixture in our town of Pacific Palisades, where he grew up. Everyone knew and liked Damon. He could frequently be found in the village, having animated conversations over lunch, sharing the latest thing he was into.

Damon was an avid learner. Lili shared that he sometimes stayed up all night reading. When he found something that excited him or worked well, he wanted to share it with everyone. I’ll never forget when I first met Damon, he fervently explained that I needed to purify our drinking water with black mica rock, even showing up at our door later that evening with a bag of the mineral powder and showing me how to add it to our water. He was so convincing that I naturally followed his advice!

Damon loved sunsets, date nights with Lili at his favorite sushi restaurant, and especially being a hands-on dad to his kids.

Damon died while surfing under a full moon with his brother, Mike, on December 20, 2018. Reflecting on the night that obliterated her world, Lili recalls a number of unusual things happened that day. It was as though the Universe whispered that time was fleeting.

Read more about Damon here - https://palisadesnews.com/death-of-pali-surfer-wake-up-call/.

Lili said that it was like a switch flipped. Damon was there and suddenly gone. In an instant, Lili became a widow who was solely responsible for Delilah and Jonah. The overwhelming shock and grief was physical. The sudden absence of Damon’s enormous energy left a void in their home and throughout our entire community. The difficulties were compounded by the isolation of the subsequent pandemic.

Lili hadn’t been working outside the home when Damon died. Through sheer grit and love of her kids, Lili managed to keep them in their family home. She went to work as a real estate agent. Lili built a successful business and is helping many families buy and sell properties in the wake of the Palisades fire. She’s the best! We wouldn’t be in our current home without her connections, expertise and patience negotiating our lease in a competitive market. If you live in LA, Lili is your woman for all your real estate needs. Lili’s contact information can be found here - https://www.compass.com/agents/lili-geller/.

Delilah and Jonah are thriving, with Delilah preparing to attend her dream university this fall. As Lili said in our conversation, over the past 7 years, she’s gone from being a “shaking leaf” after Damon died to embracing life again and growing her business. Lili is one of my favorite people - she always looks flawless, can whip up an amazing meal for a crowd and make it look effortless, and is a gift to everyone in her orbit. Lili will drop whatever she’s doing when her family, friends or dogs need her. The life that Lili has created in her obliterated place is beautiful. Damon, always her biggest cheerleader, is somewhere not far off, pumping his arm, urging her to keep going. Lili feels Damon’s pride and love.

Lili writes, “The one thing I do know from my grief journey (and everyone’s is different) is that I was loved by Damon and he was loved by us. All the negatives that can build up in a lifetime don’t necessarily get forgotten but they just no longer carry any value and all that’s left is love. And love never dies. Never.”

Tune in to episode 5 of the Obliterated Place podcast. Please be sure to follow the show and leave a review.

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Grief can be isolating and lonely. Share this episode with someone who might appreciate hearing it.

I met Elizabeth at her family’s home shortly after Henry’s funeral. In our conversation on the podcast, Elizabeth explained that she felt an urgent need to meet another grieving parent because she couldn’t figure out how she was supposed to get up in the morning, and needed another person who understood to tell her. Her brain was overwhelmed with shock and pain.

Grief is as unique as our losses. But it’s essential to meet others who’ve experienced a version of our unfamiliar new reality; to see them on their feet, a bit further down the path. While there’s no singular way forward, other grieving parents showed me paths that they took. They gave me hope.

Part of my healing involves paying it forward for newly bereaved parents. I’m gratified by ripple effects, the ways in which someone whom I’ve helped eventually reaches back and takes the hand of a parent whose world has just been shattered. I know it makes our kids proud of us.

In the three and half years since I first met Elizabeth, she’s discovered her own way forward. Elizabeth shares her experiences on Substack and has written a memoir about Henry’s loss. She helps to moderate a group for grieving parents. Elizabeth fosters our community. I’m proud to be part of her circle.

I highly recommend Elizabeth’s Substack, Channeling Grief. Her viral Huffington Post essay can be found at https://www.huffpost.com/entry/son-college-death-freak-accident-grief_n_690505f2e4b0060501ac2dad.

Learn more about college campus safety at https://coreysafetyact.org/ and https://collegesafetycoalition.net/.

We hope you’ll tune into Episode 4 of the Obliterated Place. Please be sure to follow/subscribe and leave us a review. This helps to increase our visibility.

Grief can be isolating and lonely. Share this episode with someone who might appreciate hearing it.

https://podcasts.apple.com/.../the.../id1877152489...

Jill was unable to find a support group for sibling loss. Because her parents died during the pandemic, it wasn’t possible to have a service for them. We spoke about the need for grief to be witnessed.

Grief and love are intertwined. We grieve their losses deeply because we love them infinitely. It was wonderful to hear Jill’s happy memories of Darren and her parents. We want to talk about our loved ones who’ve passed. Jill also spoke about the undeniable signs that she receives from Darren in spirit and how their relationship continues and evolves.

The Palisades fire compounded Jill’s losses. Her family home burned down, along with her rental property, a source of income. Jill is nevertheless preparing to return home to the Palisades. Her family will be one of the first to return to their neighborhood, where she grew up.

While living with grief, Jill approaches life with an open heart, generosity of spirit and her fun-loving nature. Her Obliterated Place becomes more beautiful with each passing day, a testament to her resilience and love of her family.

Read Jill’s obituary for her dad, Bud Ennis, below. It was published in our beloved Palisadian-Post newspaper, which recently shuttered after 97 years due to the Palisades fire.

“It has been 2 years and 8 months since I lost brother, 2 years since I lost my father and I year and 4 months since I lost my mother. My whole family gone is such a short time. We had a lovely memorial for my brother with an incredible turn out. Nine months after my brother’s untimely death, my dad, aged 85, died from heart failure. My mother joined them seven months later.

2020 was not for the faint of heart. The loss of both of my parents in the middle of a global pandemic meant that the usual rituals of the loss of a loved one were missed. There was no memorial or burial. My parents pre-paid for their cremation, so I didn’t even have that to deal with that. Just everything else. I had somehow managed to sideline my grief while dealing with their estate and a business my parents left behind. But here I am, today, grieving and missing the family I grew up with. In reading David Kessler’s book about grief “Finding Meaning”, I am reminded that the rituals around the loss of a loved one exist for a reason. So, I will start with an obituary. I will start with my dad.

Dad was born William Nelson to Elsie Nelson in Seattle Washington on February 19, 1935. Elsie was from Great Falls, but being a young unmarried pregnant woman, she left Montana and headed to Washington State to raise my dad on her own. Elsie was a beautiful brunette with fair skin. Her parents were Swedish immigrants. Sadly, Elsie died of cancer when my dad was 3. My dad never knew his dad. He was sent back to Great Falls, Montana, where he lived with his grandmother and his step-grandfather (his biological grandfather died in the flu epidemic in the 1920’s). He was given his step-granddad’s name Ennis and his nickname “Buddy” eventually stuck and he legally took the name, Bud Ennis.

Dad left Montana and made his way back to Seattle. There he worked and put himself through The University of Washington. His graduation from this prestigious college was one of his proudest moments. He was a Husky for life. A few years later, he met my mom on the SS France and they eventually married at the Presbyterian Church in Pacific Palisades in 1966. Soon my brother, Darren, was born in 1968 and then me in 1971.

Dad supported his family by selling shoes and investing in real estate. My dad and mom used to buy houses, fix them up and sell them for a modest profit. As luck would have it, my dad was able to purchase a property on Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu acquiring it in an auction after a major storm destroyed the property in the 1980’s. This was another one of his proudest moments. He owned a beach house now! He quoted Will Rogers at the time who had once said, “…out here I had been putting what little money I had in Ocean Frontage, for the sole reason that there was only so much of it and no more, and that they weren’t making any more…”

Dad loved the Palisades. He was proud to live here and knew it was something special. He loved that while there were the rich and the famous living here, there was also the hard working and the modest. He never missed a 4^th of July parade and even drove his 1939 Packard in it, a few times.

Dad worked his tail off his whole life and sometimes I wish he had just slowed down for a minute to and enjoy all he worked for. He was very stubborn and thought he knew it all. He knew a lot, but not all. He would drive 5 miles out of his way to save 10 cents on gas. He never hired anyone to fix anything! It made us all crazy. The “honey do” list was endless. That was just his way.

Dad was a great dancer and was blessed with good looks. He loved his wine, a comfortable chair and a good movie. He was loving husband, father and grandfather. I will always miss his stories and his unique sense of humor. I will be forever grateful for his love and deep loyalty to our family. You’ll always be my “Daddy-O”. Thanks for everything, Dad. I love you.”

Watch the entire episode on YouTube; be sure to subscribe and leave us a review. You can find the Obliterated Place on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts. Follow the show for more conversations with real people sharing their stories about events that changed the trajectories of their lives and ways in which they honor their grief, big and small.

While her mom was able to undergo preventative surgeries to dramatically decrease her chances of developing breast or ovarian cancer, Suzanne discovered that she had breast cancer before she could take such measures.

Suzanne was 32 with a 16 month old baby. She suddenly found herself in an unrecognizable reality. She went from being a young mom excited to plan date nights to fighting for her life.

Thirteen years later, Suzanne is strong and lives life to the fullest, despite the profound ways in which cancer changed it. She’s personally shepherded hundreds, if not thousands, of women through their cancer journeys - including me.

Don’t miss the second episode of the Obliterated Place to hear Suzanne’s inspiring and important story.

You can find the Obliterated Place on Apple podcasts or wherever you get your podcasts. Please follow the show and subscribe to our YouTube page. If you enjoyed our episode, please leave a review and share it.

Grief is lonely - especially when the loss wasn’t “supposed to happen.” We experience isolation on top of our sorrow.

The Obliterated Place will help to change that. On my new podcast, we celebrate our loved ones who died. We reveal our pain, which is a reflection of how much we love them.

Please subscribe and share. I can’t wait for you to meet my guests on the show.

I created this podcast because the only way I survive is by channeling my grief/mother love (they’re one in the same) to help others, even in some small way. I believe in the transformative power of storytelling, as I know many of my friends on Substack do as well. I learn so much from your writings here.

The Obliterated Place is where you find yourself after an event that changes everything – a diagnosis, an accident, a natural disaster, an assault, the end of a marriage or other important relationship, the death of someone you love. You no longer recognize your life. The future won’t be what you envisioned. Some people are there for you. Others disappoint you, when they can’t or won’t be. You measure time by before and after what happened. You’re not alone. Join us in the Obliterated Place, where we witness and honor one another’s grief. We share stories and say their names.

Deep gratitude to Cheryl Strayed, who inspired the name of this podcast in her Dear Sugar column from 7/1/2011, and has kindly given me permission for this use. Thank you, Cheryl. Link to Cheryl’s column: https://therumpus.net/2011/07/01/dear-sugar-the-rumpus-advice-column-78-the-obliterated-place/.

Please subscribe on YouTube and follow The Obliterated Place wherever you get your podcasts. Of course, I’ll be sharing them here on Substack.

Share the Obliterated Place with family and friends, if you feel moved. Email us at theobliteratedplace@gmail.com if you’re interested in being a guest. Whether you’re grieving the loss of a loved one, coping with an illness, putting the pieces of your life back together after your town burned down, or (substitute whatever created your before and after times), all are welcome here. We can record on Zoom or live in Santa Monica or West Hollywood, for those in LA. You can also send in questions or something you’d like me to read.

We can’t control much of what happens to us in life, but how we respond is up to us. Take your fragments and broken shards and create something beautiful. If you aren’t sure how or where to start, you’re in good company because no one ever is. Start anyway. We’re all learning and this is a place to learn from each other.

For more about the Molly Steinsapir Foundation, please visit our website https://mollysteinsapir.com/ or check out our most recent newsletter: https://mailchi.mp/a89d950bb07c/5-years-without-molly.

It’s an honor to be on the journey through life with each of you, walking each other home.

It appears that every Jew in the world is expected to answer for Israel, and your host is no exception. So-called “progressives” have joined the “Free Palestine” movement, chanting “From the River to the Sea,” though most couldn’t say which river or sea. Few of these privileged Westerners have been to the Middle East or studied its complex history. They appear uninterested beyond slogans and what they consume on TikTok. They care more about virtue signaling than being virtuous.

Though I am a lifelong Democrat, my views don’t precisely align with some members of my party. Fine by me - life is more interesting with different points of view. It’s how we learn! Others prefer social media echo chambers where their opinions are reinforced, never challenged. Like most Jews, October 7 revealed that I had fewer friends that my social media accounts before that unimaginable day had suggested. The silence was deafening.

The haters are committed to misunderstanding me. I’d prefer to ignore them, but they leave defamatory reviews and attempt to tank my new podcast’s ratings. Please bear with me while I address their ugly lies in this episode.

It is possible to simultaneously hold multiple truths. I am a proud Jew who loves Israel (deep breaths, haters!). Pure evil exists in the world. It was unleashed on Israel on October 7. None of what happened that day was “resistance.” Israel did not deserve it. The world should have forced Hamas to return all the hostages on October 8. They all need to come home now.

I don’t support Israel’s current government and want the war in Gaza to end. Judaism’s teaching that every life is a universe applies to everyone. War is abominable. We need better ways to solve problems that don’t involve killing or maiming innocents. I believe if women held more positions of power, we would find them.

As a mother who never stops grieving for her late daughter, I would not wish my circumstances on anyone. When I lay my head down tonight, I will pray the same prayer that I pray every night. Please let my child feel my love, wherever she is now. Please bring peace and comfort to all who are suffering. May no more universes be extinguished.

I haven’t seen my mom in over a decade. I’ve given up predicting anything, but it’s unlikely we’ll meet again in this lifetime. Not because we shut her out. She’s sick in many ways and refuses treatment. I still love and miss her. I wish it could be different.

While the pain of losing Molly and my mom is immense, it’s outweighed by love. I’m filled with gratitude for the extraordinary soul who came into our lives in 2008 and made me a mom for the first time. The 12 years we had together were the best of my life. I feel Molly as a source of pure love and guiding light. She will always be one of my greatest blessings.

There is love between Karen and me, as there’s always been (despite our lifelong struggles). We love each other from afar. Not a day passes when I don’t think of her and wonder where she is. If she’s eaten. If she has a decent place to stay. When I’ll get the call that she’s left her damaged body, finally free of pain.

Despite it all, I treasure memories of the good times we had. I love seeing Karen’s many positive qualities in her kids and grandkids. My mom wears her big heart on her sleeve. She’ll give her last dollar to someone she thinks needs it more (partially why she’s ended up with nothing). She’s whip smart, possesses tremendous creative talent and is the life of any party. She gave us gifts, alongside the scars.

Last but not least, I have the most wonderful sons. The love that Nate and Eli give me everyday is a balm to my soul. They make life fun, interesting and meaningful. It’s impossible to stay sad for long around them. No mom could ask for more.

Today is going to be a good one. I no longer feel like I got hit my a truck, as I did the first Mother’s Day after Molly died. I’ve expanded around the grief. I’m going to walk to the beach and spend time with my girl, then have fun with the boys. Life is simultaneously beautiful and brutal.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there, especially those for whom today is hard.

I’m honored that Stephanie agreed to chat with me, as the first anniversary of Jordan’s death and Mother’s Day approach. The words below were written by Stephanie to describe Jordan.

Jordan “Gilly” Gilford was a brilliant, vibrant soul with a healthy dose of stubbornness. He was incredibly passionate and his friends always speak of his beautiful smile and his infectious laugh. What they remember most, though, is his deep compassion and desire to help others. He volunteered his home regularly to people who needed a temporary refuge (both with and without the permission of his mom) and he was always concerned about his friends’ well-being.

Jordan could amaze you with his depth and passion. When he found something he loved, he would dive deep to learn all there was to know and given the chance, impart all of his new found knowledge to anyone who would listen. He especially loved talking political and current affairs and he definitely had opinions!

Even surrounded by tremendous love and encouragement, Jordan suffered from the sometimes-debilitating disease of mental illness. He wanted nothing more than to overcome it and was privileged to have many resources to help him do so, but sometimes the world is too hard and the weight of it is too heavy for people at a particular time and in a particular place. Unfortunately, Jordan came to this time and place and didn’t see another way out.

Jordan’s family and friends are committed to spreading the light and kindness that Jordan spread. They know how much he wanted other people to overcome the same struggles he faced and so many people have provided stories of how he convinced them to find help and that they are needed in this world. Gilly’s Friends is their way of honoring him and his beautiful spirit by providing unexpected love and a message of hope.

Please visit the Gilly’s Friends website to learn more about the ways that Stephanie is honoring Jordan and finding meaning amidst tragic loss - https://gillysfriends.com/.

I’m sending love to everyone for whom Mother’s Day is painful. I know there are many of us.

P.S. I chose this photo of Steph and me because we gotta laugh, even (especially) during dark times. There were funny moments in our conversation, including when Zoom demanded that I pay more money to keep recording and, after finally managing to pay, I couldn’t find the screen containing Stephanie’s lovely face. I was relieved that the entire episode recorded. Success! I had a guest on my podcast! Now that I’ve figured it out, I’ll bring you new perspectives weekly. Progress, not perfection.

How are ya’ll doing? What helps you to stay sane during insane times?

How do we keep our personal lives and families afloat while also making a difference in a world that needs us to fight for it?

Yet, life is still beautiful. I’m grateful for every day and optimistic about the future. Pain and joy can co-exist.