My article on Caring for My Mother and Dealing with Alzheimer's has just been published by Wonderwomen.

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Caring for My Mother: Burden or Responsibility?

Shira walks the ‘daughter track’ and finds rewards.

Shira Sebban

I am my mother’s advocate. Together with my sister, I manage her household, supervise her carers, pay her bills, run her errands. Most importantly, we champion her rights, providing her with a voice at a time when tragically, she can no longer stand up for herself due to the decade-long ravages of Alzheimer’s disease.

My mother used to be my role model and my best friend. Passionate, strong, courageous and intelligent, she was a brilliant scholar and a loving parent and grandparent, the person I could turn to for advice and companionship at any time.

Now the tables have been completely turned. The child who started out entirely dependent on her mother has matured to become the one on whom her mother depends.

Since my mother has been afflicted by illness, I constantly feel her absence like a gaping hole in my life. She may still look like my mother and remain physically near, but mentally and spiritually, she is no longer there for me.

When someone has Alzheimer’s, there is plenty of time to say goodbye. Deterioration occurs slowly, with changes almost imperceptible at first and then becoming only gradually more noticeable. Alzheimer’s is a cruel illness as my late maternal grandfather noted, telling my mother when sadly, he was in the throes of the disease himself, “I am losing my I”, by which he meant that he was losing what made him whom he was as a person.

Moreover, gradually much of the world forgets its sufferers. Many friends stop writing or visiting; it is almost as if people are too embarrassed and don’t know how to deal with someone who can no longer respond except with a smile, a look or a touch.

Long ago we promised our mother that we would never put her in a nursing home. And we have honoured that promise, convincing her early on to move to the same city where we live and striving to ensure that she continues to reside with dignity in her own home. As card-carrying members of the ‘sandwich generation’, we have chosen to juggle her needs along with those of our own young families.

While that may not be the right decision for everyone, it has certainly proven to be the correct option for us, and we are fortunate to have had the freedom to be able to make that choice. While our mother can no longer thank us, I know that she is grateful. Before she lost the ability to speak, she was expressing her gratitude to everybody who helped her, and I’m sure she would still be doing so today if she could.

Broadcaster Sandra Tsing Loh has said on National Public Radio’s Talk of the Nation that the “daughter track is far more open-ended [than the mommy track] and has no rewards at the end except for death” (29 February, 2012).

No rewards?

Even though I’d give anything to have my mother back again as she once was, I know that caring for her has taught me to be kinder and more patient. It has also given me an opportunity to set a good example for my children, teaching them to be decent human beings. As my 11-year-old son said, “We owe it to our parents to look after them in their old age. They care for us when we’re young and then it becomes our turn to care for them.”

Moreover, I feel rewarded that I’m providing my mother with a good quality of life from which she still derives some enjoyment.

Yes, despite everything, she still gets some joy out of life. Contrary to popular misconception, advanced Alzheimer’s sufferers are not vegetables. Although the illness may cocoon them from feeling the full brunt of life’s emotions, they still experience pain and pleasure, peace and agitation. My mother continues to appreciate good food, especially dark chocolate, music, flowers, massage and the warmth of the sun. She may be confined to a wheelchair, but she is not confined to her apartment, attending an adult day care program twice a week, going on outings and visiting with her family.

She is still a human being – even if she has lost her “I”.

Shira Sebban – Life Issues
Shira is a Sydney-based writer and editor, who is passionate about exploring the challenges life throws at us through her writing. A former journalist with the Australian Jewish News, Shira previously taught French at the University of Queensland and worked in publishing. The mother of three sons, she also serves as vice-president on the board of her children’s school. You can read more of her work at http://shirasebban.blogspot.com.au/
Life Balance = Abandoned. The. Search.

© Feature photograph by Dominika Ferenz

My (hopefully) uplifting piece on death has just been published on Online Opinion

Making the most of life

By Shira Sebban
Posted Wednesday, 22 May 2013

Like most of us, I usually try to avoid thinking about death. Its seeming finality – the enormity of the thought that we are never coming back – is not something I have ever managed to face and comprehend fully no matter how hard I try. Instead, heart thumping, courage faltering, I usually come to a screeching halt just before plunging over what seems like the looming precipice beyond.

Yet, on the tenth anniversary of my beloved father's passing and after attending the funeral of my dear friend Shimon, I find myself drawn to musing about death and to be able to do so more calmly and rationally than ever before.

Selfless and discreet, Shimon was a caring man, a listener, who preferred not to speak about his own trials and tribulations and devoted much of his life to helping others through his nursing work and later as a hospital chaplain. Listening to the eulogy for Shimon, I felt uplifted and a sense of inner peace soothed my soul – just as my friend would have wanted.

At Shimon's funeral, we listened to the recitation of a beautiful poem, Life is a Journey, by the late Alvin Fine, which provides a realistic summary of the fallible human condition. Failure certainly does not preclude meaning:

From defeat to defeat to defeat, until, looking backward or ahead,
We see that victory lies not at some high place along the way,
But in having made the journey, stage by stage, a sacred pilgrimage."

Perhaps I have become more aware of death at a time when I have been writing the life stories of my late grandfather and of my mother, who is now sadly in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's disease. In the course of this journey, I have been fortunate to have been able to trawl through a treasure trove of family letters, some dating back as far as the 1930s – snippets of social history, which regrettably, with the advent of email and the Internet, come to an end around the year 2000. It is sobering to realise that I will not be leaving the same legacy for my children.

Written in a multitude of languages, these letters have criss-crossed the globe. Desperate letters from a sister in Lodz, Poland, in 1935 to her sister, my late grandmother, in Tel Aviv; hundreds of letters, which followed my mother's journey from Tel Aviv to Melbourne in the late 1940s and then on to London and Montreal a decade later and back to Melbourne once more in the late 60s; and letters spanning four decades from my Canadian father's family in Toronto to their brother in Melbourne and from my adopted Melbourne "aunt" and close family friend to my mother, providing vignettes of what life was like for Australians in the 1950s and 60s.

In perusing these letters, each preserved in its original envelope, what quickly becomes clear is that no matter what advances technology may bring, fundamentally little has changed: human beings still experience joy and suffering, success and failure, complain about the economy, celebrate births and marriages and bemoan divorces and deaths among family and friends. Life continues – whether you are there to witness and experience it or not.

As the ancients taught: "[T]here is nothing new under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 1.9) "One generation passes away, and another generation comes; And the earth abides for ever." (Ecclesiastes 1.4)

So much toil and trouble, fuss and bluster, anguish and elation. Yet, after we are gone and our contemporaries have also vanished with the passing years, what remains? For the creative few, a contribution to knowledge they may have made; book they may have written; artwork they may have produced. For those with means, a legacy in bricks and mortar or a charitable foundation to which they may have contributed. For the vast majority of us, the living legacy of our children, grandchildren, and possibly even great-grandchildren, as well as photos and other memorabilia and perhaps sayings or traditions handed down from generation to generation.

My late father was a quiet man. In his own discreet way, he did whatever he could to care for and support his family. He would do anything for the ones he loved and he was everything to us. To him, home and family came first, and I will never forget how on the day he died, he urged me to leave his hospital bedside and return to my husband and young children because "they need you".

My father stood like a pillar at the centre of our lives. We were all accustomed to depending on him, and when he died, we felt his absence keenly. In the days and months that followed, I could not help but ask myself how it would have bothered anyone if he had been allowed to continue driving through the streets, helping to lighten the load of his family and friends?

Until my father's passing, I had been fairly sure that there was nothing after death. After spending years studying philosophy, I could not seem to accept the idea of "eternal life" and "everlasting peace" in the "world to come".

Yet, when I lost my father just a few hours after spending the night tending to his needs in hospital, I began to question my former apparent certainties. How was it possible that my father could be there one minute and gone the next? What had happened to his persona, to the essence of who he had been, to his soul?

Ecclesiastes teaches: "And the dust returns to the earth as it was, but the spirit returns unto God, who gave it." (12.7) Today, while I am still not sure whether or not I believe in God, I draw comfort at least from striving to honor my father's memory through my actions.

As Sylvan Kamens and Jack Riemer wrote in their poem, We Remember Them, also recited at Shimon's funeral:

As long as we live, they too shall live,
for they are now a part of us,
as we remember them.

Now writing for Wonder Women Global

I am now a Wonder Woman writer! They have just published my piece on giving up the quest for balance.http://www.wonderwomenglobal.com/abandoning-the-search-for-balance/

Living Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Have you seen the powerful documentary Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea? I was so moved by it that I wrote this article.http://www.onlineopinion.com.au/view.asp?article=14714

Please try to see this film if you can. You can actually download it or watch it online.

I cannot forget Chaman's eyes. Filled with tears, they bore into my soul as he makes his plea: "People who are really refugees are people who have terrible troubles. Please do something for them. They are people like me. If my life weren't in danger, if my family had not been killed, I would never take the risk to come here… I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted to be a refugee. But it's just because I have no one left." It is too late to help Chaman himself. This young and handsome Afghan disappeared while en route to Australia by boat in October 2009. The boat was never found. Nor was that fateful trip the first time he had tried to reach Australia. Previously, he had spent more than three weeks to get as far as Ashmore Reef, only for that boat to be turned back and forced to return to Indonesia. Hamid Karzai had recently become President of Afghanistan, and believing life would now be more peaceful, Chaman had agreed to return home, only for the Taliban to take away his family's land, destroy their wealth and kill his parents and brothers. Some would argue that he should never have got on any boat in the first place and that if asylum seekers persist in endangering their lives in that way, then it is our Government's role to deter, if not prevent them from doing so by whatever means it can. But Chaman would say that he had no choice. His tragic story is one of many recounted by asylum seekers themselves in Between The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (www.deepblueseafilm.com), an award-winning, powerful and moving documentary conceived by Melbourne barrister and refugee advocate Jessie Taylor. In mid-2009, together with interpreter Ali Reza Sadiqi, she interviewed about 250 asylum seekers, including around 120 children and unaccompanied minors, often living in squalid conditions in jails, detention centres and hostels across Indonesia, their words and images captured by a camera on occasion illegally smuggled into prison under Taylor's headscarf. Currently touring Australia on a road trip funded by donations, the documentary, which was produced by Taylor and filmmakers David Schmidt and Chris Kamen, will be officially screened for politicians in Parliament House in Canberra on March 18. "Come watch the film that Tony and Julia don't want you to see," the publicity urges. As Taylor explains, "the more people talk about the human beings behind this issue, the less likely it is that politicians can ignore them". Accompanied by my children, I attended a local screening, which took place in their school hall in Sydney. By the end of the film, some of the young high school students were in tears, overcome by the images of individuals, groups of friends, or families with children, some holding asylum seeker certificates and gazing unflinchingly at the camera. We have come to know many of them during the documentary as they told their stories. Now we learn their fate as each image is stamped "drowned at sea", "missing", "in detention" or "living in Australia". Entire families lost, saved, or tragically torn apart. Throughout the film, Taylor stresses that the people she interviewed had patiently tried to wait their turn, or as she puts it, "to stand in the queue". As she says, "they saw Indonesia as the doorstep to Australia, not so they could kick down the door, but so they could knock and wait to be let in". In other words, they had sought registration, interview and processing by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) in an effort to attain refugee status and hopefully be recommended for resettlement in Australia. The problem according to Taylor is that by 2009, the process was simply not working: "People were being resettled in Australia at a rate of between 35 and 50 people a year. The number of asylum seekers waiting for resettlement was 2500 and rising. A quick juggle of the numbers revealed that people could be waiting between 40 and 60 years for resettlement in Australia. They could be waiting a lifetime." Obviously, some four years later, the numbers are even higher, with more than 6700 asylum seekers and over 1800 refugees registered with the UNHCR in Jakarta as of the end of January 2013 (www.unhcr.or.id/en/unhcr-inindonesia). Without the necessary legislation and procedures in place to protect refugees, South East Asian countries like Indonesia are dependent on the UNHCR and non-government bodies such as the International Organisation for Migration (IOM) to provide assistance, partly funded by the Australian Government. Yet, as Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea clearly shows, the hope of many applicants is often extinguished by the sheer chaos and squalor of the conditions within which they face a seemingly interminable wait. In the search for a better life, some, like Chaman, are desperate enough to risk the ultimate gamble, in their need to flee war, persecution or terror. A middle-aged man tells the interviewer, as his wife sobs in the background: "I would choose to die in pursuit of freedom rather than return to die at the hands of my oppressors." Others are motivated by a craving to belong. As one young man in the film explains: "I am 24 years old. I've never had a country. I just want to have a country. If I find a country, I will give my soul for that country." I urge you to see this film, listen to the voices and their stories, and make up your own mind. It certainly taught my own children a hard lesson: Life is a lottery, especially for a refugee on the run, who truly lives "between the devil and the deep blue sea".

My article, "The Life In Our Years" has just been published in Online Opinion (http://www.onlineopinion.com.au/view.asp?article=14652)

A friend told me recently that his fast-approaching 50th birthday would probably be his worst and that he was just going to put his head down, get through the day and move on with his life.

I can certainly sympathise – few of us like to be reminded of the passing years as we get older, especially in our youth-obsessed society where the aim seems to be at the very least to make time stand still or even go backwards. Today, we are constantly told that “50 is the new 40”, or in the case of celebrity Kelly Preston, the wife of John Travolta, “the new 25”: “I feel incredible,” the mother of three, including a two-year-old, gushed to People magazine, “You are as old as you feel and I feel like I’m 25!”

Mixed messages abound. Either we’re being reassured there is nothing to fear about turning 50 – so long as we follow the myriad of beauty, fashion, diet and exercise tips on offer – or we’re being bombarded with advice on how to cope in our 50s and 60s, decades that have been likened to the Bermuda Triangle: if you manage to pass through relatively unscathed, you’ll be fine.

To quote Huffington Post blogger Sharon Greenthal: “Don’t dwell on the things that didn’t happen, the opportunities missed, the loved ones gone, the friends at a distance. Forget the money that you’ve lost or the journey not taken.” Journalist Linda Lowen sounds an even gloomier warning: “After turning 50, nearly all of us are closer to death than birth”. Thanks Sharon and Linda, now I feel really depressed!

On the other hand, by the time we reach 50, we’re meant to be wise and experienced, with plenty of knowledge to impart to others. Indeed, ancient wisdom teaches that 40 is when we attain understanding, 50 when we can offer advice, and 60 when we finally reach seniority (Ethics of Our Fathers 5:24).

While I certainly haven’t waited to turn 50 to proffer advice to anyone who will listen, I don’t necessarily feel wiser than the next person. As Oscar Wilde pointed out, “Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes”. And I, like everyone else, have made plenty of them. Sure, life has taught me lessons I can share, but I’m often wrong and am not afraid to say so, learn from it and move on.

Some people drift through life, carried along by circumstance or, for those seemingly fortunate few, by sheer whim. Apparently content and relaxed, they don’t look as if they are stirred by guilt and give the impression, at least, of effortlessly remaining in the moment, confident about, and at peace with, who they are and what they have or haven’t achieved so far… Or perhaps they just haven’t given much thought to the big picture.

I’ve often wished that I could be more like them – surely life would be so much easier!

“Blessed” with a driven personality, I need to have a purpose almost all of the time in order to feel good about myself. I still strive to learn something new every day and am constantly motivated to succeed at whatever task I’ve set myself, analysing and questioning the value of my work.

After all, we only have relatively few short years on this earth, so am I doing the very best I can? What else should I be doing before it’s too late?

According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, the average retirement age for women is around 50! But as a member of the “sandwich generation”, who is still juggling the care of young children and elderly parents with work and volunteering opportunities, I’m no where near ready to retire, and at least at this stage, don’t think I ever will be … although I certainly would love more time to travel.

I suppose much of the blame for this personality trait and attitude to life can be sheeted home to my parents and grandfather, who have had such a huge influence on me. They encouraged me to strive for excellence – as distinct from perfection – and had high expectations of both themselves and those they loved, always remaining true to their principles. They taught me to be humble and ethical, encouraging me to think for myself and stand up for what I believe in.

In short, they raised me to trust I could do anything I set my mind to and urged me to find an interest in life that would sustain me. As my mother once wrote to me: “Life has a lot to offer. One must, however, know how to cherish it and to make the most of the opportunities offered.”

My grandfather put it this way: “The world becomes a universe full of puzzles and its secrets a life full of exciting curiosities, joy and deep feeling for its hidden mysteries.”

Surely then what truly matters is not how many years have passed, which after all is beyond our control, but what we do with each day, or as my friend put it, “getting on with life”.

So instead of feeling like I’m staring down the barrel of turning 50 next birthday, I’m going to try and emulate the attitude Abraham Lincoln displayed when he commented so eloquently: “And in the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.” Now there’s a man who probably wouldn’t have turned a hair at the prospect of growing older if he’d been given the chance!

We may not always succeed, but like dwarfs standing on the shoulders of those giants who lived before us, we can strive to understand and build on the past, continuing to contribute creatively, derive meaning and purpose and hopefully help to make the world a better place for future generations.

That, after all, is our legacy.

My article on caregiving

My article on caregiving and Judaism's expectations of how we treat our parents in old age has just been published in Emanuel Synagogue's Tell Magazine (February-April 2013).

Talking Point

www.emanuel.org.au

Caring for my mother: burden-or-responsibility? by Shira Sebban
I am my mother’s advocate. Together with my sister, I manage her household, supervise her caregivers, pay her bills, and run her errands. Most importantly, we champion her rights, providing her with a voice at a time when, tragically, she can no longer stand up for herself due to the decade-long ravages of Alzheimer’s disease.
My mother used to be my role model and my best friend. Passionate, strong, courageous and intelligent, she was a brilliant scholar and a loving parent and grandparent, the person I could turn to for advice and companionship at any time.
Now the tables have been completely turned. The child who started out entirely dependent on her mother has matured to become the one on whom her mother depends. Since my mother has been afflicted by illness, I constantly feel her absence like a gaping hole in my life. She may still look like my mother and remain physically near, but mentally and spiritually, she is no longer there for me.
When someone has Alzheimer’s, there is plenty of time to say goodbye. Deterioration occurs slowly, with changes almost imperceptible at first and then becoming only gradually more noticeable. Alzheimer’s is a cruel illness, as my late maternal grandfather noted, telling my mother when, sadly, he was in the throes of the disease himself, “I am losing my I,” by which he meant that he was losing what made him whom he was as a person.
Moreover, gradually much of the world forgets its sufferers. Many friends stop writing or visiting; it is almost as if people are too embarrassed and don’t know how to deal with someone who can no longer respond except with a smile, a look or a touch.
Yet, already in the third century, Talmudic Rabbi Joshua ben Levi had pointed out that just as the fragments of the first set of tablets of the Ten Commandments shattered by Moses were placed in the Ark of the Covenant along with the new tablets, so too should we “be careful” to respect “an old man who has forgotten his knowledge through no fault of his own” (Babylonian Talmud: Berakoth 8b).
Even earlier, the second century BCE Jerusalemite scholar Ben Sira wrote in his Book of Wisdom: “My child, help your father in his old age, and do not grieve him as long as he lives. If his understanding fails, be considerate. And do not humiliate him when you are in your prime” (3:12-13).
We are taught that we are meant to “honor” and “respect” our parents in the same way as we revere God as partners in the creation of life. Yet, the first century sage, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, acknowledged that this Fifth Commandment was the hardest of all to obey (Tanhuma Ekev 2). As Rabbi Emeritus of Temple Emanuel in Grand Rapids, Michigan, Dr Albert Micah Lewis says, this Commandment “teaches that even though this kind of caregiving may not feel natural or even fair, it must be provided”(Person H.E. and Address R.F. (eds) 2003, That You May Live Long: Caring For Our Aging Parents, Caring For Ourselves, URJ Press, New York, p10).

Judaism values behaviour over thoughts and feelings. The Talmud lists the actions we need to perform in order to fulfil the mitzvah (good deed) of respecting our parents. “What is honor? Giving food, drink, dressing, covering, leading out and bringing in, and washing face, hands and feet” (Tosefta Kiddushin 1:11). In other words, children are required to ensure that their parents’ basic needs are provided.
While most Jewish sources insist upon children personally caring for their parents themselves – and with the right attitude – the medieval scholar and physician, Moses Maimonides, made an exception for children with parents whose minds were severely affected: “If the condition of the parent has grown worse and the son is no longer able to endure the strain, he may leave his father or mother, go elsewhere, and delegate to others to give the parents the proper care” (Mishneh Torah: Hilchot Mamrim 6:10). Chosen caregivers, however, must be able to cheer the patient up (Regimen sanitatis: The Preservation of Youth: Essays on Health, chapter 2).
Long ago my sister and I promised our mother that we would never put her in a nursing home. And we have honoured that promise, convincing her early on to move to the same city where we live and striving to ensure that she continues to reside with dignity in her own home. As card-carrying members of the “sandwich generation,” we have chosen to juggle her needs along with those of our own young families.
While that may not be the right decision for everyone, it has certainly proven to be the correct option for us, and we are fortunate to have had the freedom to be able to make that choice. Our mother can no longer thank us, but I know that she is grateful. Before she lost the ability to speak, she was expressing her gratitude to everybody who helped her, and I am sure she would still be doing so today if she could.
The debate over whether children should provide for their elderly parents from their own income or whether parents need to fund their own care also dates back to ancient times. Scholars were seemingly divided, with rabbis of the Jerusalem Talmud advocating that even poor children must raise the funds to support their impoverished parents (Jerusalem Talmud, Kiddushin, 1:7).

As Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said: “’Honour your father and mother,’ even if you have to go begging in doorways” (Pesikta Rabbati 23). Rabbis of the Babylonian Talmud, on the other hand, maintained that the parents should provide the money, while the children should give their time (Babylonian Talmud, Mas. Kiddushin 31b-32a).
Maimonides argued that only when parents had no money were their financially independent children obligated to support them according to their means, and could even be coerced into doing so by a Bet Din (rabbinic court of law) (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Mamrim 6:3).
If the children have money but refuse to spend it on their parents, Jewish law allows them to use funds they would otherwise have given to charity, but immediately “curses” them for “humiliating” their parents: (Babylonian Talmud, Mas. Kiddushin 32a). Others go further and compare such a refusal to murder, maintaining that such a comparison is warranted by the fact that the two Commandments, to honor one’s parents and not to murder, follow each other (10th century Midrash, Tanna Devei Eliyahu).
Broadcaster Sandra Tsing Loh said last year on National Public Radio’s Talk of the Nation that the “daughter track is far more open-ended [than the mommy track] and has no rewards at the end except for death” (29 February, 2012).
No rewards?
Even though I would give anything to have my mother back again as she once was, I know that caring for her has taught me to be kinder and more patient, especially in the last few years, when I no longer know if she even recognises me. Sometimes being patient is a struggle in the flurry of everyday life, as I force myself to slow down to my mother’s pace, watching as she chews each mouthful of the meal that has been prepared for her.
As Rabbi Laurie Zimmerman of Congregation Shaarei Shamayim in Madison, Wisconsin, has said, “just by her being, she teaches us the highest form of compassion” (8 October 2008, “Aging and Caring for Elderly Parents”, http://www.shamayim.org/). Renowned Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, one of the founders of the Jewish Renewal Movement, has wisely advised: “You may just want to sit and hold the hand of the parent with Alzheimer’s. Communicate on the inside. Something is going to happen in the silence. There is a being behind the brain” (September 2012, “From Age-ing to Sage- ing,” Front Range Living, http://www.frontrangeliving. com/family-health/rabbi-zalman.htm).
Indeed, even though she has forgotten her language, my mother often tries to communicate when she sees me. The other day, one of her longtime caregivers told her she was leaving to return to her homeland. “She looked at me,” the caregiver said, “and I knew she understood.”

Caring for my mother has also given me an opportunity to set a good example for my children, teaching them to be decent human beings. As my 11-year-old son said, “We owe it to our parents to look after them in their old age. They care for us when we are young and then it becomes our turn to care for them.”
If everything else fails, fear can be a strong motivator, as is understood by the Torah: “You shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old; you shall fear your God: I am the Lord” (Vayikra (Leviticus) 19:32). Respecting our parents is the only Commandment accompanied by a reward, which can also be read as a veiled threat: “Honor your father and your mother, as the Lord your God has commanded you, that you may long endure, and that you may fare well, in the land that the Lord your God is assigning to you” (Devarim (Deuteronomy) 5:16; see also Shemot (Exodus) 20:12).
Not only should our fear of God influence how we treat the elderly, but we should also behave towards others as we would like to be treated ourselves. Indeed, on Yom Kippur morning, we pray “Do not cast us off in our old age; when our strength fails, do not forsake us!” (from Psalm 71:9). According to Rabbi Harold Kushner, “if we show honor and respect to our parents when they are old, we will be fashioning a world in which we will not have to be afraid of growing old, a world in which length of days will indeed be a reward and not a burden” (Foreword, xvii to Berrin S. (ed) 1997, A Heart of Wisdom: Making the Jewish Journey from Midlife Through the Elder Years, Vermont: Jewish Lights Publishing).
Meanwhile, I feel rewarded that I am providing my mother with a good quality of life from which she still derives some enjoyment.
Yes, despite everything, she still gets some joy out of life. Contrary to popular misconception, advanced Alzheimer’s sufferers are not vegetables. Although the illness may cocoon them from feeling the full brunt of life’s emotions, they still experience pain and pleasure, peace and agitation. My mother continues to appreciate good food, especially dark chocolate, music, flowers, massage and the warmth of the sun. She may be confined to a wheelchair, but she is not confined to her apartment, attending an adult day care program twice a week, going on outings and visiting with her family.
She is still a human being – even if she has lost her “I”.
Shira Sebban is a writer and editor, a congregant of Emanuel Synagogue, and vice-president on the board of Emanuel School. 

Harbor to Harbour

Maintaining a good work - life balance is key to a good life

1

Work Life Balance – December 8, 2012

by DAVE L on DECEMBER 8, 2012

Welcome to the December 2, 2012 edition of work life balance.  I am a little late this month because I just got back from a long road trip.  This month I received over 70 submissions but I’ve boiled it down to these 13 which truly reflect a good balance on the subject.  Thanks for all the submissions.

Michael Salas presents Stop Talking About Work posted at Vantage Point Dallas Counseling.

Brandon Yawa presents 10 Yawas to stomp on stress posted at Brandon Yawa, saying, “I wrote this to help you transform the way you encounter stress.”

Theresa Torres presents When Money Doesn’t Buy Happiness posted at The Self Improvement Blog, saying, “Let’s take a look at how money affects our happiness level and explore the ways on how money can really buy us happiness.”

Steven Xu presents Growth Unleashed: The Next Step posted at Growth Unleashed.

Lynda Albertson presents 5 Candy Cane Ornaments that You Can Make With Kids posted at Nanny Babysitter, saying, “During the holiday season candy canes tend to make a dominate appearance in the candy aisle, and are a traditional holiday treat.”

Daniel Long presents 10 Family Friendly Warm Places to Go for Winter Break posted atHire a Nanny, saying, “If you live in a cooler climate that experiences wintry weather during the colder months, but aren’t a fan of toughing out the colder days or participating in winter sports, the idea of escaping to a warm, sunny locale for a quick family vacation during winter break can be incredibly appealing.”

Kristin presents It doesn’t get better.  Just different.   – Mommy Modern posted at Mommy Modern – Home.

Bill Apablasa presents Rooms 33-36: Practice the Art of Impatience – Home – The Other 999 Rooms posted at The Other 999 Rooms.

Bill Apablasa presents Rooms 42-45: Slow Down and Enjoy the Oatmeal – Home – The Other 999 Rooms posted at The Other 999 Rooms.

Diego Brown presents 5 Fun Poses for this Year’s Family Christmas Photo » National Nannies posted at National Nannies, saying, “Every year, many families like to take a Christmas photo with their family. Whether they use this photo for their Christmas cards, to place in their scrapbook, or to frame and hang on the wall, it can be challenging to come up with the right outfits to wear, the right location to have the picture taken, and how to differentiate it from past Christmas photos. Have no fear, Christmas photo pose ideas are here.”

Jon Rhodes presents Future Life Progression as a Tool in Strategic Planning posted at Free Hypnotherapy, saying, “Can you use future life progression to help you plan your future?”

Shira Sebban presents Abandoning the Search for Balance posted at Shira Sebban, saying, “Please ignore my previous submission as I made an error re the permalink URL, which I have now corrected. Apologies for any inconvenience.”

Janet Golovine presents 10 Things Moms Like to Save Through the Years posted atBecome A Nanny, saying, “Even the most dedicated de-clutterers have a box or a container stashed somewhere that’s housing mementos and keepsakes from their children’s early years that they aren’t yet ready to part with.”

That concludes this edition. Submit your blog article to the next edition of work life balance using our carnival submission form. Past posts and future hosts can be found on ourblog carnival index page.

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