And

I don't know about you, but I've had a helluva' a year. It's been a year of divorce, negotiations, court, having my kids only half the time and being a single parent the half time I do have them. It's been a year of a crazy boss/business partner, immense responsibilities, challenges, setbacks and more emotional meltdowns per capita (not including my own), complaints and crises than I think I've ever experienced. 

Maybe not everyone experiences it this way, but divorce is like waking up and taking your daily dose of slow-killing poison. Sometimes being temple president is like being a walking complaint counter (although it is also many, far more wonderful things). Being CEO of a startup is like signing up to ride a mechanical bull with no off switch.

I certainly didn't choose easy. And I'm left feeling that this year was a lot.

All of these things said, I have enjoyed so much opportunity – to succeed financially, to reach challenging goals, to win as a team, to strengthen community, to show up when people need someone to show up for them. I've given and received love and had the good fortune to learn to set boundaries when needed and to find the space to accommodate when that's needed. I've enjoyed the support of family, friends my temple community, my yoga community and my coworkers. I've made some new, important friends and deepened some of my oldest friendships. I've celebrated others and been reminded over and over again how important and powerful it is to be happy for someone.

My life is not what I had imagined it to be right now and I struggle with that because I have been fortunate enough to have shaped my life and reinvented it over and over since I was 17 years old. Not that I haven't been thrown some challenges and learned to adapt and overcome. But I have enjoyed multiple rounds of radical change, creating many rich chapters of my life. The divorce has created constraints that leave me in a position where I find my life somewhat dissonant with who I am and what I need to thrive. I haven't figured it all out yet.

I'm happiest with my kids and whenever I have them for an extended period – like this Winter Break or the five weeks of summer we get together, I form myself a rhythm with them that begins to settle me and brings beauty and meaning to my world. I both love it – and fear it because I can't live my life 50 percent of the year and my well-being can't be predicated on them – that's just too much for us all. And the 50 percent when I have them is so wonderful.

Increasingly, I've come to "And" as an important word. So many things that seem like dichotomies aren't. Life is not a series of juxtaposed thoughts and feelings. We're not sad or happy. Often we're both. Bittersweet is more than chocolate. In the past year, I've had so many moments where I'm overjoyed and my heart is breaking all at the same time. The right decisions can be painful and the wrong ones can feel easy and comfortable when we make them. Of course, so many decisions are imperfect from the get-go and we're stuck among a field of options that at least from where we stand at the time all feel not-quite-right. If a clearly good option is available, we're blessed.

It may be the news media, or the times we live in, or the time of my life – but the world feels confused and challenging. So many heartbreaks and imperfect choices. So many worries that things fundamentally important to the lives of billions hangs in a precarious balance. Democracy, authoritarianism, war, life, death, education, economic stability – they all feel like leaves blowing in the wind and we have no idea how it will all settle out.

I've never felt antisemitism come so close to me. As one of my cousins said a few weeks ago, it seemed like American society was past so many of the prejudices and bigotries that currently seem standing brazenly in the open – strong and ready to fight. 

Being temple president has been great for feeling empowered. When a Jewish man named Paul Kessler was killed in our community and his funeral was conducted by our temple's rabbi – we held a vigil to quell fear and find catharsis. It was amazing. After October 7th, we also held a vigil and even cooperated with the nearby reformed synagogue. We made alliances and drew the larger Jewish community together against a common pain and enemy. It doesn't get hostages back, nor does it create peace in the Middle East. But it's something. It's a little piece of a broken world we can put back in place. 

Before coming to France, a number of people expressed their concern over the antisemitism in France. To be sure, there is antisemitism here. At the same time, my synagogue in safe, sleepy, suburban Thousand Oaks buried a man who died counterprotesting against a Pro-Palestinian protest. I haven't heard of any deaths in France. That doesn't excise the need for caution – but it also goes to show that safety is also a perception. I believe there's an important strength in still living and showing up. Hiding in fear – submitting – is exactly what people who foment hate want of their targets. Our first day in Cannes – just three blocks from our apartment – a man wearing a kipah walked down the street and got into a very nice Range Rover.  I subsequently realized he had just come from the kosher grocery and butcher – which in turn was across from a kosher restaurant. No visible security exists for either business. It seems there is a Jewish community living in peace – just as mine usually does. That's a win. 

Today the kids and I went for a walk through La Croisette where we're staying across the train station and major road to the newer, busier sections of Cannes. it quickly became obvious that most of the people out on the very quiet streets were muslim of a variety of nationalities and cultures ranging from North African to Saharan and West African – maybe some Arab too. Some of them were on the same street as the kosher markets. Their open markets and cafes wafted great smells as families walked down the streets holding hands, pushing strollers and doing the same things everyone else does. People looked me in the eye and wished me a good day. I felt safe. That's a win too.

Even if Christmas isn't my holiday – I can make good use of the time to reflect. The rays of short winter light bouncing off the Mediterranean reminds me that there is always beauty out there. Whether I'm here or not, the sea keeps shining. My biggest frustrations and issues don't dissipate because of where I am physically – but sometimes it helps to get out of my everyday settings to remember they aren't ALL there are to life. Our routines and regular environments give us structure and stabilize us. They also offer us little new perspective. I've spent a lot of days and evening solving problems in my office and living room. 

Sometimes it's nice to inspect the world without the eyes of the media filtering what you see. It's good to remember how many other people, places and perspectives and approaches to life there are. France is far from perfect – and it has confused, convoluted and sometimes hypocritical logic – just like America. France hasn't solved the world's problems (and historically, it helped create plenty of them through imperialism). But it's cultural disposition toward appreciating what is beautiful, to looking life in the face and to engaging all things in moderation are wonderful reminders that life is not the sum of the challenges we each face nor the sum of our successes and achievements. Nor is happiness found only when life is at peace. We can have joy AND anger; love AND pain; connection AND disruption; safety AMID danger.

I appreciate France's reminder. I appreciate that whatever I'm facing, I have the opportunity to remember there's a lot more to life than these things that sometimes overwhelm me and take up so much space. I can remember that the Mediterranean still sparkles whether or not I'm looking and that every single flavor matters. I can remember that while we worry about the war in Israel, there are Jews and muslims of multiple ethnicities greeting each other on Christmas Day in Cannes. And as injured as my heart is in some ways, it has grown immensely in others. This past year, I have built up the muscle of tolerating ambiguity – which has always been a hard one for me. Most importantly, I have embraced "And" – which I would argue is the key ingredient in the French outlook. It's not how we can find beauty when such ugliness is also happening – but that we must find beauty in the face of ugliness. And it absolutely exists.