Last weekend I spent three days on the set of "A Day in the Life." It's a short film produced by Green Ambassadors, a cute, campy comedy about a day in the life of a typical American family. Each scene consists of the unreflective choice and the green choice we could make to replace it.
It was such a treat to be silly, funny and quirky on set.
The film will be shown at the LA Convention Center in April and at an environmental festival and various schools. Once I have the dvd, maybe I'll have my own screening for those who want to see it!
Friday, March 21, 2008
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Hannah Engle Memorial Lecture
On Tuesday, NYU Wagner hosted the Second Annual Hannah Engle Memorial Lecture. I gave the following remarks about Hannah.
Hannah Beth Engle was born on November 6, 1980. She weighed nine pounds, fourteen ounces. This is pretty heavy for a baby, and I had been almost as heavy, and as children, we were so embarrassed about being fat babies, but the older we got, the more we relished those birth weights for the reliable shocks they produced in anyone we told. As an adult, Hannah loved that the chubby baby she had been had grown into a beautiful woman. She loved to surprise people with her unique blend of seeming contradictions.
Hannah stood out in a crowd – tall, blonde and poised. And that was part of her charm. But good looks will only get you so far, and Hannah didn’t rely on them. She was smart, hard-working, committed and innovative. After taking a meaningful trip to Eastern Europe, she defied expectations by raising $50,000 to take ten other UCLA on a similar trip the next year. These trailblazers led seders in Russia and the Ukraine and brought fresh blood to a Jewishly anemic corner of the diaspora. Hannah lived her philosophy of Jewish communal service in her personal life.
A lot of people who lose siblings find that they become more like their sibling after their death. In the past two years, I have definitely followed Hannah’s lead – both deliberately and unconsciously. One thing that’s happened is that I have made an effort to become the organized person she was.
Hannah didn’t wallow in perfectionism. She analyzed a project, determined what could be simplified and then set to work on her tasks. She was famous for finding time to make Shabbat dinner for 12 people despite being in grad school and working almost full time. (And working out.) I remember once coming over on a Friday afternoon before services to help her put the finishing touches on her apartment before dinner – I came across a to-do list for that week that planned out what and when she had to do things. One of the things on her grocery list was a package of pre-grated cheese. A food snob and obsessive homemade warrior, I turned up my nose at the idea of pre-grated cheese. (In fact, I didn’t even know they made it until I saw it on her list!) That list has stuck in my mind, because Hannah’s efficiency wasn’t borne out of a desire to be the best at anything, or to impress people. She had goals, and she wanted to accomplish them.
One of Hannah’s most important goals outside of her professional life was to weave a community for herself. When I was 15 and Hannah was 13, our father, our Papa, died of AIDS. I had already left for prep school two years earlier, and I think that was probably about the time that Hannah started taking community-building seriously for herself. I will never forget hearing her say “your friends are your family, Rebecca.” She used pre-grated cheese so that she could spend those 30 minutes with the people she loved at dinner instead of obsessing over the perfect quiche.
Even people who did not know Hannah well were touched by her – some even after her death. I mourn Hannah’s loss every day, but I do know that the person I lost was a treasure to so many people and a true inspiration. I still meet people all the time who knew her in some tangential way and miss her presence on this earth. There is no doubt that the 500 people at her funeral ached to know she was gone too young.
When Hannah was little, I used to tease her that she looked like a boy. Our parents liked to dress us in matching clothes like twins, which drove me crazy because I just wanted to be an individual. But of course as we got to be adults, looking alike became fun. We reveled in the attention, and truly cherished our unique relationship. Long before Hannah died, she became one of the first things I thanked God for in my daily prayers. I knew what I had, and having lost Papa, I knew to be thankful for it.
During the course of the past two years, I have gone through many different philosophies in an attempt to understand Hannah’s death. There were times when I thought that her death represented a veering off-course of this world, signaling that we are doing something wrong. There have been times when I wondered whether life is totally random. Perhaps Hannah’s death was fated or ordained by God for some purpose. None of these explanations has held up under scrutiny. What I do believe is that each of us is here on this earth to do something. Sometimes our grief blocks us. When we are sad, we must sit with that sadness and express it to the people we trust. Hannah’s death created an enormous amount of sadness. But it also spurred an urgency in many people including myself, to make a meaningful life that is unique to our gifts and strengths. To honor Hannah’s life, we must become more fully ourselves.
Hannah Beth Engle was born on November 6, 1980. She weighed nine pounds, fourteen ounces. This is pretty heavy for a baby, and I had been almost as heavy, and as children, we were so embarrassed about being fat babies, but the older we got, the more we relished those birth weights for the reliable shocks they produced in anyone we told. As an adult, Hannah loved that the chubby baby she had been had grown into a beautiful woman. She loved to surprise people with her unique blend of seeming contradictions.
Hannah stood out in a crowd – tall, blonde and poised. And that was part of her charm. But good looks will only get you so far, and Hannah didn’t rely on them. She was smart, hard-working, committed and innovative. After taking a meaningful trip to Eastern Europe, she defied expectations by raising $50,000 to take ten other UCLA on a similar trip the next year. These trailblazers led seders in Russia and the Ukraine and brought fresh blood to a Jewishly anemic corner of the diaspora. Hannah lived her philosophy of Jewish communal service in her personal life.
A lot of people who lose siblings find that they become more like their sibling after their death. In the past two years, I have definitely followed Hannah’s lead – both deliberately and unconsciously. One thing that’s happened is that I have made an effort to become the organized person she was.
Hannah didn’t wallow in perfectionism. She analyzed a project, determined what could be simplified and then set to work on her tasks. She was famous for finding time to make Shabbat dinner for 12 people despite being in grad school and working almost full time. (And working out.) I remember once coming over on a Friday afternoon before services to help her put the finishing touches on her apartment before dinner – I came across a to-do list for that week that planned out what and when she had to do things. One of the things on her grocery list was a package of pre-grated cheese. A food snob and obsessive homemade warrior, I turned up my nose at the idea of pre-grated cheese. (In fact, I didn’t even know they made it until I saw it on her list!) That list has stuck in my mind, because Hannah’s efficiency wasn’t borne out of a desire to be the best at anything, or to impress people. She had goals, and she wanted to accomplish them.
One of Hannah’s most important goals outside of her professional life was to weave a community for herself. When I was 15 and Hannah was 13, our father, our Papa, died of AIDS. I had already left for prep school two years earlier, and I think that was probably about the time that Hannah started taking community-building seriously for herself. I will never forget hearing her say “your friends are your family, Rebecca.” She used pre-grated cheese so that she could spend those 30 minutes with the people she loved at dinner instead of obsessing over the perfect quiche.
Even people who did not know Hannah well were touched by her – some even after her death. I mourn Hannah’s loss every day, but I do know that the person I lost was a treasure to so many people and a true inspiration. I still meet people all the time who knew her in some tangential way and miss her presence on this earth. There is no doubt that the 500 people at her funeral ached to know she was gone too young.
When Hannah was little, I used to tease her that she looked like a boy. Our parents liked to dress us in matching clothes like twins, which drove me crazy because I just wanted to be an individual. But of course as we got to be adults, looking alike became fun. We reveled in the attention, and truly cherished our unique relationship. Long before Hannah died, she became one of the first things I thanked God for in my daily prayers. I knew what I had, and having lost Papa, I knew to be thankful for it.
During the course of the past two years, I have gone through many different philosophies in an attempt to understand Hannah’s death. There were times when I thought that her death represented a veering off-course of this world, signaling that we are doing something wrong. There have been times when I wondered whether life is totally random. Perhaps Hannah’s death was fated or ordained by God for some purpose. None of these explanations has held up under scrutiny. What I do believe is that each of us is here on this earth to do something. Sometimes our grief blocks us. When we are sad, we must sit with that sadness and express it to the people we trust. Hannah’s death created an enormous amount of sadness. But it also spurred an urgency in many people including myself, to make a meaningful life that is unique to our gifts and strengths. To honor Hannah’s life, we must become more fully ourselves.
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