This year, I choose “joy.”
That’s the first word that came to mind when I paused to consider this prompt.
I could have chosen “grief.”
Every day, my heart aches for my mom as she faces the increasing challenges of Parkinson’s disease. I miss my dad, who died from lung cancer 13 years ago, and I continue to grieve the loss of a dear friend and mentor who passed away in January after living with metastatic breast cancer for more than a decade.
I could have chosen “nostalgia.”
Our family is in a season of tremendous change. Our oldest son recently graduated from college and moved across the country to begin his first job. Our middle son is entering his senior year of high school with college just around the corner, and our youngest son is starting high school after six wonderful years at Milwaukee Jewish Day School. With each milestone, I’m reminded of how quickly life moves.
I could have chosen “anger” or “despair.”
As I think about the rise in antisemitism, mounting environmental issues, the struggles facing immigrants, ongoing conflict in the Middle East, and threats to public health and personal freedoms here in the United States, there is certainly no shortage of reasons to feel discouraged.
But instead, I choose “joy,” too.
As the leader of ABCD: After Breast Cancer Diagnosis, I have the privilege of living the mitzvah of chesed (loving kindness) by ensuring that anyone impacted by breast cancer has access to compassionate, one-on-one emotional support as they deal with the life-changing realities of this diagnosis. Every day, I witness the extraordinary power of human connection and the positive difference one person can make in another person’s life.
I am deeply grateful for the people who care for my mom with dignity and kindness. I am inspired by my husband as he builds a business dedicated to helping others. I am endlessly proud of our three boys as they grow into thoughtful, caring and independent young men.
When I think about antisemitism and the many challenges facing our communities and our world, finding “the good” can be difficult. Yet I see it in people who choose courage over fear, stand with the Jewish community, care for their neighbors, and work every day to repair our world.
I’ve learned that joy doesn’t deny sadness or hardship; it can exist alongside the hard stuff, creating space for all the beauty, kindness, connection, and love that surrounds us every day, too.
This year, I choose joy.
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