NEWSLETTER ​October 2026

I’m going to come right out and say it. I don’t want to because, honestly, my heart is a little broken, but my Rabbi, Michelle Pearlman, died a few days ago.

I’ve written about Michelle before. About eight or nine months ago, she went on hospice and then, somehow, a miracle occurred. It seemed that the chemo treatment had actually been accelerating her decline. When she went on hospice and ceased all other care, her symptoms seemed to improve. So dramatically, in fact, that one day, after a couple months of her announcing her leave from our congregation and just a few weeks after her email saying goodbye, she wrote that she was returning to work.

We were elated.

We just happened to be at her first service back in March. She hadn’t told anyone she would be there, and it was lightly attended, just a few regulars. It was actually a service celebrating Jewish overnight camp. They have a service like this every year, and I always find it so funny. It’s part celebratory and part promotional: thou shalt send your offspring to Jewish camp for weeks at a time. They will live in cabins and never shower. It will cost more than your mortgage. But they will make lifelong friends.

Anyway, during the service, Michelle called to the bima any kids who have attended overnight summer camp. Which happened to be her daughter, Natalia, and two other kids. They were going to read a Hebrew prayer, but then the cantor with her guitar and Michelle got into a huddle with the teens. You could see the kids’ faces light up. They turned back toward all of us and started reciting the prayer, but they sang it to the tune of The Proclaimers’ 'I’m Gonna Be' (you know, the 500 miles song). We all sang along. And that is how we ushered in Shabbat on a random Friday night in March.

Somehow, I thought maybe Michelle would recover. That’s it, right there. I thought she would undergo more treatment, but it would be OK because she would recover. She had already mentioned plans to retire at the end of the year. She was only 56, and I thought she could retire with her sweet husband, Drew, and their girls, who are 21, 19 and 14.

I do this a lot. I never start by imagining the worst. When my dad went into the hospital and all these horrific things kept happening, I kept thinking, well, OK, this changes how they will live. It shortens his timeline. But he will still have a life.

I was wrong. And I was wrong about Michelle too.

But Michelle was gifted 200 extra days. 200 bonus days.

Just a few weeks before she died, we celebrated Rosh Hashanah. Michelle wasn’t well enough to be at services, so she had recorded her sermon for us. At the time, I thought she was undergoing another treatment. Or maybe there would be another treatment. I’m not exactly sure what I thought. I just thought there was something else coming.

I didn’t know this was the end.

And because Michelle was Michelle, one of the last sermons I would ever hear from her was about Project Hail Mary.

If you haven’t read the book (and I’m going to try not to completely ruin it for you), the main character is Ryland Grace, a middle school science teacher who ends up on a mission into space to basically save humanity. Except here’s the important part: he doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t bravely volunteer to sacrifice himself to save the world. He says no. He is terrified. He fights it. And ultimately, he is sent anyway.

And that was really the point of Michelle’s sermon. Sometimes we do hard, brave things even if we don’t want to, even if we kick and fight the whole time. And we are still brave. Bravery isn’t just saying an enthusiastic YES to the hard thing. It’s also saying no, being petrified, and going through with the hard thing even if you have no choice.

As Michelle put it, Judaism does not demand that you feel like a saint or possess the “bravery gene.” Ryland Grace goes from being a terrified, very reluctant participant to someone who ultimately does incredibly brave things. Modeling the right thing anyway even if you want to pee your pants the whole time.

I loved it. Because we are human and scared sometimes. And we don’t always want to do the big, right thing. We might hem and haw. And curse about it and kick things (me). But we still get credit for doing the hard thing.

I loved that sermon when I heard it. And now, of course, I keep thinking about it. Because Michelle had been doing the hard thing for five years.

Michelle was a force. She had this big energy and commanded a room. She was actually a trained opera singer before she went down the road to become a rabbi. Becoming a rabbi wasn’t on her radar until she started working as a part-time cantor to support herself.

And she was a gifted storyteller. I’ve been to so many services where she would start telling a story on the the bima and then just wander around through the sanctuary, getting into all the details that make a parable feel like more than just a lesson. She made it interactive, usually asking kids what they thought might happen or what they would do. It didn’t feel like a religious service at all. More like LeVar Burton-level storytelling.

But she was, in truth, an introvert. Like me. No one would believe she was actually an introvert because she could command a room with such presence, but she was. She loved talking one-on-one. She would sit with people during hard times, illness, loss. Just sit with them. She would check on people long after their loved one had passed. Hey, how are you?

When I went to her funeral this past week, those were the stories that just sat with me. The funeral was basically two hours of people sharing stories. How someone who traveled all over, who spent so much time editing her girls’ papers and being a mom, who was undergoing treatment for the last five years, could also have the capacity to check on all of these people who could use some extra love or just someone to listen. I don’t know how it was all possible.

And then her daughters came up to the bima. I don’t even know how they did it. Her middle daughter, Noa, had written pages. She talked for maybe 15 or 20 minutes, and it was this rambling thesis of who her mom was. BUT! She started it with:

“Michelle Pearlman: bringing the FUN to FUNERALS since 2005.”

And we all just burst out laughing.

I am going to think about her girls often. I think most of my tears are for them.

Michelle died as Shabbat came to a close, right in the middle of the most holy days in the Jewish calendar, between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. There is a Jewish tradition that says dying during this period of time is saved for the most righteous. Ruth Bader Ginsburg also died during this period.

I don’t know. There’s also this idea that heavy rain during a death or funeral represents the earth or heavens weeping. This one is across many cultures. It’s sometimes referred to as “tears from heaven,” or the sky mourning alongside the living.

And it poured that night. The heaviest rain. Sheets and sheets of rain.

Maybe all of this is just to give me some comfort. A balm. Because Michelle Pearlman was one of the righteous. She was someone that the earth should weep for. Her loss leaves a hole. Yes, selfishly for me and for our congregation. Such a hole. But also for the world.

We have lost a force, friends. And as I sit here writing this, it’s still pouring.

The earth is weeping. Me too.

My mom took us to Lancaster a couple weekends ago to buy Andy and me a new Amish quilt (ours is 22 years old and basically hanging on by threads). But while we were shopping, she fell in love with this beautiful purple and burgundy quilt for herself. Here it is! At first she insisted it was too expensive, but my mom spends so much of her money on other people — and very little on herself. She hasn’t bought anything of substance for herself since my dad died. Certainly not a piece of art that she simply saw, loved and wanted. The twins helpfully suggested that Grams should invest her money instead. Yeah, OK, thanks, guys. She's not 15. So she bought the quilt. And I LOVE that she did. It's beautiful and when she finally decided to buy it, I told her, “It’s stunning. And Dad would LOVE it, too. But if he didn't, who cares!” That got a chuckle. A few hours later, we're all driving to Miller's Smorgasboard and Alexander randomly put on an episode of my podcast in the car — “I Love Twins,” from last year.

The five of us sat there and listened to the whole thing together, which I don't think we've ever done. I tried to enjoy the moment and not cringe at the sound of my voice (does anyone like the sound of their voice??). When it ended, both twins said, “That was really good, Mom.” A compliment like that from two 15-year-old boys? Gold. Pure gold. If you missed the episode, you can listen here.

---

A Business I Love: Maggie Kinstle Portraits

"For me, art has been a journey just like life. I was really into painting, then sculpture, but recently I feel like I’ve found my ultimate passion -- charcoal portraits of dogs." ~ Maggie Kinstle

I've known Margaret (Maggie) since I was 15 years old. She was technically my mom's fitness client and friend, but I co-opted her (sorry Mom -- I needed Margaret more than you -- my teenage years were tough!).

Margaret has always been an incredibly talented artist. When I first met her, she was focused on calligraphy and made Ben the most beautiful wall hanging when he was born. She was also an incredible painter -- my favorite painting of all time is of a cherry pie cooling on an old-fashioned stove. The stove is white enamel with black burners. The only color in the painting is the pie with its red cherry filling bubbling over the crust.

My parents bought this painting years ago and had it in their NYC apartment. About a year before my dad died, I just happened to mention how much I loved that painting. My dad took it off the wall immediately, wrapped it up, and gave it to me. So, I now get to look at my favorite painting every day while I write (I sit facing it) AND think of both Margaret and my dad.

A number of years ago, Margaret told me she was getting into charcoal and, more specifically, creating memorials for people who have lost dogs. If you check out her website, you can see that she is just unbelievably talented. But this work is really more than talent -- Margaret has on a number of occasions mentioned that it took her until her late 70s to feel like she finally found the work she was meant to do (reinforcing my message that it is never too late).

And, if you are an avid reader of this newsletter (thank you!), you may recall me featuring Margaret's work before (it's OK if you don't remember, I have a hard time recalling what I ate for dinner last night AND I had to search through old newsletters to confirm my suspicion that I had featured her a couple years ago!). I've had a number of friends recently lose very beloved dogs, so this feature is for them -- should they want to have a drawing made of a dog they loved so much.🐾

Check out Maggie Kinstle Portraits

*Each month I share a book/business/podcast that I love. There is no reciprocal gain that I receive from sharing. I do so because I want to support others doing wonderful things!

---

🌷 Create the Life You Love Living Retreat 🌷

Apri 8th-11th, 2027

Come spend a few days with me this April! I just returned from my tenth retreat at The Inn at Twin Linden, and oh, we had such a good time! On the first night, I asked the ladies to write down one thing they were excited to leave behind at home. Want to know what they said? Cleaning, chores, everyone else’s schedules, appointments and commitments, and resentment (twice!). What a list! I’m thinking the resentment might be at least partly a result of all those chores and appointments! And that’s what these retreats give us time for. When do we ever get to sit around and talk about what we want more of in our lives? Or how we want to feel? What we’d love to experience? We’re usually too busy dealing with everyone else’s crap! So, yes, the purpose of this retreat is to actually retreat for a bit. To make space for imagining, envisioning, and giving voice to what might be next. We plant seeds, and boy, do those seeds sprout quickly with the collective energy of these women! There’s also incredible food (thank you, Chef John!), lots of laughter, and a space where you don’t need to over-explain yourself. You don't have to be looking to change your life to come to a retreat. You can love the life you're living and still have a wonderful time exploring what else you might want more of! My next Create the Life You Love Living Retreat is April 8–11, and I’d absolutely love to have you join us. If you’re curious, reach out. I’m always happy to chat! 📆 April 8-11, 2027 📍 The Inn at Twin Linden​ ​All the Details​ ​Save Your Spot​ I'd love to see you.💖

Too many emails? You can ​unsubscribe​ or update your ​preferences​ here.