I love to see people that I love becoming who they are.

I’m in New York now, watching my beloved classmates become rabbis in the sense that they’re in the middle of job interviews and beautifully stepping up to the task. I remember some of these guys from ulpan (Hebrew intensive, before we even started rab school) and I’m just glowing and kvelling with pride to watch the transformation into clergy really manifesting.

I went to see the off-Broadway play of an old dear friend tonight, and it was brilliant, and a thing of loveliness. Most of all, the play was so very her. It’s not the first work of hers that has been produced (by a long shot, at this point), or the first I’ve seen staged (ditto) but it was really pleasurable to watch this, and be simultaneously totally absorbed by it and just loving her for being herself enough to write this.

Tomorrow I’m going to have coffee with another (slightly less) old friend, who in the time since I last saw her finished the novel she’d been working on for forever, published it, and watched as the world began to notice how good she is.

There are lots of stories of my people–stories of perseverance and hard work and talent coming into itself.

The early thirties feels like the season when the trees begin to be heavy with sweet, delicious fruit.

I love my friends, and it’s hard to explain just how unbelievably proud I am of them.

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