Monthly Archives: June 2025

Watching 911

Posted on June 28, 2025 by rachelmankowitz

            I must have glanced past the listing for 911 in the TV Guide a hundred times without really seeing it, or maybe I assumed it was a documentary show about chasing criminals or something else I didn’t want to watch. But a few weeks ago, I saw a short interview with Angela Bassett (What’s Love Got to Do with It, Waiting to Exhale, How Stella Got Her Groove Back, etc.), about losing her costar in the final episode of 911 for the season, and I got curious. Angela Bassett is on a TV show? And her co-star died? Or just the character he played on the show? I can’t even remember if I saw this information on YouTube or in the “news” on my phone, but I was interested enough to go a-googling and found out that, yes, Angela Bassett has a TV show, called 911, and it had just finished its eighth season, and her husband on the show, played by Peter Krause (Parenthood, Six Feet Under), had been killed off and “everyone” was shocked.

I was intrigued enough to look for episodes of 911 in the Free on Demand section of my DVR, but there were only five episodes available, from the middle of season eight, and I decided that I didn’t want to drop into the show at the last minute with no idea what was going on. I took a minute to be annoyed that the Free on Demand thing has so few episodes available now (it used to have whole seasons and previous seasons), but then I mostly forgot about it. You don’t want me to watch your show? Nu? Fine.

“I don’t think you really mean that, Human Mommy.”

Not long after that, I was looking for coverage of the French Open in the guide on my TV (rather than the hard copy TV Guide that still comes to my house every week), and I checked ESPN and ESPN 2 and the page of channels before and after them, and I noticed the numbers “911” as they passed by. It turned out that WeTV, a channel I don’t generally watch, had a marathon of episodes from 911 all day long, and I thought, eh, why not record a few episodes, and if I’m not interested, I can erase them later.

I set the DVR and then went back to searching for the French Open. Except that the tennis got boring very quickly (I’m not a big fan of clay court tennis, I don’t know why), so I started watching one of the 911 episodes as it was recording, and I was hooked. I raced to set the DVR to record the rest of the episodes in the marathon, and then I spent the next few days watching episode after episode, in between naps. I wasn’t able to start watching from the first episode of the show, or even the first season, so there were a lot of mysteries left unexplained, but I was riveted anyway. Then the next week, I discovered that WeTV does a 911 marathon every Tuesday. So, every week now, I happily spend a couple of days watching a season or more of this show that I didn’t even know existed a few weeks ago.

            I’m sure that part of the attraction of this show is that I’m on summer vacation, and with everything going on in the world I’ve needed a good, fictional distraction. But there’s also something about the people that draws me in. First of all, I love the character Angela Bassett plays. She’s a police officer (the 911 call center, the police, and the fire department in Los Angeles are the three focal points of the show), married to a firefighter, and she is never the damsel in distress, but she’s also never made out to be superhuman either. She has her flaws and her strengths, like a real person. Then there’s Aisha Hinds’ character, Hen, a paramedic/firefighter/medical student married to another strong woman (played by Tracie Thoms, from Rent and Cold Case, and a bunch of other things), and I love how these women have created a family together, embracing Hen’s aging mother, mothering an adopted son, taking in foster children and generally being the emotional home base for a lot of the other characters on the show. And then there’s Jennifer Love Hewit, who plays a 911 operator/former nurse/former victim of domestic violence. A million years ago, Jennifer Love Hewit was one of the beautiful up-and-coming actresses in Hollywood, and then she seemed to disappear, or at least I didn’t see her in many things, but now here she is, playing a woman with a lot of resilience and vulnerability, and, maybe most important for me, she’s not a skinny little thing anymore. On this show, women come in all sizes and have real lives, full of love and romance and conflict and drama. Lots and lots of drama. Both the women and the men on this show are portrayed as real people: sometimes confused, always imperfect, but also kind and generous and smart and brave. I love that in a show about unreasonably heroic behavior (and there are some wild storylines that put the heroes in life threatening danger very very frequently), none of the characters is impervious to pain or struggle.

This is not an HBO-type show, where everyone and everything is morally ambiguous; the heroes on 911 are all genuinely heroes and genuinely striving to be better people, though they are often challenged along the way. I’m not a huge fan of all of the gory disasters on the show, and how impossible some of them are (our two heroes go on a cruise to escape their hectic lives and end up being attacked by pirates and almost drowning as the ship sinks into the ocean), and I often find myself covering my eyes during the rescues, just waiting for the worst of it to be over. And, yes, sometimes the plot resolutions on the show are a little too fast, or too simple, for my comfort. But overall, these characters are people who make me feel hopeful about the world, and hopeful about the people who live in it. These people are kind, and funny, and down to earth, and I’m not being asked to identify with bad guys, or to forgive heinous behavior. There’s enough of that in the real world, thank you very much.

“Agreed.”

            But now, a few weeks into my 911 marathon, as I get closer and closer to the current season, where I know ahead of time that one of the main characters is going to die, I’m dreading it. I’ve become attached to these people, and I’ve gotten used to how the characters can put their lives at risk multiple times in every episode and still defy death. Of course, it’s unreasonable to believe that people could go through this many life-threatening events and come out relatively unscathed, but season after season that’s what they’ve been able to do, and the idea that reality is coming to get even my fictional friends just sucks. And yet, I’m still watching, because I care about these people, and because, in a weird way, I feel like I need to be there for them in their time of need. It’s kind of like the way I watched videos of Israelis in their safe rooms and underground shelters during the recent war with Iran, because I felt like if I shared in their struggle I could remove some of the pain, or something.

Now that I think about it, I don’t even know if WeTV will be able to show episodes from the latest season of 911, or if I’ll have to piece the story together from the few episodes available on Free on Demand, but either way I will keep going, and maybe hoping that now that I’m watching the show the outcome will be different. I mean, that’s how the world works, right?

“My human mommy is very silly.”

If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.

            Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?

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War

Posted on June 21, 2025 by rachelmankowitz

            During my online Hebrew class last Sunday afternoon, my new teacher had to leave class to go to the safe room in her parents’ house in Haifa. She was given a ten-minute warning on her phone, to let her know that a siren might be coming, and then when the siren actually came her screen went black. She was gone for more than half an hour, waiting in the shelter for the all clear. In the meantime, we kept the class going, reading the article she’d given us and trying to help each other through the Hebrew words we didn’t understand. And when she came back, a little discombobulated (though more worried about her dog, who was very confused), we just went back to reading the article together, which was about the world of doggy fashion, including Dolce and Gabbana, and Versace, and Dolly Parton (according to the article we read, she has a line for dogs called Doggy Parton). It’s not that life continues uninterrupted in a time of war, and under the threat of ballistic missiles, it’s that Israelis have learned that in order to survive you have to find distraction, and joy, wherever you can. And in a way, our class of Hebrew language students from around the world was able to hold the world together for our teacher, so that she had something to come back to when the emergency was over.

“The safest place in the whole world is a doggy bed.”

There were signs ahead of time that this war (on top of a war on top of a war) was coming. First there was the report from the IAEA (The International Atomic Energy Agency, the UN nuclear watchdog) that declared Iran non-compliant with their inspectors. Iran maintains that its nuclear program is peaceful, but it has enriched uranium to levels far beyond any civilian application, and the IAEA has repeatedly warned that Iran has enough highly enriched uranium to make several nuclear bombs, should it choose to do so. Then there were the warnings to American diplomats and their families to leave the Middle East. But most of us were focused on other things: in Israel, there was the immediate threat that the Haredi parties would bring down the government (for not permanently protecting their men from having to serve in the military); and in Gaza, Israeli soldiers were still dying in booby-trapped buildings and Palestinian civilians were still starving, because neither the UN nor the new Israeli/American aid group have been able to figure out how to get aid to the people without causing panic and without being attacked by Hamas; and in the United States, we were thinking about the coming military parade in Washington, DC, and the planned “No Kings” rallies across the country, and the protests against ICE raids in Los Angeles, and the calling in of the National Guard in response, against the governor’s wishes, and then the calling in of the marines; and Jews in the United States were still reeling from the killing of two Israeli embassy workers in DC, and the firebombing of senior citizens at a small weekly march in Colorado meant to remind people of the hostages trapped in Gaza, both seemingly related to the calls to “Globalize the Intifada” that have become a staple at Pro-Palestinian rallies over the past year and a half.

For myself, I was focused on starting my new online Hebrew class, and mourning the end of my previous class (because most of my classmates went off in different directions after our perfect class ended and I felt like I was starting over from scratch, at least socially), and my boss and I went to a Jewish Education Project conference on Israel education, where we spent half a day discussing the best ways to teach young children about Israel, without whitewashing the conflicts or angering parents.

So that’s where things stood for me on Thursday night, June 12th, when I saw a news item that said a siren had gone out across Israel at 3 AM to let people know that the Israeli Air Force had started an attack on Iran’s nuclear facilities and return fire was inevitable. I wrote to my high school friend in Isreal on WhatsApp, to let her know I was thinking of her, and then I sat in front of the television and stared at my phone waiting for more details. From what I could understand early on, Israel didn’t pick this exact moment because the nuclear bombs were imminent but because the Israeli military was ready with a plan of attack and saw a small window of opportunity, having degraded the danger of Hezbollah and Hamas as much as possible.

At first, there were denials that the United States was involved, from Marco Rubio, but it became clear quickly that Donald Trump was proud of his role in “greenlighting” the operation. He was going into his sixth round of talks with Iran and frustrated at the unchanging position of the Iranians on nuclear enrichment and okayed the attack that Irael had been planning ever since their success at decapitating Hezbollah last year, but really since October 7th, when they re-learned the lesson that when people say they are going to kill you, believe them.

            Israel has been living under the threat of an Iranian nuclear weapon for a very long time now, but more than that, Iran has been overtly stating that it’s goal is the destruction of Israel, however possible. While they’ve been steadily building their nuclear program, they have also built a ballistic missile arsenal and put their financial and military support behind proxies surrounding Israel (including Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Houthis). There’s a large billboard in Palestine Square in Tehran (where there used to be an Israeli embassy, before the Islamic revolution) that counts down to “the demise of the Zionist regime,” randomly set for 2040.

            It’s important to understand that, given the same conditions and opportunities, almost any Israeli government would have greenlit this attack on Iran’s nuclear facilities (as they have done in the past in Iraq and Syria). This is not just about Netanyahu and his quest to stay in power (though, granted, if he could successfully neutralize the Iranian threat, he could sway a lot of voters to his side).

            And then, on Saturday, in the midst of everything, came the killing of a Minnesota state representative and her husband, and the shooting of another representative and his wife, plus more protests and more ICE raids and more and more and more. And it seemed as if Trump was taking advantage of the Irael/Iran war to help distract from all of the rest of it, making himself central to the discussion of what would happen next. So now we are waiting for Donald Turmp to decide if the United States will play a more active role in the war, by using the Mother of All Bombs/Bunker Buster to destroy Iran’s nuclear facility in Fordo (or Fordow, I’ve seen it spelled both ways), which is built into a mountain and deep underground. It has been suggested that Israel may have other ways of disabling Fordo, in case America decides not to get involved, but the world seems to be waiting on Trump anyway.

            And here I sit in New York, worrying about my friends and teachers in Israel, but also worrying about all of us here in the United States and what will happen with the ICE raids and the national guard and the political violence and the huge bill sitting in the senate right now, that, if passed, will take money and care away from the poorest of us to give more money to the wealthiest. And I have no control. All I can do is continue to educate myself, and try to understand what’s happening, and why, if possible. And then I have to go back to my own life and the things that are actually within my own power, like practicing Hebrew, and writing, and lesson planning for next fall, and reaching out to friends and family, and doing my best to find some solid ground underneath my feet. 

            Meanwhile, Iran is firing ballistic missiles at Israel, in response to the Israeli attack, and most Israelis are spending their nights in safe rooms and underground shelters, if they have them, or in parking garages, or stairwells. The final week of Israeli school for the year was done on zoom, and parents stayed home and tried to work and watch their kids and function on little to no sleep. And people are dying. While Israel’s stated targets in Iran are military ones (though I’m sure the attack also puts civilians near those targets at risk), Iran is hitting residential areas. Israelis had become used to the rockets coming from Hamas and Hezbollah, but the missiles from Iran are loaded with much more explosive material, and there are so many more missiles being fired at once, so even with a very good rate of interception the missiles that get through are doing a lot more damage, to apartment buildings and schools and even a hospital, and all I can do is watch.

            This past Monday evening, in the midst of all of this, I went to my favorite weekly online Hebrew practice group, with an Israeli teacher living in Canada, and he decided that instead of reading an article together (since he couldn’t find any articles in Hebrew online that weren’t about the war), he would play us a song called Yihiye Tov by David Broza (translated roughly it means, “It will be good” or “It will get better”). And we all sat in our little zoom boxes and sang along on mute to the endless refrain of Israeli life: that someday, things will be better. And for now, we just have to keep going until we get there.

For an American perspective: https://open.substack.com/pub/heathercoxrichardson/p/june-19-2025?r=2flv9t&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=email

For an Israeli perspective: https://www.timesofisrael.com/how-close-was-iran-to-the-bomb-and-how-far-has-israel-pushed-it-back/

Yihiye tov, by David Broza: https://youtu.be/qtI7h5A9eEQ?si=kyb4xyOIUltVFUW4

“I’m waiting here.”

If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.

            Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?

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Tzipporah is Dancing Behind my Back

Posted on June 14, 2025 by rachelmankowitz

            For the most part, when I walk into the living room, anytime during the day or night, Tzipporah is sitting up in her bed, head tilted, watching me carefully. I knew that she was getting out of her bed when she was alone, to eat and drink and pee, and I knew that she left her bed at night to explore the apartment and to beg for chicken treats from her grandma (I love to hear the tippy tappy sound of her paws dancing down the hallway to get her midnight snacks, and sometimes I get to hear her sing the song of her people when her grandma runs out of treats). But, I thought, as long as there was a human in the living room with her, Tzipporah stayed glued to her bed.

            But then Mom started to tell me stories about Tzipporah stretching and running around the living room in the morning, as soon as she heard me getting up. At first, I was skeptical about those reports, thinking Mom must be exaggerating as a way to get me to believe Tzipporah was excited to see me. But then I was hurt. Why was Tzipporah willing to get out of her bed and stretch and relax only when I wasn’t in the room? What’s so great about Mom that she can be trusted and I can’t? (Okay, I know what’s so great about my mom. I’m just jealous.)

            After a few days of trying to describe the whole routine to me, while Tzipporah sat staring at me from her bed, Mom was finally able to get some pictures, and even a video; and I was able to see my quiet, solemn little dog dancing and wagging her tail and hopping around, impatiently staring towards the hallway, waiting for me. And yet, as soon as I actually walked into the living room, she would rush back to her bed as if the floor had suddenly turned to lava, and then she would sit in her bed and stare at me again.

I’d like to believe that the new dance is a sign that Tzipporah loves me, since she’s acting the same way I tend to act when I really like someone (desperate to see them and then tongue-tied when I actually get the chance), but I worry that she’s just taking her last opportunity to stretch her legs before I appear. I mean, if I can turn a previously safe and comfortable living room floor into lava, I must be pretty scary.

            Honesty, it’s a relief to know that Tzipporah isn’t just staying in her bed all day, though now I feel guilty for ever hanging out in the living room, because it forces her to stay in her bed and not to pee or drink or eat until I leave. My hope is that Tzipporah’s prolonged dance routine each morning is the beginning of a new phase, wherein she is eventually willing to leave her bed while I am still in the room. But, if she decides that only Grandma is allowed to see her dance, at least I’ll know that she has these wonderful moments of joy, and I’ll have the pictures to prove it.

If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.

            Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?

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Seeing My Psychiatrist on Zoom

Posted on June 7, 2025 by rachelmankowitz

            Every three months or so, I see my psychiatrist for a few minutes on zoom (or Doxy, actually, a platform specifically for medical appointments), because he decided not to go back to in-person visits after Covid. He asks me how I’m doing with my antidepressant medications, and I say “fine,” and he takes notes and refills my prescriptions and makes a new appointment for three months in the future, and then we’re done. Of course, there have been times when I didn’t say I was fine, and he raised the dose of one or the other of my medications, which led to a one month follow up instead of a three month follow up, but for the most part, everything has been stable for quite a while. To fill out the four- or five-minute appointment, we tend to chat about my teaching, or my other doctors and the new medications they’ve added to my regimen, but for the most part, he asks me if I think I need to raise the dose of my meds, and I say no, and we wish each other well. But at my latest appointment, when I said a variation of my usual “I’m fine,” he said, “but what does that mean?” and I didn’t know how to answer.

“Do you ever talk about me?”

            In the end, I must have said something reassuring, because he kept everything the same and we made the usual appointment for three months in the future, but when I closed my laptop, I wasn’t sure if “I’m fine,” was really the truth, or just something I’ve gotten used to saying. I don’t remember if I was more willing to go into details back when I actually had to leave the house for those five-minute session every three months, but there’s definitely something about the virtual appointments that encourages me to keep it simple.

            The fact is, I don’t really know if I’m on enough anti-depressant medication, or the right medication. I have no idea if this is the best my mental health can be, or if there are medications or other treatments that could make things better. The few times I’ve been willing to risk changing my medication were when I was feeling so awful that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to function otherwise.

            Antidepressant medications are a mystery, and not just to me. Doctors still don’t really understand why they work, or why one medication works for one person and not for another. It’s a lot of trial and error and guesswork, and a little too much Russian roulette for my liking. When I was first trying medications, years ago, the doctors would try a few from each family of drugs, and I had to spend weeks, and even months, dealing with weird side effects while waiting to see if something positive would happen. There was one medication that the psychiatrist (a different one) insisted on trying even though it was meant for bipolar disorder, which I don’t have, and within 24 hours I felt like I was going to jump out of a window, or at least scream until my head exploded, and I refused to take another dose. The doctor didn’t seem to think my reaction to the meds was all that bad, and he wanted me to stick with it for a least a few more weeks to see what would happen, but I felt strongly that I shouldn’t be taking a medication that made me want to kill myself and he reluctantly moved on to another class of drugs.

            Psychiatrists, and other doctors who prescribe these medications, also tend to be unusually terrible at diagnosis, because there is almost no consistency in how different doctors interpret the words of the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders), and the words used in the DSM are generally unrelated to the way patients actually experience and describe their own symptoms. Sometimes it feels like the doctors are waiting for certain magic words to be said, and don’t know what to make of the metaphors, sentence fragments, and shrugs that real people use to describe how they feel.

            To be fair, medical doctors are just as terrible at diagnosis when they don’t have hard and fast results (from blood tests or scans) to determine what’s going on inside. The pain medication I’ve been on for maybe fifteen years now (after trying a lot of different drugs meant for any number of different diagnoses) has only ever reduced the pain by half, and usually less than that; and the same is true of the psych meds: if they reduce my symptoms by half, that’s a good day.

            In an ideal world, I would sit down with each of my doctors and describe in detail how I feel (what hurts, how it hurts, what I’m struggling with, and what I’ve tried) and be answered with curiosity, understanding, respect and investigative questions to help me pinpoint and articulate my symptoms as clearly as possible. But, to be honest, that has never, ever happened. I have certainly attempted it, with dozens of doctors, but they tend not to hear what I’m saying over the noise of their own assumptions, and it ends up being easier to keep things short.

            I’ve been on my current anti-depressant medications for more than ten years now, and while they have caused weight gain and nervous system disruptions and a bunch of other side effects, they allow me to function most days, and they give me the leeway to do the therapy work that helps me move forward. And for me, to be able to say on an average day that I am fine, that I am not in a panic spiral or falling into depression or obsessing over this or that awful thing coming up in my life, is huge. It allows me to live my life each day and accomplish some of the things that matter to me, and experience joy, and even do the laundry. It may not be miraculous, but, at the very least, it qualifies as fine.

“Have you tried chicken treats? They really work for me.”

If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.

            Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?

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