Jew Eat Yet?

Draining the Blues Away

This will be short because I’m so exhausted I literally can’t see straight. I realize the above photo could be misread as an image of Charlie writhing in pain. Know that I would never post something like that—it’s actually him laughing hysterically at something the nurse said shortly before he finally fell asleep. If you knew the miserable day he had, you’d see why I am so thrilled that it ended with happy laughter and smiles.

The reason Charlie had to have his ventriculoperitoneal shunt taken out last week was because he had developed an abdominal cerebrospinal pseudocyst which is why he had such a distended belly. It basically meant that the fluid that is always being drained from his brain into his peritoneal cavity was not absorbing so a large mass of CSF had formed that, if left untreated, would have (very soon) caused a major shunt malfunction. After removing the shunt, the doctor was hoping that the fluid would then absorb on its own but it didn’t so today a team of folks performed a procedure in which the fluid was aspirated from his abdomen. The bag with fluid you see on the right in the above photo is not urine in a colostomy bag, it’s Charlie’s cerebrospinal fluid that continues to drain from tubing that was placed in his peritoneal cavity. Oy. They’ve already removed over 1200 cc of the stuff which is more than a liter’s worth! His previously large round tummy is now as flat as a contestant on “The Bachelor.” Can someone please aspirate MY belly? 

The many hours leading up to the procedure were a nightmare because it took ALL DAY to gather the team but meanwhile they had taken Charlie off all food and drink the night before, thinking the surgery might be in the morning. I’m sure all parents out there, especially Jewish ones, can imagine how it feels to have your child BEGGING for food all day and crying when you explain that he can’t have any. It’s not like he was truly suffering, they put him on an IV as soon as he went NPO, but that’s small comfort when your baby is screaming for sustenance! He had a very hard day all around, starting with waking up at 3 am for several hours and losing it many times throughout the morning and afternoon. As for me, my nerves were as taut as a Patty Duke’s Neely O’Hara in “Valley of the Dolls.” Even my beloved Turner Classic Movies were of no help. The only thing I learned from today’s slate of films is that Sigourney Weaver and Mel Gibson both looked about 14 in “The Year of Living Dangerously” and that while Weaver has aged quite gracefully and beautifully, Gibson decidedly has not. 

Charlie was miserable after the surgery as well, but then, as the chicken soup-like fluid continued to flow out of him, it was like every unpleasant sensation was also exiting his body because he miraculously transformed before our eyes back into the sweetest, bravest, cutest patient ever to grace the Cedars-Sinai PICU. Getting to eat again didn’t hurt. Here’s one of his first post-op indulgences: a marshmallow lollipop left over from Valentine’s Day. When he was done eating it the sparkling red sugar covered his mouth, making it look like we had slathered red glitter lipstick all over his lips. Would that be wrong?

Reality Check

Above is the only photo I took of Charlie today, right after he fell asleep at around 9 pm. It was a day of transition—at least for me. Wrapping my brain around Plan B. You know how when you’re flying to Europe and you get on the plane knowing it’s going to take around 12 hours or so and you hunker down in your seat and before you know it you’re there, the trip didn’t seem so long? But then sometimes when you’re flying somewhere much closer, say from L.A. to Chicago, and by the time the plane lands at O’Hare four hours later you think, “If I had to spend five more minutes on this plane, I’d put a gun to my head?” I guess that’s kind of where I was at today: I thought we were flying to Chicago, but apparently our plane is heading to Europe. I just need to get into that mindset of the longer flight.

It didn’t take long this morning for a resolution from yesterday’s angst. The neurosurgeon walked into Charlie’s room at about 8 am and immediately said we had to give him the two weeks of antibiotics before he could internalize the shunt. The ironic thing was that the staphylococcus I was obsessing about yesterday DID turn out to be caused by a contaminant, that wasn’t the issue at all—the real culprit was this extremely slow-growing bacteria that the doctor was worried about all along. The thing is, if Charlie wasn’t scheduled to have a shunt put back in his body, it wouldn’t be something they’d worry about—it’s apparently a very low-grade infection with no symptoms. But now they think that the reason the catheter depositing cerebrospinal fluid in his peritoneal cavity stopped working was because of this very slow-moving and usually harmless infection—and that if they put a new shunt in before attempting to really clear that up, we’ll just be back in the PICU in a matter of time with the same issue. There’s more but that’s the best I can do at explaining the situation—I hope any medical people who are reading this aren’t cringing at my description.

Truth be told, in many ways, the not knowing and hoping is way worse than the knowing even if the result is not what you wanted to hear. While I’m far from happy that Charlie has to spend two more weeks in his intensive care bed connected to his external ventricular drain without being able to move very much, I accept that this is what we have to do and I know we’ll get through it fine. Of course there are a million things to worry about during that time but I’m reaching that place that I had to find when we were in the NICU where I’m not exactly squashing my natural curiosity or desire to know the specifics about my son’s treatment, but I have to be a little bit more reserved in my questions, and start to think, “Is this something I really need/want to know? Will asking this question help Charlie in any way?” Believe me, I will always speak up if I feel I need to, but in situations like this there are also many times when you absolutely need to stand back a little and put your trust in the people who are saving your child’s life with their expertise and skill.

Charlie had a few heartbreaking moments today where he freaked out and wanted to get up and “play with my garbage trucks on the floor” but even at three and a half he seems to understand that he just can’t do that right now and that he has to stay in bed. The nurses told us about some kids his age who have to be restrained and that is a horror show that I’m so grateful we don’t have to be part of. Charlie seems incredibly accepting of his situation most of the time, he really is an inspiration.

Onward.

Sunday Funk

I forgot how much I always hated Sundays at Cedars. There’s often a weird vibe in the building on that day, the main decision-making doctors are never around, a lot of things seem deserted (even the Starbucks and Café are closed), and everything seems to by lying in wait for Monday morning. I used to spend the whole day just hoping nothing bad would happen.

Today was a difficult day because of the news we got in the early afternoon that after six days of no growth on the cultures of Charlie’s cerebrospinal fluid and the confidence of the infectious disease folks that the chance of infection looked mighty slim, they suddenly reported that some staphylo-fucking-coccus was growing on one of the samples. In a split second my mood pummeted from carefree giddiness at the thought of taking Charlie home perhaps as early as Thursday to utter despair at the idea that we could be here for several more weeks as they treat the infection with poor Charlie unable to get out of bed during all that time. Then began the classic rollercoaster of emotions and neuroses: I caused this to happen by being so smug and sure that things were going so well and we’re clearly being punished by the Evil Eye; how dare I complain about a few weeks when things could be so much worse; why was I able to endure five months in the NICU with Charlie’s life truly at risk for much of that time and now I’m freaking out over two weeks in the PICU where he’s pretty healthy and stable; to what if staying here longer is what GIVES him a serious infection or worse? Blah, blah, blah.

Then, after a hellish afternoon and evening where I’m hating myself for my lack of serenity and grace as much as I’m hating the staphylococcus, the PICU doctor comes to see us just after Charlie finally falls asleep for the night and says that he thinks the staphylococcus is not truly from Charlie’s CSF but from a contaminant that occurred later. He told us the reasons why he thought that, which sound very convincing to me, but emphasized that all decisions on whether to delay the surgery will be made by Charlie’s neurosurgeon who is famous for being very conservative about such things and he couldn’t even guess what he’s going to decide even though the rest of the team doesn’t believe that Charlie really has an infection after all. AAAARGHH!! So now I have hope again that his surgery to internalize the shunt may actually happen on Tuesday but I’m trying really hard to brace myself for the news that it won’t. The main message here is clearly one I already know: when you’re in this type of situation, YOU HAVE TO LIVE IN THE MOMENT and work really hard at maintaining a positive attitude of acceptance. All may be revealed tomorrow. Que sera sera?

Meanwhile, Charlie continues to amaze me with HIS adaptability and sweetness, even if I had a lousy day. For the first few days we were here he would cry when the nurses came to do their regular and frequent checks (temperature, blood pressure, measuring his stomach, shining a light in his eyes, etc.) but today I saw that every time the nurse came in the room and greeted him he’d hold up his arm for her to place the flexible thermometer in his armpit and then he’d hold his arm down tight for the reading; he’d lift up his butt before she asked him to so the measuring tape could go around his abdomen; he’d open his mouth and stick his tongue out so they could take a look—all of things automatically like he’s the most accommodating patient on the planet, not a three year old who’s trapped in a bed and can’t move his head. What really killed me is when the nurse changed all his sheets, which is sort of a laborious and unpleasant process when you’re hooked up to so many things as he is, and when she was finally done, he thanked her for making his bed so “nice and cozy.” Oy, that kid is so amazing. I’m not saying it’s all roses—he freaked out a few times today when he got frustrated or overwhelmed and his stats went through the roof but he calmed down pretty fast and mostly had smiles and sweetness for everyone.

The neuro team continued their morning wake-up call, but this time, when they came at 8 am, Charlie was awake and I was reading him a book and he cheerfully did everything they asked of him (thumbs up, push my hand as hard as you can with your foot, grab my hand really hard, etc.). True to form, the young neuro guy said to me in all seriousness, “He seems much more alert now than when I came in here two hours ago.” Yes, Doctor, strange at is seems, he actually IS more alert at 8 am when he’s wide awake and reading a book than at 6 am when he’s sound asleep. Crazy, huh?

As far as our TCM watching went, the depressing slate of films (as opposed to yesterday’s giddy musicals) matched my mood for much of the day. Charlie woke up to Mervyn Leroy’s God-awful “Quo Vadis” from 1951 with Robert Taylor and lovely Deborah Kerr and a truly sadistic Peter Ustinov as Nero taking great delight in watching the early Christians being devoured by lions in the Coliseum for sport. Yikes. Happily, we then moved on to three Elizabeth Taylor movies in a row: “Father of the Bride” (love it!), “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” (superb, despite the censorship), and “Butterfield 8” (oy gevalt!). Here’s a short video of Charlie watching “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.” I kept repeating Taylor’s name but instead of saying “Elizabeth Taylor,” he called her “A Little Bit Taylor!” Ha! After seeing her in “Butterfield 8,” I’d say “A Little Bit” was the LAST phrase you could use to describe the actress during those years!

 

Today being Sunday, Charlie and I would have normally gone to the Hollywood Farmers Market and played our Ouija Board-like game on the Hollywood Boulevard Walk of Fame where Charlie chooses a star for that week and I write about them on Facebook. My sister made this cool collage of some of Charlie's recent choices and I pray that he's back to picking celebrities very soon. 

I promise I will accept whatever tomorrow brings with as much grace, patience, and gratitude as I can muster, but PLEASE think NO INFECTION! Merci!

Charlie Dances with Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse

Charlie just fell asleep in this position (above right) and I was stunned at how closely it resembled a photo from his days here in the NICU (above left). I keep running into people from those days in the halls and it’s like seeing old friends. And I’m remembering things about those five months that I thought I’d completely forgotten. Even going into the various public bathrooms at Cedars-Sinai immediately makes me think of what was going on when I last entered that space three and a half years ago!

We’re on Day 5 in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit and it’s incredible how Charlie is staying in bed this whole time without too many complaints or attempts to get up. I honestly think that with all his experience in this hospital he just gets that this is what he has to do to get better, even though he clearly doesn’t like it. For the most part he was in a great mood today but the day started out with such a bizarre experience that I laugh every time I think about it. It was about seven in the morning and Charlie was in a deep sleep. A group of young neuro-residents came in, walked up to Charlie’s bed, and all but slapped him awake because they had to do a few tests. He woke up completely startled and naturally started crying. The head neuro guy immediately turned to me and said, “I’m concerned about your son’s behavior. I was in here yesterday and he seemed much happier.” I all but laughed in their faces. How would they respond if a group of white-coated men came into their bedroom and suddenly jostled them out of a sound sleep? “Come back in a few minutes,” I said, “and I promise you he’ll be happy again!” Which he was.

Believe me, I’m in awe of our neurosurgeon and his team—their expertise has saved Charlie’s life on numerous occasions, and I understand that they have to look for behaviorial signs to make sure that Charlie’s external shunt is working properly. But…let’s just say they tend to be a rather literal bunch! Luckily, we had our silent Turner Classic Movies going on the TV and on the screen at that moment was our wonderful friend Betty Garrett in “On the Town” singing with Frank Sinatra. I honestly believe that Betty was really looking down on Charlie and soothing him because he immediately calmed down when he saw her. During the five months we spent at the NICU after Charlie was born, the only time Kendall and I went out to an event together was for Betty Garrett’s 90th birthday celebration (she died at 91 two years ago this week). Here’s the post I wrote that night, the first one in months that wasn’t exclusively about our NICU experience.

I’m not sure why TCM was showing so many Gene Kelly movies today (it’s not his birthday), but Charlie loved them. He sang along with the “I’ve Got Rhythm” number in “An American in Paris” when Kelly entertains the cute French children (I need to get him one of those adorable 1950 French shorts with suspenders!) and was transfixed during most of “Singin’ in the Rain,” especially when he laid eyes on gorgeous Cyd Charisse in the “Broadway Melody” sequence. I caught that moment on video, including Charlie’s attempts to follow Gene and Cyd’s dance moves:

 

Still no infection showing up in Charlie’s cerebrospinal fluid which our neuro guys are still extracting from his head every day. When one of them did it this afternoon, he got some of the fluid on Charlie at which point Charlie laughed and said, “You just shpritzed me!” Where the heck did he ever learn the word “shpritz?”

It was Saturday so the Shabbos elevators at Cedars were stopping on every floor and I witnessed a post-services Kiddush in the Irving “Swifty” Lazar Lobby where I saw a guy in jeans and a t-shirt saying to one of the young Chasidic guys who had been leading the service, “Thanks so much—you guys are AWESOME!” It’s not that the majority of patients or staff at Cedars are Jewish but it’s a Jewish hospital, which I have to admit I like, so there are mezuzahs on every single room and wrapped up kosher food in a refrigerated case in the cafeteria next to the bacon omelets.

It’s very intense to be in a hospital all day long watching your child hooked up to so many different devices. Today I found myself contemplating the notion of “surrender” for the first time during this stint at Cedars, and I remembered what I wrote about it during our time in the NICU:

Driving to the hospital this morning, I thought of the word “surrender.” What can we do when we’re in situations like this but surrender and admit that we do NOT have control over the final outcome and to trust that Charlie’s journey and ours will be what they’re supposed to be in the end. Whenever I come to that conclusion I feel instant relief from my desperate desire to control everything which, of course, I can’t, but then I usually get tangled up in the web of that idea and get all confused. Surrender does not mean standing by passively and doing nothing—or liking what’s happening. I am actively talking to Charlie, working through my own fears, asking questions of doctors and nurses, and educating myself where appropriate (which does not mean googling every scary term I hear in passing). I rarely achieve the positive aspects of this kind of surrender, but it does flicker in from time to time and I’m always grateful for it.

Shabbat Shalom, everybody! 

Fear of Good News

Here’s the problem with Jews. We’re almost more comfortable when dire predictions are on the table because we can grit our teeth, expect the worst, and just forge ahead and get through it one moment at a time. But when gloom turns to hope, we sometimes feel more scared than we were when we were focusing on worst-case scenarios. Oh, THIS may happen? Hooray!! But wait…what if it doesn’t? Or what if focusing on potentially good news incurs the wrath of the Evil Eye and it’s all taken away from us? Most Jews know that the worst possible thing you can say to a Jewish mother, for example, is “Your baby looks so healthy! I bet he never gets sick or has a moment’s discomfort.” That is basically the equivalent of saying, “Your baby is doomed to hell’s eternal fires.”

I’m absolutely, completely THRILLED that we had a really good day with Charlie at the PICU and got some good news about his condition...BUT...in some ways it also makes me more on edge. I was working so hard all week to prepare myself for the possibility of a long haul, as the surgeon said was quite possible, but now, with the new information, I am DESPERATELY HOPING that we may be home by the end of next week. Breathe…breathe…take one day at a time…just be happy that the infectious disease folks seem so certain that there’s no infections present in Charlie’s CSF (cerebrospinal fluid) and that even our very conservative neurosurgeon is thinking that he may be able to operate as early as Tuesday afternoon if that persists. Yippee!! But yes, Mr. Fucking Evil Eye, that could change at any time, and if any infections are detected in the daily examinations of the CSF, we’ll have to spend at least two more weeks in intensive care before they can schedule the surgery. Is it beyond neurotic that I can’t just be purely happy with good news? I am, believe me, but I’m also wired to be a little scared of having too much hope for things going the way I want them to. Is that the genetic result of centuries of persecution?

Charlie was in great spirits today. He’s still frustrated at not being able to get up but our wonderful family members and friends set him up with an iPad, a portable DVD player, and hours and hours of garbage truck-related fun! We had a lot of great visits and one friend even brought Charlie a crazy cool puppet stage that puts the Von Trapp children’s “Lonely Goatherd” theater to shame!

The nurses continue to experiment with their gauze-based millinery on Charlie’s head, trying to protect his external shunt. Today’s winner bore a strong resemblance to Olivia de Havilland’s head gear in the 1938 version of “The Adventures of Robin Hood.”

I now feel completely re-acclimated to the gigantic Cedars-Sinai complex and can easily get from one end of it to the other in the shortest possible time. I'm still having plenty of PTSD-like flashbacks from 2009 but on the other hand, having gone through that experience is making this one so much easier.

Here’s to more good news in the days to come without the specter of that damn Evil Eye! 

Charlie Hearts Scarlett O’Hara

And now the waiting begins. We had a fairly uneventful Valentine’s Day in the PICU mostly spent trying to keep Charlie from trying to sit up or pull on his external shunt. The biggest challenge for anyone in his situation, much less an active three year old, is being completely bedridden for so long and having to keep your head level with the device hanging next to you that is collecting the cerebrospinal fluid exiting your brain. Any sudden moves and Charlie could experience serious pain or worse. My biggest fear was that he would yank the tubing coming out of his head and he tried to a few times. Throughout the day, the nurses tried to cover his head with various configurations of gauze—some looking like Sikh turbans, some making him look like Marlene Dietrich in “The Garden of Allah,” and some tranforming him into a returning Civil War soldier.

The really good news today came from the infectious disease folks who are monitoring the fluids removed during yesterday’s surgery to see if anything starts growing which would indicate that there’s some kind of infection. So far nothing, despite the neurosurgeon’s hunch that he may have a slow-growing variety. I’m now daring to hold out hope that maybe nothing will grow in those cultures over the weekend and that we could conceivably start talking about the surgery to replace the shunt next week. But we must wait since the surgeon is known for being extra cautious—and really, despite my desire to get home, who can argue with that?

While Charlie was watching HOURS of strange YouTube videos of garbage trucks, cement mixers, and street sweepers on my iPhone, we had Turner Classic Movies going on all day with no sound. I watched silent versions of “The Sandpiper” (gloriously awful Elizabeth Taylor/Richard Burton vehicle from 1965 with our pal Eva Marie Saint and a very young Charles Bronson), the crazy “The Garden of Allah” (thus my familiarity with Marlene Dietrich’s head gear) with Charles Boyer as a lusty Trappist Monk, and “Gone With the Wind,” which I haven’t seen in a few years and which looked absolutely gorgeous. That was the only film that repeatedly caught Charlie’s attention, first when colorful prostitute Belle Watling appeared on screen and then during many of Scarlett O’Hara’s machinations.

I must say that watching Vivien Leigh do that entire role without sound impressed me even more what a magnificent actress she was and made me think how much she truly did deserve that Oscar. Hattie McDaniel, too. At various points, I regaled our visitors and the nursing staff with my voiceovers of the lines the characters were saying since I can almost recite the nearly four-hour film from memory. “War, war war! This war talk’s spoiling the fun at every party this spring—I get so bored I could scream!” “Don’t you know? That’s Rhett Butler. He’s from Charleston.” “Don’t be scared, chickens! Your big sister was just cleaning the gun and it went off. It nearly scared her half to death!” “Oh, Mista Rhett—you sho is bad!” “No, I don’t think I’ll kiss you, although you need kissing badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.” “I’ll go home. And I’ll think of some way to get him back. After all…tomorrow is another day!” I’m glad that Charlie showed an appreciation for the extraordinary talents of Ms. Leigh and the others.

We had some visits from old friends from the NICU. I really love that place, as eager as I am to get the hell out of there. It’s funny being back in that position of knowing where I’m going to be all day, every day, and what I’ll be doing. As scary as it is, there’s also a kind of comfort in that.

Here’s a quick video I did of Charlie before he fell asleep tonight—just as Rhett was leaving Scarlett and she was refusing to accept defeat:

 

First Hurdle

Charlie got through his surgery today with flying colors—they removed his VP shunt and he now has an external one for the duration of our hospital stay until everything is resolved enough to put a new one back into his head. In the best-case scenario, if no infection is found, that second surgery could happen next week. But our neurosurgeon was suspicious because of the color of the fluid that they drained so I’m bracing myself that there may be an infection and then he’ll have to wait until that is completely cleared up before they put a new shunt in because if they don’t, the plastic shunt and catheter will just get clogged up again and we’ll be back to square one. We talked to the abdominal team about the different options on their end for placing the catheter. If they don’t feel that they can find a safe place in the peritoneal cavity because of all the scar tissue, they may direct the catheter to Charlie’s gall bladder at which point the cerebrospinal fluid draining from his head may be released through his bile or they could even direct it into a vein to be absorbed into his bloodstream which doesn’t seem like an option they want to take unless there’s no other choice. We’ll see.

One of the hardest parts of the day was not being able to go with Charlie into the operating room. We were able to go as far as pre-op (I’ve been in that ice cold crowded area at Cedars many times, with Charlie for his many surgeries as a baby and when I had my own kidney stone surgery a year and a half ago) and it just shattered me when Charlie kept asking us to stay with him. We had to explain that we couldn’t come with for the last part but Dr. Danielpour was great with him as they wheeled him away and distracted him enough that it went much better than I anticipated. It was actually harder on us. As Charlie was wheeled into the operating room and we were walking out of pre-op to the waiting area, there was an Arab woman who was there with her elderly mother who was having surgery. She had been watching Charlie and she saw Kendall’s face when they took him away and just opened her arms. Kendall collapsed into them, sobbing and this stranger comforted her and assured her everything was going to be okay. If ever there was a moment where I was convinced that we are all the same and that these insane squabbles different groups create with each other are completely unnecessary, that was it.

The surgery lasted about an hour and a half and it was very hard for Charlie when he first woke up and realized he had even more tubes and things coming out of him and that he wasn’t allowed to move very much. He cried and freaked out for a while but is such a trooper that within a few hours he was charming the nurses again with talks of garbage trucks and recycling and at one point he sang “Spinning Wheel” in its entirety with such gusto and so loudly that I was worried his external shunt was going to pop out! For those who aren’t on Facebook and didn’t see his earlier rendition of that tune (he knows even more of the song now!), here’s the video I posted a few weeks ago:

 

 

We’re settling in for the long haul and realizing that for a little while once again Cedars will be our primary existence. Again, there are such great people there—so skilled and kind—and we are so grateful for that. But I do have to relate one incident from this morning before surgery that I now find so funny it really must find its way into one of the network hospital dramas. There is a lovely woman who volunteers to wander through the PICU (and I imagine other parts of the hospital) with her guitar and play music for the children to make them feel better. All of the children in the PICU seemed particularly calm this morning but we watched as the guitar-playing woman went from room to room and each child burst into hysterical tears the minute she started playing. Charlie, who obviously loves music, followed suit. I enjoyed this woman’s rendition of “My Darling Clementine” very much but within ten seconds Charlie was inconsolable and we had to ask her to stop. So sorry, lady—if it were up to me, I would have had you do an entire Carole King concert!

Completely exhausted so will sign off for now. Thanks for all the prayers, good thoughts, messages, and visits!

Meanwhile…Back at Cedars

It’s been three and a half years since we left Cedars-Sinai Hospital after Charlie’s initial five-month stay when he was born at 24 weeks and weighed only a pound. We’ve had doctors’ appointments and visits and it’s always bittersweet and PTSD-ish being in those buildings. But now we’re back and it’s uncanny how quickly everything becomes so familiar again—it seems like I have a specific memory of every spot in this complex. Here’s where I was sitting when I found this out; I was standing at this window on my cell phone when I called my sister to tell her that Charlie’s twin brother had died after 12 hours; this is the elevator we took for Charlie’s 3rd and 4th surgeries; I was eating a banana in this spot on this day; I was feeling this way when I walked out onto the plaze on the day the doctors were worried about his head circumference, etc. Not all traumatic stuff—lots of good memories, too, with everything, the good and the bad, swathed in gratitude and love for so many of the people who work at this place. And now I guess we'll get some new place-based memories since the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit has moved to a glittering new structure that was under construction when we were last here as residents.

The photo above was taken when Charlie finally fell asleep after 12 hours of poking, prodding, ultrasounds, x-rays, and CT scans. We went in this morning for our yearly check-up with Charlie’s neurosurgeon. He’s been having this issue with a distended hard stomach and we’ve been to the pediatrician twice in the past week thinking it was just constipation and treating that. My worst fear was that it had something to do with his shunt and I was googling “shunt malfunction” by the hour but he had NO symptoms. But it was malfunctioning, damn it. The cerebrospinal fluid that drains through the shunt to his peritoneal cavity because of the Grade III and IV intraventricular hemorrhages he had the day he was born was not being absorbed properly, thus the distended stomach. After a series of ultrasounds that determined what was going on, he was admitted back into the hospital. (I just realized I didn't have to look up a single one of those terms—my Cedars-sponsored medical training is still resident in my own brain!) 

It breaks my heart every time Charlie says he wants to go outside, or asks when we’re going home. We try to explain it as best we can but the blood work, IVs, and multitude of tests where he had to remain very still were not easy. The worst is that after the surgery tomorrow he’ll have an external drain and will basically not be able to move much or get out of bed at all for the duration until the shunt is put back in. If there’s no infection, that could be a matter of days. If there is, it could be much longer. UGH. But like last time, we’ll all do what we have to do and be very very grateful for the kind and expert staff that he are lucky enough to have taking care of him. Here are some photos from the board in his room. They all use the name Charlie goes by lately, “Scoot,” and have told everyone that he likes to talk about garbage, garbage trucks, and recycling!

As terrified as we are, there’s nothing like this kind of event to put things in persepctive and make all the things I thought I was anxious about yesterday seem completely meaningless. And at the same time, my heart goes out to all the people who are dealing with sooo many much worse health crises, including many children and their parents. Hey, if we could just be here once at the beginning of each of President Obama's two terms, I can deal. But please, as I said on Facebook, if you want to send any kind of prayer for Charlie, we welcome all good wishes from the faithful, the non-faithful, or even craven idol worshipers. I remember once during the worst of it in 2009 I overheard a group of elderly black women talking about their church and I literally chased them down the hall to ask them to pray for Charlie. This isn’t a time when I contemplate whether such things “work” or not. Must get some sleep. Love to all.

Eighteen

My daughter Leah turns 18 today. What?? Wasn’t she just entering the double digits? As she informed me last night when we were celebrating, she can now get tattoos and piercings without my permission (please don’t?), sign contracts on her own, and join the military. Being 18 also means Leah can also marry whenever she pleases, buy cigarettes, work full-time, start a 401K, get a credit card on her own, donate blood, buy a lottery ticket, go to an X-rated movie or strip club, change her name, get sued, and buy a gun. Oy.

I do remember being 18 myself. It’s great to be young but it can also be a nerve-wracking time. Most of your life is still ahead of you but you’re now expected to start making responsible decisions that may impact that life for years to come. I’m grateful that Leah seems far more conscious and present than I ever was at that age, and I look forward to watching her grow and mature and face all the joys and challenges that life has to offer. I’m still the guy who was hiding in the bushes at school when she was in kindergarten to make sure none of the kids were being mean to her, and who cried when she seemed lost or sad, but I hope I’ve learned (at least somewhat) how to let go and let her fly.

It’s an endless struggle as a parent to let your children make their own mistakes, to experience the challenges of life without trying to immediately “fix” everything. But I know it's part of the deal and I’m in awe of the person Leah has become. Her kindness and compassion, her independence and spirit of adventure, her empathy and sense of humor. It seems like the separation between a parent and child starts the minute they are born and continues for the rest of their lives, even though it’s never really complete. As much as I may freak out that Leah is no longer the little girl I once knew, I am thrilled that she is truly her own person. Yes, I recently said to her, “How can I live my life through you if you refuse to do what I want?” but it was with enough awareness that we both laughed and I told her to tweet it (which she did!).

Leah, I remember holding your warm, wriggling body in my arms when you were a baby, I remember carrying you upstairs sleeping when you were four and we were coming home late, I remember sitting on the kitchen floor with you playing with the “magic” salad spinner, watching you play Officer Krupke in your very first show, having “serious” discussions with you sitting on your bed, going to endless movies together, singing our good-night song, laughing our asses off with friends, and hugging each other when we were both feeling sad. There’s no question that December 28, 1994 was one of the best days of my life. Happy 18th Birthday to my beautiful first-born. I love you so, so much!

Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas

Another running Facebook feature I just finished was an impromptu "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas" tribute where, for three weeks, I paid homage to Jews seen enjoying the goyishe festivities. A few people asked me to include those entries (including today's addendum honoring Jack Klugman who died yesterday on Christmas Eve) in one place so that non-Facebook folks could read them, so why not here? 

12/3/12: Being a Jew in Hollywood, I'm kicking off my "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas" series. First up: Nice Jewish girl, Betty Joan Perske, daughter of Jewish immigrants from Poland and Romania. You may know her as Lauren Bacall. Here is beautiful Betty with hubby Humphrey Bogart and their son Stephen who grew up to look an awful lot like dad and seems like a really cool guy. Sadly, Stephen was only 8 when his father died of cancer. 88-year-old Bacall is still with us, of course. Wonder if she's busy putting up a tree or grating potatoes for her latkes? Betty made her first movie, the wonderful "To Have and Have Not," 67 years ago. And she's still going. Her most recent movie, "The Forger," came out this summer.

12/4/12: Next up in my "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas" tribute is Pauline Levy aka Paulette Goddard. Okay, only her dad was Jewish and they were estranged most of her life but hey, that would've been enough for Hitler. Paulette also gets special mention because she played Miriam Aarons, the only Jewish character in the brilliant 1939 film, "The Women." She's so great in that film and is often overlooked. Goddard came close to getting the part of Scarlett O'Hara that year which would have changed her career in a big way but she made a lot of good films and was nominated for an Oscar in 1943 for "So Proudly We Hail." In some ways she's more famous today for her husbands: Charlie Chaplin (they were together six years but there's debate about their actual marital status), Burgess Meredith, and Erich Maria Remarque. This isn't the best photo of the stunningly beautiful Goddard. Remember the great fight scene in "The Women" when Rosalind Russell chomps down on her leg?

12/5/12: Today in "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas," we honor Eddie Fisher, whose Russian-Jewish immigrant mother Gitte (later Katie) probably wept every time her son came out with a new Christmas album. Or maybe she was too busy kvetching about his first three wives, Hollywood shiksas Debbie Reynolds, Elizabeth Taylor, and Connie Stevens. At least Taylor had already converted to Judaism (Elizabeth's prior husband, Mike Todd, was Jewish but she later claimed she converted only because she was drawn to Judaism). I think people today forget how insanely famous Eddie Fisher was back in the day. He was a massively popular singer but made some really dumb mistakes in his career. And, of course, his incessant womanizing and the Great Scandal of leaving sweet Debbie for sultry Liz didn't help his reputation much. As an actor, he was no great shakes. All four of his kids (two with Debbie, two with Connie) went into showbiz including the brilliant Carrie Fisher who once said in her stage performance that she wanted to have her DNA fumigated. But I think they were close again by the time Eddie died in 2010. Despite the fact that he should have been home spinning dreidels, Fisher was a fixture at Christmas time. There was even a hit 1954 song recorded by Betty Johnson called "I Want Eddie Fisher for Christmas." Oy.

12/6/12: Next on "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas" is Brooklyn-boy David Daniel Kaminsky aka the brilliant Danny Kaye. Of course Kaye starred in one of the most beloved holiday movies of all time, "White Christmas," with Bing Crosby, Rosemary Clooney, and Vera-Ellen (screening tonight at the Academy's outdoor theater in Hollywood, complete with fake snow and Kaye's daughter Dena in attendance!). Danny's parents were Ukrainian Jewish immigrants. His marriage to nice (and talented) Jewish girl Sylvia Fine lasted from 1940 until his death in 1987 although they were were separated for a chunk of that and Kaye dated a bunch of women (including Eve Arden). There are also persistent rumors about him and Laurence Olivier but those are denied by most people who knew them. Apart from "White Christmas," I mostly remember Danny Kaye from "Hans Christian Anderson" ("Inchworm...inchworm...") and from his wonderful TV series that I watched religiously when I was very young. Joyce Van Patten and Harvey Korman were regulars on that show. I remember when our neighbor June Kaiser wrote to him as a kid, he wrote her back a long letter by hand. She still treasures it. There's a famous story of Jewish studio head Sam Goldwyn ordering Kaye to get a nose job in the 1940s because he "looked too Jewish." Danny refused but did agree to dye his hair red (as if many Jews, including my entire family, didn't have red hair!) which became something of a trademark for him. By all accounts, Danny Kaye was a real mensch.

12/7/12: Closing out the week in "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas," we honor Sonia Hurwitz, better known as ventriloquist and puppeteer Shari Lewis. Oh, what a crush I had on Shari Lewis as a kid. She sort of looked like my mom (cough--issues?) and was just so sweet. She channeled all of her neuroses through her main sock puppet, Lamb Chop. It's not even like Lewis was the most skilled ventriloquist--her lips totally moved, but it didn't matter, I believed Lamb Chop was real! I spent my whole childhood thinking the puppet was a boy and it was relatively recently when someone convinced me Lamp Chop was actually female. Oy. Lamb Chop may be the only puppet allowed to speak before Congress--in 1993 when Lewis was testifying in favor of protections for children's television. By all accounts, Lamb Chop was one of the most impassioned, articulate speakers that day. Shari Lewis and her husband wrote an episode of the original "Star Trek" that she had hoped to star in but some other actress got the role. She did several Christmas specials but also a Hanukkah show and she wrote some Jewish-themed books toward the end of her life. Sadly, she died at 65 (the same age as my mom!) in 1998.

12/10/12: Because of my interview earlier today (I had just come from interviewing Barbra Streisand and Seth Rogen for MSN Movies), I don't need to tell you who's opening this week's "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas" tribute. Just color me BARBRA! For a nice Jewish girl from Brooklyn, Babs has come out with at least three Christmas albums! I have fond childhood memories of the first one, released in 1967 and which has gone platinum five times over. I love her rendition of "Jingle Bells" in which she inserted mention of Fannie Brice. This is a classic and it's not limited to the secular tunes. No one can match Streisand's "Ave Maria" in my book. She also knocks "The Lord's Prayer" out of the ballpark, if that's not too odd to say. Oy, wonder what Barbra's mother thought of it! Crazy that it's been 45 years since this album came out and yet she's still going strong. Go, Barbra!

12/11/12: Today in "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas," we salute Benjamin Kubelsky, born in Chicago to Polish-Jewish immigrants in 1894. You may know him better as Jack Benny. The violin-playing Benny entertained the troops during World War I, started touring in vaudeville, and met a Jewish girl named Sadie Marks at Zeppo Marx's Passover seder. He married the girl who then changed her name to the shiksa-sounding Mary Livingstone. Jack Benny was a pioneer in both radio and TV. His movie career was more limited but he and Carole Lombard were brilliant as two actors in Nazi-occupied Warsaw in Ernst Lubitsch's "To Be or Not To Be." This photo shows Benny as Santa Claus for longtime supporting player Dennis Day, Day's wife, and seven of their eventual ten children. I love Jack Benny and only have to think of his perfect delivery to make myself laugh. "Your money or your life!" (very long pause) "Well?!" "I'm thinking it over!"

12/12/12: Crazy day (just got back from the world premiere of "This Is 40," not for my job but in place of my sister and brother-in-law because Jeff has a song in the film--they couldn't come in for the premiere so Kendall and I went and snarfed down all the free food while trailing Albert Brooks all night) but I still have a few minutes to post today's entry in "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas." It's lovely Dinah Shore, born Frances Rose Shore to Russian Jewish immigrants who settled in Tennessee of all places (hey, my Jewish grandmother was born in Kentucky because that's where HER Russian Jewish parents went!). Who doesn't love Dinah? I remember my mother playing her version of "Baby, It's Cold Outside" when I was little and we used to watch various incarnations of her TV show. (Barbra Streisand made one of her first national TV appearances on Dinah's show!) In the 70s she was known for her relationship with Burt Reynolds, 20 years her junior (mercifully, the term "cougar" hadn't been coined yet!) but my favorite Dinah Shore memory is her appearance on "Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman" (which my mother- and father-in-law worked on) when Loretta Haggers (Mary Kay Place) appears on her show and unwittingly destroys her burgeoning country music career by saying that she was surprised the Jews who worked on Dinah's show were so nice considering the fact that they killed the Lord! I could go on but there are only a few minutes left to 12/12/12 so I'll end this tribute like Dinah ended all of her countless broadcasts. MWAH!!

12/13/12: Today's entry in "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas" is TV legend Sid Caesar, still with us at the age of 90. His most famous series, "Your Show of Shows," was well before my time but I've seen many of the skits and with people like Imogene Coca (seen here), Carl Reiner, Mel Brooks, and Neil Simon involved, it's no wonder this is one of the most beloved shows in TV history. Caesar was born in Yonkers to Russian Jewish immigrants. He worked in the family restaurant as a kid where he learned how to fake foreign languages and dialects, and started performing in the Catskills at a very young age. He made his first TV appearance in 1949 and "Your Show of Shows" began its four-year run in 1950. Caesar and Coca were the first to do elaborate take-offs of popular movies on their show and the comedy still holds up today (check out "From Here to Oblivion" if you can find it online!). Caesar was apparently a bit of a maniac behind the scenes. He inspired Carl Reiner's Alan Brady character on "The Dick Van Dyke Show" as well as the movie "My Favorite Year" and the Neil Simon play "Laughter on the 23rd Floor." Happy 5th Day of Hanukkah, Sid! You look good in that Santa suit!

12/14/12: Closing out Week 2 of "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas" are (at least) two Jews we know and love, seen here at the Hollywood Canteen during Christmas 1943. That's Eddie Cantor as Santa Claus. Born Edward Israel Iskowitz in 1892 to Russian immigrants in New York, Eddie's mother died in childbirth when he was only one year old and his father died of pneumonia the following year. He was raised by his grandmother, Esther Kantrowitz. Eddie and his wife Ida had five daughters. He was a phenomenally successful singer and comedian, in saloons, vaudeville, and finally the Ziegfeld Follies, with later fame on radio, in films, and on TV. His musical hits include "Makin' Whoopee" and "If You Knew Susie," and he also did a lot of humanitarian work, especially with the March of Dimes. It was Eddie Cantor who introduced the song "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town" in 1934. Considering what a superstar Cantor was back in the day, it's sad that he's nearly forgotten today. To the far left with her arms around a serviceman is two-time Oscar winner Shelley Winters, born Shirley Schrift in St. Louis to Austrian Jewish parents. Shelley started out as a blonde bombshell sex symbol, was good friends with young Marilyn Monroe, and had four marriages and all sorts of adventures which are deliciously detailed in her two autobiographies. Winters was an amazing actress who worked for years at Lee Strasberg's Actor's Studio. My favorite films of hers include "Lolita," "A Patch of Blue," "Alfie," "Next Stop, Greenwich Village," and of course, "The Diary of Anne Frank" and "The Poseidon Adventure." She also made plenty of stinkers, but even those were great fun such as "What's the Matter with Helen?" with Debbie Reynolds and "King of the Gypsies." The Oscar she won for playing Mrs. Van Daan is still on display at the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam.

12/17/12: Opening up Week 3 of "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas" is the great George Burns, born Nathan Birnbaum in 1896 New York to Romanian-Jewish immigrants. His cantor father died when he was very young so he started working to help support his family. He entered showbiz at the age of 7 and had success in vaudeville, movies, radio, and TV. His beloved wife and partner, Gracie Allen (wonder how his family handled him marrying an Irish Catholic girl!) died in 1964 but George's career was resurrected when he was in his 80s. He toured extensively, played "God" in several movies, and constantly appeared on TV. He lived to be 100 years old and said toward the end that he looked forward to dying so he could be with Gracie. He had her Forest Lawn crypt marker changed to "Gracie Allen & George Burns—Together Again," saying that he wanted Gracie to have top billing! I went to Northwestern with Burns' niece, Alisa Birnbaum. Made a movie with her in filmmaking class. I remember her telling me early on that her uncle discovered Ann-Margret. It took a minute for me to realize she was talking about George Burns!

12/18/12: Today's entry in "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas," Zsa Zsa and Eva Gabor, is a little tricky. That the Gabor sisters were Jewish is not in question--their mother Jolie was the daughter of Jozef Tilleman, a Hungarian Jew, and his Austrian-Jewish wife Franceska. But the Gabors' life story was always, shall we say, fluid, and they didn't talk much about their Jewish heritage. Writer Cindy Adams, who helped Jolie with her memoirs, recalls asking her about the huge cross Eva was wearing at one of her weddings. "Eva's new husband hates Jews," Jolie told Adams, "so in this book you make us Catholic." Oy. With older sister Magda, gorgeous Zsa Zsa and Eva took L.A. by storm when they arrived from Hungary in the 1940s. They were among the first celebrities who were "famous for being famous," not unlike Zsa Zsa's relative by marriage, Paris Hilton. While far from the greatest actresses in town, everyone my age remembers Eva fondly from her stint as clueless but sweet Lisa Douglas on "Green Acres" and Zsa Zsa from her various movie and TV appearances (my favorite Zsa Zsa film was the classic "Picture Mommy Dead" with Don Ameche) not to mention Zsa Zsa's later problems with the Beverly Hills police. Eva had five husbands during her lifetime and Zsa Zsa nine, including Conrad Hilton (a character on "Mad Men" a few seasons ago), actor George Sanders, and her current husband, an alleged member of German royalty. Zsa Zsa is the only Gabor left, and at the age of 95, is not in good shape at all. Biz hundert un tsvantsik, Zsa Zsa! And Happy Hanukkah!

12/19/12: In a few hours my daughter Leah will be watching Scarlett Johansson as Maggie the Cat in the new Broadway version of Tennessee Williams' "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof." In honor of that, we take a rare visit to the present for today's "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas" tribute. Yes, despite the Danish surname, Scarlett is a bona fide Heeb. Her mother is an Ashkenazi Jew and Scarlett self-identifies as a member of the tribe. I always enjoy Johansson's work—I thought she was especially fun this year as Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow in "The Avengers." Scarlett actually shot a movie in our house a few years ago when Christopher Nolan decked out our whole first floor as a London saloon in "The Prestige." Only a few minutes of the scenes filmed in our house made it to the final film but there's a nice shot of Johansson bounding down our stairs. Scarlett says she observed Shabbat growing up and even knows a smattering of Yiddish. No wonder Woody Allen loves her! So what's with the goyishe Santa outfit?

12/20/12: Just back from a screening of the crazy long but exquisite "Django Unchained" so I'm posting today's "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas" tribute in the nick of time. After honoring Scarlett yesterday (Leah did talk to her after the show!), I thought I'd stay in the present just long enough to give two of her male contemporaries their due. Let's hear it for Jake Gyllenhaal and Jesse Eisenberg, two actors who received Oscar nominations while still in their 20s. Like yesterday's pick, you may be surprised that Jake is Jewish because of his last name, but despite the Swedish moniker, Jacob Benjamin was raised a good Jewish boy by his mother, screenwriter Naomi Foner (who got an Oscar nod herself for one of my favorite films, "Running on Empty"). I'm always happy to see Jake and his talented sister Maggie (Margaret Ruth) pop up in any film, they are one talented bunch. Jesse Eisenberg's Judaism is less of a surprise, of course. He's been turning in great performances for years but joined the A-list with his dead-on portrayal of Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg in "The Social Network." Remember when his little sister, Hallie Kate Eisenberg, was the famous one in the family? Now 32 and 29, Jake and Jesse are both involved in a lot of social causes and both of these successful mensches seem to be single at the moment. Anyone available for a shiddach?

12/21/12: Today's entry in "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas" is nice Jewish girl Bea Arthur, aka Bernice Frankel. Why couldn't either of Arthur's iconic characters, Maude Findlay or Dorothy Zbornak, be Jewish? Arthur won a Tony Award for playing Vera Charles in the original "Mame" opposite Angela Lansbury but she also created the role of Yenta the Matchmaker in "Fiddler on the Roof" so at least she put in some time as a Jew on stage! Hard to believe she's been gone three years, it seems like yesterday we saw her very funny one-woman show. Did anyone have a better deadpan delivery than Bea Arthur? I remember going to a "Golden Girls" taping in the 80s with my mom and Estelle Getty kept messing up a line so they did this one scene over and over again. EVERY single time Arthur read her line, her delivery was so good I laughed hysterically as if I was hearing it for the first time. I wrote to Bea Arthur when I was a kid when she was doing "Maude" and she wrote back a nice handwritten letter. Does anyone do that anymore?

12/24/12: For the final entry in our "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas" tribute, we pay homage to the observant Jew who may have had the biggest impact on the Christmas holiday (other than Jesus himself). I'm talking about Israel Beilin, better known as Irving Berlin, the Russian-born son of an orthodox cantor who penned one of the world's most beloved Christmas carols, "White Christmas." Bing Crosby's recording of this beautiful song (written by Berlin poolside at a resort in Arizona) is in the Guinness Book of World Records as the best-selling single of all time (more than 50 million). If you count all the recordings of the song, it's sold well over 100 million. "White Christmas," of course, has been covered by countless artists from Frank Sinatra and Perry Como to Elvis Presley and Twisted Sister to Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga. Among Jewish singers, we have well known versions by Eddie Fisher, Steve & Eydie, Neil Diamond, Bette Midler, and Barbra Streisand, to name a few. Irving Berlin also wrote the popular Christmas tune, "Happy Holiday." I'm sure I don't need to elaborate on Berlin's other accomplishments. George Gershwin called him "the greatest songwriter who ever lived," and composer Jerome Kern said that "Irving Berlin has no PLACE in American music, he IS American music!" And that's it for this year. Merry Christmas, chaverim!

12/25/12: Special holiday addendum to my "Hollywood Jews Celebrate Christmas" tribute to honor Jack Klugman, a gifted, funny actor who died yesterday on Christmas Eve at the age of 90. He was born Jacob Joachim Klugman in Philadelphia, the son of Russian Jewish immigrants. Klugman played Herbie in the original production of "Gypsy" on Broadway opposite Ethel Merman and was great in many other roles, from the wonderful "Days of Wine and Roses" with Lee Remick and Judy Garland's last film, "I Could Go On Singing," to his series "Quincy, M.E.," but my main memory of him, of course, is as Oscar Madison in the TV series "The Odd Couple" opposite Tony Randall, That show ran for five years in the 1970s and I don't think I missed an episode. Klugman's ex-wife on the show was played by his real-life wife Brett Somers, who was Kendall's godmother and a good friend of the family. They split during the run of the series but never divorced and were married for 54 years until Brett died in 2007. The last time I saw Klugman in person was at the memorial for Tony Randall in New York in 2004 and even though his voice was very affected by his recent throat cancer, he gave one of the funniest, most moving eulogies I've ever heard—everyone in the theater was crying. I like to think that Brett and Tony are with him right now—thrilled to see him but kvetching up a storm!

And that's it for this year. Oy, I'm sure I missed plenty of Jews who have no doubt seen a little tinsel in their lives. Maybe I'll do it again next year and include folks like the Marx Brothers, the Three Stooges, Peter Lorre, Milton Berle, Phil Silvers, Luise Rainer, Kirk Douglas, Red Buttons, Don Rickles, Carl Reiner, Paul Newman, Jerry Lewis, Lenny Bruce, Joan Rivers, Leonard Nimoy, Dyan Cannon, Woody Allen, Lesley Ann Warren, Andy Kaufman, Madeline Kahn, Goldie Hawn, Bob Dylan, Richard Dreyfuss, Billy Crystal, Larry David, Jerry Seinfeld, Debra Winger, Mandy Patinkin, Carol Kane, Amy Irving, Jeff Goldblum, Harvey Fierstein, Ally Sheedy, David Schwimmer, Sean Penn, Sarah Jessica Parker, Julianna Marguilies, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Natalie Portman. Until then, Chag Sameach, everyone!