A little bit of light came into our lives last week in the form of some good news: Sandy, the abandoned little pup we rescued from the streets this summer has found a home!

And, wow, look at those ears! (I’ve posted some more photos on my Instagram.)

Our heartfelt thanks goes out to the family that co-fostered her with us and the family that ultimately adopted her.

It brings to mind the Latin adage, dum vita spes… where there is life, there is hope.

Tracie and I stayed up last time to watch the early-morning news from Israel. We wept as we watched tearful Israeli and Palestinian families reunite. The last two years of war have been horrific, a moral tragedy and human catastrophe.

But where there is life there is hope. Our family is praying for peace and for all the families affected. May G-d bless and protect them.

Above: my mom picking me up from preschool circa 1972, not long after our family moved to San Diego from Chicago.

Losing a parent is like having a child: it’s an experience that you can’t really get your mind around until you actually go through it.

When we headed to California last week for a family visit, we all knew that my mother, Judy Parzen, was going to die soon. But nothing can prepare a soul for what comes next.

Thank you to everyone who has written, called, sent flowers, and shared condolences and memories of my mom.

One of the most moving came from a friend, a musician, whom I’ve known since high school: “Your mom was a great influence on our friend group and the La Jolla community. I remember practicing at your house with her there as a kid. Raising kids as a single mom took a special kind of person in La Jolla and I know it wasn’t always easy. She did it with grace and class and raised you guys to be leaders and intellectuals. What a special woman.”

Since her passing, so many people have written to me about how her love for the arts was inspiration for their own lives.

She had that effect on me, too. Her love of cookery inspired my own interest in gastronomy; her interest in the fine arts was a model for my academic career (when she brought Sir Roy Strong to U.C.S.D. for a lecture, he was the one who said to a 17-year-old, “you must go to Italy, young man!”); and her passion for the performing arts, theater and concerts, gave me grist for my own creative life.

She came to Italy to visit me every year I lived there. And when I lived in New York for a decade, she would come to the city and we dine out and go to the theater. Man, we had some great times!

I’m still reeling from our family’s loss. And I’m immensely grateful for all those who have reached out to share my grief. G-d bless her memory.

Above: Judy Parzen visited Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s “Gates” in Central Park in 2005.

Judith Parzen, whose efforts to bring leading artists and architects to La Jolla, California, in the 1970s are fondly remembered today, has died at 92. She was also widely known and beloved as the matriarch of the Parzen family of San Diego.

She died peacefully at her home in La Jolla this week after battling a short illness. She was surrounded by her sons, their wives and children.

When Judith, known as Judy, and her husband purchased their first home in La Jolla’s Bird Rock neighborhood in 1971, she set about renovating the iconic property on Avenida Cresta. The Spanish-colonial ranch house had been designed by the legendary California builder Cliff May, whose fame as a pioneer of southwest architecture was just beginning to grow.

She was keen on maintaining the property’s connection to May (today, the historic home is included in the California registry of culturally significant sites). She also did something that would raise more than one eyebrow in the staunchly conservative La Jolla community of that era: she painted a broad, sea blue stripe around the front of the home that featured the address in silhouette.

Judy, who later became a board member of the La Jolla Museum of Contemporary Art and a supporter of the town’s arts center, the Atheneum, would go on to host numerous artist receptions in the couple’s home. She was also a member of a group of likeminded La Jollans who organized conferences where top architects from across the country were invited to speak.

By the 1980s, she was working as a programmer for U.C.S.D. Extension, the university’s community and continuing education school where she became known for bringing top intellectuals and celebrities to campus for speaking engagements. Sir Roy Strong, then director of the Victoria and Albert Museum, and Dustin Hoffman, were among the speakers she presented.

Judith Deborah Parzen was born in 1933, in South Bend, Indiana, to Henrietta “Jean” (née Eder) and Maurice Bailie. Her father was co-owner of a successful building maintenance company. Her mother was a homemaker.

A precocious student, she graduated from Central High in South Bend at 16 before leaving to study art history, first at the University of Colorado Boulder, and then at Indiana University Bloomington, where she obtained her degree. She also attended a special summer program at Yale — then open to men only — where she continued her studies.

In 1955, she married Zane Parzen in South Bend and the couple moved to Chicago where he was studying to become a doctor. All four of her sons were born there and she worked as a docent at the Art Institute of Chicago while raising her children in the city’s Hyde Park neighborhood.

In 1971, they moved to San Diego where Zane had been asked to lead a local doctors group. They divorced in 1980 following revelations about Zane’s malpractice. She never remarried.

Her oldest son Aaron died in a car accident in California at age 15. She is survived by her sons and their wives, Tad Parzen and Diane Sherman of San Diego, Micah Parzen and Marguerite Riles of San Diego, and Jeremy and Tracie Parzen of Houston; grandchildren Eli, Cole, and Amalia Parzen; Abner and Oscar Parzen; and Georgia and Lila Jane Parzen.

She was a lover of modern art, Broadway musicals, non-fiction, travel, cookery and fine dining. In myriad tributes shared in recent weeks, friends spoke of her humor, flair, and resilience as inspiration for their own lives and careers.

A celebration of life is being planned at a date to be determined.

Happy new year, everyone! Shanah tovah! May your year ahead be filled with light, health, and joy!

Georgia, now 13 and in 8th grade, is finishing her last year of middle school where she plays viola in the varsity orchestra. She auditioned and was accepted into Houston Youth Symphony this year. She’s also playing electric bass. Every time I drop her off at rehearsal and every time she asks me if she can play bass for 10 minutes before bed, I weep a little: when I think of what my life was like at 13, it feels like Georgia has finally made me whole again.

Lila Jane, now 12 and in 7th grade, plays cello in the same orchestra. She, like her sister, will be auditioning for the state regional orchestra this year. Her playing is getting insanely good. It’s my dream come true — especially because I played cello as a child. She is a social butterfly, with an extended “friends group.” They meet every day, 8-10 girls, and walk to school together. She and her friends are starting to face the challenges of teenage life. Tracie and I are so proud of how she carries herself.

Tracie’s real estate career continues to grow. Poo, poo, poo — sometimes we look at each other and still can’t believe the way she has transformed our financial lives. She’s been working extremely hard and it hasn’t always been easy. But she also enjoys the high pressure and the reward of building her business. I’m studying to get my realtor license so I can help her more.

Every year, Tracie, the girls, and I take time out to enjoy apples and honey before the new year. It’s a Jewish tradition that reminds us of the sweetness of life — even in dark times.

The world seems to be changing at breakneck speed these days. We know we are fortunate to count so many blessings at home while so many others are struggling. Never have Dickens’ words hit home so powerfully: “It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness.”

Happy new year. G-d bless us all.

Tracie and I are deeply saddened and frightened by the expanding war in the Middle East.

There’s no doubt that the American government’s decision to bomb Iran is going to have repercussions that will acutely affect our lives as well as those of generations to follow.

And in the meantime, innocent people are dying on both sides of the conflict.

War is wrong. Period. No matter what the argument, killing people to reach a political objective is always wrong. But the fate of the world is now in the hands of pathologically ego-driven men who live and breathe faraway from any battlefield.

Please join Tracie and me in praying for peace.

Happy sixth day of Peseach/Passover (yes, it’s ongoing) and happy Easter this Sunday!

One of the things that strikes me about this year’s Passover-Easter season is that the holidays’ allegories of displacement and suffering seem very real this year.

A month ago, I met Kevin, a young man in his 20s. He lives in Houston with his blind mother and has a work visa that allows them — legally — to stay in the U.S.

A few days before I met him, he had been arrested in an immigration raid. Despite his 100 percent legal status, he was put behind bars and was slated for deportation.

Immigration courts don’t work like civil and criminal courts, I learned. For Kevin to be released and (rightly) fight his deportation, he had to pay bail. In the case of immigration courts, the entire amount — not a percentage — needs to be paid upfront.

An immigrant aid group was able to raise the money within the 48-hour time limit. Had they not, he would have been swept up into the byzantine U.S. immigration system and ultimately sent back to his home country. Thank G-d he is still here today to provide for his mother’s care.

On the occasion when I met him and his mother (at an organizing meeting), all the volunteers and immigrants present were asked to share what their “super power” would be if they had one. When it came to his mother, she said: I wish I could help all people who need it.

People — yes, people, human beings! — in our country are living the same nightmare of our ancestors in ancient Egypt. What were the Hebrews of that time if not migrant workers?

And how not to view Kevin as a Christ-like figure? He was so innocent, his intentions so pure: he just wants to provide a good life for his mother and himself. Christ had three days to rise from the dead. Kevin had just 48 hours to raise literally life-saving money.

This Passover and Easter season, we are forgetting politics and remembering that we are all human — all too human.

Happy Passover, happy Easter. G-d bless America. G-d bless Kevin and his family. G-d bless us all.