Chabad and a Review of Turning Judaism Outward

It's late after Shabbat and I'm pretty tired, but if I don't write this now, my head will explode and my heart will melt. The intense need to write? I finished reading Turning Judaism Outward today, which is the biography about the seventh Chabad Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson written by friend and colleague Rabbi Chaim Miller (I worked with him on his chumash project several years back).

I was well into the book when I went into synagogue today to discuss this week's parsha (Torah portion) with my women's learning group. Luckily, I'd landed the third aliyah, which was the bit about the people kvetching after Miriam dies because the water dries up, there's a brief mention of her death and burial, followed by Moshe and Aharon approaching HaShem with what to do. HaShem says to go, speak to the rock, and water will pour forth. Moshe doesn't bother asking what to say, but goes forth to the people, calls them a band of rebels, and smacks the rock with his staff. The result of this incident is that Moshe is destined to never enter Eretz Yisrael.

As we talked about the parsha, I realized the significance of being the unwilling leader. Moshe was devastated by the death of his sister Miriam and the peoples' lack of realization that the water was because of Miriam's merit. Frustrated and at his absolute wit's end, he broke. HaShem knew the narrative, HaShem knew that Moshe wouldn't enter the land and needed an "out" in this narrative. It was at this point, where Moshe became truly human that it was possible to build the "exit strategy."

It only made sense to me to tie in the "unwilling leader" to the Rebbe.

I knew it before, but reading Turning Judaism Outward just reinforced the fact that the Rebbe never sought out leadership. Until he set foot in the U.S. and it was evident that his father-in-law (the sixth rebbe) had plans for him, he evaded leadership at every turn. I read this book awaiting the magical explanation for how he ended up in the role of the Rebbe and how the "Rebbe is messiah" movement, but there was never a firm point that either of these aspects of Rabbi Schneerson's life manifested. They were organic.

There are several things I did learn for certain in this book that have provided me with a heightened respect and love for a rabbi I never knew.

• The Rebbe was a savant. He devoured literature and had a complete memory of the Torah, both Talmuds, and gobs of commentary. From childhood through the end of his life, he was able to give hour-long talks without even opening a book. The way that he processed information and relayed it make me wonder if the Rebbe had a touch of Asperger's, actually. As a savant who evaded public life and communal leadership, it would seem that he had these classic social trappings. I also found it frustrating that he was so well versed in the Yerushalmi (Jerusalem Talmud), because so many Chabadniks these days don't bother learning it or teaching it. The Rebbe clearly saw the value in knowing it, quoting it, and discussing it. 
• The Rebbe was an engineering and mathematical genius. The stories that Rabbi Miller relates about his skill with understanding mechanics, machines, military plans, and so much more really blew my mind. I had no idea that he spent years in university getting an engineering degree and applied his skills and talents throughout his life to both relate to experts and to make suggestions to world leaders. 
• Although he never stepped foot in Israel, the Rebbe had a deep love, appreciation, and passion for both Eretz Yisrael (the land of Israel) and Medinat Yisrael (the state of Israel). The amount of political and religious leaders he had deep and emotional ties with, not to mention the amount of times he wrote about the actions of Israeli leadership and the mistake they made show me that he was a man deeply in love with Israel. You also need to read the book to see a few of the moments when the Rebbe predicted something that happened and Israeli military leadership were kicking themselves. His foresight was mind-blowing. 
• The Rebbe very clearly had a vision for Chabad after he died, and that was to look locally, to your local rabbis for guidance and answers. He was creating leaders to lead. He didn't need to name a successor because he believed in the Jewish people to lead themselves. 
• He was a man who loved his wife in a deep and unwavering way that I cannot even begin to fathom. They met daily for a half-hour over tea. That was their moment to connect, reconnect, to be one. Although they never had children (and this is something I wish I knew more about, but it's still not covered in the book -- were there fertility issues? Her sister also had trouble conceiving, but I also know that this is a very, very, very private issue), they were deeply in love. 
• The Rebbe did amazing things for education in America. He truly believed in reaching out to Jews and non-Jews, because he believed that everyone is capable of so much. 
• The Rebbe was horribly frustrated with Chasidim viewing him as the mashiach (messiah). He never condoned it, in fact he spoke against it and the problems it would cause. He was very abrupt and to the point about this. I think it's chaval (not a great translation, but it kind of means "a pity") that he spent the last 10 years of his life battling the mashiachists who tried to peg him as the messiah when it was something he so did not want, condone, or endorse. 

My own personal conclusion after reading this book and experiencing my eyes well up with tears as I spoke to Mr. T about what I was reading have shown me that I so feel for the Rebbe and everything he fought for and fought against in his life. He was a passionate, educated, wise Jewish man who believed in the Jewish people -- religious or not. 

The truth is that had I been alive in the 1960s or 70s and come to Judaism during those eras, chances are good I would have ended up Chabad. Nowadays, with the prevalence of the vision in Chabad as the Rebbe as messiah, I simply can't wrap my head around that. It's not something I'd ever be able to stand by and endorse as part of a collective entity. 

That being said, I understand that not all Chabadniks believe the Rebbe was the messiah, but when there are congregations that give an aliyah to the Rebbe on Shabbat, I just ... it isn't something that's for me. I have, however, written for Chabad.org, worked on many projects with Chabad, and spoken on many panels with my very close Chabad friends. (Is this kind of like saying, "Some of my best friends are Chabad!!! ...?) 

But I view it as dishonoring the Rebbe as opposed to honoring him to perpetuate the mashiach angle. I'd rather stand from the outside and share with the world the beautiful mind and heart and soul of the Rebbe than stand within and perpetuate something he stood so firmly against. 

The Rebbe is a man unlike any the modern world has seen. I compared his unwilling leadership to Moshe, after all. I wish I had been able to meet him, to be a Jew during the period of his life when something so special was happening. When the potential for greatness in the Jewish community was so palpable. 

At this point, all I can do is hope to honor the Rebbe through my own observance, through my own outreach, through my own storytelling. I can only hope he would have been proud of this Jewish woman had he known her. 

What's the Deal with Chesed?

One of the things I've never understood about the Jewish concept of chesed or "loving kindness" as it's often translated is that in modern Judaism we treat the act of doing chesed as notches on a belt or ticks on our wall of proper, ethical living. 

Bar and bat mitzvah kids usually have to do a chesed project leading up to their big day, and many do great things like fundraising for wildfire victims or those suffering from the damages caused by hurricanes and flooding the world over. The concept of chesed is great, it's beautiful, and we learn from Pirkei Avot -- the Ethics of the Fathers -- that it is one of the three things that the world stands on.

Shimon the Righteous was among the last surviving members of the Great assembly. He would say: The world stands on three things: Torah, the service of G-d, and deeds of kindness. (Pirkei Avot 1:2)

What we learn from this is that beyond the obvious necessity of living a Torah life, there are two things we need: service of G-d and chesed, which relates to our fellow man. This is what separated Judaism from other Near Eastern Religions. Judaism was the first "religion to focus on ethical monotheism -- the monotheistic part related to G-d and the ethical part related to man. 

So what's my beef? My gripe is that the way we connect with HaShem matters, but it only matters between us and HaShem. The way we connect with fellow man works the same way. We shouldn't do things publicly or keep lists so everyone knows how awesomely kind and giving we are. Yes, we live in a world where billionaires throw money around at causes and get lots of mad props for it, but is it right? Is that what chesed looks like?

I've been reading, weekly, a little book that Mr. T nabbed for me at Pomeranz booksellers called A Portion of Kindness by Rosally Saltsman, which has weekly mini-assessments of verses from the parshah (portion) and how we can connect it to chesed. I really like her quick and witty take on the weekly portion, and she offers a lot of great tips on how to do chesed. This past week, for Va'yeshev, Saltsman commented on how there were so many good intentions in the parsha, but that most of the time the good intentions didn't really come to fruition (like the brothers who wanted to come back, rescue Yosef and return him to his father). She discussed how there's a concept in Judaism where if the intention is there and the follow-through falls through, the intention is what counts. So often we do something with the proper intention, and it doesn't always go according to plan (at least not our plan), and that's fine. HaShem knows where our intention is. 

Although I like her approach to taking away a lesson on chesed from the weekly portion, I have to gripe that Saltsman lays out a plan to keep a chesed chart, so you can keep tabs on all of the awesomely wonderful things you've done for your fellow man. It goes back to my issue with anonymity and doing something for the sake of it being good and kind rather than for the attention and spotlight on what a great person you are. There's no weekly or monthly or yearly accounting in synagogue of all of the various chesed you've done, is there? So why keep track of it? Feel good about doing it, and move on with your life. It isn't a competition. (For a conversation about the difference between tzedakah or charity and chesed, see this article, which discusses how chesed is "higher" than tzedakah.)

What do you think about chesed? If you're not Jewish, I'm curious if there is a similar ethical responsibility that is encouraged in Christianity or Islam or Buddhism and whether keeping tabs is encouraged or if it's about doing good, feeling good, and being good. 

Note: The book reviews I'm doing for Pomeranz are honest, as all of my product and book reviews are, but the books are being given to me at no cost for review.

Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock

This baby is so cute. I saw her in Dallas, 

and then saw her again in Denver! Oozing cute.

What the what! I haven't blogged in nearly two weeks. What is wrong with me? Where have I been? Where is my mind? Well, fancy you for asking!

The past few weeks have sort of floated by, and because of the nature of them floating, I didn't really notice the time flying so quickly. I'm now sitting in my apartment wondering how on earth I will empty it by Sunday morning when I head to Denver International Airport to head off to New York City where I'll spend Sunday night and then fly off to Eretz Yisrael on Monday evening.

My MacBook Pro was in the shop for two days last week, leaving me largely incommunicado. Then my Sprint service ended, so I was without any form of reaching people on the go. The wifi on my flight to Los Angeles for Shemini Atzeret/Simchat Torah on Sunday to visit my good friends the Lightstones was patchy, so I didn't get a thing done work-wise. By the time I got to Los Angeles, there was a Hoshana Rabbah meal to be had, followed by unpacking and helping out in the kitchen. I showered and before I knew it, it was chag. After two days at a Chabad Yeshiva davening for Shemini Atzeret/Simchat Torah and meeting so many amazing and inspiring people who wished me nothing but hatzlocha in my aliyah, the internet was down at my host's house. Without a cell phone with any semblance of technology, I ended up going web-less for a good 72 hours.

It was horrifying and liberating.

I spent most of today on the plane and when I got back clearing out my inbox, finally doing all of the work that had been put off because of computer problems and web issues. And now? Four emails in my inbox, and only two of those are actually pressing work issues that have to be handled tomorrow. Of course, that doesn't include one major, insane project that I really need to finish by Sunday so my head doesn't explode.

For some reason, it feels like I have to get tons of stuff done before making aliyah. Like I'm moving and then not doing my job anymore, but the truth is that I get to Israel, I sleep, I wake up, I work like normal. Life continues, work continues, everything stays the same -- I'm just in a different time zone (a better time zone, if you will). Oy.

In the past few weeks, I saw friends from Dallas, I saw a friend from back East who now lives in Denver, ate a ton of food, saw my friends from Crown Heights in Los Angeles, had an emotional moment realizing where I was staying in L.A. was right near Pink's (which, for those of you who have known me forever know that was the site of my first date with the great love of my life, Ian, who grew up thinking he was Jewish and then found out he wasn't). Two weeks, so many locations. So much food. So many emotions.

And now I have butterflies in my stomach. The kind of butterflies you get when you're going on a first date. You're excited, and worried, and scared, and eager, and it's a big mush that makes you feel like you have to vomit.

I anticipate a vlog coming up in the next day or so as I officially empty out my apartment on Friday morning when ARC comes by to pick up all of my remaining worldly belongings (which, honestly, is mostly kitchen stuff like plates and silverware and storage containers and cups). The only major thing left I need to sell is my bed. Someone, please buy my year-old bed, please!

Can you sense my anxiety? My excitement? My pure and utter elation and butterflies!? If you can't, you will ... oh you will.

Stay tuned for some highlights of my Los Angeles experience. That is, if I have the time to write about it.

Parshat Shoftim: The Role of Rabbi

As I so often do when it comes to the weekly Torah portion, I'm looking into the archives for inspiration because this week -- nay, this month -- has been busy and I'm finally feeling the strangle-hold loosen. One major event and one major project at work have come and closed (well, except the project, which was my baby of online course registration for the first time at my job, but it's up-and-running, which is all I really wanted).

Even still, as Shabbos nears, there are a million and one thoughts pouncing around in my braincage, so hoo-rah for the archives of this here blog. These thoughts come from 2006, believe it or not, just a few months after this blog got legs and started walking. Back then, I was wholly devoted to the weekly parshah. After a late night of copy editing at The Washington Post, or on a quiet day off, I'd wander to a Dupont Circle coffee shop with my chumash and read the entire portion, taking notes along the way in a steno notebook. Those were the days. Straight from August 2006, I give you ...

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One: Some Elul thoughts, or A month of rabbis on Elul

From Chabad.org (probably my MOST favorite site):

"It is like a king who, before he enters the city, the people of the city go out to greet him in the field. There, everyone who so desires is permitted to meet him; he receives them all with a cheerful countenance and shows a smiling face to them all. And when he goes to the city, they follow him there. Later, however, after he enters his royal palace, none can enter into his presence except by appointment, and only special people and select individuals. So, too, by analogy, the month of Elul is when we meet G-d in the field..." (Likkutei Torah, Re'ei 32b; see also Likkutei Sichot, vol II p. 632 ff.)

Further:

"In Elul, teshuvah is no longer a matter of cataclysmic 'moments of truth' or something to be extracted from the depths of the prayerbook. It is as plentiful and accessible as air: we need only breath deeply to draw it into our lungs and send it coursing through our veins. And with Elul comes the realization that, like air, teshuvah is our most crucial resource, our very breath of spiritual life."

Note: Reading this last line made my eyes well up. I know that most of you don't know me, and I don't know you, and that the web is a place where we come and go as we please in and out of the lives of others -- nameless and faceless -- so I don't expect you to understand how powerful the idea of teshuvah is for someone like me. But if you have the slightest notion of what it means to truly need something, to need hope in order to even imagine carrying on another day, then you understand this idea of the "very breath of spiritual life."

Two: Parshat Shoftim

Shabbat Shalom. This week, Moses instructs the appointment of those who will pursue and enforce justice. In every generation, according to Moses, there will be those entrusted with the task of interpreting and applying the laws of the Torah. This parsha has quite the place in modern Judaism, and an article I read last night in Tikkun really makes this hit home. The article discussed the modernization of Judaism, the evolvement from priests to rabbis to lay people. The latter, of course, being the modern application of those entrusted with leading services and minchas.

It wasn't rare at my shul back home [Referring to South Street Temple in Lincoln, NE] to have a lay person lead services, delivering the sermon and bringing the Torah out. It was strange, to me, though it also was relaxing, as I could paint myself in that picture up on the bima. At the same time, I worry about the future of the rabbi in modern Judaism. Orthodox and Hasidism seem to have a pretty tight rein on the idea of the rabbi -- they are, as Moses foresaw, those entrusted with "interpreting and applying" laws of Torah. The article stressed the importance of an academic Jewry that could serve as lay leadership, interpreting and applying the laws. Analyzing them to bits for blogs and sermons on Saturday mornings. Is this the next step of the teacher evolution?

There's nothing wrong with lay-led services, but the rabbi's purpose is ever so important. Rabbis (those trained, anyhow) serve as encyclopedias of every cubit (har har) of Judaism, from Rashi to Maimonides to the Baal Shem Tov to Moses. Rabbis I've encountered may not know everything, but their passion for exploring and teaching and interpreting the laws of Torah are astounding. Lay leaders are often very involved in shul activities, serving on trustees boards and donating large sums to the local Yeshiva or Birthright foundations. They often have a deep-seeded need to participate in the community, Torah studies and shul choirs. But lay leaders also tend to be businessmen/women, journalists, artists, computer scientists, engineers, doctors, etc. Rabbis have the chance to hone their skills and focus on one thing -- Torah, Judaism, halakah. Lay leaders already have so much on their plate without tossing responsibilities of rabbinic duties on top.

Maybe it is preemptive, but the article made me wonder. Is this the evolution of our sages, scholars and teachers in modern Judaism? Are rabbis an endangered species, not from a lack of interest but because lay leaders are taking the reins?

Note: This piece of the post was interesting to me especially after a rather tenuous conversation that occurred on Facebook last month (or was it earlier this month?) where I posed the question of a rabbi's role outside of Orthodoxy, where rulings on halachic matters require an almost constant attention of every moment of every day in a frum person's life. Perhaps I answered my own question without even knowing it. 

#ChabadLife

Okay, I really really hope the person who created and has been updating this Tumblr continues to do so because, well, this is one of the few things I've come across that has had me laughing out loud. Really, really loud. Bravo!

Here's a screen cap of one of my favorites (except on the actual site, it's all animated gifs!).

"I was more Hasidic Jew than I knew!"

This is a really amazing interview by the very special @mottiseligson. I would have plotzed at the chance to interview Oprah!

Visit Jewish.TV for more Jewish videos.

Food Goes MoShY!

Growing up, there were always staples in the family fridge, and they're all foods that I associate with my father. Pears, apples, shelled hardboiled eggs, tomatoes (which I now know aren't supposed to go in the fridge, but that my father would slice up and eat with a dash of salt). In the cabinets you could always find canned tuna, Hamburger Helper, pasta, pasta sauce, velveeta, and every other Middle America staple there is. Without fail, certain things were always there. We were a meatloaf-eating, pork cutlet-cooking, steak-burning family. As an adult with what my friend Dan says is a really unbelievably healthy kitchen, I have acquired the same kitchen staples mentality except in my kitchen, a kosher vegetarian kitchen, it's all about the vegetables and fruits.

Wild Rice, Basmati Rice, Brown Rice, a variety of lentils, polenta, agave, natural unsalted peanut butter and cashew butter, tons of spices (especially those of the Indian variety), canned pumpkin and sweet potatoes, pistachios and other nuts, every type of gluten-free four you can imagine (rice, almond, the blend). In my fridge you'll find -- without fail -- kale and other leafy greens, chia seed, flax seed, and on my counter there are always pears, butternut and acorn squash, tomatoes, lemons and limes.

I'm sort of a health nut these days I guess. A vegetarian nutjob.

Although, I take that back. Over Shabbat dinner this past week, I discovered there's actually a name for what I am -- MoShY. (Mad props to @melschol and hubsters.) For those of you (like me formerly) who aren't in the know, that's "Meat on Shabbos and Yom Tov."

Yes, it happens. Despite my kitchen being all veggie (and practically vegan since I live on Daiya vegan cheese these days), I do eat meat when I'm invited out for Shabbat, mostly because I feel bad laying all of my weird food things on people.

Gluten free

No white potatoes

Please no white rice

No meat

It seems like a huge pain, right? When people invite  you over, you can't expect them to bend to your every allergy, and so far I've only experienced one Shabbat where I was pretty much unable to eat anything that was served except the salad. But I've experienced too many accidental gluten consumption incidents to be as gentle about my restrictions as I used to. Lucky for me, I really don't get invited out much and the friends who do consistently have me over are willing to deal with my crazy. But, like I said, I eat meat when I'm with them.

Why the emphasis on me eating me out of simplicity and not religious necessity? Well, there are those that hold that it's significant if not mandatory to consume meat on Shabbat. Why? A Chabad.org Q&A article points to the notion that we're supposed to call the Sabbath a "day of delight" from Isaiah. For the rabbis of the Talmud, the article says, this meant food and drink, because in the days of yore, food and drink -- especially wine and meat -- were things that were special, expensive, a treat. However, the Shulchan Aruch HaRav ultimately says,

There is no obligation to eat meat or drink wine on Shabbat. Rather, since it is assumed that most people take more pleasure in eating meat than in other foods, and in drinking wine more than other drinks, therefore they should increase in [consuming] meat and wine according to their means.

For someone like me, who doesn't garner great joy in consuming meat, I suppose this means that for me, to delight in food and drink on Shabbat would consiste of some delicious Ethiopian Lentils and a big cup of coffee! But then there's this article over on Chabad about Judaism and vegetarianism that, after explaining various takes on meat-eating in Jewish literature, says, "According to this approach, it may be cruel to not eat meat, because doing so robs the animal of its chance to serve a higher purpose." I don't buy that explanation, but feel free to read the entire article and let me know what you think. If everything has the ability to be uplifted to serve a higher purpose, then isn't a cow doing more by consuming lots of vegetation over a lifetime than by being killed and consumed in one quick meal?

So, at any rate, I'm MoShY! For now, anyway. It just makes life easier. Are you a member of the MoShY tribe? What do you think about Jews, meat, and vegetarianism? 

A Published Newsie, Again

The first "news" article I ever wrote was way back in college when I worked as a copy editor and copy desk chief at The Daily Nebraskan -- the official newspaper of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and proud owner of many Student Pulitzer Prizes, not to mention a later deadline than the actual local paper (making it an awesome place to work for breaking news).

You see, I wanted the Arts and Entertainment editor to write up a piece on a Slam Poetry competition in Omaha, but he just didn't have the manpower. "If you want it in the paper, write it yourself," he said. So I did, and I never wrote another. Too much pressure, a chance of being edited, inability to write my own headline.

But my good friend @Mottel pointed someone in my direction and thus comes the second, long-awaited installment in my "news" reporting career, this time for Lubavitch.com.

Read the article here!

And if you really want to read my first "news" story ever published, it's here. 

Note: I wrote a lot of satire pieces for the Daily Halfasskan, which was our April 1 joke issue. For some reason writing fake, hilarious stories carried a lot less pressure than "real" news. 

The Tzniut Project 15: "The Uniform"

This is the fifteenth in a multi-part series called The Tzniut Project. Women from a variety of backgrounds with a variety of observances have volunteered to anonymously answer questions that I have written about their practices, people's assumptions, and more. For more information on the project, click here. Please continue to check back with The Tzniut Project to read more stories and comment abundantly!

Note: This post is contributed by a reader. I have been waiting for a post from the Chasidic world, and here it is! Also, B"H = Baruch HaShem (essentially, blessed is G-d).

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1. How do you affiliate Jewishly? Feel free to elaborate on the words people use to describe you and the words you use to describe yourself. 
I consider myself to be just plain Chareidi. We affiliate with Chabad so I guess that makes us Chabad or Lubavitch? I am not really sure. I know my family describe us as "ultra orthodox." Really we are just regular frum yidden.

2. Growing up, did your mother or grandmother dress modestly in any way? Do you think modesty was something instilled in you by your family? Did you dress modestly growing up? 
Modesty was definitely not something I saw growing up, not by my mom and later on not even by my grandmother (albeit always in a very classy way B"H). When my family came to America they really assimilated into the culture. Growing up I did not so much dress modestly as much as I dressed very casually and sporty. I loved wearing jeans and T-shirts, sport suits, etc. But by the time I got to the middle of high school that all changed. That is when I really started my entry into the realm of short skirts, open tops, etc. This phase though only lasted two years. I started dressing tzniusly soon after I got to Stern College in New York.

3. Are you married? How does your spouse feel about your choices for modest dress? Is it a dialogue or does your partner leave the mitzvah to you? 
We have been married for a year and usually my husband leaves the tznius dress up to me. Lately though he has been pretty picky about how I dress around the house (I blame it on our baby girl). When I get home I just want to let loose (i.e. walk around in pants under a skirt, maybe a shirt does not come up to my collar bone). He would not ever let me walk around our apartment with my hair uncovered or even in a short-sleeve shirt. I am pretty much okay with it and used to it ... I was dressing this way around the house before I got married anyways (except for the covering hair part).

I happen to be a lot more careful of how I dress to go out so he never mentions anything about that ... unless something is accidentally showing that should not be. It is definitely a dialogue for us. I think though that my husband's desire for me to be fully tznius in the house comes not only because of our daughter but also because that is what he saw at home. His mom is always fully tznius at home with her hair covered. His dad as well walks around in pants and a button down. My husband comes home and the only thing he does is change his pants, otherwise he stays in his tzitis and a button down shirt. My husband B"H takes his tznius of dress very seriously, he does not wear/own jeans and T-shirts, ever.

4. What would you wear on a typical day? On Shabbos? If you dress differently on weekdays and Shabbos, why do you make this distinction and how? 
On a typical day I would wear a pleated skirt, some kind of top and a kiki riki/linda leal top underneath. Every single top I have in my closet gets worn with one of these shirts underneath. I, like my husband, dont wear/own any denim. I definitely try to make a distinction between my weekday dress and my Shabbos dress. I feel it is important to do so because Shabbos is all about honoring the King of Kings. We spend the whole day preparing a beautiful table in honor of Shabbos, have a nice becher [kiddush cup] and lichters [Shabbos candlesticks/lights], I think it is just as important to spend some time preparing ourselves as well!

Now we are home every Shabbos because we dont use the eruv, and even at home I make it a point to dress up for Shabbos. It also make me feel regal, I like it and so does my husband :) We rarely have an opportunity to pay a little extra attention to how we look, well for me Shabbos is that opportunity. I make that distinction by wearing my full sheitel instead of a tichel or my fall. I also make that distinction by wearing some kind of fancy top and wearing jewelry (since I don't usually wear it during the week). My skirts are all interchangeable from weekday to Shabbos.

5. What do you think other people infer from your clothing and hair covering choices? Has anyone ever said anything to you outright that expresses a judgment based on your appearance? (Ex: “You don’t cover your hair or wear skirts, so why do you keep kosher?”) 
At least in the community I live in people understand that I am frum/chareidi. I basically wear the "uniform": pleated skirt, some kind of top with a shirt underneath, the "chareidi" shoes, tights, sheitel/tichel. I think that my family infers that I am nuts! No one has ever said anything to me outright, and if they wanted to they kept it to themselves. I have to admit though that I am judgmental of people's appearances ... and perhaps that is why I choose to dress as I do, but don't get me wrong I enjoy my style.

6. Have you ever surprised someone by dressing more or less modestly and making them rethink their stereotypes about what it means to be an observant Jew? 
I dont think that I have ... My style of tznius has been evolving ever since I made my choice about four years ago. I had many bumps in the road when I went from zero to sixty and then back again. By the time I left Israel in 2009 I had chosen the "chareidi" style, and I'm really happy with my choice. I think that is the challenge of a lot of Baalei Teshuva, finding a tznius zone that works both for the person and within the community. I know that for me, honestly, community (both in Israel and L.A.) had a lot to do with my choice. My family can make stupid and hurtful comments about the fact that I dress tzniusly, especially when we go shopping or they buy me something, but I stick my ground, and they will hopefully one day stop making unnecessary comments.

7. When you see someone who observes tzniut differently than you, what are your initial thoughts? How do you deal with them? 
None of your readers will like this, and trust me I realize that this is not the right thing to do. I categorize them. I categorize people's observance by how they dress. It has been an uphill battle to get rid of this habit, if any of your readers have advice on this topic I will gladly hear it. I try not to judge them as people based on how they dress. If we are talking then I will listen, I won't automatically dismiss them chas v'shalom ["G-d forbid"]. What can I say, I have got some serious work to do in this department.

8. I say modesty or tzniut … what does that mean to you? 
To me it means mode of dress, speech, and actions. Most of the time it comes up on reference to dress, but there have been times between my husband and I where it has come up in actions. I think that over the years as Yiddishkeit has evolved and changed there has been a far greater emphasis on tzniut as a mode of dress rather than on speech and actions.

9. Anything else you’d like to add about your choices, experiences, and more! 
My style and closet have changed quite often over the last four years. In the beginning of my frumkeit journey I was all over the place trying to figure out where in the frum spectrum I wanted to be. I really think, at least thats how its has been for me, that community (and niche, i.e. "chassiddish") have a large influence in the realm of tnius as a mode of dress. For me personally, the reason I chose and have stayed with my current style is due to

1. being way more comfortable in my own skin than I ever have before,
2. finally choosing a niche/community within the frum world, and
3. getting married and having a baby (since I want to be a good example for my children).

KoshaDillz Drops a Beat at SXSW

I didn't get a chance last night to blog about the day's events, but they were aplenty, fascinating, and exhausting (but in a good way). The pinnacle of the day probably came in the evening, however, which started with our big Kosher BBQ at the Chabad House at UT in Austin. We probably had 15 people show up, including a bunch of Israelis (which gave me a chance to show off my mad Hebrew skills), and we noshed on hamburgers, hot dogs, chips, and Shiner. The best part of the BBQ? KoshaDillz, the illustrious Jewish rapper, showed up with his cohort and they dropped some serious rhymes, kosher style. You need to watch this entire video to get the full effect, and listen closely for my name -- yes, I am in the rap. Ahh, to be rapped about. This surely will be the first of many rap inclusions, of course. So enjoy the video!





More about the evening, including an encounter with the one and only Ashton Kutcher (okay, he was like, five feet from me, but I got a picture), the party where I name-dropped, and more!

Chabad on the Moon!?

While perusing Etsy.com, as I do sometimes when I'm bored, need to refresh my brain, and don't have a graphic novel laying around, I came across some funny comics up for sale. This one gave me a happy giggle. If you'd like to purchase one, just visit this Etsy Shop! (I also like the Rashi on a date one, tee hee.) After all, we have to be able to laugh at ourselves, right?

From Football to Tefillin!

Hat tip to Jewschool for bringing this fascinating story to my attention. This is an absolutely INTERESTING story. Give it a watch. Yes, he still wears his Superbowl ring!

To Life, To Life, L'Chaim!

For the second time in the past month, Tuvia and I schlepped down to New York City to Crown Heights for something exciting! A few weeks ago? It was to see FrumSatire get his comedy on. Last night? It was to attend the L'Chaim of my wisdom-ful blogger friend, Mottel.

We drove down after Tuvia got off work, in a shwanky rental car since Tuvia's is getting fixed up thanks to some bad weather rear-endings. The trek was incredibly quick, and we stopped off for some incredibly disappointing cupcakes in the city before heading off to Crown Heights. We found a parking spot pretty quickly down the block from the Jewish Children's Museum, and a few minutes after 9 p.m. walked into the F.R.E.E. (Friends of Refugees of Eastern Europe) building.

Because I'm a fond believer in the private lives and the privacy of other bloggers, I'm not going to go into massive details of the engagement event. I'll just say that for my first L'Chaim, it was absolutely beautiful. I was in the women's section the entire time, but people flowed almost gracefully between the two groups, but with respecting completely the necessity of modesty and separation. The food was amazing, the people were so kind, and perhaps most importantly, the kallah was absolutely beautiful.

Whenever I attend events like this, where there's a ton of Chabadniks and modestly dressed women (believe me, I was all frummed up and the only skin to be seen was on my hands and face), I feel out of place without trying. I have short, short hair and every Jewish woman on the planet dons long, flowing dark hair -- even with her sheitl styles! The clothes are satiny and elegant, the women are graceful without trying. And the men? Pious, excited about who they are and HaShem above. Their passion is something to be seen, something to be understood, and it fails to compare to anything else I know. I see those men, and those women, and I'm filled with admiration. Can I be like that? Would I be able to be like that? Would I want to be like that? I left feeling a desire to be shomer negiah. Is that obscene? The entire idea of matchmaking suddenly felt so beautiful. So romantic. Thousands of years of Jewish matches made can't be wrong, can they?

At any rate, it was a wonderful evening and all I can say is Mazel Tov and many, many happy things to Mottel and his kallah!

Tragedy and hope.

I am completely devastated to hear that Rabbi Gavriel and Rebbetzin Rivka Holtzberg have been killed in the terrorist attacks on Mumbai, India this week. I prayed and waited, watching the news as their 2-year-old son was released with blood-soaked pants from the compound. I watched as two rabbis were let go. And then I watched as they said that the building had been targeted and that Israelis and Americans were being held inside with the rabbi and his wife. And then, today, I watched as their obituaries were released on the internet. The tragedy in its entirety was senseless and stupid. Nearly 200 people have died, hundreds have been injured. Fires blazed, gunshots rang out, and blood soaked the streets. I cannot fathom what the chaos was like, or how incredibly painful the battle was for those who died. But I do know that the Holtzbergs were doing one of the most wonderful things with their life when those lives were taken from them at such young ages (neither was even 30). Jewish outreach is perhaps the greatest thing about Chabad. They place "houses" all over the world so that no matter what corner of the earth you trek to, you can always find your Jewish brothers and sisters, and in a community so small, it is so important to the Jewish people. Thus, this occurrence and loss is devastating and incredibly troubling.

Thus, it is with the tragedy, that I was reading a little pamphlet on Shabbat I got from the Chabad Lubavitch store in West Orange yesterday while buying some books and goodies that I came across the number one reason for women to light Shabbat candles: To add light to a dark world. And right now? The world is a very dark place. I then heard, via Twitter, that the rabbi who was giving the teleconference today about the incident that he said that all Jewish women should light Shabbos candles tonight -- we MUST bring light into the world. And it is as such, that I suggest every last person who reads this thread light Shabbos candles tonight.

Bring light into this dark, dark world. Do your part!

And, it is with these few remarks, that I wish you all a Good Shabbos. May you reflect on the world's darkness and change it in a way that will create waves of light.

(On a lighter note, I'm incredibly amused that the White House sent out a "Merry Hanukkah" card to invite people to a Chanukah reception. The funny thing? There's nothing Chanukah-like about it. It's a horse-drawn carriage pulling up to the White House carrying a Christmas tree on the cart it's pulling. I mean, seriously. Sure, it's nice that they're spreading out their arms to welcome ye olde Jews, but at the same time ... taste should be thought about, no? Never fear, though, the Orthodox Union is defending the card . Which, I'll be honest, seems kinda laughable as well.)

Shabbaton Reflections, Part II

It's been nearly a week since I sat down to write my reflections on the first day of the Shabbaton that took place Nov. 7-9. To read the first installment, just click here . And then? Continue on!

I woke up Saturday morning primed to give the Shabbaton the old one-two go! I slept in late, mostly because the folks who lived upstairs (my host lived in a basement apartment) were up at 6 or 7 in the morning and children were running back and forth, feet stomping, throughout the morning. Services and a few programs were running in the morning, but I just couldn't bring myself to crawl out of bed (partially from the sleep deprivation and partially because of my experience the night before at services). I got up, got dressed in a long black skirt and I layered two shirts atop it. And then? I put on a scarf. I'm serious, folks. You haven't seen me in the morning. My hair, while cute when done up right, is an absolute mess pre-shower and doing up. It's like a wild forest of twists and crazy angles and nothing can keep it down. Plus, with the humid weather from the rain, my hair wasn't the only thing looking like hell. I, too, looked like hell. I was feeling sticky and gross, and I knew it was going to be a long day sans shower (I prescribe to the "a shower is okay on Shabbat" philosophy). As I was finishing up dressing, my host awoke and came out to talk to me, not to mention gave me some yogurt and goodies before I went on my way.

I left the apartment and schlepped through the rain (not that it mattered, since my hair was scarfed a la a frummie housewife) to the building where all of the programming was happening. I, like the night before, blended in with the crowd of Jews rushing to and fro from services to lunch to meetings with friends and family. My black skirt whipped back and forth in the rain, and I felt apart of the community, for sure.

I arrived at the building in time for lunch around the noon hour, located some of my fellow UConn Jews and the doors opened and we grabbed a table right inside the door. I sort of forgot that I was wearing my scarf and it wasn't really like I'd felt any different than the evening before, but then someone mentioned to me the scarf and I went into my spiel about how my hair looks hideous in the morning. Someone commented that I looked super frum, and as usual, I smiled. The meal came and was, to be honest, pretty darn delicious. There was gefilte fish, various salads, cholent, challah, salad, cookies, cake, you name it. But it wasn't the meal that was the most memorable part.

Throughout the meal, rabbis got up to tell jokes and parables -- a really funny one about a rabbi and lawyer on a long flight (remind me to tell you about it later!). There was dancing around the main lectern in the center of the ballroom, and men flew through the crowd legs flying and voices wailing. It was a really, really unique and beautiful site. The women, eager to partake, tried to get something going (that is, two of the gals at my table and myself), and eventually we had a circle going and our voices flew. But just about as soon as we'd started the men broke up and we got the social nod to quit and sit. Also throughout the meal, I had the pleasure of chasing the rabbi's youngest boy around the ballroom. He is, really, seriously, the cutest little boy I've ever encountered. At one point, while chasing him as he looked for the rabbi, I grabbed him right as he was jetting off into unknown territory. As I picked him up, the girl with me said "You look so religious, so maternal right now." It was a moment of pride, I'll admit, but the little one quickly squirmed out of my arms and ran on and I, like a good Jewish mother, followed him along until about 10 minutes later we finally got back to the table. I have radar for the little one -- he'd get up and run for the door, I'd let the rebbetzin know he was off again. I have the instinct, what can I say?

After lunch, there were a series of "seminars" on various topics -- Jewish dating, belief, prayer, etc. -- by rabbis and rebbetzins of the Chabad persuasion. I decided to settle into a talk by a rabbi on the topic of belief in Judaism. I was one of the first in the classroom, followed by a girl from Syracuse. We exchanged pleasantries and where we were from and then she asked, "So are you the rebbetzin at UConn?" The scarf! Always with the scarf. I replied no, and made a sort of sudden realization that in the Chabad community, sheitels are the standard it seems, not scarves or other head coverings. The room started to fill up and by the time the talk started, there was standing room only and people were sitting on the floor. The rabbi, who is known for his work on the Gunick Edition of the chumash, kept the conversation incredibly lively by discussing whether Judaism is a rational or irrational religion. Whether our belief is of the rational variety or is irrational, and boy did that stir some discussion. Many people in the crowd began talking about taking a "leap of faith" in believing, and how it's an essential part of Judaism. It was interesting because the men were the only one talking, and the women were sitting quietly. A few of the women next to me commented, saying "the women have nothing to say!"

But me? I always have something to say.

I raised my hand, and said that I wasn't sure if I had an opinion on whether Judaism was rational or irrational, but that the idea that Judaism takes a "leap of faith" is a misconception. I explained that Kierkegaard, when writing about Christianity, said that to be a Christian requires a "leap of faith." In response, Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote that Judaism, alternatively, requires a "leap of action." If you think about it (this needs a full blog post to be honest), it's pretty accurate. I also mentioned that what we think of as "faith" is really meant to be "faithfulness." I blogged about this at length a while ago. But it frustrates me that people confuse faith with belief. The rabbi thanked me for my comments, someone commented that I was nuts, and the seminar went on. Afterward, I wandered the hallways trying to figure out which seminar to go to next, but none struck me. Luckily, I ran into the rabbi from the talk, who I ended up having a lengthy conversation with -- about what I'm studying and working on, the Golden Calf issue (about which he sent me some really comprehensive and stellar stuff from the Gutnick edition), and other things. It was truly -- after the Shabbat dinner -- my favorite part of the Shabbaton. I'm an academic geek, and there's truly nothing like a discussion with a rabbi about anything at all.

But after the seminar? My Shabbat hit a huge, huge brick wall.

I can't explain it, but talking to the rabbi and attending that seminar was a high. After that, and after the second seminar time expired, it was time to prepare for Havdalah and the big group photo. As soon as that all ended, the evening broke out into individual dinners, a gigantic party with a band, and fabrengen's into the wee hours of the night. But as I crowded into the ballroom with hundreds of other students, and as we plastered ourselves against the side wall, I grew anxious and uncomfortable. Every five seconds, as the crowd grew louder and the people grew more tense while we waited for everything to get set up for havdalah and the group photo ... I wanted to leave. I kept wanting to walk out. I could see the rabbi and the rebbetzin across the room and knew I should stay. I looked around the room at the comaradarie, the students chanting school songs and there I was, in a crowd of strangers. Havdalah candles were lit, prayers were said, a few songs were sung, and then the flashbulbs burned and we were done. Like a stampede, people piled out of the ballroom to run home to shower, eat, prepare for the night's festivities as only college students might.

But me? I ran home, called someone, showered, got dressed, and sat down for a few hours with my host to explain why that person I'd called was coming to pick me up and take me away from Crown Heights. As I explained feeling quite alone, too old for the crowd, overwhelmed by the rebbe-as-moshiach-posters everywhere, the sheer volume and size of the group of people, and everything ... she understood why I was leaving. She -- as well as many others since then -- suggested I go back to Crown Heights when I have the chance to really experience a Shabbat without hundreds of other kids, and the suggestion is valid and I intend to take it into account. But by leaving early, I was sacrificing the events on Sunday, which included the trip to the rebbe's ohel and experiencing the entire site with my peers -- something I want to do, but perhaps alone or with merely one or two others, not in a gigantic crowd of hundreds. And just like that, Saturday night, I hopped into the car of a friend with some rugelach from my host in hand, and drove off into the night away from the Shabbaton and away from Crown Heights.

Listen, what it comes down to -- and I must say this briefly, else I'll have a 20 part series on the event -- is that it was overwhelming for someone so conditioned to inward thinking (a result of living a year in Washington DC and becoming as antisocial as a hermit), everyone was doing their own thing and I was left to consider how completely out of the loop I really was, and I felt a lack of connection religiously to anything in Crown Heights. I went in with very high hopes, and the absolute magnitude of the entire event and the population of students there, paired with the lack of cohesion between the students from my school, threw me to the ground and left me feeling lonely. I did, though, realize my limits. I can't say much more than that, but I'll leave it there for now and perhaps develop something for a future post.

It isn't, by any means, an event I'll forget, and I might even give the Shabbaton another try next year. Or, I might just schlep down to New York on my own or with someone special, visit the Ohel, explore Crown Heights, and maybe show up again for a Shabbat. Or, just maybe, I'll stick to Washington Heights, where I felt beyond comfortable and felt at home in the services. I felt in WH like the women wanted to be there, that it was more than a social hour. (As an aside: Maybe I'll make my tour de force empowering Orthodox women to own their religion. It's more than a social hour, damnit. Women aren't bound to the same mitzvot as men, necessarily, but it doesn't mean we shouldn't strive for that connection that we gain by davening and being a part of a society of prayer.)

But there you are. A mere two parts, because after more than a week, it's almost a lost cause trying to put together coherent thoughts about such an emotionally stressful weekend. If you got this far? Congratulations and thank you for the time!

Shabbaton Reflections, Part I of ??

I have nearly 100 blog entries from friends to catch up on between Friday morning and today, not to mention that I just spent the past few hours catching up on responding to the dozens and dozens of emails that I received since Friday. I have somehow become a very, very busy e-person. But the point of this post is to get down a general outline of the Shabbaton in Crown Heights from this weekend before it all escapes me. This will be a two parter, though I'm not sure how I'll divide it up just yet. The short of the story is that I left Crown Heights to trek back to Connecticut on Saturday night after Shabbos was over. There are a variety of reasons that will probably come out between the lines of text, but I'll summarize likely in Part II or III, which will come later. Not sure how many parts this will be, so bear with me. Let us begin.

Five students packed into a car on Friday around 12:30 p.m. to schlep to Crown Heights (CH) for this year's annual Shabbaton. For two of us, it was our first Shabbaton, and for the other three, it was like old hat. We hit the highway and one of our passengers read the traveler's prayer off his palm device, setting us up for a safe trip. It sprinkled on and off, and we all anticipated at least a bit of rain, but the trip was fairly smooth and we made it into CH with about an hour and a half to spare before Shabbos started. We skipped check-in ("not enough time!") and everyone piled out of the car and the two girls headed one way and the two guys another and I, in my infinite confusion, said "Guys, I have no idea where I'm going, anyone?" Luckily, after some gentle prodding for SOME semblance of order, I was pointed in a general direction of my host's home and after some wandering I arrived, feeling gross from the muggy weather and ready to get the Shabbaton on the road. There was only one problem.

No one told me anything. I didn't know where to go. I didn't know when to go where. I didn't know where davening was or dinner was or where the opening program was. With Shabbos fast approaching, I was frustrated because I didn't seem to have any way of getting any information. Since we hadn't registered, I didn't know the itinerary and for those of you that know me well, I'm the kind of person who needs to know what's going on well in advance. I was frustrated from square one before the weekend even arrived because I didn't know who was going, how we were getting there, or what the itinerary was. Maybe I'm a little OCD in the organizing department, but that's just how I am. So the rabbi magically showed up (baruch hashem!) with linens and a schedule for me, as well as a map so I could get around. Talk about a blessing. The sirens went off, warning us of the impending beginning to Shabbat (nearly 4:30! oy so early!), and I finished the munchies I was noshing (thank you host!) and I eventually made my way to the main building where everything was to be held, and I started to feel more prepared for everything.

The crowd was, in a word, intense. It was huge. From our school there were maybe about seven people. There were hundreds of undergraduates (and maybe some graduates, but I had no way of telling) in a ballroom and the noise level was extreme. To express how loud it was both at the beginning and later at the farbrengen, when I arrived back home around 1 a.m. that night, my ears were RINGING, as if I'd been at a rock concert. The icebreakers didn't last long because of the noise level and I spent a lot of time wandering around looking for others in the group. Eventually everyone sat down (with their schools) and there was an opening session followed by a schlep to evening services at 770 (Lubavitch Headquarters). The opening session seemed to last forever because the noise level -- a constant frustration for the speakers and leaders of the event -- just wouldn't calm itself. Maybe I'm old and lame and spend too much time shaking my fists at those darn kids to get off my lawn, but the entire weekend it seemed like there was an intense lack of respect for the rabbis who were trying to speak.

At any rate, services were definitely interesting. Now, I feel like I'm sounding really negative, and I don't mean to. There were a lot of really intensely amazing things about the weekend (the two big ones being the Shabbat dinner by the rebbetzin's family and the session on belief that I attended Saturday), but being a newbie to the world of CH and Chabad, it felt like I was a spectator, and being someone who is intensely committed to her Judaism and davening and the experience of being a Jew, it was frustrating sometimes. At services, the men went into a lower entrance and the women into an upper entrance. Now, being someone who adores the mechitzah, this didn't bug me in the slightest. But then you get into what feels like a "viewing room" where the women overlook the men's prayer hall -- there are tables in the back where the Yeshiva bochurim were chatting and davening and up front where the Shabbaton folks and others were davening. Upstairs, the women overlook the gigantic room through tinted windows with a small area at the bottom which you can see clearly through. So we get there and I'm ready to daven. Shabbat for me is so much about prayer, right? But after a while, I realized that there was no way we could know where the men were in their prayers because there was so much noise. I looked around and women were chatting, watching the men, no one was praying. Not a single one. I was so confused. Isn't this what we go to shul for? To daven in a community? After a while, I threw up my hands and started davening the service on my own around the same time one of the other girls from my group did the same. Then, the service was over and we took off for Shabbat dinner.

I finally fell back into my comfort zone. The dinner was by the rebbetzin's sister and brother-in-law, and it was to be all of the UConn kids as well as a few from Oregon who had come in, not to mention the family of the rebbetzin -- including her father and the great bubbe of the family! The Shabbat dinner was, in a word, magnificent. It was full of song and stories and discussion and the most delicious food. We did introductions, we laughed, we listened to the rebbetzin's father tell stories that were accompanied by songs to the tunes of "Yesterday" by the Beatles and "Come on Baby Light My Fire" by the Doors. We talked of parables and Torah and what it means to find your path and to follow it. The kids ran around playing and laughing and one even fell asleep on the wood floor in the corner. There was one moment, that I just can't bring myself to write about here, where I was sort of shocked and dismayed with the children, but what can you do? They're children, I guess. It reminds me, though, that we are living in funny times. The songs we sang were songs I was unfamiliar with -- "Ain't Gonna Work on Saturday," which I now love, and others. But it felt like a family. I felt like I was a part of a big Jewish family who was cohesive and comfortable. I was also excited because it was the first time I'd ever been in a house that had two separate ovens and counters and the works! I think my awe and excitement had some people giving me funny looks, but I'm the Liberal Jewish product of a Conservative Christian upbringing, so what can you expect? On our way out that night, one of the little boys was singing a song about cholent and I thought, This, this is what Shabbat is -- it's family and food and songs and stories and prayer and bentchers marking weddings and bar mitzvahs of years long past.

We left and walked back to the building with the ballroom for the farbrengen. It was late, and I -- being old and lame as I am -- was exhausted. But I forged forth, trying to soak in every morsel of the Shabbat that I could. We got there and the various events that were supposed to be going on seemed to be muddled by noise and people moving from room to room and volume levels I can't describe. I wandered around for a while, trying to find part of the UConn group, but without much luck for a great deal of time. We walked over together, and people went their separate ways. Everyone seemed to know someone, and I tried to chat with strangers. I found myself most comfortable in a room watching men dance around and sing, women beating their fists on the table to tunes they all knew but I was unfamiliar with. Eventually I grew tired and found a few people and one of the fellows walked me home in the drizzling rain. I got home that night to my host's house where everyone was asleep feeling tired, my ears ringing, my clothes soaked, trying to figure out what the evening had meant outside of my amazing time at the Shabbat dinner. Walking through the streets in my long skirt walking 90 miles a minute, I felt as if I fit in so well to the aesthetic of the community, but something was off.

I'll end this portion of my Shabbaton reflection by saying a few things about me. I don't do well with crowds. Loud environments make me anxious. I was unlucky enough to inherit much of my mother's anxiety issues when it comes to these things. The feeling of claustrophobia and anxiousness when put in close quarters with people screaming and hollering and bumping into you. I swear I've never been touched so much in my life as I was this weekend (which, I'll admit is strange considering the Chabad environment, but you have to remember that it was a LOT of undergradate kids). I guess what I'm trying to say is that the Shabbaton was probably intensely wonderful for a lot of people. But for me? I'm 25 years old. I have something going on in the Jewish couple thing, which means that sessions on Jewish dating and scoping out the meat market are two things that didn't register for me. Maybe I'm crotchety, but meeting dozens of random people who I'll likely never see again who I can't likely relate to on a delicate level because of our different outlooks and perspectives wasn't appealing. I'm a graduate student, and I have a certain way I look at life. When I was an undergraduate, I had a completely different perspective. The two crowds? Might be able to mingle loosely, but it's hard in such gigantic settings. This is probably why, to some degree, I felt left out by the people I'd come with who -- on a weekly Shabbat level -- I relate to and feel friendly with. And I'm sure that played a role in my reaction to the weekend, too.

At any rate, more to come tomorrow about sleeping in, covering my hair and what kind of reaction it got ("Are you the rebbetzin at UConn?"), the lunch and the funny jokesters, the rabbi with the amazing stories and thoughts, the seminar on belief that helped me to make an important connection with an important rabbi, the end of Shabbat, seeing the rebbe's picture everywhere and the signs of the impending arrival of moshiach, and how I ended up leaving the Shabbaton an entire day early to head back to Connecticut  -- missing my trip to the rebbe's ohel. 

The Etrog of My Heart

Today, I did something I have never done before. I took some steps, into a structure, and did something that I have wanted to do for so long, yet, haven't had the chance to go through with.

I was on my way to the cafeteria for some lunch before my 12:30, and it was about 11:45. On my way I passed through the graduate quad and saw a table set up outside the pop-up sukkah, so I decided to pop by and see if I could get my lulav shaking on. Lo and behold, there was the fellow who got the sukkah put up doing some prayers. I stood off to the side, not wanting to intrude, and he came out of the sukkah, gestured for me to go in. He handed me the lulav, and delicately opened the little white box to reveal the etrog cradled gently in foam. He took it out and handed it to me, directing me on how to hold the two objects in my hands, but silently.

He opened his siddur, which, might I add, was all in Hebrew/English and lacking transliterations, and pointed to the prayers as I read them aloud -- in Hebrew -- while holding the objects. He then directed me in the movements of the objects: forward, to the heart, forward, to the heart ... and so on. The rustling of the lulav was accomplished with the most subtle of movements, and as I pulled the lulav and etrog toward me, it was as if the etrog were thrusting itself through to my heart, placing itself in my chest chambers, and moving back out with each movement.

And when I was done, the kindly fellow asked me if I'd said the Shema yet, and I hadn't, so he pointed me in the siddur where to go, and I read the Shema and some other things and then we talked about why I haven't been by the rabbi's for Shabbat, how women aren't bound to the Sukkot requirements, etc. And then? I plodded off, listening to the band Beirut, and got some lunch while reading some documents he'd given me about Sukkot, Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah (adorned with the rebbe's likeness and what have you).

When we were talking, and when the ritual was being performed, I couldn't smell or think of anything but the potency of the etrog. Because of it's shape, the etrog (a citron, sorta like a lemon), is said to resemble the heart. It is meant to represent the ideal Jew -- one who has both knowledge of Torah and good deeds, as the etrog is both pleasant in taste and in smell.

And, perhaps, when I felt that thump in my heart as I brought the etrog and lulav toward me, I was longing to be that ideal Jew, the one with a balance of Torah and deeds. The Jew I am in my dreams of Hasidic teachings and the Jew who will daven.

Forward I go, and with that -- Chag Sameach!

Getting Ready to SHAKE it!

What an interesting weekend I had down in the Poconos with Evan. We saw a bear by the side of the road in the community, not to mention wild turkeys wandering around someone's driveway. We stopped at a most magnificent waterfall (which you see pictured here and which you can see more of over on my Flickr ), and we spent most of one day this weekend at a flea market/craft fair/harvest festival where I procured some delicious jams/spreads from some nice Quaker girls (who had a yummy-looking loaf of challah that I resisted buying).

The weekend was all around beautiful and relaxing, and the services at the shul in the community were, well, interesting. I got nothing spiritually from them, but they were amusing in that the chazzan was funny and had some interesting things to say (he even brought up "Mallrats," which no one seemed to know about except the chazzan, Evan and I). But there was probably a 40-50 year age gap between us and the rest of the people there, though there was a mighty showing, it being an older community. They used the old -- we're talking the ORIGINAL -- Reform siddur, which made me want to cry, but the building was beautiful and the company was nice and the chazzan was plenty friendly. We will probably go back, I just have to figure out a way to do my prayers on my own. I think it's time to suck it up and buy myself that transliterated Artscroll so I can daven solo-style.

At any rate, the sukkah is up in the grad courtyard and we did some l'chaims earlier to celebrate it's construction. It's incredibly tall and was purchased from PopUpSukkah.com, but it'll get the job done for what we need. I spent the afternoon mulling about with the Chabad rabbi's youngest boy (age 2-ish) who ... wow ... I want 10 just like him. I can't understand a word he said, but we were looking at water in a drain pipe and watching planes dart across the sky leaving smokey skies behind. I got him to start saying "bye bye! bye bye!" while waving frantically and it was seriously the cutest thing I have ever seen. So tomorrow evening begins Sukkot -- also known as Sukkos or the Feast of Tabernacles/Booths -- and I'll be spending my time probably at the Chabad rabbi's place for dinner and services on Tuesday morning since I'm not sure what Hillel is doing and I can't seem to get enough of the wee one (and the older one calls me Chava and Ahava, which amuses me but I'm down with it cuz he's cool).

So with Sukkot approaching, I implore everyone to quickly get a copy of Ushpizin (one of my most FAVORITE MOVIES) and watch it with joy. It is THE Sukkot movie, and if you haven't seen it, you're really missing out.

This will be my first "observant" Sukkot ... and I'm stoked. I'm ready to get my shake on -- are you? The only thing is, I've never done the shakin' before and I don't know the rules and regulations ... good thing I found this video! (Not!)







Moadim l'simcha!

Chavi's Digging on New Voices, You Should Too!

I recently discovered an AWESOME publication -- New Voices , a national Jewish student magazine -- and thanks to some emailing and the wonders of the internet in building connections, I might be hooking up with New Voices in the future to do fun things. The magazine has been publishing since 1991, and that's news to me because I never happ'd upon it during my undergraduate education, but I'm lucky to have come across it now, I think.

The new issue -- available online by clicking here -- is the Lubavitch Issue. I think it's a pretty damn good reading, especially coming from the perspective of a college student on a campus where Hillel and Chabad seem to be not at all working as a whole. Case in point: Chabad throws up posters over at the Kosher dining facility for their events, just steps away from where Hillel meets, even as rumors float around campus that Hillel is "closed" for the year.  The two don't appear to work together well, and I think the issue probably addresses this all-encompassing issue on campuses in an interesting way . I won't give any of the little morsels away, but here's what the magazine says about the issue:

On college campuses across the country, a Shabbat dinner at the Chabad House is as much a ritual of Jewish student life as an ice cream social at the Hillel. As of this fall, emissaries of the Chabad-Lubavitch Hasidic movement have set up Chabad Houses at nearly 100 colleges and universities. In this issue, we take a long, hard look at these shluchim, and at the ultra-Orthodox movement that has become central to the Jewish lives of thousands of college students.

If you want to check-out a reliable and praiseworthy spiel on New Voices, check out Jew School's very, very recent post on the magazine!

They say G-d speaks to us in our dreams.

I've blogged more in the past 24 hours than I have in about a week. What gives? I have a lot to say? Maybe. But this post is mostly for the sake of bookkeeping, but please feel free to respond.

You see, I had a big Chabad-inspired dream last night. My dreams, as some of you know, are incredibly vivid in their detail, so I usually wake up remembering just about everything -- from the clothes people where to the most fine detail like someone's earrings or the words someone says. It went something like this.

There was an entire (less vivid) portion leading up to the main dream that involved teaching my little brother Joseph Hebrew but him resisting and getting the numbering all wrong, but then it broke and I walked into this gigantic social hall type thing, like where State Fairs sometimes have exhibits or expos or where conventions meet with lots of booths. There was a big stage and right as I walked in, they were getting ready to start a show, and the stage was full of Hasidim of all ages. The show began and they were all dancing wildly all over the stage to music, but I couldn't hear the music. The crowd and the people on the stage were all male and in the traditional black/white garb. The dancing then stopped and everyone piled off stage and one of them was a girl! I was so excited and I started following her and she was explaining she had to pull a lot of strings to be able to dance with the other Hasidim and she was wearing really bright colors, too. She led me through a series of booths that were set up with tables and seder plates and it finally hit me that it was Pesach and it was the first night seder. But we wound through all these tables to this back section where there were hundreds of women hanging out with kids, all the women dressed traditionally and the kids running amok. There was also a little sale thing going on and the girl, as she was telling me about Chabad and her family and Pesach, was shopping and picked up a pair of silver, star earrings and her mom started yelling at her, so she went over to her mom to their table. All the tables that were set up had dozens of different types of haggadot and the tables were all varied in their settings. There was an announcement by a really tall Chabad rabbi that the seder was about to start, so everyone piled into all the seats and since I didn't know anyone, I just stood there and after the rabbi was done speaking I went over and explained my situation and he responded "I don't know what to tell you. Wander around till you find an empty chair." So I did, and I walked through all these weird booths of things, people advertising their shuls and this one Reform Jewish guy yelling really loudly to try and talk over the rabbi. But I ended up at a table with a bunch of people dressed in early 1990s business power suits and they explained they didn't have any food, so we were going to eat leftover pizza for the seder and I felt utterly deflated and disappointed. And then? I woke up.

And that, folks, is how you dream. I just wonder what it means.