The Introverted Mom with the Extroverted Child

I've been hustling hardcore to find work as a writer these days. It's what I love, it's what I'm best at, and it's what I should be doing with my life. Luckily, some brave souls are biting and taking me up on my writing chops.

Up today on MazelTogether:

Catastrophizing and the Sweat Lodge Cafe

I'm sitting in a coffee shop in Denver, Colorado. It's a coffee shop I frequent, although I haven't been here in a few weeks because I was in NYC for work and then the kids were scratching my ankles for a week while daycare was out of session for Memorial Day and Shavuot.

Now, I'm sitting here, watching the clock countdown because I've got to leave and get to a meeting at 10 a.m. The coffee shop is baking, and I probably shouldn't have even stayed because it's uncomfortably warm.

"It's a new thing we're trying," the barista jokes. "The big shvitz!"

I start conceptualizing. There are cat cafes and rat cafes and maybe there should be sweat lodge cafes.

I've been here about an hour after the longest daycare drop-off ever, and I've got basically two weeks of work to catch up on.

And now, there's someone, or something, tumbling around on the roof. Two of the baristas went outside about 20 minutes ago to try and figure out what it was.

"I don't see a ladder," one said. "So that's weird."

The tumbling and banging is right above my head, and I'm conceptualizing again. Or, rather, I'm catastrophizing.

I can't remember where I read the term, but I immediately realized that there's a name for what I've always called Sense of Impending Doom Syndrome, or SIDS for short. Yes, I know there's already a thing called SIDS, but there we are.

I have this ridiculous tendency, and I've been like this since I was a teenager. I might have started this even younger, but I remember it becoming somewhat debilitating as a teenager.

What I do, is I calculate and conceptualize every possible negative outcome of a situation. Some people do this with major things like skydiving or flying, but I do this with the every day, the minute moments that most people don't even think about. I do this walking down a sidewalk, where, for example, if I see a crack in the pavement I assess the options of what could happen.

1. I could trip and fall flat on my face and chip my front teeth. Or they could fall out. 
2. I could trip and fall and end up in the street, getting run over by a car. 
3. I could trip and fall and break my wrist trying to break my fall. 

You get the gist. It's anxiety to the nth. 

So here I am, catastrophizing. Anticipating the inevitable reality that this person is probably working with heavy machinery right above me and will fall through the ceiling, crushing me, as I sit here narrating the entire incident. Will I be able to hit Publish before he hits me? Will I die? Will this be my last great gift to the world? 

Or will I make it to my 10 a.m. meeting?

Wherever I read this term, this concept of catastrophizing, there was another concept discussed. Instead of pondering all of the negative outcomes, consider the positive outcomes. 

Now, how exactly do I get myself in the headspace to do that. And if I were in that headspace, what would the outcome be? 

I'm seriously stream of conscious writing this here, and I just realized that the guy on the roof is probably fixing the A/C, which is probably why it's a million degrees in here, and if he fixes it, then I won't be baking and that would be awesome. Yay positive outcomes! On the other hand, by the time he gets it running I'm probably going to be out of here at my 10 a.m. meeting.

Either way, a sweat lodge cafe is a terrible idea. 

Night and Day: Giving Birth in Israel vs. the USA

With my newest little one approaching her four-week birthday and my five-week maternity leave about to end, I suppose it's time to sit down and put fingers to keys to share what the labor and birthing process was like with Little T. So here goes!

You can read the first and second part series of what it was like giving birth to Asher in Israel at Hadassah Ein Kerem here on the blog for some perspective, as well. Also, here's a look at the place where I gave birth.

I was really nervous about what labor and delivery were going to look like with Little T. After the nightmare horror show I experienced with Asher in Israel, I reiterated a million times to Mr. T what I was and was not willing to deal with. I had limits, and I was setting those limits with the nurses and doctors. I wasn't going to pursue 45 hours of labor only to have a painful c-section again. It wasn't going to happen. I was down for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarian), and I was committed to it because I didn't want to deal with the recovery of a c-section again, even knowing that the months-long recovery I had with Asher was a fluke caused by an infection that wouldn't heal.

Starting on Monday, June 6, I got concerned that I was leaking amniotic fluid, so the nurse sent me to the hospital. After a checkup and Asher being super concerned with mommy in the hospital bed, we were sent on our way with everything looking fine. On Tuesday, with my inlaws on their way into the country, I started having mild contractions. They were steady, but mild, so I didn't think I was heading into active labor. I was waiting for the magical moment my water would break like it did with Asher, which is what sent me into active labor. So I pushed through the contractions and life went on.

Then, on Wednesday, the contractions got more severe and closer together while Mr. T and I were out to lunch with my inlaws. After lunch, we made the executive decision to head to the hospital, because it felt like this was the real deal. We got there and after a few hours of tests, they decided to admit me around 6 p.m. I got a very large labor and delivery room complete with a super-amazing jacuzzi tub and actual chairs and a fold-out bed so Mr. T could stick around (in Israel, husbands aren't allowed to stay over at the hospital), and we settled in for the night. I was on constant monitoring, but unlike my experience in Israel, the two devices attached to my mid-section (one for the baby's heart rate and one for contractions) stayed in place magically instead of slipping and falling all over the place every time I moved. I couldn't handle laying down in the bed, so I was up on my feet the whole of the laboring process.

Nurses came in and out, constantly assessing how I was feeling and how the baby was feeling. They asked me at every step of the process what I wanted to do, and when Mr. T and I needed to discuss, they left us to it. The giant privacy curtain at the door gave us a sense of, well, privacy, and we felt in control of the entire process every step of the way. I made it clear that I wasn't going to go through two days of labor, and we created a plan.

Late in the evening, when it came time to choose "yes" or "no" to the epidural, I opted to give the jacuzzi tub a try to see if it would calm the painful contractions. Although it was an awesome tub, it didn't ease anything. I did, however, think it was amazing that the monitors they had attached to me allowed me to move freely wherever I wanted to go -- including into the tub.

After the tub failure, we went for the epidural around 12:30 a.m. The woman who did the epidural was ... I can't even describe her ... amazing. She was quick, it was about 2 minutes of pain, and then I was at ease. I slept for a few hours and they gave me petocin, so I slept a few more hours. In order to not bother me throughout those few hours, they put a cuff on my arm to monitor my blood pressure every 15 minutes, which I thought was pretty thoughtful. Yes, it was annoying to have something inflating and deflating on my arm, but less annoying than a nurse coming in to constantly wake me up and take my blood pressure.

Early in the morning, the doctors and nurses starting coming in more regularly to check and see how far I was dilated. We were all amazed at the process because by the morning I was at 9 cm, which is a measurement I never even got to with Asher. As the shifts changed, doctors came and introduced themselves and nurses did the same. Everyone was incredibly pleasant, coming in and doing what they needed and leaving promptly to give us space and privacy. There was no screaming, no arguing, no miscommunications, no confusion.

Around 8 a.m., I was at 9.5 cm and the epidural had all but ceased working. I felt like I was being launched to the ceiling every time I had a contraction, and I couldn't speak or move afterward. I kind of felt like I was dying, and I was screaming pretty loudly, so they called to have the epidural topped off. After that, the nurses and doctor on call and I decided it was time to start pushing.

Now, with the epidural topped off, I was on cloud 9. I couldn't feel a darn thing, so I asked the nurse about how long pushing normally takes, since this whole vaginal birth thing was novel to me. She said it can take one to two hours, to which I replied "how about 15 minutes?" and she laughed. Challenge accepted!

At 8:48 a.m., I began pushing. The doctors and nurses were shocked at how quickly it was going. Now, because I couldn't feel anything, I had no clue how hard I was pushing, so I just went for it. After a mere 14 minutes, there she was.

They held her up for me, and my response was shock. "It's a baby! A little baby!"

They all laughed, saying "What did you expect?"

The cord was cut and she was placed on my chest, the perfect little blob that had caused me so much grief for so many months. After a few hours of bonding and measurements with an amazing nurse who crafted Little T a hat with a bow, we were off to our recovery room. A bit smaller than the labor and delivery room, the recovery room was quiet, private, and had a huge bathroom that made moving around nice and easy. We could see the mountains from our window, and there was another pull-out bed for Tuvia to sleep in. The fridge down the hall was stocked with milk, juice, soda, and pudding (all kosher), and every room and hallway had a Keurig coffee machine for making tea and coffee. We ordered some kosher food from the deli through the hospital (they have a deal with the kosher deli) and spent the next 24 hours bonding, recovering, and trying to get some rest.

The next day, we were back at home, I was on my feet, and all of my expectations for labor and birth had been turned on their heads.

---

Now, I'm sure that language had something to do with the terrible experience I had giving birth in Israel, but considering I had a Hebrew-speaking doula and a husband whose Hebrew is pretty fluent, I can't attribute much of the terrifying ordeal in Israel to language. I just think that it's a country that misunderstands its people and the needs of its patients. Having Mr. T there with me throughout the whole process was unbelievably vital. Although we were only in the hospital one night after the baby's birth, having him there in the middle of the night so he could hold the baby so I could move around or go to the bathroom was life-changing. In Israel, he had to leave every night and go sleep wherever he could find space. I think in Israel the assumption is that people have so many kids that dads just don't need to be there because they're taking care of the kids, or maybe even that they don't want to be there. Also the cooperation of the doctors and nurses with what I wanted was clutch. I felt understood, respected, and like the focus of the experience. In Israel, I felt like I was a body on a bed that wasn't allowed to have opinions. The midwives and doctors fought and argued for what the correct plan of action was; I was merely a passive attendee at the birth of Asher. When it came to recovery, in the U.S. it was all about bonding and making sure that baby and I were comfortable, and most importantly, together immediately -- even with a c-section. Although there is a nursery at the hospital, they put the baby with the mother and practically insist on that bonding time. You can ask for the nursery if you want, but it's small and you won't find many babies in there. In Israel, they insisted on the baby being in the nursery. Even when we moved to the baby hotel, they just assumed we'd want to ditch our baby and go take a nap. What's up with that?

I could go on and on and on, but the experiences were night and day. They really couldn't have been more different. Will I have more children? Who knows. Will I have more children in Israel? Definitely not. I couldn't fathom or stomach going through what I went through with Asher ever again.

Start Spreading the News: We're Moving!

So we've been living in an epicly rotten apartment complex for the past year and a half, and we found out recently that our lease would not be renewed (because, well, our desire to have a dishwasher that was actually mounted and electric outlets that actually worked and fixtures that weren't falling off the walls -- all in a "newly renovated space," meant complaints, and they didn't like those complaints and having to fix the problems). We assessed our options, and the reality was that the only other apartments within the Orthodox community were too far down the road to be a part of the kehilla (community), especially with the isolation of a new baby coming for me. 

So. What to do? We turned a potentially terrible situation into something awesomely positive!

Well, Mr. T sold his flat in the UK late last year, which left us with a bit of a down payment that was originally meant as our Israel house fund. But let's just say that the amount was not even a drop in the world's largest bucket of Israeli housing costs, so we made the executive decision to pursue the purchase of a home. We technically began looking in the fall, but because of Mr. T's recent re-arrival in the U.S. and lack of work history and my own unique financial background, we were not in any position to even ask the most giving of banks for a mortgage. 

So we waited until quite literally the last possible minute, were blessed with the world's most amazing loan officer at a local bank (whose owners support Israel wholeheartedly) who crafted a completely custom mortgage for us, as well as an amazing realtor, and we closed on a home yesterday, Monday, March 7, 2016. It was ... well, a bit of a process where I felt in over my head about 99 percent of the time, but Mr. T had been through it before and our realtor was outstanding and dealt with my neurosis and countless questions and concerns. 

The house? It's a little single-family, three-bedroom home in the community with a re-finished basement and quite a few nice renovations. It has a huge back yard with a shed and it's just a few blocks from Asher's daycare and our synagogue and most of our friends. It's small, but it gets the job done, and as soon as we can figure out how to make a dining room and living room out of one small space, I'll be able to rest easy. 

So what does this mean for Israel? Well, the reality is that the Denver housing market is on the up and up constantly, which means (b'ezrat HaShem -- with the help of Gd) we'll be able to sell nicely or when we are prepared to move back to Israel we'll have a steady monthly income from renting the home out. But neither of us are up for making it back to Israel without a financially sound plan to support our growing family. 

Truth be told, I'm still in a bit of shock. We're moving on Thursday, and then I'm spending Friday through Wednesday on the road for work at SXSW Interactive in Austin, TX, leaving the boys with a house full of boxes to be emptied. Moving, after all, is one of my least favorite things in the world and gives me immense anxiety. Large volumes of things being packed and shifted just ... I don't know. It messes with my nerves. And being super preggers, no thank you. (My husband is a saint for taking on this task, seriously.)

I honestly never thought I'd be a homeowner. I grew up with parents who rented, and I've rented my entire life. In my last marriage, my ex had two properties in his name, but nothing was in my name, so I didn't know what it felt like to say "I'm a homeowner." 

Does this make me an adult? Am I grownup now? Here's to a new home for a new baby and plenty of celebrations of good, happy, positive things!

Congrats to the Necklace Winner!

First of all, sorry it took me nearly two days to draw a winner ... I've discovered a wacky issue with mobile comments on the blog, and the wacky issue is that you simply can't comment on a mobile device. I attempted to make it happen, it failed, and I'm sorry. In 2016, mobile reigns supreme, and the inability to comment on mobile really bums me out. So. Sorry!

Anyway, congratulations to Mor S. (a Denver friend and most-excellent mama) for winning the giveaway! In case you see this,  Mor, please send me an email at kvetching dot editor at gmail dot com.

In other news: I'm now Facebook "verified" as a personality. Eegads. I'm like, famous or something. Wait, no, I just went through the Facebook Mentions process of verification. But a girl can dream, right?

Shabbat Shalom y'all!

Giving Birth: Israel versus the U.S.

Last week, on December 17, Mr. T and I headed to St. Joseph's for a tour of the Center for Women and Infants. Oddly enough, exactly two years earlier, we visited Hadassah Ein Kerem for the first time because my water had broken and I was in labor with Asher. Two days later, he was born at 5:46 a.m. IST, and, if you recall, the entire labor and delivery and recovery experience was one of the most traumatic of my entire life ...

Part 1: The Labor

Part 2: The Recovery

So, imagine my nervousness and anxiety at visiting St. Joe's for the first time. So far, this pregnancy has been really difficult with endless bouts of nausea and exhaustion. Compare this with Asher, who was as chill as could be in the womb giving me no nausea and not killing my level of energy. I keep telling myself that a rough pregnancy will hopefully prove the opposite in the labor/delivery/recovery realm and I'll have a cakewalk experience. VBAC with no trouble, quick recovery, no drama, no trauma.

When we got to the hospital (and, mind you, my only hospital stay was with Asher and every other extended hospital visit I've ever experienced was visiting a family member or friend), I was blown away at how clean, bright, and warm the space was. At St. Joe's there's a completely separate elevator that takes you straight to the Center for Women and Infants ... to guarantee you go exactly where you need to go quickly.

On the fourth floor of the hospital, everything is done: labor, delivery, recovery, c-sections, you name it. They have separate spaces for any procedure or process involved in the birthing process, so you don't have to be shoved on an elevator and shipped somewhere else (*cough* HEK took me from wing to wing and floor to floor *cough*). The space is open, clean, airy, and the rooms are huge with lots of space, gigantic bathtubs ... you name it. But here, watch this video, it will provide a better explanation than I can:


Now before you go all "oh my gosh people gave birth standing in a wooden shanty for thousands of years, why do you need such a fancy space," let me tell you something ... after experiencing what I can only describe as third world care and attention and a commitment to mother/baby/family at HEK in Israel, I want all the bells and whistles the world has to offer because I think I've earned it. Beyond the nice space (not having to share it with another woman and her gigantic Moroccan family) and the fact that visiting hours are 24/7 so my husband doesn't have to be thrown into some cold, cavernous space without a blanket to sleep overnight, their attention to making sure mom and baby are together as much as possible as quickly as possible sings to me.

When I was in Israel, everywhere we were -- from hospital to the baby hotel -- nurses and caretakers treated me like I was insane because I wanted to have my baby in my room with me. They kept trying to take Ash away to put him in the nursery full of screaming babies, and I was flabbergasted. Telling this to our tour guide at St. Joe's, I was met with a response that they encourage and provide rooming in for baby as much as the mother wants. In the laboring suite, they even have the measuring equipment and all the initial testing stuff built into the room so that your baby doesn't have to leave the immediate vicinity. Also, in the laboring suite I was in at HEK, I had to walk down he hall to go to the bathroom ... no toilet in the room. Terrible.

Sigh of relief. And the food? It comes from the local kosher deli (where my husband works, where they know me, where they know how to produce gluten-free food that tastes good).

After being rolled into a general recovery area full of people vomiting and coughing in Israel and not getting to see my baby for the first six hours of his life, color me stoked at the chance to have this baby nearby immediately -- even in the case of a c-section, they do skin-to-skin contact immediately, and so much more.

I know I've only been on a tour, and what happens when I give birth will definitely provide a better compare/contrast situation when it comes to what I experienced in Israel versus what I'll experience in the U.S., but after meeting with the tour guide and seeing the facilities, I have no doubt in my mind which experience will be more mother/baby-centered and where the attention to family and wellness are emphasized.

As someone pointed out to me, in Israel, the process is routine, in America people want "fan fare." I don't want fan fare, I just want to see my baby immediately, be in a clean facility with privacy and the ability to bond with my child with my husband and other child at our side, with the ability to use my own bathroom and take a shower in private. This hospital saw 4,400 births last year. I'd say that they've got routine down pretty well.

I know it sounds like I'm complaining, but I can't begin to describe how anxiety-inducing the memories of being at HEK and giving birth were ... I spent months recovering from the c-section, months where doctors should have done things differently to move the healing process of my c-section scar along more efficiently, but the Israeli healthcare system, as good as it is, doesn't always do routine as well as it does trauma and life-threatening crises care. (In my humble opinion.)

So we'll see what happens. My little trauma-inducing baby is now two years old, and as beautiful as can be. He's lively, has an attitude only a mother can love, and he's creative beyond his years. He's obsessed with dinosaurs, loves cooking in his play kitchen (he frequently makes cake and challah), and he loves drawing and creating art. I love him more than words, and I can't wait for another little person to join the family. I just hope this time around, I feel like I'm a vital part of the experience, too.

Have you given birth in the U.S. + another country? What was the experience like?

Have a question? Just ask: http://bit.ly/AskChavivaAnything

Confession Time: The Toughest Part About Being in the U.S.

I have a confession to make: It's hard being back in the U.S. Really hard. Yes, I miss my friends and my adopted family back in Neve Daniel and Jerusalem, and I miss the convenience of observing Judaism with ease and a level of comfort I can't find anywhere else. But this isn't what I'm talking about. 

I'm talking about the temptation. 

I didn't grow up Jewish. We all know this. In fact, I didn't start strictly observing things like modesty and keeping kosher until well into my 20s. That's a lot of my life spent with the conveniences of America: McDonalds, Chick-Fil-A, and other terrible, bad-for-you convenience restaurants and fast-food stops. I mean, I could probably count the number of home-cooked meals I made in college on my two hands. No feet needed here, folks. College was Subway, Wendy's, Taco John's, Taco Bell, D'Leon's ... (no wonder my pregnancy food was Mexican). 

Do you know how hard it is to drive down the street, starving, and not stop into a Mickey D's for some delicious, greasy French fries? 

Having worked at McDonalds for two years in high school, I know that they are pretty strict about their standards of what they cook and where. The fry stations are used strictly for fries. No chicken nuggets or patties or anything. Just. Fries. 

Knowing this, of course, is hard for me. Yes, there are a million problems with picking up French fries from a completely non-kosher establishment, even if there was a giant box around the fry station that other, non-kosher food never entered, but knowing, just knowing that those are dedicated fryers ... AGH! It kills me. 

The temptation, of course, is constantly pushed down by the fact that I'm a kosher-keeping Jew, of course. Being gluten free also helps push the temptation down because, well, let's be honest, there isn't much eating out I can do here or in Israel where I can eat carefree. 

But it's tough. Yes, this is a first-world problem situation, but it's just plain difficult. You have to constantly have snacks with you and plan meals out like a drill sergeant because if you get caught starving and it's dinnertime, Denver gives you few options for a quick bite to eat. 

There's the ever-amazing Brooklyn Pizza, but how much pizza can you eat in one week? There's a delicious ice cream joint High Point Creamery, but too much ice cream makes for tummy woes and despite an Italian-themed favorite, it isn't a meal. We don't go to the local deli because, well, too many stories about food poisoning and the place just doesn't respect itself enough for me to respect it.  And then there's the fact that all of these restaurants are clustered in a specific part of town absolutely nowhere near where I work. 

Oh what I wouldn't give for a nearby restaurant to go out to lunch with my coworkers. To feel like a normal member of a "working lunch" society. 

The amount of times we've been out running errands and stopped someplace to buy a package of lettuce, some tomatoes, and packaged smoked salmon to hodgepodge a bite to eat would blow your mind. We can't pop into an Aroma or local gas station where the food is just plain kosher like in Israel or even in places like Teaneck or NYC. 

Am I kvetching too much? Perhaps. I'm just feeling the pressure. The pressure of being a full-time working mother who lives someplace that is chock full of Jews but doesn't have the dining and cultural infrastructure to meet the demands.

No worries folks. No slippery slope over here (been there, done that). 

I suppose this is part of teshuvah (repentance). I'm being placed in situations and scenarios where it would be easy for me to eat out here or there just getting the "vegan" or "vegetarian" option like I did once upon a time when I was less than strict in my observance of kashrut. 

I just keep telling myself: The tummy grumbles and moments of hunger are worth the healthy choices at home. We'll be back in Israel soon. HaShem is working this out with me. One day at a time. 

Becoming Superwoman and Finding My Passion

Asher enjoys Garden of the Gods (and his chicken).

As I balanced Asher on one arm and rested his bottom on the counter while he breastfed, I carefully took the plate with the baked potato out of the microwave. Mr. T was sick, I was working from home and juggling an exhausted, teething 5-month-old, incoming messages and broken websites, and an ailing spouse. I am superwoman. Hear me sigh, yawn, and move along.

Motherhood isn't what I expected. Then again, what did I expect?

Another Shabbat has come and gone and I literally said "Baruch ha'Mavdil," made sure Ash was sleeping soundly, and checked on my computer's backup while running a bath. Mr. T is at shul still, and those precious 10 minutes I just spent soaked in bath-bombed sudsy bliss are about the most relaxing moments I'll experience all week. Just me, bath water, and silence.

I'm in the middle of reading Biz Stone's bio and take on life creating and launching Twitter, one of my most favorite social networking platforms on the planet. An early adopter, I joined the network in 2008. I've been Tweeting for 6.5 years and joined before 99.9% of other current Twitter users. Oddly enough, that was almost four years after I joined Facebook, where I also was an early adopter. The thing about Biz Stone's book is that he and I are complete opposites in many ways, but the way he talks about passion, emotion, and drive for what you do pulls at my heartstrings as it has during every incarnation of the "what am I doing with my life?" internal dialogue I've experienced.

As I balance motherhood, a career, and the desire to do what I'm truly passionate about, I'm really battling internally.

In a perfect world, I've always said I'd be a writer. I've been running Just Call Me Chaviva since April 2006, and before that I spent roughly 8 years on LiveJournal. My story, the narrative that runs through my head on a daily basis, is what I've wanted to write for ages, the joke being that as soon as the book advance shows up I'll be able to put everything else on hold, move into the mountains, and devote myself to composing the work and growing all of my own food (Mr. T's on board, believe me).

I love the work I do, but I've discovered that in just about every job I work I'm taking on more and more of the other stuff that isn't what I'm either good at or passionate about.

Biz Stone talks about how he and Evan (a Nebraskan, mind you) were working on a podcasting startup when they suddenly realized that neither of them (nor anyone on their team) really cared about podcasting. They didn't listen to podcasts. It wasn't their jam. So they found a way to restart and refocus on something they were passionate about. For Biz, that was the social web.

Since I started LiveJournaling back in 1997 or 1998, my focus has always been on storytelling, on reaching out to the universe in the hopes that it would reach back to me. It's where my passion and focus in Judaism come from, the idea that I can reach out to some higher power and a network of Jews around the world -- past and present mind you -- and find some type of answer, commiseration, understanding, acceptance.

From the moment I began writing -- really writing -- I found my way through journaling (technically my first diary dates to a Precious Moments journal circa 1992), Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Flickr, YouTube, and so on. If the platform allows for narrative and storytelling, I'm there. It's my passion.

And that goes for clients, too. The power of personal storytelling is something that I've transitioned into working for brands, and that ... THAT is my passion. Using the social web to create dialogue and build a narrative. To create a story that is meaningful to the consumer and brand-altering for the client. It isn't about making money, it's about building connections, empowering your advocates and evangelists, to create an ecosystem that is larger than your own office and internal structures.

I just have to figure out how to make that what I do every day. To dig through the weeds of the "extra" stuff and focus on my passion.

Maybe someday I'll write a book. But it seems like right now isn't that time. The universe hasn't seen fit to throw some money at my feet to get started, so for now I'll stick to what I'm good at on the small scale. Humans are storytellers. It's always been our jam. It's what we do. It's how we convey emotion, understanding, innovation. It seems so simple, but it's so overlooked.

The only thing I have to do now is to remember to stop and give myself a chance to keep storytelling here on the blog. It's been weeks since I last posted. I opened Blogger so many times to sit and write. To share what's going on. To detail a typical Sunday with an English husband playing for the all-Jewish softball league, drinking tea and wearing a flat cap, listening to the umpire say, "You're going to have to be closer to the base than that." To express the pain of a changed body shape, a child who seems to scream no matter how much homeopathic Orajel and Tylenol we give him, whose gas could easily take down an army, but who is still the most beautiful, amazing, precious gift I could ever have asked for. To explain how strange it is to be back in a place where the community grew and changed without me and how I'm coping with being better accepted and invited out now that I'm married and have a child.

I'm still finding my rhythm. I'm still fleshing out what being superwoman really means. I'm still trying to figure out who I am, where I'm going, and what HaShem's plan for me is.

What Does Modern Orthodoxy Mean?

What. A. Shabbat.

I don't know what it was about this Shabbat, but it felt good. I felt uplifted and in-step with myself. Despite the noise of the random visitors there for simchas of people I've never met or seen at shul, despite the wind and a bit of rain, this Shabbat was a bright spot on my Shabbatot here in Denver. I got invited out for lunch (mad props to Mr. and Mrs. L who also are of the vegetarian variety) and got to listen to the illustrious and hilarious Rabbi Dani Rapp talk.

If you've never experienced Rabbi Rapp, he's in the NY area and you need to find some time to go and listen to him. He provides humor with depth, and during his time here in Colorado for the YU Summer of Learning, I've found myself waking up more and more.

Tonight, for example, at seudat shlishit (third meal), he was discussing Modern Orthodoxy (subtitled "The Final Frontier"). He used three classic biblical narratives to give depth and understanding to what exactly it means to be Modern and Orthodox, the Tower of Babel and Yosef and his brothers among them. (I know, I should remember the third, but it's escaping me.)

Regarding the Tower of Babel, I heard a take on the narrative that -- despite my vast education on the topic both religiously and academically -- I hadn't considered. Rabbi Rapp cited Nehama Leibowitz when saying that we sometimes need to learn Torah like Rashi did -- without Rashi. (*giggle snarfle giggle*) The common narrative that we know isn't what's really in the text. That being said, Rabbi Rapp told a story of a people who built a tower as high as the sky in order to watch over the community -- to make sure no one left. This people gathered in a valley, speaking one language, and realized that they had a good thing going: homogeneity. They decided it was a good way of life, so they built the tower to keep people in, to keep them in line. HaShem said, whoa, folks, this isn't how the world was meant to work! Spread to the corners of the earth, inhabit my creation! Thus, bavel -- confusion, multiple languages, and a people spread out. A people living among other people.

Now the story of Yosef and his brothers also had a quirk that I hadn't noticed before. It goes something like this: Yosef had a dream. He wanted to go out, to be as he was but to show the world, to spread HaShem and their way of life around. To be a light unto the nations. His brothers, on the other hand, thought things were good, that Yosef was nuts, that the internal culture they had was solid. So they sold Yosef, bid him good luck in living in the "outside world" and maintaining who he was. And guess what? Yosef proved them so wrong. When the brothers come to Yosef, their shame is from knowing that his philosophy was right -- not that they'd sold him. Yosef knew something his brothers didn't: We're meant to be out in the world, living with other nations and growing in Yiddishkeit.

So what does this all mean? How did Rabbi Rapp amazingly tie it back into what Modern Orthodoxy means for us today? These narratives are two examples where HaShem was proving to the Israelites/Jewish people that we're meant to be a people among the nations. A light unto the nations, if you will. To that point, "Modern" in Modern Orthodoxy doesn't mean less or leniency or even that a Modern Orthodox Jew is living in the modern, outside world. No, it means MORE. Why? Because, like Yosef, when you are put in a position where the world is not homogenous, you must try harder and be more committed to living a Torah-observant life. It takes more strength to live among the nations and not to become one of them, but rather to hold your head high and serve as an example -- a light -- unto the nations of the world of what determination and commitment look like.

Wow. Right?

In the process of the day, Rabbi Rapp was able to make passing mentions of the ASIFA, Whole Foods, 14'ers, the Xbox, and so very much more. That's a talent -- engaging Torah with pop culture woven in. Some rabbis try really hard to make it happen. Rabbi Rapp did it, and it's left a lasting impact on me. After his shiur this evening I told him that he's very "Tweetable," so it's hard to listen to him on Shabbat. That's the sign of a good rabbi, folks.

If you're jonesing for a bit of learning, check out YU Torah and search for Rabbi Rapp there to hear some of his shiurim from his summer here in Denver -- many of which are on conversion, believe it or not. (Oh, did I mention he's an RCA Beth Din member?)

Farmers Market + A Recipe!

I know some of you appreciate my food-related posts more than others, but I can't help sharing some of the photos I took at the Cherry Creek Farmers Market this morning as well as a recipe for Mexican Pilaf.

A coworker decided that we should hit up the Farmers Market before work today. It was a stupendous idea, although once I got to work it was really hard to focus. It still is. Hence why I'm here on Blogger, taking a break from some poster-design and website updates. I love Farmers Markets, and lucky for me, the shuk at Machane Yehuda is like the most awesome Farmers Market EVER!

I bought some okra -- my first time! Have a recipe for okra that you dig? Let me know.

And now ... for the lunch ...

And here's the recipe for Mexican Pilaf from "Crazy, Sexy, Diet" -- a book I highly recommend! This recipe packs a hidden punch that you get at the end of each bite. It's crazy filling, too.

Ingredients
3 cups wild rice, sprouted or cooked
3 tbsp green onions, diced
1 1/2 cup tomato, diced
1/2 cilantro, chopped
2 tbsp fresh oregano, minced
1/2 cup sun-dried tomatoes, soaked 1-3 hours
1 1/2 tbsp miso (Chad suggested white miso)
1 tbsp garlic minced
1 tbsp chili powder
1/2 tsp cumin
2 tbsp lemon juice
3 tbsp olive oil
salt if desired

Directions (Crazy Easy, for reals)
Place rice in mixing bowl and hand toss with the green onions, 1 cup tomatoes, cilantro and oregano. Set aside.

In high speed blender (or hand held one) blend sun-dried tomatoes, remaining tomatoes, miso, garlic, chili powder, cumin, lemon juice, and olive oil until smooth. (Note: I used my mini-chopper. It worked pretty darn well.)

Toss tomato paste with rice and mix well.

Helping Out the Sad State of Kosher Denver

Okay, I know that 99 percent of you don't live in Denver, but I do, and the food pickings here for the kosher community are sad, at best.

Thus, I implore you to please help me out here. All you have to do is go to Mission: Small Business and throw your hat into the ring of Chai Peking in Denver, Colorado. That's it. Just go there. Vote. And b'ezrat HaShem (with the help of HaShem), maybe Denver will have a good kosher Chinese joint.

Just go to Mission: Small Business.

Scroll to the bottom.

On the lower right-hand corner you'll see "Log In & Support" -- click that.

Then VOTE LOCAL!

Sundays are Fundays

I woke up this morning after only clocking about five hours of sleep (but a really good five hours) to go to the Old South Pearl Street Farmers Market in Denver. I walked away with some delicious tomatoes, zucchini, and cucumbers, as well as a delicious gluten-free lemon bar from my favorite joint Watercourse/City O City. I was tantalized by homemade truffels and gluten-free candied nuts, and that's the tough world we live in. The nice thing is, according to Colorado law, you can now make and sell goods straight from your home. It has me wondering -- should I parlay myself into the world of kosher, gluten-free baking and selling? 

So, here's a photo narrative of the past few hours. 

Well, first thing's first, I checked my mail from yesterday and awesome of awesome ... my official U.S. Trademark Certificate came in! I'm official! That means if someone decides to squat on a bunch of websites using my trademark, I can get them easy peasy!

Big dog (or is it a bear?) meets little dog. I think they like each other.

I don't think I've ever heard of "Grass Fed Cows" -- usually it's Grass-Fed Beef. But seriously, it's a cow, not beef, when it's being fed, right?

I swoon for the poet, and this guy is amazing. I mean, Poet for Hire? Coolest hipster European thing on the planet, no doubt. So I told him I'd give him $3 to write me a poem about penguins.

Mere moments later, he produced this, and although he only had $1 change, I let him keep the $4. I mean, he made a reference to Morgan Freeman. That's worth $1, right? Find him online: Untouched Poetry.

A Farmers Market is no farmers market without some food trucks, especially in Colorado. If there's one thing we love (wow, I said we, it's official), it's the ability to get food from the window of some super-sized (sometimes poorly) painted truck. Today's offerings included OG Burger (lo kasher!) and Quiero Arepas (gluten-free option, but not kosher). I think I've been inspired to make my own arepas!

At what age do you tell your dog to leave his teddy at home? 

Grass Fed Cows present the Peyton Manning. Yes, folks, Colorado is STOKED for the Manning. 

There are a lot of dogs out here. In fact, I even saw the dog that I intend to get some day -- an Airedale Terrior. Assuming I can verify that it's (whoa, I almost wrote gluten-free, but I promise I don't eat dogs) hypoallergenic. But these two dogs? Well, they looked more like bears. Cute, cuddly, rip-your-face-off bears.

And now? Well, now I'm parked at Stella's -- it's my happy place, where I sit on a patio filled with dogs and people under canopies of trees and soak in a bit of tangential sunshine. Coffee, books, my computer, bliss. I hope y'all are having a great Sunday!

SMILES!

Shavuot: Help me Decide!

I'm super stoked that I'm most likely going to be teaching as a part of Tikkun Leil Shavuot -- Rectification for Shavuot Night -- the custom of engaging in all-night Torah study over Shavuot, this year during the Denver Na'aleh Minyan's Shavuaton up in Vail, Colorado. Yes, it will be three days of awesome learning, shmoozing, and enjoying the great outdoors.

When I was in West Hartford, I got to teach on my most-favorite topic: "Rachav the Harlot: The Rabbis' Convert." I haven't taught any other years, but I'm stoked and debating what to teach on this year. I have many specialties, but I thought I'd crowdsource the final topic.

So vote!

New Work, New Food!

This was Taylor's farewell meal. He's off to Carmel, CA, for a week.
If you're curious, it's an African Peanut Stew with Pineapple and Kale.
I hope to post the recipe ... if y'all are interested!

What a week, folks! What a week ... and I've been mute for the whole of it. I was driving home yesterday from a meeting and realized that I hadn't written a single thing on the blog this week and began to wonder -- have I reached the ceiling? Am I done blogging? Then I thought, well, with some new changes, my schedule is becoming more regimented and I should have more time for things like blogging because, thanks to this blog, I've achieved great things and I want to continue on that road of blogomania.

So, first off I want to announce some news on the work front. After living in Denver for four months, and doing consulting work for three of those months, I'm happy to say that I'm now a full-time employee at the Colorado Agency for Jewish Education as a the Social Media and Website Manager. This means I get to do oodles of fun things like run amok on the website, come up with cool socially innovative projects, and more. It's seriously a dream job. I work in Jewish Education and Social Media -- for me, this is the best of both worlds. Also, I'm working as a part-time intern for Blogmutt, a startup based in Boulder, as their social media go-to. It's been oodles of fun, and I get to be just as creative and innovative as a girl could dream of being.

So much snow in Denver!

Basically, I'm on Cloud Nine as far as work goes! Patience is all it took for things to land on their feet.

Speaking of my work at CAJE, there was a most excellent d'var on Beshalah given at our weekly meeting that discussed the significance and importance of the items that the Israelites took out of Egypt -- the timbrels, matzo, and Joseph's bones. The discussion involved a question: If you had to pick up and leave, what one item would you take with you? After all, when it came time to take Joseph's bones out of Egypt, Moses searched and persisted for Joseph's bones. So, if you had to search and persist for a single item, what would it be?

At first, I thought, Nothing! There is Nothing! And then I realized, there is something. One thing, in fact. This thing is a photo of my Grandpa and Grandma Edwards standing with my father and uncle, a few years before my grandmother died. (I've written before about them. My grandmother and grandfather both died before my dad was 12 years old.) It's one of the only things that attaches me to a past and to people I never knew.

For what would you search high and far?

On that note, I want to wish you all a Shabbat Shalom from snowy, snowy Denver. Here, I offer you an image of my new attempt at gluten-free, vegan challah! I promise to let you know how it tastes.

A Response: Conversion's a Racket

Okay. Let's try this again.

My last post created a huge ruckus in my community -- such is the drama of being a very public blogger in a new community. I don't blog anonymously, and I don't have any misconceptions about my Twitter feed and blog being accessible by anyone, anywhere. That's part of what I love about what I write, it's open access. So the blog post was commented on by a community member, then it made it to one rabbi, then another, then community members and so on. The offense taken, I think, regarded the tone of the blog post as well as the misunderstanding that I was calling out or bashing the Denver community in particular, which I wasn't.

I had wanted to wait to post on the topic until I felt like I was in a calm, even place where I would be eloquent (as I'm known) but also pointed and direct, saying "this is what's going on, and this is what needs to change." However, it didn't come out that way. Why? After speaking with a rabbi friend on Twitter very briefly about the problems in the community with conversion and what I consider (after all, this is my blog and it is full of my opinions) extortion, he said the following:

Well, you don't have to go through it!

That simple quote, which horrified me -- should I not care about those who do have to suffer financial loss or a lost neshama? -- paired with the constantly echoing in my mind words of Rav Tarfon

"It is not your responsibility to finish the work [of perfecting the world], but you are not free to desist from it either" (Pirkei Avot 2:16).

said one thing to me: you must speak now, it is your duty, it is your mission, it is your work. I get emails daily from people in-process, done with the process, leaving the process, and so on who have stories about acceptance, the process, and more that would make most people's skin crawl. An oft-said thing to me by born Jews is, "If I hadn't been born Jewish, I don't know if I would choose it." 

Because of the hoops you must jump through? The pressure? The issues of acceptance? The costs? The oppression? The bullying by other converts? 

My passion and fervor for this issue of extortion in conversion -- no matter what branch, no matter where you are geographically -- is my work. It's my responsibility when it comes to repairing the Jewish world. Someone has to stand up, someone has to say something, to do something. 

My biggest beef with the Denver process is the cost. Plain and simple. Why fly in a rabbi from Queens and make the candidates foot that bill? Why not use a more local rabbi? Classes are necessary for studying and conversion to Orthodox Judaism, and I'll be honest -- I'm more than happy to devote two to three hours a week to teaching and training converts in the basics of Judaism and conversion; after all, I've been there, I've done that, and I can lay things out from a perspective of the convert and what you need to know before the formal process. I also think I can give something a book-learning class can't -- personal perspective, stories, passion, fervor, dedication, devotion. The heart of Judaism, not just the facts and the "you must be able to say and do this when you convert." But I'm not a rabbi. Does that change things? Can an Orthodox convert to Judaism properly train converts? I think so, yes. But when one system has a monopoly on the process, saying "you must do x, y, z, and you must do it with this person," that does not provide options, it provides a monopoly. 

Because I know, at the very depths of my soul, what Orthodox converts go through before, during, and after their conversions, I know that this is my place. I counsel, I help, I calm the fears of those who have no one else to turn to, and for that, I feel like HaShem has granted me great patience, understanding, and love. 

Converts are coming home. They're bringing their neshamot home, finally. They should be overwhelmed by the weight of the mitzvot, not the costs to let their neshamot onto the front stoop of Judaism. 

Conversion's a Racket

NOTE BEFORE READING: This is not a post bashing Denver. In fact, if you go back and read my past posts, I love the community here and it has been nothing short of amazing. This is a post about a specific topic: conversion to Judaism. This is not something that is isolated to Denver, it is a problem everywhere. My point is to express how instead of the weight of mitzvot making converts really consider their conversion, the weight of money pushes them away and out of the process, into Conservative or Reform conversions.

---

This is the scenario -- here in Denver, anyway.

$20 a week for at least 78 weeks = $1,560

+

$180 mikvah fee

+

however much it costs to fly a Queens rabbi out every six months = roughly $900

+

if you're a guy, $75 for the circumcision

Overall? You're looking to pay probably well over $2,000 to convert to Orthodox Judaism in Denver, Colorado -- and that's before you've even considered buying new dishes (Dairy, Meat, Passover, Parve) and all your other kitchen items that can't be kashered (probably $4,000 or so) and all those tzniut (modest) clothes, moved into the Orthodox community, and so on.

Can you imagine it? Dropping $8,000 or more just to be Jewish?

Some of you were lucky enough to be born into it. Not a single penny was spent for you to be Jewish.

And did I mention that all that studying is done to be converted on a private beth din with some local rabbis (not Rabbinical Council of America-affiliated) and a rabbi flown in from Queens?

You have no institutional backing, you just dropped $8,000, and there you are. Jewish in Denver.

Had I been living here when I decided to convert, when I was freshly starting graduate school and had zero cash in-pocket, I wouldn't have been able to do it. Even today, single and living on my own and struggling to find jobs that pay enough to pay the rent, I wouldn't be able to afford it.

It's a racket. An unfair, unconcerned-about-the-convert racket.

And I'm taking a stand, because I can't, in good conscience, stand by and let anyone convert under the current process.

At any given time, there are supposedly 10-20 people in-process. Those people should have options -- an RCA Beth Din, or the current, in-place private beth din that wants them to drop thousands just to be Jewish.

I've heard more excuses than I can really stand at this point -- bad blood in past bad conversions, a Christian couple that infiltrated the community, not enough RCA rabbis (which is no longer true), and so on.

It's not okay for some guy to have a monopoly on conversions, it's not okay to not have institutional approval, it's not okay to charge $2,000 for a conversion, and it's not okay that people aren't willing to take a stand and make a change.

So this is my mission: I'm going to reform and make more reliable, more attainable, and more stable the process of conversion to Orthodox Judaism in Denver, Colorado.

Come hell or high snowfall. I'm going to do it.

Note: When I was converting, I studied every week with my rabbi in West Hartford (I commuted about 45 minutes to do this study) and spent all of the Shabbatot and Chagim there, too. Ultimately, I ended up paying $250 to the RCA Beth Din for mikvah and beth din fees, and I donated $180 to the rabbi's discretionary fund -- never once was I asked to give my rabbi a paycheck. 


Also, if you want to read an article from September 2010 about all the "good" the current guy running things is doing, the article is here. He says that the fee "needn't be expensive." Seriously? I'm enraged. 

Denver, I Sing of Thee!

Denver is ... outstanding.

There is so much about this town that blows my mind, and it makes me remember my kind, patient, and thankful Nebraska roots. People here are unbelievably polite, friendly, and will talk to you about just about anything, but not in that creepy big-city way. No, people here are normal. Really normal. Laid-back normal, and I love it.

As I have gotten to know the Jewish community here, I've learned how tight-knit and proud they are to live in Denver. Yes, we might only have a deli, a pizza place, and a bakery, but it's all good. They make do. In fact, there are FroYo places and even an ice cream place that are kosher. And for me, it's beyond easy to find all of my favorite gluten-free products.

Here, I want for nothing.

I'm very tossed about my hair-covering, but I'm growing it out right now and it's growing rapidly, so hopefully, within no time, I'll have hair with which to re-do. I have two jobs -- I'm the Social Media Manager for Jewster.com, an awesome Jewish dating site that you can read about (and comment please) here, as well as work for two local Jewish agencies. So I have parnassah.

I've found my favorite coffee shops, figured out where the Target, Lane Bryant, Container Store, Bed Bath & Beyond are, and of course I've located the library (which is a quick walk from my apartment). My mirpeset (balcony) is still empty of lawn furniture, but with snow coming on Wednesday, I think I'll survive.

Did I mention that even when it's cold here it's still hot? The sun is quite close.

When I get up and leave my apartment each day (after all, who can work at home), I see the mountains -- the beautiful mountains, often snow-capped. I say to no one in particular, "Eizeh yofi!" And imagine HaShem laying down a large blanket over the ridges and bumps of land because that is what I conjure up.

I'm happy, excited, and feeling at home for the first time in a long time. Stay tuned for a video of the new digs. I can't help but let you all in on my new life!

The Fingerprint of HaShem

Clouds rolling in over the mountains in Centennial, Colorado. 

Something funny happens when you get divorced. At least it did to me. While visiting home in Lincoln, Nebraska, I was tempted with the urge to throw it all away. To go out to my favorite treif (not kosher) restaurant. To just throw all caution and devotion the wind and give it all up.

But it was fleeting. Incredibly fleeting.

My dad lamented that he couldn't take me out to eat, and I managed to find some kosher meat at the local Trader Joe's and made some meatballs and brussels sprouts. I was content. I stood my ground. I stood up to the inclination to give everything up.

And then something else funny happened.

I joined Frumster.com, a frum Jewish dating site. Yes, I've only been divorced for a few weeks, but something in me said "find a husband already! You're not a spring chicken! You want a family! Find a super frum guy to guide you! You're a converted divorcee, you're going to have to work hard to find a husband!" I found myself looking only at the men in black hats and beards -- there's something dashing about a Lubavitcher or devotee of Hassidus. Something that says, "Wholly devoted to HaShem, wife, family, Torah, life." It's too soon.

I know what you're thinking: Chavi's gone off the deep end. She's going to become a Lubavitcher and start praising the rebbe as mashiach or something. (PS: I love Lubavitchers.)

The funny thing that happens when your life stops and starts again in a new place with a new haircut and new people is that you're tempted -- in good ways and bad. Throwing it all away, taking up the uber-frum torch. And every day is a challenge. Every day I wake up after a sleepless night and think to myself "Who am I? What has become of me? What does HaShem want from me?"

Clearly, I guess, I'm not ready. I'm not ready to move on, but I'm tired of being here. I mourned my marriage for six or nine months, give or take, and the fatigue of feeling alone has worn me down. I have already made many good friends here in Denver, and I absolutely adore the community. I love being able to see the mountains no matter where I am or where I'm going. It's like witnessing the fingerprint of HaShem every moment of every day.

And the uncovering of my hair? Well, I'll admit to you all that it isn't what it's cracked up to be. Maybe it's just that the girl who cut it didn't do a good job or something, but I feel like I'm trying to step back and be someone I'm not. I'm trying to go backward when all I can do is move forward. A marriage changes you, relationships change you. And yes, it changes your hair and how you feel about it, too. I chose to uncover because according to Rav Moshe Feinstein, there is a leniency for young women without children, especially when they relocate to a new community. I asked one of the rabbis on the beth din of the get (divorce), and he advised me to uncover, so I thought, score! Uncovering! Hair liberation! But after you've covered, it's just not the same. As much as I kvetched about hair covering, I miss the ease of throwing on a hat. My head is plenty cooler on a hot day, but I don't know that that alone is worth it. I'm sure I'll write plenty more about my hair covering, and I'll give you the various sources for uncovering after divorce -- stay tuned.

So where am I? I have no idea. I really want to find a nine-to-five gig so that I can have a reason to wake up in the morning and do something with myself. Right now I feel a little lost. I need to get back into parshah study and learning, because I know that there is something that HaShem wants and needs of me, I just don't know what it is.

I guess we're all waiting for our sign.

Shana Tova from Denver!

Well, I've made it to bright, sunny, mountainous Denver, Colorado. The air here is fresh and crisp -- I feel like I can breathe for the first time in months. It's sunny and surprisingly hot, but not humid, which is something I always loved about Denver.

I have so many posts to write -- I stayed in the Omaha Jewish community last Shabbat and had an amazing experience, I arrived in Lincoln and the first thing I did was get a haircut, I spent so much quality time with my beautiful nephews Owynn and Oliver, and I schlepped to Denver where I'm spending Rosh Hashana and Shabbat at the home of one of the local rabbis and with old and new local friends who made this trip and transition so easy, so possible (thanks Melissa!).

The next few weeks will hold a lot of morsels of pensive thinking from me, and I hope you'll put up with it as I attempt to transition into normal life again (is there such a thing?). I'm moving into my new apartment on Sunday with absolutely nothing except clothes, some Judaica, and a Brita that I bought while in Lincoln. Luckily, my mattress is coming Monday so I'll stop being sleep-grumpy by then. There will be exploration, thrifting, and shaping my new life, my liberated life.

Will you stay tuned?

I want to thank everyone who has sent emails, texts, or has called to check in on me and share their words of consolation and support. It's so weird that when you get divorced in the Jewish world, the greeting is "Mazal Tov!" and not "I'm so sorry." What a funny world we live in, yes?

So I want to wish everyone a Shana Tova u'metukah and may 5772 be filled with nothing but mazal, brachot, and simchas. All my love to every last one of you!

An Unanticipated Start to Renewal

This week, we begin the High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, holidays that are juxtaposed with a bittersweet sensation of happiness and reality. The book of life, the book of death. At this time every year, I beg for new beginnings, for insight, for clarity, and it's an appropriate time of year because it's also the season of my birthday, which happens to be Rosh Hashanah on the Hebrew calendar and September 30 on the Gregorian calendar. I'd really wanted to do something jazzy like Kate did for her birthday, where she listed tons of awesome facts -- known and unknown -- about her from the most minute to the deep and meaningful. Had I written that post a month ago when she posted her's, I probably would go ahead and post it anyway, but I can't put myself in a mindset of cataloging and celebrating these 28 years of life that I've been given. But I'm distracted.

Ever since I was a kid, I'd always wanted to be married by 27. I'm not sure why, but it was some kind of goal that I could work for and 27 seemed like enough time to sow my wild oats and then settle into a life of marriage, have kids and be someone's wife. So I hit that goal, with four months to spare.

What I never anticipated, however, was being divorced by 28. I also never anticipated moving back to Denver -- where I lived six years ago for a summer at The Denver Post -- alone.

This blog has watched me on a unique journey into and through Judaism as a convert, and now, I suppose, it will document what it means to be a single, converted, divorced Orthodox Jewish woman pushing 30 living in the Rocky Mountain state.

Why Denver? Well, I didn't have this blog back in 2005, but if I did, you would have heard me sing the praises of Colorado as the healthiest place on earth. The moment my wheels hit Colorado, I felt the need to eat healthy, to be healthy, to feel healthy. I went through a heartbreak there, but it didn't smack me in the face like it did elsewhere, because I was mentally and emotionally healthy. I was able to cope and move on. When I lived in Denver, I went running and walking, I ate fresh vegetables and maintained a mostly vegetarian diet, I explored the state, I got out. I did things. I was happy, I was healthy, I was positive about my future and confident in who I was. Everyone keeps telling me Denver's a horrible choice because there are no single frum folk there. To that, friends, I say, "I'm not interested in dating at the moment. Seriously?"

Why not Israel? Divorce is a big enough shock to my system right now. I need a change, so I'm starting small with a move to Denver where I can regroup, clear my head, and find some inner peace. The balagan of Israel is too much for the tender state of me right now, so stay patient. I haven't ruled it out. After all, the world is my oyster at this point.

What happened? As much as I know y'all want to ask this question, and as much as I want to answer it, this blog isn't the place for it. Evan (aka Tuvia) and I are divorcing amicably after spending most of our marriage trying to make things click into place. Not everyone works out in the way that you think or hope they will, and that's the crapshoot of life, folks. I was at an all-time emotional low when the decision was made, and since then -- a mere couple of weeks -- I've already started to feel like there's a silver lining in this. Gam zu l'tovah. (Even in this there is good.) Just know that Evan and I gave it all we had, and the marriage didn't work out.

What now? Well, I'm on the hunt for a Denver job. So if you know someone, let me know. I've applied for a few, and one responded that I'm overqualified, so I'm afraid that this is going to be a constant refrain that will frustrate the bejeezus out of me. As for school, it's on hold for now with the option to return in the spring, but I'm not sure what's going to happen there. I think in the past year, I outgrew what I thought the program could provide me. I want to continue learning, so maybe I'll hop off to Israel to seminary or something. Seriously, world = oyster. But right now, I really need to find work in Colorado -- so help a Jewess out!

I suppose I have a lot to think about, and you're all along for the ride. Why I chose to uncover after the divorce, what the Denver community is like, and, most importantly, what do I want out of life?

Thus, the High Holidays -- a time for renewal -- couldn't have come at a better time. Or maybe HaShem had this all in the books. After all, everything happened so quickly, the move, the divorce, everything. I felt almost forced to be in Denver by the High Holidays, and it has happened. My 10Q email arrived the day of my get and reminded me of what I foresaw in 5771, and it was foreboding in a way. What is HaShem trying to say to me? And what does it all mean?

Stay tuned, folks. It's going to be an interesting 5772.