Marriage: The Law in the Custom

For the first time in what seems like a long time, I have a lot of blog posts in mind that don't involve pulling from the Ask Chaviva Anything! log of inquiries and curiosities. A lot of this is probably because of pending nuptials (whoa, getting married in just a few days!), but also because I feel like with the move to Neve Daniel I'm in a more curious and settled head space than I have been for a while now. So where do I begin?

On Friday, Mr. T and I bumped into several people over the course of the morning in Neve Daniel, which I'm sure raised some eyebrows. Why?

Traditionally, the week leading up to a religious Jewish couple's wedding the two don't see neither hide nor hair of their betrothed. On the day of the wedding, there traditionally is fasting and more not seeing, even before the actual chuppah itself. The keyword here is "traditionally."

The first time I got married, my ex and I didn't see each other the week before the wedding, which created a lot of entertaining choreography as we were staying in the same city, and pretty much the same house but on different levels. On the day of the wedding, we didn't see each other up until the point of picture taking, at which time we decided that it made sense to see each other.

Although Mr. T and I have decided that the day of the wedding we won't be seeing each other, we concluded -- after some research and investigation into the whole "not seeing each other thing -- that we're going to let minhagim be minhagim (traditions) and not stress out about avoiding each other during the week before the wedding.

I know what you're thinking: Catastrophe! Disaster! Shanda! But hold your horses. What would you do if I told you that the basis for this tradition is not in halakah (Jewish law)? What about the fact that Sephardim don't even observe this custom?

Yes, friends, shocker time. The whole avoidance pre-wedding is a tradition that has some shady and unclear origins, ranging from medieval fears of bad luck to the fact that most religious people just weren't in the same place the week up to the wedding (and in most cases, the months up to the wedding after the engagement).

You can read the entire megillah on this topic over at the OU, but I'll give you the rundown quickly here.

This custom seems to date back to as early as 1228, but in Jerusalem it was introduced in the early 1700s. The main reasons cited by poskim for why a couple shouldn't see each other in the week leading up to the wedding are that forced separation builds excitement and that it decreases the likelihood of premarital relations (seriously?), but also that it can be a tense period of time in which strife could arise and the wedding could be called off as a result of stress, tension, and arguments (“There is no marriage contract that does not contain a quarrel,” Shabbat 130a). After watching a few episodes of Bridezillas, this makes gobs of sense, but it also doesn't explain why in most religious circles this has become the required "law." Where exactly does it all come from?

Let's start with this interesting morsel.

"In a footnote, Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan (Made in Heaven, [New York, 1983], p. 67) cites two other works that mention the custom, and then states that the source for the custom may be YD 192:1, the section that deals with dam chimud ... [which is the] concern that meeting the chatan [groom] may cause the kallah [bride]to have a discharge that could invalidate the shivah nekiyim (seven clean days before going to the mikvah)."

Both Rabbi Kaplan and Rabbi Binyomin Forst find this tie suspect at best, because the Talmud requires that upon accepting a marriage proposal or setting a wedding date that she might discharge blood as a result of the excitement (talk about a complete lack of understanding about the female body, am I right?). Even if this were to happen, she's still required to observe seven "clean days" prior to the wedding, so unless she's getting engaged and married seven days later, there's no concern here (also, because, you know, women don't bleed when they get excited). 

In Sefer Minhagim: The Book of Chabad-Lubavitch Customs, the footnote simply cites letters from the Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson as the basis for the tradition. However, 

"Nitei Gavriel, a recent, comprehensive source of customs, does not mention this practice, but records that around one hundred years ago, there was a custom in Jerusalem of the bride and groom going together to famous rabbis to get their blessings during the week before the wedding (Hilchot Nisuin, p. 55, in the name of Sdei Chemed, Ma’arechet Chatan Vekallah, 22)."

The reality is that halakah requires that a bride and groom must see each other before the wedding, which makes this custom kind of strange even at its very roots. Even Ravs Moshe Feinstein and Aharon Soloveichik advocated for not letting this custom serve as an inconvenience to couples prior to the wedding. 

So what did you do when getting married, or what do you plan on doing when you get married? Did you realize just how custom-y this was, or have you always assumed it was halakah? 

Some Uncommon Questions

Photo a la OneShul.

I'm busy at work in my second semester at NYU in the Education/Jewish studies dual M.A. (yes, I already have one M.A. from the University of Connecticut in Jewish studies, but you can't have too many, right?), and I've discovered that my technological and social media know-how is a huge boon to my experience. In just about every class so far, I've been able to pull on my experiences online to make connections that are ever-so-much-more important when it comes to education, and not just in the Jewish world. Social media skills are what we have to teach students, because at some point, I have no doubt in my mind that such skills will be a prerequisite for just about every job out there.

Along with the growth of social media and online networks, however, come questions. I've been thinking more and more about these questions, and as I prepare for my panel at SXSW Interactive next month, I really would like some kind of insight into whether we have answers or whether we've moved along quickly enough to even be able to consider answering these questions. And these are just a few. Ready?

• Yichud. Basically this word refers to the prohibition of men and women who are not married from being in seclusion or in a private place together. There are a bajillion ifs and buts tied to this law, but that's the basic gist. This means that I wouldn't invite a single man or a friend's husband over to my house for coffee, k? Now, my question is how we apply the laws of yichud in a digital age. Is it okay to text and email with a woman who is not your wife? With your wife knowing? Without your wife knowing? I'd say the former is okay, the latter violates yichud. What about online chatting or messaging through Facebook or Twitter via Direct Message? How do we apply the laws of yichud to Social Media? Should we? Is it being too strict to think that it should be? You have to consider that just as it was "dangerous" for a man and a woman to be secluded privately because g-d knows where it would end up, so, too, have people found that in the digital age, private communication is quite the same thing, just in a different medium. Thoughts?
• Davening. There are great collaborative communities online like OneShul from PunkTorah.org that create an online space for prayer (davening), but can you count in a minyan (a quorum of 10 men needed for prayer) if you're only there digitally?

I guarantee you these are two things that the rabbis of old never would have considered, even on the most distant of horizons. So how do we approach these kinds of things today? My big thing is the idea of the New Community, which exists online, where people in the most remote of locations can find a community and participate Jewishly online. This community comprises a bevy of denominations and boasts synergy in a beautiful and innovative way. The question is: Are we ready for it? I know the Reform community is, but what about the Orthodox community? How do we approach life online via halacha and modern sensibilities? 

I'm An Oscar Mayer Weiner ...

Growing up, hot dogs were a family staple. My mom made Pigs in a Blanket (think a hot dog with a slice in it, a piece of cheese placed in the slice, and a biscuit wrapped around the hot dog and cheese and cooked) regularly, and when we went to the Drive-In as kids my mom always made hot dogs in buns, wrapped in foil, to schlep to the theater for good eats. Hot dogs were always a staple. Old school hot dogs. The kind with who knows what inside them. As I got older, I got hot dog cravings and opted for turkey dogs -- at least I knew they comprised only one curious item (turkey, that is).

For a lot of people, Hebrew National Hot Dogs are the bee's knees of the non-gross hot dog business because it's the non-crappy stuff that makes up their dogs. I can get behind that, but I can't get behind the kashrut. I know, I know "ages old rumors" and "Conservative hashgacha is just as good as Orthodox" and all that jazz. Nine times out of ten kashrut issues involve something that happened a long time ago that a business or store owner or company just can't get over. It happened back in the day, too (I'm reminded of a story from "The Lost: A Search for Six of Six Million" by Daniel Mendelsohn in which village residents remember the author's family because he was selling non-kosher meat as kosher and it caused a huge scandal!).

But what Hebrew National did for the industrialization of kosher food in the United States can't be underestimated. So mad props to Sue Fishkoff in her July 4 New York Times OP-ED "Red, White and Kosher" for her exploration of just what Hebrew National did when it did it. Today, one-third to one-half of the goods you find in your average supermarket chain have kosher certification (of course, whether Orthodox Jews will buy those certified products is questionable), but Fishkoff's point is that most of the people buying these products aren't Jewish! People (mistakenly) think that kosher = healthier, better, less junk than all that other stuff. Boy, have they walked down the grocery aisles in Monsey? Candy, chips, candy, chips, sugary treats. Have they sat down at a Shabbos meal!? I mean, come on, we're not the healthiest eaters out there.

Fishkoff has a new book coming out in the fall called “Kosher Nation: Why More and More of America’s Food Answers to a Higher Authority," and I'm super eager to read it. As the kind of person that gets giddy when she sees the kosher food carts at Yankee Stadium, I'm guessing Fishkoff's look at kosher food production and evolution in the United States will be right up my alley. Here's what the Random House page has to say:

Kosher? That means the rabbi blessed it, right? Not exactly. In this captivating account of a Bible-based practice that has grown into a multibillion-dollar industry, journalist Sue Fishkoff travels throughout America and to Shanghai, China, to find out who eats kosher food, who produces it, who is responsible for its certification, and how this fascinating world continues to evolve. She explains why 85 percent of the 11.2 million Americans who regularly buy kosher food are not observant Jews—they are Muslims, Seventh-Day Adventists, vegetarians, people with food allergies, and consumers who pay top dollar for food they believe “answers to a Higher Authority.” She interviews food manufacturers, rabbinic supervisors, and ritual slaughterers; meets with eco-kosher adherents who go beyond traditional requirements to produce organic chicken and pasture-raised beef; sips boutique kosher wine in Napa Valley; talks to shoppers at an upscale kosher supermarket in Brooklyn; and marches with unemployed workers at the nation’s largest kosher meatpacking plant. She talks to Reform Jews who are rediscovering the spiritual benefits of kashrut and to Conservative and Orthodox Jews who are demanding that kosher food production adhere to ethical and environmental values. And she chronicles the corruption, price-fixing, and strong-arm tactics of early-twentieth-century kosher meat production, against which contemporary kashrut scandals pale by comparison.

A revelatory look at the current state of kashrut in America, this book will appeal to anyone interested in food, religion, Jewish identity, and big business.

Color me stoked. Are you stoked? Put this on your to-read list for the fall!

Note: You might recognize Fishkoff's name from her book "The Rebbe's Army," another book I'm dying to read. Anyone have thoughts about Fishkoff and/or her books?

Guest Post? Anyone? Bueller?

I'm looking for some knowledgable folks on the following topics, because, well, they're things I'm curious about and know nothing about. I'd be happy (really happy) to reserve your identity if its a topic that would cause you undue harm to speak openly about said topic. Or maybe you're a guy who knows a guy and thus can talk about some of these. Just let me know. Mmk? Mmk.

• Same-sex couples: how do they handle the laws of ta'harat ha'mishpacha? For women, dealing with mikvah, for men, not having mikvah as a normative activity. I'd be curious about covering (for women), tallit traditions for men, etc. 
• Community standards and the halakot. I know plenty about what's what, although I'm a little lacking on the halakot specifics on many things (I'm smart enough to know that a lot of what people think is halakah actually is community standard), but I want to hear someone else's perspective on the issue. 
• The halakot of hair covering, the varieties therein, and why the "Captain Jack Sparrow" is so normative (how on earth can I learn to tell when women have a fall on underneath their Captain Jack -- which, I also now am willing to call the "Bret Michaels" [see photo above if you don't get it]). 

If you're willing to blog about anything you might rock my readers' minds, just let me know. I'm doing this show solo, but I'd love to get some different opinions on all things Jewish. 

Falling in Love, With Teaneck, New Jersey.

I. Love. Teaneck!

Okay, let me start over. I know, we're new and it's that honeymoon period of newness and awesomeness, and technically we haven't even moved in yet, but we spent last Shabbos in Teaneck and, frankly, I'm in love. The community is young, vibrant, impassioned, and ALIVE. Alive. Yes, I felt alive and active and excited the entire time I was around the other individuals and couples in the apartment community. I mean, we were only there for one Shabbos, and I already feel like I have a new community-family, because they opened us with welcome arms (EDIT: of course I meant "welcomed us with open arms, but I spoonerized that, and it's so funny, I'm leaving it there!), put a roof over our heads, fed and fed and fed us, and took part in conversation and Jewish geography with us. What's more to ask for?

The amazing thing about the community is that the welcoming wagon is a serious one. We're moving in on Thursday/Friday and folks are willing to host us for meals, cook for us for the first week, help us literally move the boxes and furniture, and to help unpack. I mean, wow. I'm not saying other communities aren't so gracious, but it's the proactivity of these folks that astounds and elates me.

I didn't spot a single doily over the weekend, but I did spot some strange and interesting styles of covering ye olde locks, which I may or may not write about depending on how I think the community would react. The interesting thing about moving to Teaneck is that I'm starting to feel an underlying sense of self-censorship, but not actual self-censorship. Like, I shouldn't blog about certain things for fear of people reading them and/or getting their panties in a bunch about my most-of-the-time benign comments, but at the same time knowing that I can't help but blog about them.

So, just to test the waters (like a 3-year-old with a crayon and nice, clean white wall), I have to mention this interesting hair-covering style. I think I'll call it the "Captain Jack Sparrow." It's where you take a scarf and sort of tie it back, pirate-style, but with all your locks still dangling out freely. Like the un-tichel, tichel. What I don't get is how it fits into the whole tefach of hair thing. It's sort of like edging on not covering, while still covering. I did see one woman at a kosher restaurant elsewhere in Jersey recently sporting such a scarf, but she definitely had a fall on underneath. I give mad props to the women who choose to cover like this, I just don't know how the greater Orthodox (modern and otherwise) community approaches that kind of style.

Speaking of, I'd really like to get some knowledgeable source in the arena of the halakot and community standards of hair covering to guest post something for me as far as what is hardcore, what is lenient, and what is necessary and what is not. I want to be a whole heckuva lot more informed than I am right now.

I also am seriously pondering the sheitel or fall, now. I don't know why. I'm very not down with the sheitel, but I'm not sure WHY I am. Some look so chic. But is that the point? I'm also struggling with what to do with my hair -- cut it? Let it grow? It's at this uncomfortable impasse where I can't really leave the back out but it really doesn't want to stay up despite the amount of clippy and rubber things I attempt to keep it in with. It's Hair Wars 2010. Suggestions? I haven't had it long since 2001, so it might be fun to grow it. I wonder how Tuvia feels?

I have a bucketload of posts I'd like to write, many of them based on experiences (all good, by the way) in my new Teaneck community. I got the impression that most of my new friends don't read or keep up with blogs (although they seem to be obsessed with Friends and Seinfeld, so I'm planning on watching EVERY season/episode from start to finish on BOTH of those), so I might just be in the clear. I pride myself on a positive dialogue about any and all of my queries and curiosities when it comes to halakot and community standards, and I don't see that changing. Any baggage brought to this blog by individuals I can't freak out about. After all, it's baggage.

Stay tuned for more exciting and intriguing adventures in the life of Chaviva G. Hrm ... maybe someday kids will call me "Mrs. G." Which, of course, reminds me of one of the greatest shows of all time: The Facts of Life!

Respond at Will, Please.

I am thinking of joining a gym. I have a free gym membership on campus, but the joint is a mess and it's full of ski bunnies and that's not how I roll. It would be worth the price, I think. It's motivation.

I shipped off an application to the Rabbinical Council of America's beth din wing. Yes, I have spoken out against the process in the past because I heard horror stories of women across the internet -- waiting months, sometimes years for rabbis and interviews and hoops. After considering my options, and having various batei din organized, and after careful, hard, difficult, and frustrating consideration, I have decided that the RCA way, while not perfect, is the best route for me at this current juncture. B'ezrat haShem, maybe I'll be converted by the time I go to Israel in late November. Please daven for me! And if you want to read my 11-page-long "Journey to Orthodox Judaism" ... let me know. It's a real crowd-pleaser and tearjerker (maybe?).

I'm feeling incredibly disenchanted about school right now. My head just isn't in it. I've realized that having a "real life" and trying to have a "school life" is a mess. It's even messier when you have three Shabbos meals to prepare, 250-page novels to read over a period of a few days, and paper topics to come up with on the fly. If I hadn't been at my Ulpan this summer, I don't know what I'd do because I'd also be having to worry about Hebrew. I find my mind wandering to lists of "what to buy" and "what to do" rather than "what to read for class." I'm in Suzy Homemaker mode these days, and I can't figure out why. I think my mind is on the conversion, my life in the community, my future and possibly impending life with Tuvia, and everything therein. I know it's possible to double, triple, and quadruple duty everything, but I'm not use to the multi-tasking and responsibility outside of my own personal bubble.

I've been pondering a lot of questions, but I'll just pose one here. It relates to prayer. I know I read in my b'racha book that a b'racha said in the head and not out loud means it is as if the b'racha wasn't even said. I know that this is equally try with the Sh'ma from the Midrash. Does this apply to all prayer? Or just blessings (b'rachot)? In my mind, this is where all of the mumbling in shul comes from, but I know there is a precedent for the lips actively moving (without sound in the case of all davening with the exception of those things that *must* be said aloud, like the sh'ma). Am I crazy here?

I'll leave everything at that for now. I have some interesting things to write about from my Midrash class, but I just don't have the energy to grab the book and my Tanakh and type it all out right now. Stay tuned!

SXSW + Jews = AWESOME!

I was recently contacted about something that I absolutely have to share with the masses, and I'm hoping you all will get excited about it and take part in the voting process. Yes, I said voting process.


I'm sure you all have heard about SXSW -- the "South-by-Southwest" Music Festival that takes place in Austin every year. It's one of the nation's biggest music festivals, and it now features one of the world's biggest and most popular New Media Festivals, the SXSW Interactive Festival. A social media proponent contacted me because he has submitted a panel for approval for the Interactive Festival -- Judaism 2.0. From the author, Justin Oberman, the panel is described as such: "In a world that has become somewhat hostile, this panel will explore the different avenues Jews have started using New Media to talk about Judaism, Religion and Israel."

As you all know, I fancy myself a Web 2.0/New Media guru. All you have to do is Google search "Kvetchingeditor" and you'll find my profile/pages on Twitter, MySpace, Facebook, Flickr, Blogger, LinkedIn, and every other big site out there. I'm a firm believer in the power of the Internet as a tool to connect and grow the Jewish community (and the greater communities of the world, at that). So what better a venue for such connections to be built and -- better yet explained -- than at one of the biggest music and interactive festivals out there?


So this is where you guys come in. I need you to spread the word about this panel, and to go to the SXSW festival website and VOTE in favor of the panel. Justin tells me that although the panel selection is not completely in the hands of voters, it largely is. So I need you guys to vote, vote, and vote some more. If we play our cards right, I might be featured on the panel since I love to gush about the joys of Twitter and Blogging in the frame of Torah Judaism!So go ahead, head over, VOTE, and let me know what you think about the panel and if you have any ideas or suggestions. I'm sure Justin would love to hear them. Also, be sure to look out for his upcoming blog.

Oh, and in case you are confused by all the links, please just click HERE!!!

The Rosary.

Tonight while davening at shul, I had a peculiar flashback to High Holiday services long, long ago. Probably in 2005, in Lincoln, Nebraska. Was it Rosh Hashanah? Or Yom Kippur?

My mom had purchased something for me for my birthday that year, around the High Holiday season, that meant a lot to me because it was an acknowledgement of where I was going, who I was becoming -- a large black star of David on a really long black beaded chain. It was, essentially, a Jewish rosary. I forgave my mother the weirdness of its composition, put it in my jewelry box, and didn't think much of it.

And then, while I was getting dressed for holiday services one day, I pulled out the necklace. "Should I wear it?" I questioned myself, staring at the long black beaded cord, looping it around and around to a length that was doable as a necklace. I placed it around my neck, the star falling between the sides of the color of a royal purple shirt I had on. The weight of the star caused it to float downward, into my shirt, showing only the beaded black portion of the strange piece of jewelry.

I took it off.

I finished getting ready, all the while thinking about whether it was kosher for me to be wearing this Jewish symbol, especially to synagogue, especially on the high holidays. Was it sacrilegious? Sinful? I didn't have time to question the internet or call a friend, and surely there are plenty of people in the world who aren't Jewish who wear the star of David, right?

I put the rosary-themed gothic-style star of David necklace back on. I went to shul.

I remember  worrying the entire service about what if someone saw me with the necklace on, knowing that I was going through the (Reform) conversion process. What if I was accosted? What if the rabbi saw it and scolded me? The heavy star of David slipped down with its weight, slowly, and I played with the beaded chain the entire service, trying to make the star fall further away from sight. I didn't want anyone to see it. I wore it out of pride, but ended up being embarrassed and actually ashamed that I'd put it on and worn it to shul.

I remember nothing about what was said during that service -- by the rabbi or anyone else. But I do remember my exact outfit, and that necklace, and how embarrassed I was that I wore that necklace when I wasn't "officially" Jewish.

Now, I wear a star of David every day. In the eyes of halakah, well, I'm still not halakicly Jewish. But I feel naked without my star. It screams to the world "Jew here!" But it's more subtle than that one I wore all but once those many years ago. That big, black star of David done up like a rosary. No, now it's a small, shiny piece given to me by Tuvia. I have various other necklaces adorned with the magen David and other Jewish symbols. I'm no longer embarrassed or worried or frightened that I'll be reprimanded for wearing this symbol of Judaism that, to be honest, was a late incarnation of Jewish symbols.

Either way, my fear of what others think of me, how they read the most subtle of clothing choices and jewelry adornments, has changed over time. Confidence grows, worries subside, and in the end a small little star of David is but one millisecond in the scheme of things.

To Valentine, or Not to Valentine?

I know many of my Orthodox friends don't dabble in this most holy of holidays (I'm only half-kidding here), but I'm wondering if this is the standard among the observant community. I know that Valentine's Day is the day that two Catholic saints were killed/martyred, so I'm guessing this is why observant Jews don't trade little sweets or cards with their sweethearts. But it seems to be one of those Westernized things that people just do. Now, I know this argument is used by a lot of non-observant Jews for celebrating Christmas, but I don't know that it's the same thing. There aren't any religious elements tied to Valentine's day really. At least, in my mind, it's just a reason to buy your sweetheart something.

I had a friend in elementary school who was a Jehovah's Witness, so she was always pulled out of school on the holidays when we had holiday celebrations (this was in Southern Missouri, mind you, and we celebrated everything -- Valentine's, Christmas, Easter, St. Patrick's, you name it). But every holiday that the rest of us got gifts, she did, too. Her birthday would role around and she'd get gifts for "being a good kid" not because it was her birthday. It seemed like such a cop-out, and it drove me nuts even as a 10-year-old. Thus, I have no desire to be one of those kind of people who feigns a reason to give.

So Tuvia and I traded gifts, went out for dinner, and got all dolled up for the evening. If it's one of those things where my rav says "you can't do Valentine's anymore" then, well, if there's a good halakic reason, I'm done. What are your thoughts? Did you give it up? Do you still slip your sweety a valentine? Do you exchange gifts but not because of the holiday?

(This is the bracelet he got me. My wrist looks hugely fat. Weird. Anyway, there are several charms on there, check 'em out!)

Revolving Mezuzot!?

While I stood yesterday at my favorite Jewish-ish diner in the South Loop of Chicago -- Eleven City Diner -- waiting for one of my best friends from high school and her newish husband to arrive for lunch yesterday, I discovered a perplexing question I had no answer to, as I watched people shuffle in and out of, well, a revolving door -- the choice of entryway for many Chicago establishments, to keep the cold in and the heat out. The question?

Do you affix a mezuzah to a revolving door? Is there any responsa about revolving doors and whether it is necessary to affix mezuzot to them?

So, if anyone knows, please let me know. Otherwise, I'll find a rabbi and ask, like the Orthodox community websites for Brandeis and Penn tell me to!