Back in NYC: This City Isn't What I Used to Be

Being back in NYC for the first time in ... something like five years, but really we'll say six years because the truth is the last time I was here I was in a hotel at JFK passing through on my way to Israel, feels like a dream.

Six years ago I was living in New Jersey and commuting in to NYC every day to attend NYU, where I was pursuing my second and third master's degrees in Judaic Studies and Jewish Education. It feels like a million years ago, honestly. And being back here is just surreal. I forgot what life was like "in the city" and I'm only here for 24 hours for work.

It's possible that my entire experience is probably grumpily painted by the fact that my flight was delayed twice and ended up getting in more than three hours later than anticipated. It's also probable that the fact that I arrived in the city close to 10 pm and nearly every kosher restaurant was closed or closing plays into my annoyance at the city. And then when the food I did order showed up it was breaded instead of gluten free, leaving me food-less and hungry after being in airports all day with nothing by nuts and hardboiled eggs.

But I digress.

The noise, the hectic bustle of these streets is something I'd forgot about. Or, it's possible, the noise is less aggressive down south near NYU where I spent most of my time. Up here, near Times Square where I stayed, it was an overnight constant of car horns and garbage trucks and police cars and music. This morning around 5 a.m. it was jackhammers and yelling. And I heard it all as if it were happening next to me in bed ... from the 15th floor of my hotel.

Awake, showered, hopeful, I stepped outside into the swamp. I don't mind an 80 degree day or a 100 degree day, as long as it isn't humid. I don't do humidity. I don't do sweating and sticky grossness. It's one of the reasons I truly love living in Denver. I walked a few blocks, shoving my way through vendors attempting to get people onto bus tours and to shows they don't want to see, and it was funny because not a single one of them even attempted to talk to me. Suitcase in tow, is there something about me that says, "I'm not a tourist"? Something determined or focused on my face?

I'm seriously narrating to myself as I walk. All of this. Then I hit this place called Greggory's Coffee, and here I sit, waiting for a 2:30 pm meeting that was supposed to be a noon meeting. And then off to the airport to fly back home. But this time? I'm flying out of JFK and not the ramshackle, looks-like-it-was-set-up-overnight-in-a-mad-dash LGA.

I don't know if/when I'll be back in NYC. Something about the hecticness of the city makes my social anxiety activate. My typically confident and determined personality feels confused, rushed, out of sorts. There's something about the noise and the dirt and the people ...

I didn't used to be like this. I can't imagine brining kids into the city. I'd fall apart.

Honestly? I can't wait to get back to Denver. It's clean, crisp, quiet(er). I've aged, obviously. I've gotten older. I'm only 33, but feeling this way about a city I once thought would be my long-term home makes me feel ancient.

Get a Room (at Room 77)!

My life of traveling -- really traveling, not that driving from Joplin to Tulsa or Kansas City to Nebraska -- began my junior year of high school when the Lincoln Northeast Rockets Concert Choir headed to the trenches of New Jersey for a choir competition. Luckily, the competition was a small portion of the trip that took a bus-load of white kids from Nebraska out of the corn and soybean fields and into places like Harlem, Ellis Island, and to shows like Les Miserables and out to fancy dinners. It was a world I had never experienced before, but that first trip sealed the deal for me. I was going to be a traveler, period. It was in my blood. I loved staying in a nice hotel, I loved having a million channels on TV, I loved knowing that a machine that produced ice was down the hallway and if I wanted an extra pillow, all I had to do was ask for one. That New York City trip back in 2001 changed my perspective on the world (and not just because we had what appeared to be New Jersey mobsters as our "security guards" at the hotel) ...

I want to apologize to Maryl profusely. But seriously, look at my hair!
You can't see the excitement on my face. I think I was pretty much exhausted.

And now?

I've got four flights booked in the next month. I'm heading to Dallas, Los Angeles, New York, and then on to Israel. If that's not globe-trotting, I don't know what is! (And when I get to Israel and have some money saved, the first thing I'm doing is heading to Europe ... I've been to Israel four times and I'm moving there, but that's my only out-of-the-U.S. experience!)

A few of the upcoming trips I have I'm staying with at-home accommodations, but with my trip to New York as I prep to head onward to Israel, I didn't have such luck. I had to dig around for a hotel, comparing Hotels.com with actual brand websites with other hotel search engines. Finding out that Room 77 exists makes me lament the stress it took to find a price-friendly, wifi-capable hotel with a free airport shuttle. It took some digging.

Had I had Room 77 -- “an intelligent and easy to use hotel search engine that allows travelers to find and book the best rates from across the Web in one fast and simple search" -- I would have found my hotel in about two seconds flat. Why? Well, Room 77 offers competitor rates (in the vein of everyone's favorite airfare search engines). D'oh! Where were you all my life Room 77?

My requirements for this adventure were a free airport shuttle from the hotel to JFK (where I need to be by 3 p.m. on October 15) and free wifi, because you know I'm going to be Tweeting and Facebooking every single second of my aliyah adventure. And guess what? Room 77 has that option. Genius!

I'm glad I found something, although I probably would have had better/more options to consider had I opted for Room 77. There's always next time, of course, and they do have international location, so that's a huge win for me!

Seriously, friends. Never wonder whether you've gotten the best deal on your hotel room again. Check out Room 77 when planning your next travel adventure!

I was selected for participation in this campaign as a member of Clever Girls Collective.

Aliyah Update: Flight is Booked!

I appreciate that Southwest Airlines allows one to "name" their trip itinerary. Above? That's what I named mine. Yes, I just booked my flight to New York to catch my Monday, October 15 flight out of JFK to Eretz Yisrael. (Okay, so it's not my last U.S. flight ever ... G-d willing my little brother will get married someday, and I'll come back to see it.)

I'd been stressing out over the logistics of the entire adventure, mostly because Southwest (where I had boatloads of miles to use) didn't fly in to JFK. I didn't realize (until today) how close LaGuardia and JFK are, so I nabbed a reservation at a hotel near the two with a free shuttle service to JFK. But also stress arose because I'm going to Los Angeles for the last days of Sukkot to catch up with one of my favorites families on the planet, which has me back in Denver on October 10. Those days when I get back are going to be hardcore crunch time.

And the hotel? It's not a five-star joint -- after all, it's hard to find an airport hotel with any niceness that is under $300 a night. But I found one, and although I might not sleep at all my last night in the United States, I do have this:

"This nonsmoking guestroom offers 1 king bed with a pillowtop mattress, plush duvet, and a choice of pillows. Wireless Internet access is complimentary. The TV comes with premium cable channels."

I'll be comfortable, to say the least. 

So friends, if you're in New York and want to see me before I boot-scoot off to the land that HaShem promised me when I decided to take the wacky adventure of appeasing my Jewish neshama (soul), then you'll know where to find me. 

I just have to be at JFK by 3 p.m. Or Nefesh b'Nefesh will have my head!

As a side note: I think the hotel where I'm staying actually was where I attended a Nefesh b'Nefesh fair several years ago. If so, it will be a weird, happy coincidence.

My sheitel makes its National Television Debut!

I was secretly hoping that there would be a Sukkot-related craft segment yesterday in honor of my attendance at the live taping of The Martha Stewart Show. Alas, there wasn't. I did, however, get a sukkah full of Sukkot goodness yesterday at Sukkah City in Union Square in New York City. Have I blown your mind with information sans details yet? Let me elaborate.

The awesome Esti Berkowitz set me up with the opportunity to be in Martha's first Twitter section in which we'd get the opportunity to live tweet the show from our seats. I've live tweeted plenty of events before, most of them tech events, but this was a truly one-of-a-kind experience. I arrived at the studio yesterday around 8:30 a.m., stood in line for a while, was herded into a nice little waiting room, jazzed up in spirit and personality by the stage pro Joey, and then? We were taken in to the special Twitter section. The awesome part? There were only eight of us! We were in the front two rows (four in each row) of the audience, and in no time, the show was rolling. Between the second and third segment, Martha -- THE Martha Stewart -- actually spoke to us! Yes, she gave a shout-out to us, asked us if we were having fun, and thanked us for being there. Coming in and out of commercial breaks, there we were, Twittering away. The show featured eclectic fashion icon Iris Apfel and a variety of tips on consignment shopping (something I'm not a huge fan of largely because consignment clothes = really small). The show ended, they filmed a few promos and the intro to the episode set for Friday, and I was off.

I took a serious schlep (past an awesome  hat store that I wanted to raid, but, unfortunately, wholesale only -- hat business in my future?) and ended up at the subway, which I took down to South Union Square to meet up with my co-workers for a play day at Sukkah City. Unable to locate them once I was there, I decided to take a boatload of pictures and stand-by. Finally, I caught up with them, we schmoozed and discussed the exhibit, and then I was back to work. End scene of the coolest day.

I have a lot to say about Sukkah City, but I'll keep it short and give y'all some photos to ooo and aww over. Although the pamphlet at the main booth (which, by the way, didn't scream "information booth") had a little spiel on the back about what a sukkah is, but it neglected to say anything about it being Sukkot or that the holiday was a Jewish one. In fact, the word "Jewish" didn't exist at the Sukkah City display, and unless you went to the info booth, you probably left wondering what the heck a sukkah even was, outside of something to interpret in gnarly ways. I admire the organizers for putting together such an amazing contest that had such far-reaching entries, which also allowed for artists and architects the world over to really examine and explore what a sukkah is, as well as what a lot of the requirements (halakah) for a sukkah are. Word has it they even had an Orthodox rabbi on-staff to consult. The great thing about the exhibit was that the people exploring it were many and they were diverse -- student groups from a Solomon Schechter school, an adult group with rabbi in tow, and countless hipsters with fancy cameras snapping shot after shot with the perfect light. I was left wondering, however, if the exhibit made that all-too-common move of not being too Jewish. I think of Hillel here, which, on most campuses, tends to be scared to death of being too Jewish and scaring off its student body. Events tend to be "let's go bowling, oh, and you're Jewish, so, you know, that's cool, too." Social events for Jews, not Jewish events for socializing. New York City, after all, is full of Jews, and perhaps the assumption was that people would just know what the exhibit was about and for. In the end, I would have liked them to give a reference point -- hey, it's Sukkot starting Wednesday, hence the exhibit being now and here.

And now? Pictures!


Created with flickr slideshow from softsea.

Connected in the City

Living near NYC has its perks, big perks. A hub of Social Media life, NYC is bustling with events and meetups and Tweetups and creativity that breaks the boundaries of anything I was involved in in Chicago and definitely Connecticut.

I missed out on the #140conf partizzle that Jeff Pulver put on this past week, only because it rocked out on Tisha B'Av, but I'm blessed tomorrow in the city with the Future of Jewish Nonprofit Summit (an all-day extravaganza of great minds meeting to talk turkey) and in less than two weeks I'll be back in the city for the Jewish Schmooze event at the JCC of Manhattan. I've blogged about FOJNP (event's tomorrow, you can still show up and join us!), but here's the 411 on the Jewish Schmooze event, which I hope y'all will consider coming in for! Check out the event over on MetroImma.com, too!

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Want to tap into the incredible online presence of Jewish-flavored social media networks that can increase the visibility of your brand? Join Metroimma and Prime Time Parenting for a very exclusive social media event.

Jewish Social Media Schmooze is an event for Jewish authors, musicians, film and television producers, and entrepreneurs--all creative individuals that weave their Jewish heritage into their books, CDs, television, and film. Learn how creators engage in conversations and interact with their fans, followers, and inspire individuals via social media platforms (facebook, twitter, LinkedIn, and blogs) and build long-lasting relationships.

Guest speaker and moderator Jessica Abo, anchor and reporter at NY1 News.
Participants include:
Allen Ganz, Co-Founder, Metroimma.com
Chaviva Eliana Galatz, Writer and blogger,www.kvetchingeditor.com
Rabbi Motti Seligson, Media Relations, Chabad.org
Dave Weinberg, recently named one of the “Top 50 Most Influential Personalities Online” by the Jewish Telegraph Agency (JTA)
Itamar Kestenbaum, Moishe's Moving Systems Social Media & Manager
Lisa Grunberger, Author, Yiddish Yoga

Cost: $15
Raffle prizes, goody-bags and refreshments will be serviced

To RSVP, send email to events@metroimma.com.

Please send any questions via email to jewishshmooznetwork@gmail.com.

For advertising opportunities please contact ads@metroimma.com or 262.692.0123.

She's Gonna' Be a Big Star!

Well, it's official. I mean, it was official before, but now my name and information and photo are up for the world to see: I am an NYU grad student, and here's my profile to prove it!

Man. I dreamed of this day back in 1998 when I was in high school and dreaming of someday heading to NYU for college. When the pamphlets started coming in 2000 (two years ahead of my 2002 high school graduation), I was decided, I was going to NYU. And then? Reality. Costs. Money. Financial impossibilities.

So here I am, a decade later and heading to the school of my dreams to pursue the career of my dreams. Teacher. Social media guru. Hebrew educator. Educated educator.

Anything's possible, folks. Anything.

Whatever Happened to Civility?

Last week, during a dip in the temperature, I fell walking to class. It was raining and I was wearing sandals. I was schlepping a bag full of exams, my backpack (with laptop), another bag with my lunchbox in it, a coffee, and, of course, my umbrella. I probably looked like a bag lady, but there I was, crossing the busy intersection on campus, cars stopped waiting for me to pass, and I stepped wrong, my foot flying out in front of me. The umbrella went flying, and I landed on my wrist and hip (amen for cushioned hips). I was laying there, in the middle of the crosswalk, water pouring down on me, skirt soaked through and through, trying to get up while balancing all of my bags.

And not a single person stopped to help me up.

One girl grabbed my umbrella, brought it back, and handed it to me. But the 10 or 15 other people that walked by did just that -- walked by. No one grabbed an arm, offered to help me up, asked me if I was okay, anything. These were, of course, college kids, but I have a question: What the hell happened to manners? Helping the fallen, literally?

I grew up in the Midwest, first in Southern Missouri and then Nebraska. Raised on the Golden Rule, I was raised to respect those around, to help those in need, and to at least try to be civil. I'm known for being insanely apologetic at every turn, especially in grocery stores where I tend to apologize for even walking in the vicinity of someone else, let alone running into them or their cart. Tuvia has been perplexed about my weird, Midwestern mannerisms from square one and a trip to Nebraska last year really sealed the deal for the New Jersey boy on the overly apologetic and polite ways of Midwesterners.

I'll admit, sometimes I miss the polite and simple ways of the Midwest.

The prospect of moving closer to New York City and New Jersey has me excited. After all, I'll be attending the school I've always dreamed of (NYU). Along with that dream was always living in the city, but Tuvia isn't down with in-city living, so we're looking outside the city at modern, Orthodox Jewish neighborhoods with folks our own age. It only hit me last week when I fell, however, that the experience of being ignored and passed by while suffering on a soaking street corner would not improve the closer I move to the city, but instead probably will get considerably worse. Am I ready for that?

Sometimes, I stick out like a sore thumb with my mannerisms. I wear my Nebraska/Missouri heritage with pride, of course, because to most people it's exotic and unique. "There are Jews in Nebraska!?" If I gave most people a map, I doubt they could even find the large, boxy state in the center of the U.S. But where I grew up and how I grew up paved the way for me to be this overly apologetic person, and I'm okay with that. Better to apologize every time I step within a few feet of someone else's cart or come close to brushing a shoulder than to ram into people and go about my business like a shark on a warpath.

The real question becomes: What happens if I someday move to Israel? New Yorkers think they've got attitude, well, they've obviously not experienced the Israeli "force." There is no apologetics or soft, calm demeanors there. Would I crash and burn? Probably. Would it be worth standing out and saying "slicha!" every five seconds? You bet your tush it would be.

So listen, when you walk by someone on the street or in a store, and they look like they need help, offer it. If they refuse or act embarrassed by your offer, it's their problem, not your's. Do a mitzvah, help someone out, pretend you're me for a day. Slap on that Midwestern charm and make someone's day.

A thought ...

EDIT: If y'all can start this TODAY, that'd be AWESOME. I'd love to have some Tweets up and a few live ones coming in tomorrow. THANK YOU!

I have my Wexner finalist interview tomorrow (that will decide my fate as a future Wexner Fellowship Scholar for the next three years or so) in NYC. I've got a weird and interesting idea.

I was thinking about creating a specific hashtag (like #ChaviWex) and having my computer set up during the 30-minute interview (which starts at 11:45 EST) on one of those websites to auto refresh.

I'd ask my followers to write Tweets saying "hi!" to the interviewers and saying something AWESOME about me as a future Jewish Educator and how I show this on Twitter and my Blog. OR: Tweet something you've learned FROM me. Something maybe that I said that sparked you to go out and look for more information on something.

What do you think? Would you participate?

A Pig Called Traif. Seriously?

Not that I want to give press to folks dishing out non-kosher foodstuffs, but I can't pass up mentioning this. I'm incredibly amused about this new restaurant opening in New York, and I have to hat tip @MarkSoFla for posting it up on Facebook. I mean, the restaurant is called Traif, and I don't even want to begin the discussion on the transliteration (trayf, trayfe, traife, etc). The chef/co-owner of this establishment is Jason Marcus -- yes, he's Jewish. He admits on his blog that although he's Jewish, he's "obviously not good at it."

I'll say!

No judgments passed on observance or kashrut or anything here, but really? The most ancient attributions that defined Jews, no matter where they were living, consisted of two things: circumcision and not eating pork.

The funny thing is most non-Orthodox Jews I know won't even eat pork as a matter of principal in sticking with ancestral tradition. I don't even know when the world became obsessed with pork, but I think it sucks. Why the obsession with bacon? With pork? It doesn't even taste good and of all your meaty options, it really isn't that great for you.

And from the comments from both frum and non-frum Jews on Facebook from just having posted this link, the reaction is one of disgust. Should this be happening? Why couldn't the guy just call it the Pork House or something. Why integrate the Hebrew word? Why sort of chuck such an integral cultural/halachic no-no in people's faces and on their radars?

I mean, to each his or her own, but it just seems a little ... unnecessary. I wish Marcus all the luck in the world, but I also secretly hope people turn up their noses at his attempt at kitsch in the face of "tradition." Thoughts?

Circumcised Comedian, Kosher Burgers, & Cafe!

After a tip from Aliza Hausman last month or a few months ago on her blog, I decided to buy tickets for today (also known as Valentine's Day in the secular world) for Tuvia and I to see the illustrious Yisrael Campbell in "Circumcise Me" at the Bleecker Street Theatre in New York City. We were down in Jersey for Shabbos in order to meet with our caterer and scope benschers and a ketubah earlier today, and we also happened to stop by Burgers Bar in Teaneck, which just opened recently. Talk about a busy, busy day. I'm finally back in my dorm and feeling a little overwhelmed about all I have to do, but there's always time for a little good press for others!

First for the show. Talk about a gut-buster! I'm a hard sell on a lot of comedy, but I was hopeful because comedy with a Jewish twist is always good. Add to this the fact that he's a convert and I was in. The room was packed, and the group varied from frum Jews in sheitels to little old ladies decked out like Sarah Jessica Parker might look in her 90s. The flow of the show was great, and I think I only checked my watch a few times -- I am, infamously, impatient. Yisrael Campbell's life story is, in a word, unique. He's seen a lot, been circumcised three times over his life (that's at birth and for his Conservative and Orthodox conversions), and watched friends die while living in Israel and experiencing the harder, more violent times there. He's also a father, a husband, and a hilarious comedian. How he juggles his show here while his family is in Israel amazes me, but I have no doubt that he has to be a great husband and father. Campbell also is a recovering alcoholic, which added an interesting and sobering (no pun intended) twist to his comedic narrative. The ups and downs of his life -- which I won't spoil for you here -- kept the audience captivated; there was laughing, some near-tears, and a feeling of peace and excitement for the comedian rocking a one-man show on the small black-box theatre-style stage. And for me, being a convert myself, it was especially surreal to hear him talk about meeting with rabbis and what it meant to convert and dip in the mikvah. I'll be honest in saying that his story was more than a typical conversion story -- it wasn't as emotional as I expected it to be. But overall? A great show, and I encourage you all to go see it. There are only a FEW showings left! If you can't make a show, seek out some of Campbell's work online. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Next? Tuvia and I found our ketubah. I'm so stoked about it -- it's very different, very artsy, and it integrates one of my favorite themes within Jewish art! Stay tuned for the wedding (a little more than 100 days left)!

Then, Burgers Bar. I happened to win a "Tweet for Meat" free burger coupon on Twitter from @BurgersBar, so we decided to head to the recently opened Teaneck joint. There are a few others open in the U.S., but the chain is known mostly in Israel, especially for its location just up the stairs from the Kotel in Jerusalem (where Tuvia and I happened to eat in December!). I'll admit, it was no Jerusalem experience. We stopped in at around 2 in the afternoon, so the joint was not jumping. We were probably one of three or four tables of people, so service was fast and very friendly. My biggest beef (once again, no pun intended!) with Burgers Bar in Teaneck was the quality of the veggies they had for the burgers. They had no problem throwing a bunch of brown, obviously bad lettuce on my burger. It was really disappointing, to say the least. I ordered a spicy burger and regular fries, and the fries weren't quite as crisp as I was looking for and the burger wasn't quite as spicy as I remembered my burger in Israel. The quantity of food was on par with the price, and it definitely made filled me up. Overall, it was probably a 2.5 out of 5 star experience. The restaurant just opened, so I'll give them some time. If you're heading over, don't look for a "BURGERS BAR" sign -- it still says Discount Liquidation! The ambiance will surprise you, as it's very clean, very crisp, and very hip. They're open amazingly late (2 a.m. most days and 3 a.m. on Saturdays) for the late-night crowd, but I've heard they can get quite busy, so plan accordingly. And, don't be like me -- let them know if the veggies are less than stellar. (Location: 1383 Queen Anne Road, Teaneck, NJ)

We topped our day off with some coffee before hitting the road, and I can't help but show off the fancy footwork of the folks at Think Coffee, just around the block from the theater where we saw "Circumcise Me."

And that, folks, was one busy and thrilling day, despite a hacking cough, stuffed up nose, and achy body. Now? Now I rest myself and rock some Hebrew. L'hitraot!

Chavi's Got News!

You read that right, folks. I've got news. Big news. Huge news! I was going to post a brief video blog about it, but my voice sounds horrible, and the upload was taking far too long. So I'm going to have to give you a teaser here and hope you all come back when I actually write the full post in the coming week.

Is the anticipation killing you? Is it? I guess you could have just looked below for the news, right. But if you're still reading, come on, move along already!

On 15 Tevet 5770 (that's January 1, 2010), at a little after 11 a.m. on the Upper West Side in New York, I descended the steps of a mikvah -- a ritual pool/bath -- and accepted upon myself the yoke of Judaism and being a Jewish woman. I ascended from the pool a new person, a fresh and invigorated neshama, and met friends who were waiting for me outside. I was named, Chaviva Elianah (חביבה אליענה), said my first b'racha as a halakic Jewess and my first shehechiyanu as a Jewess. And then?

Then I went out for a delicious bagel lunch at Bagels & Co. with @susqhb, @ravtex, and @schnit. I was then lucky enough to be on a streetcorner with Alec Baldwin and some other actor whose name I can't figure out. Then Shabbos came, and I spent my first Shabbos as a card-carrying member of the club. And damn did it feel good.

I'll write more later, a lot more later. So please stay tuned. It'll include why I chose a second name, what it felt like in the mikvah, what it felt like after, and everything in between -- including the candy that sticks to your teeth. Oh, and why this was completely sudden, unexpected, and AWESOME.

Thanks for the support and kind words and encouragement over this journey. It still isn't over, of course. We're all under construction, especially this one right here.

The Beth Din Looms.

Conflicted. Emotionally, that is. Confidence mixed with frustration mixed with assurance mixed with anxiety. I am the proverbial roller coaster of emotions.

In a mere two-ish days, I'll be meeting with a beth din in New York. This meeting is a preliminary meeting to the actual beth din conversion meeting, and the rabbis on my beth din will be feeling me out Jewishly. They asked that Tuvia come along, as well. 

Do I need to say more than that? I'm not really sure what else to say. More than six years have culminated in this meeting this week. It can't be said that from square one I knew I'd be driving the 2.5 or 3 hours to NYC just to meet with the rabbis on a council in order to help me become halakicly Jewish, but this journey has become a great and mighty beast that I love dearly. One of those big and scary looking beasts that's really fuzzy and warm on the inside. 

I don't know what to expect. I fear a "b'racha bee"-type situation. Or that they'll ask me the order of the service. Or that they'll want me to detail kashering techniques. The funny thing is, I could probably do all of those without a problem, but I'm one of those saps that breaks under pressure. Especially knowing that my entire life rests in the hands of three RCA rabbis. 

A friend calmed my anxiety a bit by reminding me that, to be honest, it really isn't that my neshama is in the hands of three rabbis, but rather that it's the "man behind the curtain" -- haShem -- that's really the one running the show. I know that's true, but it's hard to ignore the obvious: This is really big doings. 

Be yourself, people tell me. Just be yourself. 

What if myself isn't good enough? What if I crash? What if I burn?! What if I can't remember how to read Hebrew!?

Let's be honest here. I know these things won't happen. This is part of that emotional rollercoaster. One moment I'm brimming with confidence, and the next minute I'm feeling frustrated and down. I'm guessing this is what the rabbis had in mind, and if it is, then kol ha'kavod to them. 

So for the next few days I'll stew. Trying to practice b'rachot (mostly it's the food ones that have me all in a puddle). Just living my life as I always do. Being me. Wondering if it will be enough, but knowing that it is. 

What it comes down to is that I'm ready. I've been ready. I'll be ready until they're ready. As I've always said: There is no limit to my patience when it comes to things that are meant to be. And this? This is something that is meant to be. 

Finally, a Jewish American Girl Doll!

I spent years ooing and awing over the American Girl catalogs that were diligently delivered to my house as a child. I wanted the dolls, the clothes, the accessories -- but all I got were the American Girl playing cards, which I purchased with meager birthday earnings at Silver Dollar City, a "resort"-type place in Branson, Missouri, where people dressed up in old clothing and pretended to rob train passengers. Those were the days.

But who would have thought that all of these years later, after they introduced Addy, the African American American Girl doll to much applause and cheering, that they would finally come around and introduce a Jewish American Girl Doll. So far, there has been an (American) Indian, a Latino and an African-American, but so far no Jewish or Arab or Asian (are those PC terms?).

Now, however, you can get your very own Jewish American Girl doll, with a story line and all! Her name is Rebecca Rubin, a 9-year-old girl living on the Lower East Side in 1914 with her Russian-Jewish immigrant family, including a grandmother known lovingly as "Bubbie."

Here's some more from The New York Times article. Feel free to donate some cash-money to me so I can finally get an American Girl doll. I've always wanted one, and now I can have one who represents, well, I'm not sure what she'd represent, but I want it!

The goal is that no one be offended and that Jewish and non-Jewish little girls alike will want to play tenement house with their new toy, which costs $95 — plus more for accessories like a sideboard with a challah resting on it.

The preliminary research that led to Rebecca’s development started in 2000, said Shawn Dennis, the senior vice president for marketing. American Girl had wanted to do a doll focused on the immigrant experience. After work by two in-house historical researchers, and interviews with focus groups, it was decided to make the character Jewish.

“Russian-Jewish immigration, that group has an effect on the labor movement, that group has an effect on the burgeoning Hollywood entertainment business,” Ms. Dennis said. “We thought it would have the makings of what would be a relatable story to tell.”

To write the books, the company found Jacqueline Dembar Greene, who had written a historical novel for young adults set in 1654 about Jewish immigrants to New Amsterdam.

Ms. Greene and company researchers made a trip to Manhattan, visiting the Lower East Side Tenement Museum and a row house on East Seventh Street.

There was back and forth between Ms. Greene and American Girl executives about how to handle certain situations, including the fact that in the first book Rebecca and her father work in his Rivington Street shoe shop on Saturdays, the Jewish Sabbath.

“There were full meetings about that,” said Ms. Dennis, who learned a lot about Judaism during the project. “There were so many different styles of Jewish practice, some stricter than others, in 1914 and today. What our research told us was the greater pressure during that time period was assimilation and blending in and becoming American.”

As Ms. Greene worked on the books, company designers set about figuring out what Rebecca should look like. The company’s research had found that Rebecca’s Russian-Jewish descent allowed a range of physical characteristics, creating a wide palette of choices, said Megan Boswell, the director of design and development. Facial structure is not typically an issue because the company generally chooses from an existing set of molds.

Hair color was a big issue, debated for years. At first it was a dark auburn, but it was thought that might be too untypical. Ms. Boswell said. Then dark brown, the most common hair color for Russian-Jewish immigrants, was discussed. But perhaps that would be too typical, too predictable, failing to show girls there is not one color that represents all Jewish immigrants.

“In the end, after many discussions weighing out the advantages of both approaches,” Ms. Boswell said, “we created what we felt was an optimum combination and gave her a new mid-tone brown hair color with russet highlights.”

Perhaps the most amusing line from the article, though?

The company hopes the doll will appeal to everyone. If a blond Christian girl in North Dakota enjoys pretending she is living in a tenement on the Lower East Side in 1914, helping her Bubbie make latkes for Hanukkah, American Girl will be happy to sell her a toy menorah.

But seriously, I want one of these puppies! Mostly so I can buy all the awesome Jewish accessories. Her release date? May 31. Start your buying engines!

Hat tip to @JewishTweets for making this mention to the world.

In a Monsey Moment: Oy Vey!

Yesterday, while driving back from New Jersey after a fun and family filled weekend, Tuvia and I decided to stop in Monsey, NY, since we pass by it at least twice a month when we're schlepping back and forth between his former residence in NJ and our current abodes in Connecticut. The experience of Monsey is something I've always wondered about, after reading about it and hearing about it in blogs (both good and bad things, that is). So, at the spur of the moment, we pulled off and realized the hub of Monsey shopping and dining life wasn't that far off the highway.

Our first stop was Rockland Kosher, a gigantic supermarket in a building filled with a dozen other stores selling lingerie, clothing, books, and other necessities for the kosher home. There were Jews, garbed in black, white, navy blue and about 30 shades therein, rushing in and out of the building, pushing strollers, payess waving in the wind. I gave Tuvia his "emergency Crown Heights kippah" -- a black, velvet number that I keep in my purse in case of emergencies. I was wearing modest clothes, at least, until I stepped out of the car I felt like I was. A long peasant skirt that floated along the ground, a brown tank-top that covered most of the skin up to about a fist-lengths below my neck, topped with a black 3/4-length cardigan. I walked around the grocery store with my arm clutched across my chest, reaching over to my purse on my right shoulder, trying to cover the skin that did show. These women were wearing long black or navy skirts, and under their cardigans of similar varying shades of blue and black were tight, choking button-down shirts. The sheitels were perfect, the hair looked real, and few women actually had head coverings other than sheitels.

And every aisle we walked down, little Tzippies and Menachem Mendels were staring at me.

Tuvia didn't notice it, he said after I asked him, but people were looking. Here were me, in my very peasanty skirt, and Tuvia, in khakis and a polo shirt, shopping in the kosher supermarket surrounded by immas and abbas and bubbes and zaydes, and I was reminded of how it felt walking home in Mt. Pleasant in Washington D.C. where the Latino men slink out of the bars every five minutes whistling and cat calling. Except, this time, people were piercing and calling out with eyes and up-down looks, not words. Maybe I'm paranoid and it wasn't that bad, but I felt naked, I felt completely exposed, I felt like they could smell on me that I wasn't fluent in Yiddish or Hebrew and that Tuvia and I weren't married, sinners!

But the really fascinating thing about the Rockland Kosher experience was that from side to side, front to back, the entire store was filled with two things: Toys and Snacks. Every aisle we went through there were mommies pulling toys down for kids, and kids picking up bags of candy and chips and snacks. It seemed like nobody was buying real food, just Israeli treats and cheap plastic toys. The store had the Israeli and unique Kosher brands separated from the national brands, and more people were shopping the former than the latter. Is it a trust issue?

The best steal of the day, though, was a dozen eggs, which I purchased for only $1.30 or so. You can't find eggs that cheap anywhere. I don't care who you are. I remember when they used to put eggs on sale for $.99, and now you're lucky to get them for under $2.00. What a steal! I could have bought 20 dozen for that price. We checked out, thanks to a few Latino men working the counter, marveled at the in-house mikvah (in case you buy a pot or pan or something and want to tovel it instantly!), and schlepped off to look for dinner.

There were a few strip malls with some options, including a cafe, a barbecue joint, and the Purple Pear (a dairy restaurant), which I had heard about from friends, so we went there. Now, for those of you who haven't been to Monsey, the Purple Pear is probably the most "normal" place you'll find there. If you're a Modern Orthodox Jew or someone who is a little more metropolitan and likes to wear jeans with your tzitzit, then this place will feel comfortable. We walked in and there were some women in pants, men with ball caps, and a sushi chef shoved nicely in a nook in the corner. The restaurant is so jazzy, a dark red and black theme with a chalkboard menu that makes it feel very cosmopolitan, very bistro-like. I wanted to hijack the joint and move it back to Connecticut (did I mention the only kosher "restaurants" we have are a Dunkin Donuts and some Cold Stones and a Ben and Jerry's?). Instead, I ordered sushi and a coffee, Tuvia got an omelet some fries and a bagel (he was elated to see that "bagel" was the first option instead of the "add $1.50 for a bagel" option). It was so nice to go someplace kosher, to feel a real dining experience out where there are other people doing what you do, just more often. The service wasn't great, but better than what I expected at such a busy kosher place anyway.

As we pulled out of Monsey yesterday, I was a little saddened. On the one hand, I was excited to be leaving a place that seemed so far out of reach and so black and white (literally), but sad that all these options and neat stores and this frummie lifestyle were being left behind. I'd kill for a kosher coffee house, and I often joke with Tuvia about quitting my present path and opening a coffee shop/bookstore for the kosher crowd and anyone else willing to try my favorite pastry and coffee offerings. Coffee houses are home to me, and not having that option were you can nosh a scone and coffee while reading some Rashi drives me nuts. Someday, maybe, when I'm a retiree and rich?

Or maybe, just maybe, someday we'll move to Monsey, reopen the drive-in for classic films (except on Shabbos, of course) and start up a coffee shop/bookstore and take on the town. Livin' it up. Live it up.

But chances are that will never happen. What is for certain, however, is that Tuvia and I will make sure to stop in Monsey more often. Maybe look up some soon-to-move friends, eat at the Purple Pear, get some kosher pizza, and feel the flavor of the community so that those initial feelings of being eyed and examined by the black-and-white garbed as someone on the outside looking in. After all, I'm sure I was analyzing them as much as they were analyzing me. And in the end? We're all just Jews.

Shabbaton Reflections, Part I of ??

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither Inside, Nor Outside that World.

Hebrew homework went quicker than I had anticipated, so I have decided to reflect on my weekend spent in New York, so that I can sit down and write a Rosh Hashanah post tomorrow. So let us begin -- I will give an overview, and then some general observations/delights of my Shabbos weekend :)

I set off on a bus to New York at 11:20 a.m. on Friday after jetting off from my Hebrew class amid a stormy, stormy downpour. I got into the city around 3 something, schlepped my way to the A train, and headed uptown to 181st -- Washington Heights. Now, I know nothing about neighborhoods in New York, except that Crown Heights is super Jewy. To be completely honest, I had no idea that Washington Heights was a hot-bed of Orthodox Jewish action. I got to Susanne's place in time to shower (the humidity ate away at me all weekend), and for us to head off to shul. I was, in a word, blown away by the synagogue we went to. The layout was familiar to me from books (the way there's a large men's section with seats facing each other and the women's section behind on each side behind the mechitzah), but it was unlike any shul I'd been to before. There were so many people of all flavors -- black hats, fancy suits, women in stilletos, women in hats, sheitels, scarves, men with colorful kippot, men with traditional black kippot. The entire room seemed to move in one gigantic wave, with men davening at lightning speed, women peering above and over the mechitzah, other women davening with a beautiful force that I only hope to be able to envelope myself in once I am comfortable with the service and the Hebrew. It amazed me how perfectly harmonized the room grew with each prayer, each song like a well-rehearsed choir. And as soon as it all began, it was over. Crowds moved out to the large hall and the women and men intermingled, chatting and flirting issuing "Shana Tova" and blessings upon pregnant women. In truth, I stood in awe of them all.

We moved on to Shabbos dinner -- all female -- where I had the luck of meeting a bounty of beautiful, strong, intelligent religious women in their late 20s. All single, all searching (well, except our engaged Sus). The "shidduch crisis" that is often spoke of seemed alive in that room. There was gefilte fish and kugel and challah and brachos and chatting and discussion about men, family, conversion, and the upcoming holidays. There was singing, lots of singing, and a farewell late in the evening after which we headed home to bed. We quickly threw ourselves into bed after some chit chat, to wake up in the morning for services.

In the morning I was faced with the big Shabbos woe: what to do with my hair. I know it sounds really stupid, but not showering on Shabbos is the one thing that I've always struggled with. I managed to do something with it, throwing on a polka-doted headband, and we were off to shul. I'd never been to a morning service before, and there were far fewer people at the service, but it was equally powerful, intense and devotional. Services went quite quickly, and we left to head off to Yeshiva University for lunch. Yes, I was going to sit down in a cafeteria room with a couple hundred YU kids over Shabbos lunch, and it was going to be outstanding. We trekked up, got there before lunch started and in time to watch the worker boys setting up the lunch with Sus's fiance ordering the boys about appropriately (it was, to be honest, a pretty amusing scene to which I have created a soap opera: "Shabbos Kitchen" with lots of really exciting music). Watching these boys come in, sit down to lunch, was really a sight. It was a microcosm of the shul scene, with boys from across the board -- super frum, sorta frum, religious. Black hats, peyos, fancy pin-striped suits, polos, you name it. Some were rowdy, some were merely pious. And me? I think I stuck out like a truly sore thumb -- I wasn't a rebbetzin or the daughter of a rabbi, I was just some girl sitting at the back staff's table. But I did meet a religious Jew from Nebraska, and that delighted me.

And then? Shabbos nap. Oh. Yes.

But then I woke up for evening services and my hair was disgusting and a mess, so I got to try out the scarf look. The response? "You look super frum!" Yes, I did. I blended in perfectly, I guess. But we got to shul post-services and ended up back at the locale we'd hit for Shabbos dinner for a bit of a nosh, some conversation, a story about one of the rebbes (super interesting and other-worldly), and finally, the end of Shabbat. We went home, we showered (B"H!!!), and we went out to meet up with those mentioned in my previous post for a fun night of drinking, a house party -- where a Jewish comedian told me I had beautiful Jewish lips and that I blended in well after he was told of my history as a Jew -- and a late night home in bed. The rest? History (well, a meet-up with Evan and a trek to his mother's house where his grandmother thrusted food in our general direction en masse, followed by a trek home in the rain and a meal at a kosher-style restaurant.)

So what to say about the entire weekend? It was absolutely amazing. To be completely honest, I've been blessed with knowing some pretty amazing religious Jews who make being Orthodox look like a walk in the park. I'm not sure if that's because it *is* a walk in the park, or they just have it mastered. But kashrut, being shomer shabbos, going to shul, it all just seems so doable, so workable, so -- right. This, of course, even while being lost about 3/4 of the time in shul. Now, back in Chicago the Orthodox shul's rabbi would throw out the page numbers in the Artscroll regular and transliterated versions. But in a shul as huge as the one in Washington Heights, it cannot be expected that anyone would throw them out. Thus, it was pretty difficult for me to keep up, even having been familiar with the siddur. Back in Chicago, I was always on time, and I could thus always keep up. At every meal I had to reach for a transliterated benscher, and this bothered me. I want to daven in Hebrew, I want to know the words and for the language of my people to resonate. I want the letters of the aleph-bet to thread a cord around my tongue! And this frustrated me. It continues to frustrate me. There are so many things I don't know and when I heard about the courses offered at Stern for women and how much information is delved out about all the little details of davening and shul and meals, I longed for that life. I'll admit at many points throughout the weekend feeling cheated -- cheated out of a lifetime of being Jewish, having that lineage and lifestyle handed to me on a silver platter. But then I remembered that where I came from and how I got to my Jewish soul makes me who I am as a Jew. I try so hard to not be bitter or envious, I try to return myself to my place and reaffix myself. But sometimes, just sometimes, it is so hard. I should know the dinner blessings, shouldn't I? I should know the tunes and songs and prayers. But then I remember: I have only been to a handful of Shabbos meals -- all in the past nine months. I must, must, must be patient. What else? I absolutely loved being in a neighborhood where frum Jews were constantly in the streets, walking around, present -- it was a Jewish neighborhood (with a bit of a Latino flavor), and I felt at home and comfortable and at ease there. Sus let me check out her Women's Artscroll Siddur , which, I have to say, I must purchase. I read through the intro and preface, thinking it might be a little on the patronizing side of things, but it wasn't -- it highlighted where to start when you get into shul late, what prayers can be skipped, etc.

I find myself at a loss, though. I feel like there was so much I had wanted to say about the Shabbat in Washington Heights -- my first fully shomer Shabbos -- but that I cannot now recall. When you don't write on Shabbat, you lose your thoughts, I think. I do know that it was relaxing, easy, calm, and it allowed me to really see my potential as a religious Jew. On the other hand, it had me thinking about where I am going in many aspects of my life -- personally, academically and otherwise. I thought more about an Orthodox conversion and how and where that can happen. I discussed with acquaintances my realization that essentially, I am in stasis for at least the next two years -- I cannot make the appropriate travel to work with an Orthodox rabbi weekly (cost, school, lack of transit), so I am more or less just stuck. The process, I guess, continues. What I do have, though, are friends, rabbis and acquaintances who understand my situation and are sympathetic and accepting of it. I don't feel outside, but I don't feel fully inside the world I view myself in. It's a complex problem, I think. And so it goes as a ger.

I'd like to say that from here on out I'm all shomer Shabbos all the time. But there have been made vows for Saturday trips to the Poconos and otherwise non-Shabbat type activities. I ask myself why, of course. And I know the reader is probably confused. As the holidays come upon us, there is a little spiel about a holy, pious man who says the sh'ma every day of his 85 years, except for one night that he happens to miss because he was ill or otherwise unable. And because of this, it is as if he had never said the sh'ma in all his years -- because he missed but one night. And thus, the holidays approach and we're able to resolve such situations. So, what does this mean for me? I'm not sure. One observant Shabbat for 10 non-observant Shabbats makes me something. What it is is being torn between two worlds, walking a tight-rope to keep both afloat for whatever reason. Maybe I don't want to be like those beautiful, intelligent girls on the cusp of 30 or beyond who haven't found their match. Maybe I don't want to be lost to the world I once knew. Maybe I'm making excuses, and I know very well that the answer to certain questions should be "no, Shabbat is the holiest day in the calendar -- for it appears in the decalogue." But something causes hesitation.

What I learned this weekend, then, is that the path it continues to be beaten by these hopeful feet. And that, I think, is going to have to be enough for now. And in my heart of hearts, I know G-d hears my song. Even if I it means I have to sing a little bit louder during these holidays.

I'm back ... but wait!

Wow. Really? Seriously? Best weekend I've had in a long time. Shabbos in Washington Heights in NYC with Susanne and friends, drinks with various bloggers and internet personalities such as Sara from PopJudaica.com , EstherK , Ezra Butler and Susanne , of course, followed by the meeting of Evan's mother and grandmother (she was elated to feed me gefilte fish) and the conclusion of the weekend eating at a "kosher style" restaurant outside of Hartford? Well, yes, it was pretty darn amazing. But I don't have the energy or time (I have boatloads of homework to do before I sleep) right now, but rest assured you'll hear about my Orthodox shul adventure, eating lunch at Yeshiva University, and clomping around in the rain all weekend.

Until then, though, please go check out the newest edition of Haveil Havalim -- edition #184 "A Barbarian Roars Again" over at A Barbarian Yawp's blog! (And whoa, I got a mention this week, wahoo!) Oh, and just for fun, check out this awesome picture from the weekend -- yes, those are Internet superstars Chavi, Susanne, Esther, Ezra, and Sara! Until I get a free moment ... Shana Tova and may your new year be ever so sweet!

When There's Extra Time, Ani kotevet.

Strangely, rather, very strangely, everything is done. I had my big gigantic 1/3-of-your-grade exam today that, well, I feel pretty lame about but I feel that way after every test so we'll see. I studied for tomorrow's Hebrew quiz, AND did the homework for class, too. I also did laundry (which happened to be free for some reason), and I managed to eat and get to work and do all the other activities of the day, not to mention watching the newest episodes of a few of my favorite TV shows on YouTube and Hulu.com. What I'm wondering is, how did this happen? Did the world slow to a halt today? I even lallygagged at work, chatting with a classmate about our observance and class and Jewish UConn and everything in between. So, really, seriously, how did this happen? I guess I shouldn't complain because it gives me time to write a quick blog post, go through the flashcards one more time, and hit the sack. Oh, and it also gives me time to pack.

Pack for what you say? Well, because I just didn't get enough NYC last week, I'm heading back this weekend, thanks to the kindly Susanne , who is putting me up for Shabbos. I was originally going to be bunking up at another friend's place, but it fell through, so Susanne is a huge, insane, holy lifesaver. There's no particular reason I'm going to NYC, I just want to be there. Well, I guess it is my pre-birthday weekend, so I'm hoping to get some of my Twitter friends together for a drink or two or three. If anything, I imagine I'll have plenty to say at the end of the weekend. Now, in preparation for my Shabbos, I anticipated not being able to use the showering facilities on Saturday morning. This, as I've mentioned in the past, is one of my biggest hang-ups about being shomer Shabbos, and I know it's incredibly stupid. But my options are: Look like Frankenstein (this hair gets all sortsa crazy in the course of an evening of sleep) or look like a happily married frummie. To be honest, I'd rather hit up the latter, so I figured out -- in one shot -- how to tie a scarf so that I can cover my messy hair. I'm pretty proud of myself. Was I meant to be a hair-covering guru? I also found the most amazing site on the planet CoverYourHair.com, from which I purchased a couple nifty headbands/scarves for the express purpose of covering my messy-arse hair on Shabbos morning.

Is it really that big of a deal if I cover my hair? I mean, plenty of people wear scarves. Does it have to mean what people will think it means!? Will they see no ring on my finger and gush with "oy gevalts" ...? Feh.

Anyhow, that's where I'll be this weekend, so if you are also in New York, let me know and maybe we can bump into each other. Other than my big weekend trip, nothing huge is going on. I got notice from the Birthright group I signed up through that acceptance notices will go out in three weeks (oy, the waiting, I can't do it anymore) and that phone interviews would start late "this week." Well, it's pretty much Friday and no one has called me. Is this a bad sign? Sigh. I just want to go to Israel. What's so big about it?

But I'd like to take the rest of this happy little blog space to throw out some links and causes worth thinking about. First? Please click HERE and vote for "Evelyn" -- though, it's really a vote for Evelyn's daughter, Leah, who created a magazine for Jewish girls called Yaldah. Seriously, this girl created this magazine when she was 13 years old. THAT, folks, is making a dream happen. Next up, I want all my happy travelers out there (I'm looking at Mottel for sure) to checkout YeahThatsKosher.com -- the blog for the kosher traveler. It's really a pretty unique idea and the website is just downright handy and well-designed. Thirdly, WebYeshiva.org is offering free classes on Sunday on Rosh HaShanah ! If I wasn't going to be traveling, I would be online and sitting in on those lessons. It's a really great and neat idea, and I encourage everyone to take advantage. Fourthly, if you're in the mood for a little hilarity, my friend has put up a comical parody of the Rabbis for Obama group. Yes, there is now "Rabies for Obama ." Just click on the link. It's beautifully designed!

And lastly, I recommend you ALL watch this video by Sarah Silverman. Now, I know a lot of people don't like Sarah Silverman and she can be a little raunchy and obnoxious, but this video promotes everyone getting their zeyde and bubby out to vote for Obama, and I think it's hilarious and marvelous.


The Great Schlep from The Great Schlep on Vimeo

So until we meet again on Sunday or Monday, I issue a little bit of an oy vey for the approaching holidays. Still? Quite unprepared. Thus, on my lengthy bus trek to New York, I'll be delving into some items from the interwebs, things friends and other bloggers have posted. I need to get into the season, to really feel my heart. So with that, Shabbat Shalom!

If not for the annual day of judgment, the world's sins would continue to accumulate, until it would reach the stage where it would have to be destroyed. This is why Rosh Hashana is a yom tov, a day of celebration. (Sefer HaChinuch)

Will Beg for Shabbos!

Let's say, just by chance, that my birthday is September 30. Let's also say that the weekend prior to my birthday (which also happens to be Rosh Hashanah), I want to go to New York (because someone I know is coming in to town, but also ... ). I want to have a traditional shabbos. I want to be shomer shabbos to an absolute devotion. I want to go to shul and dine with a community and wake up and go back to shul and rest and read. I want to see how the good, observant, other New York half lives. Anyone got room for a Kosher Cornhusker in their Shabbos universe? I'm a maven with a transliterated Artscroll siddur :)

At any rate, my weekend was outstanding. The Conservative shul that Evan and I went to on Friday night was nice, albeit fairly small, but the rabbi had some interesting and significant things to say. The service was good and we capped the night with some Mexican food. We left Saturday morning for New York for the 1 p.m. Yankees game (second to last at the stadium!), and luckily the Yanks won. The sun was beating down, but the crowd was fun and the company was good. That evening we went to the Comedy Cellar in Greenwich Village for some comedy and before that we ate upstairs at the Olive Tree Cafe (owned by a nice Jewish woman), where I had some yummy falafel. After the comedy show (in which I got made fun of for being a Judaic studies student by a Jewish comedian), we met up with Evan's cousin and her friend for a drink and then headed back around 11 for Connecticut. And me? Well, I had gotten sort of ill -- what with the dehydration from the game and the liquor. Tea didn't help, but a lot of sleep did. So today, although I'm not feeling 100 percent, I feel about 75 percent better than I did last night. But overall, a good weekend.

I was reminded of how much I love New York -- it's little shops and grocery markets with fruit and flowers outside for all to see. People dressed to dazzle tromping around dirty streets trying to hail a cab. It's such a beautiful mess, New York is, but I still love it.

So I want to go back. Help a girl out?