On Being Fat: Stick to Style, Not Size Number

First grade, homemade dress!

Once upon a time, I was a slam poet. I guess you don't ever really stop being a slam poet, but for me, my poetry juice appears to have dried up. I went through a period in my early/mid 20s where, when I put pen to paper, it made me proud and I worked up the courage to throw words into a crowd. Now, I'm lucky to find the time to blog right here, where I've been blogging for 10 years now.

One of those poems I penned during my slam renaissance was called "First Fat Miss America." It was inspired by an interaction I had as a child while watching the Miss America pageant, and it painted how I viewed myself and how I felt about myself for a long time. Yes, I was told that I, Amanda Jo Edwards, could be the first fat Miss America. I had the potential. Now, I suppose this could have been a compliment, the idea that I, a girl born and raised in the Midwest of the United States, could achieve such a fanciful goal. But I got stuck. Stuck on "fat." And I think that was the point.

I was never thin, and I was always depressed about my size.

I was a pretty cute baby, gosh darn't, but starting the moment I hit school, I was fat. I was basically fat up until I hit middle school and learned that I could skip lunch, I could dump it all in the garbage and my parents would be none the wiser. Yet, somehow, years of skipped lunches and grumbling stomachs didn't leave me thin. I just got fatter. My mom made my clothes for most of my younger years, and as I got older I ventured into the Pretty Plus section at Sears (the girls' equivalent of Husky), and when I entered middle school, I started noticing how different I was. I had a very tight-knit group of friends, 80 percent who were much, much thinner than me. By 6th grade I'd shot up in height, hit puberty, and was gigantic compared to both boys and girls in my class. I started wearing women's clothing, and it wasn't pretty.

Hello fifth grade.

In high school, I went through the same pattern of having extremely thin friends, tossing my lunch, and trying to stay as slim as I could. When I'd tell people how much I weighed, I was always told, "wow, you really wear your weight well." I worked at McDonalds for two years in high school and managed a steady diet of a plain grilled chicken sandwich with a touch of sweet and sour sauce and a small fry. I didn't succumb to the cravings; I had to watch my already-large figure.

Just before graduation in 2006.

By the time I graduated college, I was at an all-time high weight because the rigors of college newspaper life (80 hour work weeks and midnight runs to the local bar) left me drunk and with the munchies and that led me to fast food restaurants. Food was comfort, clothing was hell.

After I graduated college and moved to Washington D.C. in 2006, I lacked a social life, and I started to lose weight. I went vegetarian (it was cheaper), walked just about everywhere, and was depressed as hell. I moved to Chicago to be with a boy and gained 30 pounds because, well, I was still depressed and he cooked the most outlandishly fattening food and bars and late-night pizza were our jam. I was at another all-time high weight when I moved out and we broke up.

I went on Weight Watchers in 2008 and lost 25 pounds, bought a new wardrobe, and finally felt beautiful. I attempted to replicate that 25 pound weight loss, but despite a dozen times rejoining, it's been unattainable. Since then, I've basically been the same weight. I will proudly and boldly say I hover at around 210 pounds, and there's nothing I can do to budge those numbers, it seems.

2008 in Chicago

With Little T, I managed to gain about 25-30 pounds, quite the opposite of what happened with Asher, when I lost 25 pounds during and after the birth (and then regained them, of course). The funny thing is that right after I had Little T, I dropped those pounds and floated right back to my starter weight (yes, it was all fluid retention).

They say with every pregnancy and as you get older, your weight shifts and you wear it differently. My truth is that, yes, perhaps I wear my weight well, but I have always hated how I wear it. I've always been angry that my mom, my dad, and both of my brothers had skinny chunks of life. I've never had the opportunity to experience "skinny" like they did. They could lose the weight, I always told myself. They just don't. It's not fair. 

When I came home from the hospital with Little T and surveyed what was left of my pre-baby clothes and my pregnancy clothes, I cringed. Nothing fit right. Too loose, too baggy, too tight in the wrong places. Only my loose-fitting cotton Old Navy maternity skirts really fit well. I tried very hard to put the clothes on and feel comfortable, or beautiful, or whatever a woman who just gave birth and who has hated her body her whole life should feel. Toss on the fact that everything I wear needs to be nursing friendly and, well, I could have broken the mirror.

And then it happened.

You see, a friend from Facebook who I've never met in real life had invited me to this online "party" to buy clothes from this company called LuLaRoe that I'd never heard of. I ended up wanting to buy some things, but being anxious about the sizing, I opted out. After I had Little T, I popped into one of these "parties" and ended up buying a skirt on a whim based on some sizing instructions from a LLR consultant. Unfortunately, the sizing instructions, while perfectly accurate, were not really perfect for someone of my size trying to dress modestly.

On a whim, I went to the LLR website to see if there was a local consultant. I found a woman who happened to live right around the corner (I could walk to her house in about 10 minutes) and it turned out she was hosting an in-house popup that very week. Perfect. It was bashert (meant to be). I sent her a message about how excited I was because I needed to try on some of the styles to see what sizes were right for me. I explained I was Orthodox, and that I'd see her soon.

In the meantime, I was waiting for a skirt I'd purchased, again on a whim, from a small company called Jade Mackenzie to arrive, and guess what, it did. Perfectly. Like a glove perfectly. The funniest thing about it was that the size that I ordered would have once made me cringe or be depressed about my size, but it fit, and that was all that mattered. I found something that was stylish, comfortable, and fit my modesty needs. I felt like I was on to something.

At the LLR party I went to, I started trying on clothes. The sizing is a bit wonky until you get used to it, so I was able to buy a Large in one style and a 2XL in another, but again, the sizing didn't get me down. I found shirts that fit. Shirts that were stylish. And the consultant encouraged me to go for patterns, and when I picked one up and tried it on, I felt golden.

Now, for those of you who've never been fat, you might not understand what it's like to put on a patterned shirt. I'm not talking about something black and white that's lightly patterned, I'm talking bright, vibrant colors and loud patterns. As a fat person, you just don't wear that type of clothing. It draws attention, you're told. It makes you look like a clown, you're told. Fat people don't wear patterns, stripes, polka dots (+1 on the clown comment), or anything other than muted colors and, most importantly, most especially, black. You wear a lot of black. It's slimming on everyone, but especially larger women, of course.

My unicorn.

This patterned, size large, Irma was a gateway. I'm reimagining my wardrobe as we speak. I bought another patterned Irma, my "unicorn" as I'm calling it, because when I put it on (I could wear it every day), I feel invincible and beautiful and funky. It's the textile version of the ridiculous dialogue that's constantly running in my head. And the best thing about the Irmas? No crazy layering. As a fat, breastfeeding Orthodox woman, the truth is layering is my worst nightmare, especially in the summer, but in many cases, it's a necessity.

For the first time in a long time, maybe since 2008 when I dropped those 25 pounds and found my figure and self-confidence, after three years of hearing Mr. T say "stop insulting my wife" when I put myself down, I think I'm on to something. I think I'm on to feeling beautiful and throwing cautious attire to the wind. I'm not looking at sizes anymore, I'm looking at styles, colors, patterns, and what it does for my shape.

Size is just a number. A stupid, unnecessary number that makes people feel bad about themselves. Stick to style.

Some of my favorite brands right now, as a proudly fat, breastfeeding mother of two:

• LuLaRoe (and yes, I'm totally in line to become a consultant because I believe in beauty)
• Jade Mackenzie
• NakedTank (this thing is the most genius invention ... ever)
• KosherCasual (for shells, of course)

Note: Yes, I use the word "fat" to describe myself. By medical standards, I'm morbidly obese, oh my! I could use the words curvy or plus-size, but they're just masks. I'm okay with the word. Are you?

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Book Review: The Blind Angel: New Old Chassidic Tales

I've got a lot of books in the hopper, and I feel terrible that I haven't been more speedy in reading and reviewing them, but for some reason, my Shabbat reading schedule has been replaced by toddler placating and napping. 

But this Shabbat, I managed to nap, dig into The Blind Angel: New Old Chassidic Tales, and even read a bit of Nightingale after putting Asher to bed. The Blind Angel is a great Shabbat read because it's a series of stories, which means you can easily put it down and pick it up without fear of losing the story line. 

The blurb:

"For twenty-five years, Rabbi Tovia Halberstam, a scion of leading Chassidic dynasties, told riveting Chassidic tales to an audience of thousands on the Yiddish radio in New York. These legends, as precious and rich as family heirlooms, were known to millions of Jews before the Holocaust. Preserved today in their original Yiddish by the Chassidic community, the tales capture a vibrant culture with animated characters, humor, wisdom, human struggle, and moral lessons. In The Blind Angel, Rabbi Halberstam's son, Joshua, renders these tales for a contemporary audience while maintaining the full charm, rhythm, and authenticity of the original tales."

Beyond the fact that I'm a sucker for Chassidic stories, Joshua Halberstam does an excellent job with his translations and providing notes at the back of the book that provide insight into why the story is unique, how it related to the larger Chassidic way of life, and more. Likewise, the introduction provides great insight to Rabbi Tovia Halmberstam and how he managed to become a scion of Chassidic storytelling. 

I had to read the book's namesake, "The Blind Angel," of course, and I found it to quite poignant. The gist of the story, which will hopefully prompt you to pick up a copy of the book yourself, is that when you perform a mitzvah, an angel is created. But that angel is directly affected by the intention of that mitzvah. In the classic tale, a wealthy man helps fund a poor man's daughter's wedding, but only with the agreement that the poor man give him his most prized possession -- a chanukiyah that was made out of the coins that he had collected from his rebbe over the years. As a result, the angel that the rich man created with his mitzvah was blind, because the act was not pure in intention. Thus, when the rich man died, his blind angel led him ... blindly ... unable to find the door to the heavens. The great rebbe who retells the story in this Chassidic tale rectifies the situation by returning the chanukiyah to its rightful place, allowing the rich man's blind angel to see and find the door. 

There's a lot more to the story (a sick woman as the prompt for the retelling), but the message is very powerful. Intention, in Judaism, is so incredibly important. You can do the nicest, most amazing things in the world, but if you're only doing it to serve your own interests, you're going to have a crowd of blind angels unable to lead you into shamayim when you die. The thought of that is horrifying, isn't it?

I read another story, called ... well, honestly I don't have the book in front of me, so I can't tell you, but it was about the role of dancing in Chassidic life. Now, my husband is a Chasid, through and through. I wouldn't categorize myself as such, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the belief, the thought, the joy that comes with Chassidic living. A way of life that is filled with a focus on joy and happiness, I find it a bit of a struggle to live every day with utter joy. My husband is pretty amazing at this, and, of course, it's something I strive for, but I don't get down with the dancing aspect of it all like Mr. T does. I'm not the singing/dancing type when it comes to my Judaism.

That being said, this story really hit home for me (especially in relation to yesterday's post). The story is about a Chasid who becomes incredibly successful and at the gatherings that his rebbe hosts he ceases to dance. Everyone dances around him, but his feet are glued to the floor. The rebbe calls to him and asks him what's up and he says that he has a lot on his mind, a lot to focus his energies on. Then the rebbe tells him a story: Once upon a time there was a great king, with many riches. He had to go away and needed someone to watch his riches of him, but he was hesitant because he didn't want anyone to steal from him. At the end of the guard duty, the individual would be rewarded handsomely, but he didn't want the individual to steal from him while working. So his advisor suggested a plan. They'd call upon all the men of the town to come and walk through a dark corridor filled with gold and silver coins. After all the men had gone through the corridor, the king asked them to get up and dance. Only one man was brave enough to do so. Why? The rest of the men feared the coins jingling in their pockets. 

The rebbe told the Chasid that life is like one long corridor filled with shiny appealing objects. But if you fill your pockets with it all, you forget to dance and experience the joy life has to offer. 

Both of these stories have so much value to offer, small messages that manifest themselves in huge, meaningful ways. That's one of the reasons I love Chassidic stories. You're not always sure where they're going, but once they get there, the lightbulb clicks on and you feel enlightened and uplifted. 

What do you think? Will you try and pick up this book for your own collection? 

I've Been Doing it Wrong: How to Pray

I receive a lot of books for review in the mail, most Jewish-themed, from a bevy of book publishers. Some of them I get to, some of them I start and set aside because they're trying too hard, and others I fall into with a heavy mixture of exhaustion and relief.

One of these books I'm only a few pages into, but it's a "lesson a day" kind of book, so that only makes sense. Normally I wouldn't even write about a book or review it until I'm practically finished, but I feel compelled to write something.

I've had a rough couple of years, and an even rougher past eight months. My experience is that my whole life has been one gigantic challenge, with very little coming easy and very little feeling like it makes sense or that I can take a few days to just relish in what I have. It's a thankless perspective to have on life, but when I'm low, it's how I feel. I have a beautiful child who is my reasoning for waking up every day, and that is what drives me even as I struggle in every other aspect of my existence.

And then I hear stories or read book introductions, and I feel like my pity party is disgusting, selfish, and unwarranted. Chin up, buck up, it could be worse. It could always be worse.

Turn Around: 180 Degrees in 180 Days was written by Orit Esther Riter, a woman who was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis three months after the birth of her first child. Through relapses and other pitfalls, she's stayed forward-thinking, always looking at how good things are. I can only dream of having that perspective, the perspective that Mr. T so confidently holds, too.

The first day, "What Lies Deep Within Us?" has a very simple lesson about prayer, tefillah: "We should ask for our needs to be fulfilled because we want to use them to serve Him better."

Aha! Lightbulb.

When I was little I'd pray with a bargaining chip. "If you do this, G-d, I'll do or be that." If you make such and such happen, I'll be good, I'll pray every night, I'll help more. When I was a kid, I was doing it right.

At some point, the more I prayed, the more I learned, the less I held to this. In the past eight months, I've spent a lot of time talking to G-d. I've asked for my husband back, because I cannot, should not be alone. Because a son needs a father. But I've been doing it wrong. Because I've had such a hard time already, enough is enough.

"We ask for wisdom to understand the Torah. Give us health, so we can perform the mitzvos (commandments)." 

Aha! That's it. That's. It. Thank you, Orit.

When I read this I realized that my formula has been wrong. I'm should pray for my husband to return so that I can observe the mitzvah (commandment) of taharat ha'mishpacha (family purity, loosely going to mikvah). For my husband to return so that I can have the time, energy, and capacity to study and understand the Torah. I should pray for my husband to return so we can fulfill the commandment to be fruitful and multiply.

You get the drift. It's about recognizing that everything comes from HaShem (G-d). All roads lead there. It's about having emunah -- a term that is difficult to translate into English. It's typically translated as "faith" or "belief" and first appears in the Torah with Abraham. After leaving the land of his father, Abraham and Sarah go through a lot, after which he challenges G-d. Then, G-d promises that Abraham and his seed will be as numerous as the stars in the sky, and at last he says,

“And he believed (vehe’emin) in the Lord; and He counted it to him for righteousness” (Genesis 15: 1‑6).

But it isn't belief as we understand it today. No, as Dr. Menachem Kellner explains, Abraham finally truly trusted HaShem. Emunah is ultimate trust. 

The truth is, being a cerebral person, this is the most difficult aspect of my Orthodox Jewish life to put into words or feelings. It's something so internal, so deeply embedded in me, that it's difficult to vocalize. I've always trusted. At the same time, it's so entrenched within me that it also gets covered up and forgotten about when things get hard. I forget how to trust because I take for granted that it's there.

B'ezrat HaShem (with the help of G-d), this book will help me, day by day, to rebuild my relationship with G-d, to pray with conviction and understanding of why I'm praying and how it connects me to HaShem. 

Heaven knows I need it. 

The Tzniut Project 2.0: Covering the Outside to Let the Inner Light Shine

This is the first in the Women's Edition of a series called The Tzniut Project 2.0. For the Women's Edition, women from a variety of backgrounds with a variety of observances have volunteered to anonymously answer questions that I have written about their practices, people's assumptions, and more. For more information on origins the project, click here. 

Please continue to check back with The Tzniut Project to read more stories and comment abundantly! For the Men's Edition, pop over here.

Note: This post is contributed by a reader in France whose first language is not English. I did my best to create clarity and provide translations where necessary, without detracting from the reader's original thoughts. 

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1. How do you affiliate Jewishly? Feel free to elaborate on the words people use to describe you and the words you use to describe yourself. If you feel comfortable letting the audience know the city/region where you live, please include that, too. 
I am a granddaughter of a German Jew, but I am now currently living in France. It’s a difficult family story, my Grandma lost (or let disappear?) all the Jewish documents and survived the war by being hidden in an orphanage near [Nuremberg, Germany] and by being qualified as “Lutheran Evangelical” by an Lutheran pastor before the war. There are very good people everywhere.

But now this means that I have to make a formal giur (conversion) because of the lost documents. Strange situation, more than 70 years after the war: Being jewish but needing to convert to myself ... Well ... I am Jewish because I have Jewish blood and I come from a Jewish family, documents only will make it “official” but won’t change my personality. I am on my way to this, even if it’s very difficult. I am in an Orthodox shul (synagogue).

2. I say modesty or tzniut … what does that mean to you? 
It means being a Jewish princess for my dear husband! It means covering the body in order to preserve it for the most intimate relationship with the most important person in my life. It means covering the outside to let shine the inner light that G-d gave me. It means disagreeing with the actual “standards of fashion,” which uncover the body.

For me, covering my elbows, my knees, my collarbone and my hair is a “protest” against it, because uncovering the woman does not mean freedom, it means being a “prisoner from animal instincts," it makes the woman an object. I am telling the surrounding world that if they want to know me, they have to go a little bit further than just the outside. I am a soul that lives in a body, not a just body (feminism on this point!)!

3. Growing up, did your mother or grandmother (or any other female role models in your life) dress modestly in any way? Do you think modesty was something instilled in you by your family? Did you dress modestly growing up?
Yes, my mother was very careful in dressing us when we were children. There was no way we would wear miniskirts! Pants were not forbidden, but chosen so that there were not like “leggings." In fact, I think that some pants are more covering then skirts with a regular tzniut-length, but too tight! But for me, I don’t have pants any more because I chose it. I am wearing skirts and dresses, and I kept just a sport pant to go to the physiotherapist.

4. Are you married? How does your spouse feel about your choices for modest dress? Is it a dialogue or does your partner leave the mitzvah to you? 
Yes, I am married. My husband agrees with my tzniut-length dresses and is very proud of it because he feels [it makes him a] very special person: the one who has the privilege to “be mine” (Ani le dodi vedodi li -- "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine.").

It’s not a matter of being proud, it’s a matter of love! He is very sweet and quite often goes shopping for me (because I don’t have so much time because of my job)! When he comes back with a skirt or a shirt, it’s my turn to feel very special, because I feel [sic] wearing clothes full of love and attention of my dearest one!

5. What do you wear on a typical day? On Shabbat? If you dress differently on weekdays and Shabbat, why do you make this distinction and how?
I am kind of a “positive gothic Jew." [Let me] explain: I [frequently wear] “Victorian gothic dresses." I love black lace everywhere! But [without] the skulls and other death-like elements (I have NOTHING like that, so that’s why I told that I am a “positive goth”). My favorite go-to combination:

A black pashmina tichel (head scarf) + red rose sash on black background + sparkling headband + red flower tichel pin or black lace tickle [with] matching earrings [and a] black victorian dress with a black shirt + grey tights with black roses and Doc Marten Vonda Boots! Perfect! Oh, I forgot: an antique-styled magen David (star of David) necklace. And soft gothic-like makeup.

On Shabbat? Quite the same without makeup (not on Shabbos!) Sometimes I switch to a white lace dress with colored shirts (yes it happens!). Then: matching tichels, pearls ... but I often can’t just quit my Doc Martens!

I guess the main difference [between Shabbat and the rest of the week] is: makeup during the week, no makeup during Shabbos. Maybe I wear more sparkling stuff during Shabbos (shimmery tichels and so on…).

6. What do you think other people (Jewish and non-Jewish) infer from your clothing and hair covering choices? Has anyone ever said anything to you outright that expresses a judgment based on your appearance? (Ex: “You don’t cover your hair or wear skirts, so why do you keep kosher?”). 
I keep tzniut and kosher, so no judgment based on this. Actually I received A LOT of compliments about my tichels from Jewish and non-Jewish people. I am a German teacher, [there is] no dress-code at school, and I am still a student: no dress-code here either. I have no fear about looking “other” than “regular fashion standards."

I am how I am, and as long as I stay within the tzniut-line, it’s ok. People who don’t like gothic style still respect my taste because it’s just me.

My credo: I have just one life to live. “Be yourself, everybody else is already taken!” Once I heard this quote, I felt free to express myself, and as long as I am not hurting anybody, it’s ok! That’s how I came out with my “positive gothic but still tzniut fashion”.

7. Have you ever surprised someone by dressing more or less modestly and making them rethink their stereotypes about what it means to be an observant Jew? 
Yes, of course, see the answer just above! I am the only one at shul like this! And yes, at shul, there are a few women that cover their hair just for Shabbos, but when they saw me with tichels on a daily base, they asked me where I learned to tie them. So I could give them some advice and YouTube videos, which were helpful to me. This was a great privilege for me!

8. When you see someone who observes tzniut differently than you, what are your initial thoughts? How do you deal with them? Is there any particular aspect of tzniut that you see other people observing or practicing that you struggle with? 
As long as it is tzniut, I am happy to find new ideas of style, of colour combinations that I can try myself! It makes me happy because it shows that tzniut is a wide concept in which everybody’s personality can fit in in terms of style and find a beautiful way to express the true “me”.

I particularly struggle with sheitels. I just can’t stand that principle, I actually never could, I have to be honest. First of all because I don’t understand the principle to hide your hair with someone’s [else's] hair: strange that I don’t show my hair so I show my neighbour’s one ... Even if it’s hair from India, our planet is so small that we are all neighbours! If it’s a synthetic sheitel, it may be less strange, but still ... Second because my sister had cancer (B"H she is fine now), but I saw her wearing a sheitel during chemo, which was the most difficult time I had in my life: to be at her side but not being able to take a little bit of pain from her. When I see a sheitel, I remember chemo, and it’s just too painful for me – but this is a personal reason I still have to overcome (even if I don’t judge women who wear sheitels because they are used to it, I am not here to try to convert anybody to “ticheling”!).

9. Please include any additional details or thoughts you have here. 
Tzniut is not a frame where you are not free to express yourself. [On the contrary,] it sets just some healthy limits on how much body to show. Keeping it covered makes it more beautiful. Showing too much makes the body depreciated, people think, "Oh, it’s just a piece of body more” [sic] and lose respect before you. Keeping it more “secret” has the consequence [of people looking] in your eyes, which are the windows to your soul, so tzniut is a channel that allows the inner “me” to come out much better!

It shows that a woman can dress beautifully with dignity. Don’t worry about what people will say, if you respect yourself, they will respect you. Tzniut, and especially tichels, make me a visible carrier of Jewish values. It gives me a huge responsibility because when people see me, they look at me and see a Jewish woman “in action."

This is a chance to spread light, love, and warmth to a world that needs it like never before. Even if it’s just a smile to somebody on the street. So don’t worry, be Jewish!

The Tzniut Project 2.0: Modesty Isn't a Physical Checklist

YES! It feels so good to be back in the swing of things with The Tzniut Project.

Big shocker here: The first installment of The Tzniut Project 2.0 comes from a man, and a Chassidic man living in Israel, no less. I've had gobs of inquiries and sent out the questions to many, so stay tuned for this exciting, fun, insightful series redux.

This is the first in the Men's Edition of a multi-part series called The Tzniut Project 2.0. For the Men's Edition, men from a variety of backgrounds with a variety of observances have volunteered to anonymously answer questions that I have written about their practices, people's assumptions, and more. In this particular post, I have tried to clarify Yiddish terminology and otherwise uncommon words through parenthetical statements and translations to the best of my ability to make the post accessible to individuals of every level of understanding and observance. Enjoy!

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1. How do you affiliate Jewishly? 
Both my wife and I come from non-religious homes and today associate with the "Chassidic world" in Eretz Yisrael. We have a rebbe (teacher/mentor) and [follow] Chassidus, and we chose to send our children to Yiddish-speaking Chassidic schools. Our outlook and the Rabbonim (rabbis) from whom we learn and take our advice are Charedi (often translated as "ultra Orthodox" externally).

2. I say modesty or tzniut (also written tznius) … what does that mean to you? Do you think tzniut is a concept that is largely geared toward women?

Tznius is a requirement of Hakodesh Boruch Hu (G-d) for Klal (all of the nation of) Yisrael, both male and female equally. The concept of modesty has, of course, both internal and external aspects, yet it is only when the external are a manifestation of the deeply rooted internal understanding and acceptance of tznius that we truly serve HaShem through our modesty.

The Jewish people have a covenant with the Creator of the world. Our holiness and our greatness is guarded by furthering our understanding of HaShem and His Oneness. When we understand that HaShem rules over the world and there is no thought or action that He does not see, we understand that we must conduct ourselves according to His Torah and Will. However, when we understand the oneness of HaShem, and that every moment and every second of the day is an intimate experience of Him and a furthering of our relationship with him, then we understand how our thoughts, words and action impact this reality and this relationship.

Not one thought escapes HaShem; we are always bound up with him and always with Him — whether walking in the market or sitting in the shul. Walking to Shabbos services is as much an a avodah (task or activity) as participating in them because we are never seperate from HaShem.

Therefore, we see that every moment is special and our modesty is not limited to a physical checklist of elbows, knees, and what-have-you.

Modesty requires us to guard our thoughts from lewdness, to guard our eyes from immodesty, not to listen to foul language or lewd jokes — to be a holy and sacred nation unto HaShem Yisborach (may He be blessed).

[Blogger's Note: This is from this week's Torah portion, Yitro! How appropriate, albeit a few days after the fact.]

Not only that but when we consider the oneness of G-d and His constant involvement in the world, which he granted us, as a corridor to the next world, we begin to realise that our time is not our time, our thoughts are not our thoughts, our outfit is not our outfit — it is all granted to us, only to enable us to make the right decisions to come closer to G-d in this world and earn a place in the world to come.

3. Growing up, did your father or grandfather (or any other male role models in your life) dress modestly in any way? Do you think modesty was something instilled in you by your family?
I couldn't have lived in a less modest environment. My family were not actively immodest, yet secular society puts very little empthasis on the values of modesty and thus while people aren't actively pursuing immorality/immodest, it is all mixed in with daily life.

A friend down the street from us had an aunt who was a nun, she went with the whole levush (in Yiddish this refers to regimented dress) and none of us could get our head around such a young woman giving up everything for G-d and wearing such a funny outfit ... l'havdil (this word is about making a distinction), fast forward ten years [to us]!

4. Are you married? How does your spouse feel about your choices for modest dress? Is it a dialogue or does your partner leave the mitzvah to you?
My wife and I are both dedicated to upholding the Torah requirements of modesty in every way we can. If we ever come to a place of disagreement, we let the Rov (rabbi) be the final say — this can come about in how we dress the kids, for example. We both want emes (truth) — whatever the emes is, one of us will step down if we were mistaken.

5. What do you wear on a typical day? On Shabbat? If you dress differently on weekdays and Shabbat, why do you make this distinction and how?
I wear normal chassidic dress of a long black coat and hat. This in itself is an act of modesty that we all blend together, not one of us needing to stand out — becoming consumed in the oneness of HaShem. That doesn't mean we don't have individuality. Anyone that has experienced a frum (religious) community knows there is more personality there than anywhere else on earth, but the need to stand out is erased, and we blend in together, bustling along to serve HaShem day in and day out.

On Shabbos I wear a bekishe (long coat) and shtreimel (a special fur hat) l'kavod Shabbos (to honor Shabbat). 

My wife does not wear a sheitel (wig) and covers all of her hair either with turbans, snoods, or tichel (scarf, also called a mitpacha in Hebrew) depending on the occasion. My wife took on herself to wear tights with a minimum of 70 deniar (this refers to the thickness of the yarn/weave) that are not skin colored. These are common things in the charedi world, and she doesn't stand out from the norm.

6. What do you think other people (Jewish and non-Jewish) infer from your clothing and hair covering choices? Has anyone ever said anything to you outright that expresses a judgement based on your appearance? (Ex: “You wear a kippah, so you must be x, y, z.”)
We for sure get pigeonholed outside of the charedi world. One bonus of the beard and getup is that people often assume I don't speak English, so more often that not I get to hear what people really think of me in public (haha).

The truth is I don't wear anything to distinguish me to one group or another, and thus I get the charedi label.

More often that not we hear non-charedi chevreh (people) in the queue behind us ask such things as, "Do you think she shaves her head?" or "Isn't he HOT in that coat," in which case I normally turn around and ask for the time in a beautiful British accent, to ensure they don't stray into questions that could cause them embarrassment when one of us later answers the phone in English.

7. Have you ever surprised someone by dressing more or less modestly and making them rethink their stereotypes about what it means to be an observant Jew?

I think continuity is the key — one needs to make a true assessment as to what they believe is ratzon HaShem (the will of G-d) and then do that, even with great mesirus nefesh (self sacrifice) if necessary. For this reason I don't fluctuate up or down much.

8. When you see someone who observes tzniut differently than you, what are your initial thoughts? How do you deal with them? Is there any particular aspect of tzniut that you see other people observing or practicing that you struggle with?
Life is a journey, and the journey is a relationship with HaShem — if I know the person is actively having a relationship with HaShem, even though they may currently not be doing His ratzon (will) — I don't know their journey, I don't know their tests and problems in life. For this reason I try and stay away from judgement. However for my own observance of tznius, I also try and stay away from areas where I know there will be a lack of tznius.

Once by the kosel (Western Wall), my wife saw a Jewish woman arrive on Shabbos night, very "under dressed" (to say the least), carrying her iPhone and a pad of paper with a pen. She ripped off a piece of paper, wrote a kvittle (prayer), and stuck it in the wall (how many issurim [prohibitions] right there?!?) and then continued to daven (pray) with all her heart. 

Now it's easy to judge her — issur after issur (prohibition after prohibition). But it's also possible to see a Yiddisher neshama (Jewish soul) who gave up her Friday night to pray to G-d. We don't know what she has been through, what family HaShem had her born to, her Jewish education, etc. But we can see she gave up the Friday night bar for G-d. This is a relationship with HaShem. May it grow until she brings herself within side His ratzon (will).

9. Please include any additional details or thoughts you have here.
I truly believe that a thorough understanding of all the hashkofa and halochas of tznius (outlook and laws of modesty) are necessary for every man and woman. Then, one must spend significant time internalising them and turning them into a relationship with G-d.

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The author of this post included some suggested reading (in English) for people that he believes is insightful and beneficial. Please note that I haven't personally read any of these books and thus do not endorse them, but from the looks of things they all can provide guidance, inspiration, and lessons on tzanua. 

• Recommended reading for everyone: Pirkei Machshavah: Thoughts for a Jewish Heart
• Recommended reading for men: The Garden of Purity (For Men Only)
• Recommended reading for women: Nefesh Chaya: The Unique Avodas HaShem of the Jewish Woman
• The author of this post also suggests Modesty: An Adornment for Life Day by Day and says that "this book must be learnt with your own local Rov (rabbi) to understand how to implement that which is relevant to you. It musn't be disqualifed as too frum (religious), chas v'shalom (G-d forbid), but not every person in every community, at every stage in life/Jewishness should try to do everything at once in this book.

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Stay tuned for the next installment of The Tzniut Project 2.0. If you want to participate, just send me an email at kvetching dot editor at gmail dot com. If you have questions for the blog author, please post them in the comments section or email me them if you'd rather function on a private plane. 

The Yom Kippur Approach

Oh hello there half of my new, large kitchen. 

Well, it's a new year, and I'm finally settled (or sort of settled, after roughly 24 hours) into a new apartment with a real kitchen, real living and dining space, but much smaller bedrooms and only one real bathroom. Life, as it goes, is all about compromises and, on occasion, sacrifices.

The past year (not to mention the past two years) has been quite the whirlwind. Moving to Israel, meeting Mr. T and getting engaged, losing both of my jobs, getting married, moving to Neve Daniel, Mr. T hitting rough professional/financial times, us struggling to get by ... and then finding an amazing job, money showing up that we were owed, an apartment popping up that perfectly suited our needs with an impending baby and a 10-year-old boy with us part-time.

It was a year of blessings and curses, in a way. And I cried a lot this year, and not just because I was pregnant for a lot of it (oh hormones).

I learned a lot about myself and what it means to daven (prayer), but not in the "I'm going to synagogue on Shabbat and reading out of the siddur (prayer book)" kind of praying. More the Chana style of praying. I like to think of it as silent but deadly: the quiet, angry moments with HaShem, coupled with the blissful, confusing moments with HaShem. I whispered myself to sleep with all of the problems and blessings on my lips, and I began every Shabbat with silent requests preceded by thank yous for all all of the beautiful things I've been gifted with -- from friends and family to parnasah and the beautiful baby I'm carrying.

After last year's immensely successful (for me) Yom Kippur, where I fasted successfully for the first time in years, I've been wondering how this Yom Kippur will be for me. I'm pregnant, and with the up and down of my blood pressure and dealing with some almost-black-out moments on days where I didn't eat or drink enough, I won't be fasting. Eating as little as possible, I don't even know if I'll make it to synagogue. It's going to be a Chana-style Yom Kippur/Shabbat experience for this gal.

What I do know is that I have all the hope in the world that 5774 will be a year of forgiveness, a consolidation of Jewish peoplehood and religion, and peace to all nations of the world. It's really all I can hope and wish for at this point. HaShem has smiled upon me in many ways, and no matter the amount of "curses" that seem to come my way, the "blessings" are abundant. It just takes a few moments for things to come into focus, sometimes.

Wishing everyone an easy fast, and g'mar chatimah tovah!

Book Reviews: Of Intermarriage and Yiddish

This past Shabbat, I managed to finish one book and start (then finish) a completely different book of two very different genres and two very different reactions from me.

The first book I finished was Doublelife: One Family, Two Faiths and a Journey of Hope, which is the story of a born and bred Christian woman from Illinois and a born and bred Jewish man from the East Coast. Gayle and Harold fell in love over a mutual love of music deep in Bible country, and the book tracks their adventures from Texas to Boston to Russia to Israel and beyond as they begin to question their outlooks on life, whether they want children, what religion means to them, and the role of Judaism in both of their lives as well as that of their children. The book is written through a series of letters back and forth between Gayle and Harold from when they meet up through the present, with Harold's letters written in regular font and Gayle's in italics (which made it hard to read at points).

I'll admit that the clever way the book is presented as letters was appealing to me, as it didn't feel like you were reading a book so much as a correspondence. The struggle that Harold and Gayle face is interesting because Harold begins his religious adventure before Gayle considers her possible foray into Judaism, and even when she does, it struck me as hesitant. Harold is the driving force as the family becomes more religious and Gayle struggles with adapting to the potential where her music is no longer something that she can practice or experience because of kol ishah and other manners of living an Orthodox Jewish life. I found myself uncomfortable at times, however, such as with knowing that they were sending their child to a certain Jewish school without disclosing that one of the parents wasn't Jewish. I don't want to sound judgmental, but I was always sure -- when I was in-process for conversion -- to not overstep my bounds as a not-yet-Jew.

I think that this book has something to offer couples who are intermarried and curious what the mindset and process might look like when it comes to starting a family and deciding how to raise children, how to choose a community, and whether the non-Jewish spouse should or is able to convert. I do, however, wish that Gayle had gone into more detail about her experiences converting, waiting forever on the RCA, and how that impacted her and the family -- these are the useful things that people like to hear about. As the book comes to a close, it's like a quick sweep through everything that happens after a conversion in a Jewish household. Did life not change that much? How different did Gayle feel? How did being Orthodox impact the family through kashrut and the holidays and language?

The second book I picked up and finished in one Shabbat was a borrowed book from my friend Elisha, Outwitting History: The Amazing Adventures of a Man Who Rescued a Million Yiddish Books. Although this book was published several years ago, the storytelling aspect of the author, Aaron Lansky is without comparison. The harrowing tales of rain-drenched dumpster dives, endless meals of gefilte fish and tea with aging Yiddish speakers, and his quest to find, save, distribute, and house the world's dying Yiddish book collection will leave you speechless, teary eyed, and wishing you knew Yiddish. I really have to commend Lansky. This is a guy who really put his entire life (and in some cases this is for real as he traveled through some shady places overseas in 1989) on the line to fulfill a mission that he viewed as unbelievably important and culminated in the creation of the Yiddish Book Center. I'm now regretting not visiting it while I was living out in Connecticut during graduate school. If you haven't read this book, stop what you're doing and download it, find it, read it. It'll take you maybe a day, probably less. It's that good.

Three Steps Forward, Three Steps Back

We've all seen it. Take three steps forward. Take three steps back.

Over Shabbat, Mr. T and I had a series of fascinating discussions about halacha (Jewish law) and minhag (Jewish customs). It was one of those where I lamented not being able to use Google, and Mr. T ran to his seforim (books) and began searching for the answers.

The issue at hand? At the beginning of the Amidah (aka Shemonei Esrei aka the central prayers during the morning, afternoon, and evening prayers), we're instructed in most prayer books to take three steps back and then three steps forward before we begin davening. Why?

Well, the answer is simply because Rabbi Artscroll tells us to, right? It's just what people do. Everyone does. Right?

I was telling Mr. T during dinner about how it drives me nuts in davening when after the Shemonei Esrei when there is no repetition that people take their three steps forward and then do the hop, hop, hop action. Why does it drive me nuts? Because the only reason you're meant to do this is because it's part of the repetition when you say Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh and rise on your toes. If you're running behind and miss the repetition, you finish the Shemonei Esrei and then do your three-kadosh hop. But when there's no repetition, there's no need for the three-kadosh hop.

Mr. T smiled and quipped that the whole "three steps back" before davening is a minhag, not law, and that you're only meant to do it if there's no space for you to step forward -- the forward steps are necessary, the backward steps are not.

What!? Mind blown. So he ran and grabbed his Mishnah Brurah and got searching (because, of course, I didn't believe him). I grabbed all of my siddurim and attempted to find something that says "By the way, this is minhag and you're only supposed to do it if you don't have space!" But I couldn't find a thing.

The outcome?

From Rama 95:1, Mishna Brurah 95:3, and Piskei Teshuvot 95:3: You should take three steps forward to show that you're doing an obligatory mitzvah. The halacha doesn't require taking three steps backward, but the "Minhag Ha'Olam" is to take three steps back in order to take three steps forward.

Mind blown again! That being said, I'm proud that the nusach with which I'm now davening (it's a little green one from England) only says to take three steps forward -- no backwards steps. Interesting!

So why do we all do it? Does anyone even think about it? Did you know that you're not obliged to take three steps back before the Shemonei Esrei? 

Note: There are some people who stand and take three steps back before Tehilot l'el elyon. I can't seem to find where this comes from, unfortunately. Anyone know? (See below.)

Ask Chaviva Anything: What's the Deal with Minyans?

This question on Ask Chaviva Anything! made my heart sing. Why? I love getting questions that are genuine, and this is one of those that is seriously trying to understand a concept in Judaism. So here we go!

I saw your tweet about Mr. T helping making minyan at Ikea, and it made me curious. I'm not Jewish myself, and while I'm familiar with the concept of making minyan, it's not something I would have expected at Ikea. Can you tell me a bit more about making minyan and the contexts in which it occurs?

Before I answer the question, I have to express to you how amazing Ikea in Israel is. Yes, everyone complains that it's more expensive than in the U.S., and although that is true, it's completely written over by the fact that they have kosher food at Israeli Ikeas! Yes, you can go and get breakfast or lunch or dinner and a coffee and a 2 shekel ice cream cone (alas, they only put it in cones because it comes out of a machine, so no ice cream for this gluten-free foodie), and not worry about anything. It's like ... heaven. Especially as someone who used to go to Ikea and relish in the cheap food there. Being able to get a filet of salmon with two sides and a beverage for 35 shekel is a major shocker, especially because at just about any restaurant in Israel you can't get a salmon dish for even double that amount.

Sorry for the tangent, I couldn't help myself.

Now, minyan refers to the amount of men over bar mitzvah age required for public prayer in Judaism for the typical morning, afternoon, and evening prayers and a bounty of other public prayers. Although it's permissible to pray alone, there are some medieval commentators (Rashi) who suggest that one is obliged to pray in a minyan of at least 10 men and should travel near and far to seek out a minyan, while others rule that it's okay to pray on your own and not seek out a minyan (Ramban/Nachmanides). The downfall is that we understand that HaShem's presence rests with a group of at least 10 men praying together in a way that it doesn't with the individual who prays alone. But either way, Judaism praises any individual who manages to pray three times daily.

The term minyan comes from the Talmud and its origins are in the Hebrew root mem-nun-hey (מנה) meaning to count or number. It's also related to the Aramaic word mene, meaning numbered, which appears in Daniel 5:25. The way that the Talmud (the Oral Torah) -- both the Babylonian (Bavli) and Jerusalem (Yerushalmi)  -- arrive here in basically the same way based on a concept called gezarah shavah, meaning that if it's said here, then it's also said the same over there.

We start with Leviticus 22:32, which uses the word "midst" in the following way: "And I shall be sanctified in the midst of the children of Israel." Then comes the word midst in Numbers 16:21: "Separate yourselves from the midst of the congregation." Lastly, the term "congregation" appears in a verse about the 10 spies that returned to give a negative report of Israel in Numbers 14:27:  "How long shall I bear with this evil congregation which murmur against me?"

Bam! The conclusion here is that a congregation of HaShem comprises 10 men. The Yerushalmi arrives there in a similar way, but with a bit more of a connection to Jacob's ten sons.

When do you need a minyan? Basically any time that the Torah is being read publicly, any time you need to say Kaddish (the prayer for the deceased), at a wedding, and any time that you are going through the morning, afternoon, and evening prayers (among a slew of other times, really). In Judaism, when in doubt, you need a minyan to say anything that puts you publicly with the congregation of HaShem.

There are loads of "cheats" involved in the minyan, like if you live in a secluded area and only have nine men plus a boy under bar mitzvah age, but an entire book could be written about the history of when 10 wasn't doable and what we used to do in times of crisis when finding 10 men required loss of life and limb.

Does this help answer the question?

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? 

Ask Chaviva Anything: The Mish-Mash Edition

Another installment of Ask Chaviva Anything! Let's do some random ones this time. To start us off, we have the following.

Can we meet you in Israel? (Not trying to be sketchy)

Sketchy? Psshaw! Never. I'd love to meet anyone and everyone who visits Israel or lives here. I'm also going to be in the UK over Pesach for a few weeks, so if you live there, shoot me an email and we'll get together.

This one isn't a question, but I'll address it anyway.

I asked questions that we never answered.

You did? What were they? Feel free to re-ask at the link or to post your questions below. Alternatively, you can email me at kvetching dot editor at gmail dot com. I try to answer all questions that are asked. However, I don't answer questions that are derogatory, mean-spirited, or just plain hateful.

The next question could be a long-answer query, but I'm going to keep it short.

Why are there so many different "catagories" of Orthodox Jews? Where do you fall in?

Like everything in life, and in every religion and country, we feel most comfortable when we can categorize someone or something. It makes it easier to say "He is this, and I am not" or "She eats that, but I do not." Without these boxes or categories, people find it difficult to breathe. It's sort of like the joke about the Jew on a deserted island who is rescued. When the rescue party shows up, they notice there are two synagogues on the island that he built. They ask him why, and he points to one and then the other saying, "That's the synagogue I go to, that's the synagogue I wouldn't step foot into." Humans are creatures of adjectives -- it's just how we function. The bummer about this is that we limit the adjectives and categories we have when it comes to religion.

Most people would peg me as Orthodox, or, here in Israel, as Da'ati Leumi (National Religious or Religious Zionist) because of how I dress, how I will cover my hair, the people I surround myself with, etc. However, I don't like to put myself in boxes. I've written about it before, but these days I'd just call myself shomeret mitzvoth -- I observe the mitzvoth that HaShem has gifted us.

Next up?

Do you want to have children?  A lot? A little? Do you think Israel is the ideal place to raise children?

Yes, yes, yes. It's interesting how when you end up with the right person the thought of children is almost compulsory. Many of you will remember in the not-so-distant past that I was hesitant about having children. Because of some strained relationships, I thought that I would not be a good mother, that I would do more harm than good with having children, so I was considering just writing off kids forever. Moving to Israel and meeting Mr. T has changed my needs and wants astronomically. For the first time in my life, I can actual picture myself having children (as many as HaShem has in store for us), because Mr. T is an amazing father already. He lights up eyes in children without any effort, and I find it beautiful and inspiring. We're eager to have our own brood so that we can screw them up as much as possible. (Joking, of course.)

As for Israel being a good place to raise children, I would say a million times yes (especially in Neve Daniel). There's a freedom and comfortability here for children, and I'm eager to bring Jewish kids up in a place where they're free to be Jews but where I also can teach them about the global community in its diversity. I'm blessed to come from a non-Jewish family, so my kids will never exist in a bubble where the world is all Jews, all the time. At the same time, they'll be comfortable and happy in a country where being Jewish is more normal than in many other places.

We'll close off this round of questions with another easy question.

Will there be a photographer at the wedding and will we be able to see the pics? : )

Yes! One of Mr. T's friends will be taking pictures, and I'm going to have several friends there who are Social Media superstars, so there will be lots of live-action Tweeting and Facebooking going on, I predict. We're also still trying to figure out whether a livecast on UStream or YouTube is possible, so be on the lookout for that.

Yom Kippur in Galut

I had an incredibly emotional Yom Kippur, and for the first time in many years I was able to power through a migraine and fully fast without drinking anything. There was something in the air this year about Yom Kippur ... something fulfilling and powerful. Something that moved me to tears during the confessions or vidui.

We have willfully sinned.

That one got me every time. Thinking back on the past year and knowing that I made choices that were ones of sin, and yet acted anyway, well, that smacked me in the gut and brought tears to my eyes. I think that for the first time the Yom Kippur service held a deep and painful personal meaning for me, and it stretched back beyond last year into my failed marriage. 

I was asked to speak during Kol Nidrei with Minyan Na'aleh for roughly five minutes on "new beginnings" because of my impending aliyah. I gladly accepted -- to be asked meant so much to me. I toiled over what to say for a long time, and I ended up turning to my rav to hash out exactly how to connect Yom Kippur with aliyah with new beginnings with my ever-changing experience. The result, I think, had a more powerful impact than I could have known. I won't repost the text here, mostly because it's that personal. Yes, I stood in front of a crowd of largely strangers, but for some reason it made sense. The message? Choices. I spent three years of my life devoid of choices. Aliyah is me breaking out with the ultimate choice. 

I managed to stand throughout the entirety of Neilah, despite fatigue, a headache, and the fact that I was completely freezing. The sanctuary was frigid, and I was dressed for a typical Colorado summer day. Near the end of the service, when the shofar was blown and a burst of adrenaline had the men dancing around the bimah singing "L'shanah ha'ba'ah b'Yerushalyim!" (next year in Jerusalem), I realized that the words were so apt. So personal.

As Yom Kippur ended and I grabbed some Orange Juice and headed home, I realized that I'm so close to Israel. I'm mere weeks away. I just have to power through the eight days of Sukkot and Simchat Torah and Shemini Atzeret and then ... I'm off.

Sell my car. Sell my bed. Pack my clothes and books. And say goodbye to Colorado and hello to the choice of a lifetime. 

Parshat Naso: The Origins of Hair Covering

That's me with a tichel, circa this time last year in Jerusalem.

Hello faithful blog readers! I've been meaning to do a video blog for a while, but I just haven't had the time to sit down and do it. Any topics you'd like me to speak frankly on?

Anyhow, I wanted to post really quick about this week's parshah or Torah portion (Naso), because it is within this that we find the beginnings of the laws of hair covering. I've written extensively on it, because I think that it's important that we understand the halachot or laws of hair covering, but also the societal and cultural norms that have painted our colorful history of hair covering. Thus, I give you two blog posts:

• Cover Your Hair: Why? -- This gives the halachot and rabbinic background on the topic.

• Covering Your Hair: Leprous Plague? -- This looks at the cultural context of hair covering and how/when sheitels or wigs came into practice and the various opinions on the tichel (scarf) versus the sheitel, as well as different modern rabbinic takes on hair covering.

Enjoy!

Ask Chaviva Anything!: Mamaloshen

Another one from the ole' question box for Ask Chaviva Anything!

Do you think a person can be part of the Orthodox community without being fluent in Yiddish and/or Hebrew?

I think it's completely possible to be part of the Orthodox community without a fluency in Yiddish. Now, it's different if you're in the Chassidish world, in which Yiddish is standard and kids grow up learning it. I can't imagine not knowing the language my children speak!

As for Hebrew, I think it's more difficult. Sure, there are people who survive in the Orthodox world without a fluency in Hebrew, but my question is this: Why would you want to? Hebrew can be an intimidating language, especially when you consider the differences between the Hebrew of prayer and spoken, Modern Hebrew. But as someone who went through the process of learning both, I can tell you that having that knowledge is incredibly empowering and makes me feel so much closer to HaShem when I daven.

It doesn't have to be an overnight success, but I think that a commitment to learning and understanding Hebrew should be a part of any Jew's plan, period.

Then again, I'm a big evangelist for the Hebrew language. What do you think, dear readers?

(Note: Mamaloshen is Yiddish for "mother tongue.")

Oh Passover! Oh Passover! How Soon You are Approaching!

Oh ... Passover! Pesach! The feast of unleavened bread! The week of pained colon! So on, and so forth. 'Tis the season, folks, are you fully prepared?

I'll just say that I'm not. Period. I bought some stuff to exist as Passover-specific, and I'm planning on taking a bucket-load of things to be kashered tomorrow -- pots, pans, and other bigger items that I can't kasher on my stovetop. But beyond that? I haven't started cleaning and the amount of kosher l'pesach products I've purchased is relegated to some jam, some of the Yehuda Gluten-Free Matzos (which don't fulfill the mitzvah for the seder), and a few other things. I'm trying to buy as little as humanly possible for Passover, largely because over the past three years the volume of things that I had in my dating and married life sort of horrifies me now. When I was married, we had two homes and each of those homes had three sets of everything for everything. We had Meat, Dairy, Parve and Passover Meat, Dairy Parve. Among two homes, that amounted to twelve sets of things. Of course, the Parve weren't full sets, but otherwise, we had it. It was just too much. So I'm going minimalist this year.

Thus, tomorrow, it being the kashering day, also is going to be the "start the cleaning" day. I've got a kosher l'pesach Smoothie Maker for all of my liquid-diet needs, and I'm planning on doing a lot of salads and eggs.

And on that note, I'm also going Sephardic. That means I plan on digging through piles of rice to get all the bad things out, so that come Friday night, I have clean, kosher-for-Passover rice. I probably won't delve too much into beans, but I do plan on having quinoa around. Flax Seed also is a friend of mine, so you can expect that will be in the diet plan, too. Also? I was elated to find out there are certain brands of Rice and Almond milk that are good for Passover (for Sephardim) WITHOUT certification. Color me stoked! (Find the Sephardic kosher-for-Passover products list here.)

Luckily, I have a pantry that I can simply close off, and I plan on taping off all of my cabinets, too. This is going to be live-on-the-counter Passover.
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The reality, lucky for me, is that there really isn't any chametz in my home to begin with. The only thing that is chametz are the gluten-free oats that I have. Otherwise, this is a 24/7/365-chametz-free zone. Does that mean any less cleaning? Nope. Oats are chametz, and thus hardcore cleaning is a must.

I'm also one of those people who always ascribed to the idea that on Passover, a house should be completely clean of chametz. You have plenty of warning, you know when Passover is, so eat all of your bread and cereal beforehand. I've never bought into this whole "sell your chametz" thing. It just seems like a cheap copout. But this year? Well, the gluten-free oats that I have are from Trader Joe's, and I have an entire unopened bag of them. There are no Trader Joe's near here, and the other gluten-free oats I can purchase are hella expensive. So I'm being that person this year: I'm keeping my oats, locking them away, and feeling like a hypocrite.

In addition, I'm planning to do a hardcore car-cleaning scrub down this week. We all eat in our cars, we can't lie about it. Whether it's a snack or a coffee or a nosh, we do it. I have, without a doubt, eaten some delicious oat-based granola bars in my car, and that's chametz, so I'm going to vacuum the heck out of my car. Plus, it's a good time for Spring Cleaning, so why not?

But I have a week to do all of this. I really need to do a bit of meal-planning so that I have everything I need once Friday attacks. I have plans for both of the seders, yet no plans for the last days of Passover. In between, I plan on my staples of Matzo + Cream Cheese + Jam for snacking and lots of smoothies and raw foods for meals. Still, it's going to be a rough week as a Gluten-Free Vegetarian. I might have to cave and rock out some fish this week.

If you're in a last-minute rush and need some help with finding a seder, figuring out the rules and regulations, or are looking for some gnarly recipes, here are some helpful resources!

• Passover.org | Yes, it's run by Chabad. They own the domain. I think this is impressive! Their website has everything from the blessings to a bounty of recipes that will leave you giggling with joy. I highly recommend the Lemon Ice Cream. Also, they have a calendar to keep you on track with what you're supposed to do when. Print it out, and abide!
• Vegetarian Times Super Seder | If you're like me, you're looking for filling, protein-packed vegetarian meals. These recipes sound delish!
• Oranges + Seder Plates | If you're curious what the history is, read my post on it. 
• Unconverted at the Seder Table? | Yeah, it came up once. It's an interesting thing to consider. Then again, we're supposed to have strangers at our table!
• JoyofKosher.com | It is what it is. A seder-plate full of recipes!
• The Orthodox Union | They have everything you could need up -- a sefirat ha'omer chart, a guide to foods, and more. Check out their digital magazine here. 

Have any questions you think I can answer? Just let me know!

Disgusted: Social Media Squashed at Religious Girls School

I'm horrified.

Beis Rivkah High School in Brooklyn makes girls sign NO SOCIAL MEDIA contract. And if they have a Facebook? Fined for $100 or kicked out.

“It’s not a modest thing for a religious Jewish man or woman to be on,” Benzion Stock said.

Because we want our Jewish teens to grow up not knowing how to use and interact with basic technologies that will inevitably be necessary in the workforce? Because we don't want to give our Jewish girls the opportunity to connect with Jews and Israelis all over the world? To build friendships and connections? To find long-lost relatives? To connect with what the global Jewish community is doing and experiencing?

Why don't we just say "You're going to be a stay at home mom, so you won't need it."

Or, you know, we could TEACH our kids how to use social media. No one is doing that. Instead of TEACHING our kids how to use Facebook, Twitter, and other platforms, we're shutting them down in fear. We're squashing a beautiful and necessary resource. But since we're so afraid ourselves, we just can't muster the strength for a Social Media Curriculum. Because we don't understand the technologies and aren't willing to, we are harming our Jewish girls! Modesty? Someone should tell that to the entire Chabad movement, then, shouldn't they. Or to all of those Orthodox business owners who sell diamonds or food online. Or to the Orthodox restaurant owners with websites and Twitter accounts.

It's like saying, here are a bounty of amazing books. But since we're not sure how you're going to interpret the texts, and it might brainwash you, we're not going to teach you how to read.

Bravo, Beis Rivkah. Bravo for sending us back in time.