Haikus for a Shabbat Afternoon

Although I have much to write about, especially after finishing If All the Seas Were Ink, I want to keep this short and sweet as I have much to do this evening. Here is my Shabbat in a series of Haikus:

Sleep? I try so hard.
Toss and turn, flip and groan. Sigh.
My mind does not stop.

A quiet morning.
Kids at shul with Mister T.
Head in a book -- peace.

I promise myself
when they return I will breathe
and stay calm, happy.

The plata? Not on.
Looks like lasagna will wait.
Lox, cream cheese it is.

The whirlwind arrives,
overwhelming my senses.
I embrace crazy.

Everyone naps now.
Fast, I put head to pillow.
A cry -- poor timing.

Finishing a book
feels like fresh, warm laundry
on my skin at last.

The sky turns black-blue.
The flame flickers bright before
spices are inhaled.

Shavua tov, you.
You who dreams of eternal
shabbat and shalom.

And that, friends, is Shabbat in Haikus with Chaviva. Shavua tov!

Parashat Vayelech is Coming ... and My Daughter is Eating Soap!

Oh how I love these two crazy blond monkeys. 

I'm two days into my self-care regimen of writing every day, and as Shabbat approaches I'm feeling stressed. This is the opposite of self-care, right? Self-care is supposed to be relaxing, rejuvenating, refreshing ... calming?

Instead, I'm sitting in the bathroom on a tiny Target clearance chair from last season trying to give my daughter a bath. I go to quickly wash her hair and body using one of those pouf things and she, my 2 year old wild child, dips her finger in the soap and takes a big lick.

"No! That's soap! We don't eat soap!"

I've taken a brief moment to recognize that I say "we" like the royal "we" and every time I do I think, "Good lord I'm one of those parents." But it always just comes out. "We don't do this, we don't do that." Why is that? Maybe another time.

"But mommy, it's yummy! Yummy soap!"

She didn't even cringe. She didn't make a face. She enjoyed the soap. She asks for more, and I have to remind her, "Don't eat it!"

I had really wanted to sit down and read this week's parashah, Vayelech, and try to do some learning, but like all well-laid plans, that one fell apart before 10 a.m. In the time that I probably could have sat down and turned everything off and read the portion and tried to glean something meaningful and relevant, I was running to the dry cleaners (I forgot to take stuff before Rosh HaShanah and felt like a jerk) and to the store to pick up a few loaves of sourdough for Shabbat.

And now we're on the couch. T is watching Daniel Tiger and I'm trying to suss out something from the parashah. Here we have Devarim 31:16-18:

And they will forsake Me and violate My covenant which I made with them.
And My fury will rage against them on that day, and I will abandon them and hide My face from them, and they will be consumed, and many evils and troubles will befall them, and they will say on that day, 'Is it not because our God is no longer among us, that these evils have befallen us?'
And I will hide My face on that day, because of all the evil they have committed, when they turned to other gods.

The thing is, I've been having a hard time connecting lately. To the universe, to HaShem, to my family, to my work, to just about everything. Everything feels big, overwhelming, exhausting, like I'm walking in sand. I have these moments of pure clarity where I feel caught up, calm, like I'm finally getting somewhere, but then I just get overwhelmed again. 

I look at these verses like most people probably do: I did something bad, I'm being punished, HaShem is a million miles away and more. You can expand it and look at global warming, disease, murder, poverty, and every other major catastrophe and wonder, "What did we do?"

When I'm having a hard time, I have to remind myself that Judaism, my core set of beliefs, my religion, my internal dialogue, my heart, my soul, are not qualified by an "if, then" statement. If I don't daven (pray) every day then HaShem will make me feel despair and loneliness. If I don't remember to make all of the right brachot (blessings) over food, then HaShem will make me feel empty and sad and unappreciated. It just doesn't work like that. It's a hard reality, but that's the reality. Yes, if you rob a bank, then you'll go to jail. If you smash into someone's car, then you'll have to pay damages and potentially go to jail. But the Torah doesn't work that way, not exactly. 

The truth is, those other gods that we turn to, those other gods that we worship and covet that send HaShem into a fury and disrupt the equilibrium that we all so desire in this totally jacked up world varies from person to person. They're not literal gods. Our gods are money, the newest phone, brand new clothes, the nicest car, the most organic and non-GMO foods we can't afford. Our gods are jealousy and vanity and anger and everything else that we let consume us on a daily basis. That's what sends HaShem into a fury, that's when He hides his face and makes us feel like we've been completely abandoned. 

At least once every few weeks, I have this conversation with Asher:

A: Mommy, how did people destroy HaShem's house when it's in the sky?

Me: Well, at one time it was in Jerusalem. That's where HaShem talked to us and we heard Him. 

A: Oh. And then they destroyed it?

Me: Yup. And now we're waiting to rebuild it. 

A: Well, I already rebuilt it. 

Me: You did?

A: Yeah, I built it, and now I can hear HaShem every day. 

I feel like, if only I had such a clear, beautiful view of the world, I'd feel less overwhelmed, less like I'm constantly being punished for not doing enough of the Jewish stuff because I'm doing so much of the being an adult stuff. It's one of the reasons, I think, that while reading Ilana Kurshan's If All the Seas Were Ink, that I started to have a physical reaction to reading about her experiences in Israel. Living in Israel, learning in Israel, living the dream I once dreamed and lived so vividly. Part of me thinks that if I were living back in Israel, all of the ways that I'm feeling empty and lacking would be filled up again. But then I remember that what I feel here is what I'll feel there, our baggage is internal and it follows us around -- it's not location specific, Chavi!

Anyway, this has been really, really long and wandering. I'm not sure what my ultimate point is, which, as a writer, makes me feel a bit like I suck at my job. But hey, I fulfilled my push to write every day! Day three down. Stay tuned for a post-Shabbat post when maybe I'll have something coherent to say about it being Shabbat Shuvah and how this entire post was perfectly on-theme!

Shabbat shalom and g'mar chatimah tovah -- may you be inscribed in the book of life!

Review: The Shabbos Party Box!

Awhile back, I was contacted about reviewing a new product for families that love Shabbat but might struggle with Shabbat activities and snacks for their children. This product is a "box of the month" called the Shabbos Party Box! And, before I even start my review, let me just say that they're giving away some boxes, so pop over to their website and enter to win one!

Now to the review. I really like the concept of the box, but I don't know that it's something that I'll buy into long term because I wasn't super jazzed with the contents. It definitely has plenty of nosh and activities for the price, but the sugar-coated goodies aren't really something that we go for in our family. We don't do the "Shabbat cereal" or "you can have brownies for breakfast because it's Shabbat" philosophy, so maybe this box isn't for us.

Our box came with

• Gummies
• Mentos (the fresh maker!)
• Sour sticks
• A flipstick
• Three cards with activities/fun for Shabbat
• Rally Up (a game)
• A magnet

Where was the gift for mom!? 

Okay, now that I think back on this, Little T does love chewing on the Lipstick, and Asher actually uses Rally Up as "peanut butter and jelly" (don't ask) for his babies. I felt bad that I just chucked the three containers of candy, however. Why not something healthy? Or even moderately healthy? Like a bag of veggie chips, natural gummies, or something that doesn't have a million ingredients? That's all I'm saying here. 

Overall, this just isn't for us. I like the idea, and I know it'll work for many people, but I don't think it'll ever be on our Shabbat "to do" list. 

Have you seen this box? Do you think you'd buy it for your family? 

Ask Chaviva Anything: In the Kitchen for Shabbat and Keeping Kosher

Are you ready for another installment of Ask Chaviva Anything? I know I am. I've gotten a ton of questions, and, guys, seriously, all these questions about when I'm returning "home" and when I'll be back in Israel, and what am I doing with my life by not being in Israel ... sigh. You're killing me. Home is where the heart is, and my heart (my husband and my kids) happen to be here in Denver, Colorado. I'm not moving back to Israel until I can afford it, until I don't have to live in the red, until I don't have to subject my children to the potential of hunger and debt collectors. That's when I'll go back to Israel. Unfortunately, that's not a close reality.

Anyway ... on to the questions!

How do you manage to make Shabbat with all your workload and two small children? Do you have some kind of routine up your sleeve? I need some tips and inspiration! Thank you!

This is a great question, and one I don't really have an answer to. It sort of just happens. In the old days, I'd cook on Thursday night after kids were in bed, but these days, I'm mostly exhausted by the time they both head to bed around 7 p.m. and/or I have work to do. So really what happens is that I set up my work station in the kitchen on Friday morning/early afternoon and multi-task like a crazy person. Laptop near the cutting board, oven preheating, and sometimes I'll have groceries delivered via Instacart just to save myself the trouble. This time of year, I rely a lot on crockpot dinners for Friday night and simple Saturday lunches like fish, rice, and vegetables. Ultimately the greatest struggle is when Shabbat hits, we don't always get everything done. So, for example, this past week I'd made a delicious side of salmon + rice with roasted cherry tomatoes and green beans, but we forgot to put the plata (hot plate) on. I managed to put the rice in a plastic bag, wrap the bag in foil, and set it on top of our hot water kettle to try and warm it up a bit so we weren't eating an entirely cold meal on Saturday for lunch. It sort of worked. My biggest "harrumph" this time of year is that I'm out of challah and haven't made any more. We can buy challah for my husband and son at the deli or grocery store, but for me, it's a production to make my gluten-free ha'motzi challah. 

So. It's basically chaos, but it always gets done. We also pick the kids up at the latest possible moment on Friday so we can get everything done. Oh! Also? I have a cleaning crew come every other Friday, so that keeps me sane. I had to stop trying to do it all, and although it's a hefty expense, it's one I had to deal with. 

Also? I spend a lot of time searching for easy recipes on the web and storing those for using on Shabbat. Honestly, I keep thinking of how much easier my life would be if we ate meat because I could easily make some chicken with rice in the oven. Cooking fish, tempeh, tofu, etc. is much more time consuming/needs much more delicate attention. 

What kitchen stuff would you not have in your kitchen because of not being able to make it kosher? For example, do you have a wooden cutting board and if you do how would you re-kosher it?

This is an interesting question, and one I haven't really even thought about. Truthfully, since nothing non-kosher comes into my kitchen, and because we are vegetarian at home, I don't have to worry about anything needing to be re-kashered. The one time of year that I do cook meat in my kitchen is Thanksgiving, and in this case, I just put my wooden cutting board away and bring out my meat cutting board. If this doesn't answer your question, let me know!

On Elul and Being Present on Shabbat

Ah, Elul. That big, beautiful month full of reflection on the Jewish (Hebrew) calendar. It's the month leading up to the High Holidays of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur and Simchat Torah and Sukkot. It's one of my most favorite times of year because it means that fall is coming, my birthday is coming, and that winter is right around the corner and that boots, scarves, and jackets are soon a necessity.

It also means October is going to be a mess of time off from work, multiple days in a row without the ability to use technology, no daycare, and general chaos. But, you know what, that's okay.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I've really, truly, honestly embraced Shabbat and days of rest.

You see, I'm a highly anxious workaholic (no, who, me!?). Shabbat was one of the hardest things to accept as I became religious all those years ago, because I've always been a hyper plugged in person. It's what I do professionally, and it's how I connect with friends near and far, not to mention family, too.

But recently, I've started going to shul (synagogue) on Shabbat again, after a good probably nine months of skipping Saturdays at home so I could sleep while Mr. T and Asher were out of the house. Once baby showed up, I slept in, woke up, fed the baby, read trashy magazines, and so on. But when Mr. T was out of town a few weeks in Israel for iBoy's bar mitzvah, I knew I couldn't have Asher in the house for hours on end lest we both go bananas. So I hauled myself out of the house and we went to synagogue.

Now, wearing a sort-of sleeping newborn and trying to daven (pray) with focus is next to impossible. So I spent most of the morning (roughly 9 a.m. until 12:30 p.m.) in the baby group, where you can drop your little ones off starting at the age of six months (they have programming up through the age of teenagers). They sing songs and there are toys and the other babies like to see my baby, so it's a win-win because I get to talk to the adults in the room and we're out of the house.

When Mr. T came back, I kept going. The baby doesn't sleep so late in the morning anymore, and it's good to get out and see people, right?

During those few weeks where it was just me and the kids, I found myself doing a lot of observing. I watched people coming and going from shul, I watched the kids outside playing with their teenage teachers in groups, I watched the entire theater of Shabbat happening around me. And it was beautiful.

The thing about Shabbat is that, when you're really inside it, when you're really present and experiencing it, the anxiety of the rest of the week really does disappear. Recently I've found myself just enjoying being present from sundown to sundown. I'm not rushed to turn my phone back on, and that moment when I do turn my phone back on I feel a huge pang of regret and sadness. Because I've noticed that when Shabbat ends, after we make havdalah to separate the sacred from the profane, my fingers and face are glued to the damnable little device.

Yes, it's my job to be digital 24/6, but what does that mean? What is it costing me?

As Asher gets older, he's noticing how connected I am more. He'll often say my name repeatedly to get my attention, and even when I respond, it's the device he wants me to put down. Like, literally set down. He needs my attention. And if he's doing something cute, he often isn't interested in it being filmed or captured in a picture. He just wants me to be present.

On Shabbat, last week, we all stayed home because we had a hand-foot-mouth scare (which turned out to be not what he had, but rather just teething and a cold). We played, we engaged, we were present. We went to the playground, we enjoyed the sunshine and make believe. We sang and danced. We enjoyed each other.

I was so present and completely wrapped up in my family that I said to Mr. T: "Days like this make me think I could have a third, easily, without any second thoughts." (Or something to that affect.) It was just such a blissful day.

Then, of course, the next day, Mr. T was tired, the baby was half awake next to me in bed, and Asher was calling, "Mommy. Tatty. Mommy. Tatty." I zipped upstairs to mute the monkey only to find out he'd really, really, really wet the bed hardcore. As I pulled off all the sheets and pulled out the stuffed animals and toys and books I realized that I was good with where I was.

Shabbat really does something beautiful for me. I don't know how people function without a single day to be disconnected from the rest of the world and to really be present with those closest to you. No TV, no phones, no devices, no distractions.

All of this is to say, I guess, that I'm glad that I'm at this point in my life. It took having two kids to really learn to appreciate Shabbat, and now, every week, I long for Shabbat and lament its leaving. I've even started not looking at my phone on Saturday night to prolong a sense of peace and presence just a little bit longer. It makes all the difference in the world.

So, I'm curious: How do you do it? How do you connect, how do you really connect and be present in your own life? 

Fun With Jewish Anniversary Gifts

Having just celebrated our second anniversary (together, B"H), over Shabbat at a close rabbi friend's home, we got to talking about anniversaries and the classic tradition of yearly gifts based on tradition.

For example, the first anniversary is traditionally paper and in the modern world evidently it's clocks, while the second anniversary is cotton in tradition and china in the modern gift-giving world (I got the former, not the latter), and I can't wait for year four when I get a desk set! Oh the romance.

In the midst of the discussion, we decided that there's a great need to develop yearly Jewish anniversary gifts. Here are some of my thoughts.

Let's get going with the First Anniversary:

• Traditional: Classic Cholent
• Modern: Hamin (which is just Sephardi cholent, but it's got lots of dried fruit and stuff in it)

The 10th Anniversary has to be something really beautiful.

• Traditional: Kishke
• Modern: Vegetarian Kishke (come on now, you can't get the real stuff in the U.S.)

I really puzzled over the 25th Anniversary. Here's my thought:

• Traditional: Lokshen Kugel
• Modern: Crustless Pashtida (that's a quiche, sort of)

I'm thinking that the 50th Anniversary should be

• Traditional: Schmaltz Herring 
• Modern: Mustard Herring (oo la la!)

Come on, let's have fun with this, folks. What do you think? 

Note: Mr. T actually spent nine hours on a hand-made paper cut of Aishes Chayil for me, which, honestly, I have absolutely no words to describe. It has left me utterly speechless. 

Lech Lecha and Then?

The view from here. 

This week's Torah portion (aka parshah) is the classic trope for converts the world over: Lech Lecha.

At the ripe age of 75 years old, Avram (that's his name before he becomes Avraham) is commanded by G-d to leave home, to go forth from your land and your father's house, from everything you've ever known, to a land that will be revealed. Avram puts the ultimate trust in HaShem to guide him, but not without plenty of bumps and "hold on a second" moments along the way.

The promise, HaShem says, is that he will multiply Avram and bless him and his progeny and curse those who curse Avram and his kin.

The reason this parshah is so outstanding and emotional for converts is because Avram is, for all intents and purposes, the first willing convert. He hears G-d's calling and says, "Sure, let's do this" willingly and wholeheartedly while holding fast to his nature to battle with G-d over the things that he doesn't understand or agree with (just think about Sodom and Gemorah in Bereshit 18).

For me, this portion has always held a near and dear place, because coming from a place where I didn't know or grow up with any Jews, the "calling" (if you can even call it that) came as much from within as from without and the moment I felt it, life changed indescribably forever.

At this point in my life, where I think of myself so much less as a convert and more as just another Jew trying to find the right path and living how HaShem wants and needs me to, how do I relate to Lech Lecha?

Well, I'm mere days away from my one-year anniversary of aliyah (moving to Israel). Officially, the anniversary is October 16, I can't think of a more appropriate parshah.

Like Avram, I felt a calling (for years, folks, since at least 2008) to make Israel my home. I was being called to this land that was a mystery to me, even after frequent visits. The promise of finding a mate and starting a proper family stood waiting for me. So I packed up, left the land of my father, and arrived to the place that HaShem seemed to need me.

What happened? I was mated and started "multiplying" almost instantly. The amount of people I know who moved to Israel and got pregnant after some time of trying is equally astounding. There is something to be said to HaShem's promise to Avraham Avinu (our father), which continues to benefit the Jewish people thousands of years later.

Avram might have been the first to leave his comfort, his family, and start anew at the will of G-d, but modern aliyah is a true nod in the direction of the trope of Avram. It's hard, it's complicated, and we all end up screaming and crying in HaShem's general direction because of the roller coaster of emotions, finances, and reality that Israel really does do everything in her power to chew us up and spit us out. But we also learn to appreciate and experience the sense of community and family, the angels in our midst who would bend over backwards to make us feel at home, loved, cared for, and wanted.

Aliyah is not for everyone, but then again, not everyone can be an Avram, either.

So how do you bring Lech Lecha into your every day life? How do you go forth into the great unknown -- be it personally, emotionally, at work or at home? 

Shabbat Shalom everyone!

Inaugurating the Expanded Kitchen

I inaugurated my new kitchen this week (officially) by baking my first batch of gluten-filled challah for the husband, completely with a shehechiyanu, believe it or not.

Jonesing for a pot pie of some variety, I managed to find and execute probably one of the most savory and delicious things I've ever made that would make my simple, Midwestern kin pretty darn proud of me. I timed out the bits and pieces with making the challah, too, and I even came up with a clever way of making the challah in a single pot that relieves my poor KitchenAid from duty.

(Oh, and I also threw together some crockpot rice pudding, which I've been eating as a snack topped with milk, maple syrup, golden raisins, and pecans.)

I started with the most giant stewpot that you can find at Ikea, filled it full of 14 cups of flour and all the other ingredients, kneading the entire thing by hand (with gloves, of course ... I might need a face mask next time, too). Leaving it to rise, I tackled the first component of the pot pie: vegan mushroom gravy.

When the gravy was done, I punched down the dough and moved on to the second component of the pot pie: the gluten-free almond-based crust.

The crust was quick to throw together, so after I put it in the fridge to chill, I moved on to the veggie mixture for the pot pie.

I quickly threw together the gravy and veggies, nabbed the dough from the fridge and rolled it out, and put the pie together. Throwing it into the oven, I grabbed the challah and with my brand new huge kitchen counter space, began braiding the dough. For the first time in my life, the challah was braided quickly and ready to rise for the third time while the pot pie finished up.

The pot pie came out of the oven, the challah went in, and the husband and I devoured the goodness of a classic comfort food. Mr. T ate probably half the pie, which told me I was doing something right. I don't know how often I'll be making this pot pie, because it was a little time intensive (or maybe it felt that way because I was doing double-duty with the challah), but it was so worth it. The homemade gravy, especially, will come into play in the future whether over mashed potatoes or with my Vegan Veggie Loaf.

On Friday I threw together a complete hodge-podge of a Sundried Tomato, Feta, and Spinach Crustless Quiche (complete with creamed tofu mixed in with the eggs) and this Gluten-Free Black and White Cake, which we took out to dinner Friday night. (Alas, I didn't realize my SD Card wasn't in the camera while I was taking the photos, so ... not pictures of that sweet, delicious, gluten-free goodness.)

This week, I'm planning on trying these Buffalo Cauliflower Bites with Vegan Ranch Dressing, Slow Cooker Bean and Spinach Enchiladas, and this trio of delicious smoothies! I'm already thinking about next week's Shabbat menu, and I envision some stuffed peppers and perhaps some vegetarian chili for Friday night since it's been hella cold out here in Neve Daniel over the past week (which I'm loving).

What's on the menu for you this week? 

The Syndrome: Jewish Mother Martyrdom

The past week was particularly challenging for me, between getting over being horribly sick, preparing for Shabbat, and struggling with the financial reality that we still have not rented out our old apartment meaning our bank account is quite unhappy and my stress levels are super high. By the time Shabbat rolled in, things were tense and all I could think was that those angels were showing up as I lit the candles and they were not happy with what they saw and this week is going to be a mess, right?

After lighting I curled up on the couch with the boys off at synagogue and opened up the book I'm reading at the moment, One Baby Step at a Time: Seven Secrets of Jewish Motherhood, and there it was, I was up to the middle of a chapter and a piece called "Winning Shabbat" followed by a chapter called "What We Need to be Happy."

Sometimes, HaShem hands us exactly what we need when we need it.

In "Winning Shabbat," the author Chana Weisberg talks about perspective. As I get more pregnant, I think more and more about how this baby is going to arrive and all of the housekeeping and working and being a good wife is going to fall by the wayside and how it's going to grate my "must do everything right and immediately and constantly" nerves.

I was born for Jewish mother martyrdom, you see. My default in anything and everything is knowing how to best do anything (after all, I'm a master Googler).

Citing Rebbetzin Yemima Mizrachi, the author writes,

"We must decide that the work we do is a teruma, an offering that we give with joy to God, rather than a temura, something that we do for other people with the expectation that we are going to get something in return."

It's about overcoming our nature.

"It reminds me of how our Sages teach that Sarah was barren for many years because she ahd been born without a womb. And then, when she was ninety years old, after a life of praying and doing good deeds, God rewarded her with a pregnancy -- without a womb!"

The gist is that if we learn to overcome our nature, whether it's a tendency toward jealousy or grouchiness, miraculous things can happen (look at Chana, too!). My nature these days is one of "I must do everything" and "Things only get done right when I do them." It's the Jewish mother martyrdom nature that I really, really have to learn to step back from. After an amazing dinner out with friends, things got calmer, things were talked out, I shared the chapters I'd been reading with Mr. T, and the tension that Shabbat came in with dissipated.

(I also have to say that it was an appropriate week to read this with the Torah portion of the week, Noah. One of the big discussions about the portion is why Noah was viewed as so special, yet by the end of the portion he gets drunk and is shamed. How did someone rise so high and fall so fast? We're taught that it's about perspective. Avraham walked before G-d, whereas Noah walked with G-d. Avraham was bold and outspoken when it came to his fellow man. Noah simply obeyed, didn't question anything, and waited for permission for anything to happen. Noah didn't have the right perspective, you see.)

Reading over the essays in the next chapter about finding happiness and figuring out what we (mommies, women in general) to get everything done but still have our special, happy place.

"The greatest gift we can give our families (and ourselves) is a mother who is thriving physically, spiritually, and emotionally."

So I've been thinking. What do (or will) I need to stay sane and happy so I can be the best Jewish woman possible and the best mother possible?

The author talks about needing a few hours to spend on Torah a week, to not make cooked dinners every night of the week, and to have a cleaning lady once a week.

The funny thing is, her needs greatly resemble mine.

Last week I kept telling myself "You're going to sit down with the weekly Torah portion, learn it, devour it, and blog about it like you used to." When I was living in Washington DC and Chicago back in 2006-07, I devoted my late-night, post-Washington Post work nights to a coffee shop and the weekly parshah. It fulfilled me, it kept me feeling academically minded while I wasn't in school, and it gave me perspective on my Jewishness on a weekly basis.

It gave me strength.

When I was in grad school in Connecticut, I had tons of Jewish learning happening all the time, because I was both in grad school and working on my Orthodox conversion. When I hit NYU and life started crumbling, I still had my classes, I still had Jewish thinking and learning, and felt like I was giving back to myself but also fulfilling a major happiness need.

Since then, it's been tough. I've been trying to figure out what it is that I need to be happy, while also being a stellar wife and future mama.

As I figure out what I need to be happy (scheduled blogging time, an evening of pleasure cooking, once a week in a coffee shop working, and so on), I'm curious what those of you out there -- whether you're a hard-working woman trying to find time for yourself or a mother of many who can't seem to find a moment to herself -- need to be happy. Have you even thought about it?

My last piece from reading so far? This little morsel from Rebbetzin Feige Twerski:

"Grow where you are planted." Recognize that the life you have is not arbitrary, but orchestrated from above and hence is, at this moment, the context to which you must bring your finest efforts. 

Sometimes You Need a Sign

We spent Shabbat in Aderet with good, old friends of Mr. T's, and it was an amazing and calming experience (even with two rambunctious little girls). When our host poured grape juice for havdalah, the little bubbles came together to form a giant heart.

Now that, folks, is beautiful. Shavua Tov! 

Recipe: The Vegan Loaf

This past Shabbat, I regaled my dear Mr. T with a classic Edwards Family favorite: Meatloaf and Mashed Potatoes. The big changeup? This loaf was completely vegetarian, but it was hearty and full of tummy-warming goodness. I anticipate this being a regular on my menu, mostly because the ingredients are inexpensive and the recipe is very versatile.

Brown Rice and Lentil Terrine
(adapted from Clean Eating)

1 cup brown rice
1 cup brown lentils
olive oil
1/2 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 whole eggs (or egg substitute)
2 Tbls flaxseed meal
2 Tbls tomato paste
1/4 cup flat leaf parsley, chopped finely
1/4 cup black olives, drained and chopped
1/4 tsp each coriander, paprika, garlic powder, and onion powder
1/4 tsp sea salt
1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup low-sodium vegetable broth, divided
1 1/2 cups gluten-free breadcrumbs, plus more if needed (I blended up gluten-free cereal, but you can also use regular or gluten-free bread)

1. Cook the rice (I used a rice maker), then put the lentils on with 2 cups water. Bring to a boil, then reduce to simmer, partially covered, until tender, about 35 minutes. 
2. Preheat the oven to 400 Fahrenheit (200 Celsius). Prep a 9x5" pan with olive oil, butter, or PAM. 
3. Heat about a tsp of olive oil in a skillet on medium and add onion. When the onion starts to brown, stir in garlic and cook 1 minute more. Transfer to a large bowl and stir in eggs, flaxseed meal, tomato paste, parsley, olives, spices, salt, and pepper. Add the breadcrumbs and mix thoroughly. 
4. Put half of the cooked lentils in a food processor with 1/4 cup of the vegetable broth and process until smooth. Transfer the pureed and whole cooked lentils to a bowl and mix in the rice and remaining 1/4 cup of vegetable broth. Mix well!
5. Finally, mix both of the rice/lentil and onion/spice mixtures together until well combined. 
6. Scrape into the prepared loaf pan and mound the center to make it look like that classic meatloaf. Bake until lightly browned and crunchy on top, about 35-40 minutes. 
7. Serve with your favorite brown gravy!

The original called for wild rice, green lentils, Bragg's Liquid Aminos, fresh basil, fresh sage, and pimento-stuffed green olives, but I didn't have them on hand so I just worked with what I had. It turned out amazingly!

For a gravy, I used this recipe because I didn't have any mushrooms on hand. However, I used half of the amount of water it called for and Brown Rice Flour instead of the called-for Chickpea Flour. 

Gluten-Free Challah: Take One

UPDATE: I've been working hard at this, and I finally have the Best-Ever Gluten-Free Challah Recipe -- it's the only one you'll ever need. 

NOTE: I've started using a NEW recipe that I'm pretty fond of, although this one still holds a place close to my heart. Check out this other gluten-free challah recipe from MyJewishLearning.com. 

I've had a lot of requests for my recipe for gluten-free challah, so it's about time I got down to it. Now, I have to start this off by saying that if you are full-blown celiac, there's a chance that you can't handle oats -- even those of the gluten-free variety. I'm blessed in that gluten-free oats and I get along just dandy, so for Passover and on Shabbat and holidays, I partake of the gluten-free oat variety of bread products. If you can't, then my suggestion is to just buy something packaged in the store because gluten-free baking can be expensive. I like being able to make motzei, so for Shabbat I put together this Gluten-Free Honey-Oat Challah.

Wait, something else I need to mention: My challah isn't braided. Most gluten-free challah isn't braided. Why? Because the dough just isn't the right consistency for braiding, unfortunately.

That being said, does challah have to be braided to be challah?

I can't seem to find anything that says that the braiding is a necessity of challah. The reason we have two loaves of challah for Shabbat are clutch in commemorating the double portion of manna that HaShem provided the Israelites in the desert (Exodus 16:4-30). The various shapes and stylings of challot have a varied history.

Evidently, according to author Gil Marks, most Ashkenazim used their weekday round or rectangular loaves for Shabbat, but German Jews began to create ova, braided loaves modeled on a "popular Teutonic bread." (Whatever that means.) This shape became the norm, although many Middle Eastern and Sephardic Jews still use a round, flat bread or plain rectangular loaves for their Shabbat challot.

So we'll say that my delicious little Honey-Oat Loaves fall in line with the Sephardic custom, and yours can, too! Just pop over to Barefeet in the Kitchen for the recipe. I'd like to think I came up with it on my own, but credit goes where credit is due. The only thing I did different was bake the loaf in three small loaf pans, but I can tell you this loaf is good enough for even the most discerning gluten-loving foodie (Mr. T was quite fond of it!).

Hot Drinks on Shabbat: Part Two

In the last post, I spoke about the issues involved with making tea on Shabbat, and in this post I want to talk about coffee -- specifically the French press.

The major concerns about coffee and tea on Shabbat that Mr. T and I considered were borer (separating) and bishul (cooking). The latter is forbidden on Shabbat and the former is allowed only when you're removing the good from the bad, or the desirable from the undesirable. That is, you can pick cashews out of a bowl of mixed nuts, but you can't remove all the mixed nuts to get to the cashews.

Instant coffee is the no-brainer of coffee drinking on Shabbat, because it's already cooked and in Judaism there is a law of "no cooking after cooking" (ein bishul acher bishul), which means that once something is cooked, you're never "recooking" it on Shabbat. Instant coffee is just hot water from the urn in a cup plus instant coffee (for more, see Mishneh Berurah 318:39).

When thinking about the French press, my initial thought was that by pushing the plunger down, you're  removing the bad from the good. Mr. T, in all of his genius, pointed out that you're really just moving it out of the way, like if you push around the peanuts and almonds to find more cashews to pick out of the bowl. Pushing the coffee grounds downward in a French press is completely allowed, and when you're pouring the coffee out of the French press into a cup, you're actually taking the good away from the bad. So borer isn't an issue, is bishul?

Much like instant coffee, regular old coffee grounds used in a French press are roasted, and if you apply "no cooking after cooking," then there also should be no issue, right? There's a concept that is mentioned in the Shulchan Aruch (318:5) that "there is cooking after baking" (yesh bishul achar afiyah), and some consider "roasting" to be baking and not cooking. Even if you want to hold to this more stringent opinion, just make sure you pour the hot water from your urn or hot water pot into the French press before you add the coffee, making the French press a kli sheni (second vessel), and all is right in the world since there is no cooking in a kli sheni (ein bishul bekli sheini).

So I shall enjoy my coffee on Shabbat, my quality coffee on Shabbat, in the giant Bodum French press that Mr. T has even though he doesn't drink coffee. 

Hot Drinks on Shabbat: Part One

Mr. T and I were on our way to pick up iBoy from school when we got into an in-depth conversation about the use of loose-leaf teas and French presses on Shabbat. (Don't ask me why, but this is our life -- halacha, kashrut, movies, jokes, bliss!)

I'm a big coffee drinker, and Mr. T is a big tea drinker. The main things that can come up with tea and coffee on Shabbat are borer (separating) and bishul (cooking). Let's start with tea, and I want to mention that all of these "rules" are for Shabbat only and are not necessary to observe on holidays where cooking is allowed.

There are varying opinions about tea on Shabbat, and the Star-K takes the most hard line approach to tea on Shabbat, saying,

One should not use tea/herbal bags or loose teas on Shabbos. This is because tea is part of that group of foods known as kaley habishul, or easily cooked foods. These foods are considered so sensitive to heat since they will cook in circumstances that other foods will not.

Why? Because from picking to factory processing, tea isn't cooked, but rather dried and then packaged in tea bags or sold loose-leaf style. Thus, there are problems with bishul because the water that comes out of your standard urn or hot water pot on Shabbat is hot enough to "cook" the tea leaves, which is forbidden on Shabbat. The way that we avoid this problem is by using multiple kelim or vessels to make the tea. Essentially you have your hot water pot (this is your kli rishon or first vessel), a kli sheni (second vessel), and a kli shlishi (third vessel).  

Tea-Making Choreography: The hot water goes from the hot water pot into the kli sheni after which you pour it into the kli shilishi where you put your tea bag. 

Why? The idea here comes from Rav Moshe Feinstein z"l, who ruled that by the time the water goes from your hot water pot (kli rishon) to the cup for your tea (kli shlishi), the water is no longer at a temperature that can cook tea leaves. 

That being said, you also have to worry about borer (separating) once you've steeped your tea bag and your tea has hit the perfect color/flavor. Why? On Shabbat, borer is forbidden, but only when you're removing bad from good. What does this mean? It means that if I have a bowl of mixed nuts and only want the cashews, I am absolutely forbidden from sitting and removing every nut so only cashews are left in the bowl. I can, however, sit and pick out the cashews as much as I want. So when we apply this to tea, removing the tea bag would be removing the bad -- or what we don't want -- from the good, which is the tea we wish to drink. If the tea bag in your cup is annoying you to no end, you can go ahead and remove it, but only with a spoon and you have to make sure not to squeeze the tea bag as you take it out (that also being a Shabbat prohibition). If you're feeling wary about even this, go ahead and pour your tea into another cup, because in this instance you'll be taking the good from the bad and all is well in the world (except for your sink, which will quickly fill with tons of cups). 

For the super paranoid/strict, tea essence seems to be the rule of the road. Mr. T prefers to do tea essence, not because he's super crazy religious, but because it tends to be a bit easier. It took me a long time to really get what "tea essence" was, but if you think of it more as "tea concentrate," you'll be in a good place. 

Essentially, you brew tea very strongly before Shabbat, then use the concentrate/essence on Shabbat mixed with water to dilute it to the strength of a normal cup of tea. (Some people also do this with a French press for coffee, but that will be the next installment.) The problem here is how to keep your essence hot over Shabbat if you want hot tea, which would require you to put it on a blech or hot plate throughout Shabbat without removing it because you can't put liquids on to heat up on Shabbat. Oh the problems!

My advice? Learn the choreography, drink your tea fast so the tea bag doesn't bitter your tea, and do it often enough that it becomes old hat!

Stay tuned for the next installment, which is on the use of the French press on Shabbat!

Rainy Days and Sundays

Today it rained. It's actually still raining, a lot. And it's glorious. 

So days like today are meant for soup. Warm, spiced soup. 

Served in a coffee mug, of course. 

I woke up today not feeling very well. I'm guessing it's the abrupt change in weather, as it tends to do this to me. So I've got a sore throat and every last inch of my bod is aching and sore. 

My Shabbat in Neve Daniel was beyond outstanding, but it was incredibly cold and windy up there, which smacked me in the face because I was ill prepared. I looked at the weather, it said roughly 63 degrees F, so I assumed a scarf would do me. What I forgot is just how quickly the clouds move there and how windy it does get. I sleep best when it's cold, however, so you can only imagine how well I've slept the past few nights!

The beautiful thing about Neve Daniel is how tight-knit the community is. The shul was beautiful, and even the 99 (or was it 100) stair climb to get there wasn't as bad as I had anticipated. The friendship, the warmth, the children everywhere -- this is my Judaism. Perhaps someday, when I'm hitched, I'll end up in Neve Daniel with all of my amazing friends there. 

Until then, I'll warm myself up with homemade soup. 

I schlepped out in water-proof rain jacket and sneakers to pick up potatoes, apples, eggs, coconut milk, and other essentials for soup-making and weekday meal basics. I threw this together on the fly. Don't ask for specifics, because I can't provide them!

Cinnamon Apple Sweet Potato Spiced Soup

2 green apples, large dice

2 sweet potatoes, large dice

1 regular potato, large dice

1 yellow onion, small dice

1/2 can organic coconut milk

water (or vegetable broth)

coriander

curry

cinnamon

salt

olive oil

toasted walnuts

1. Sautee the onion until translucent. 
2. Add cinnamon. 
3. Pour in the apples, potatoes, and enough water to cover the vegetables. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, cover, and cook for about a half-hour or until everything is tender. 
4. Pour in the coconut milk, dabble with the spice mixture, and puree. 
5. Once you've gotten the flavor right -- to your liking, you'll figure it out -- top with toasted walnuts and enjoy. 

Shabbat in Yerushalayim

Shavua tov! What. A. Shabbat. Where do I begin? Seriously, where!? Last night I spent some time at the home of some good friends and had the most delicious crisp of my life. Also? They had air conditioning, which was stellar and a nice reprieve from the heat I've been dealing with at my apartment. It also was nice to just sit and chat for several hours about everything and anything. It was comfortable, and relaxing, and amazing! Today, I slept in pretty late, had some cereal, and then schlepped off to the Kotel. The amazing thing about living in Jerusalem is that I can just wander aimlessly and at a pace as slowly as humanly possible. I arrived to the Kotel around two something, which means I was able to sort of sit and people-watch and daven for about three hours.  I had some crazy, bananas emotional moments while davening, realizing that I was really, really there. In my Ohel Sarah siddur, there was a special supplication for the Kotel, which I read a few times. There also was a special prayer for finding a zivug, which I read several times. Between Minchah and Ma'ariv, I was reading Pirkei Avot, and came across something 2:20, which gave me some insight into my search for a zivug ... 

Rabban Gamliel the son of Rabbi Yehuda the Prince said, Torah study is good with a worldly occupation, because the exertion put into both of them makes one forget sin. All Torah without work will ultimately result in desolation and will cause sinfulness. 

All who work for the community should work for the sake of Heaven, for the merit of the community's forefathers will help them, and their righteousness endures forever. And as for you, God will reward you greatly as if you accomplished it on your own.

Yes. Work and Torah. Avodah v'Torah. A real mensch does them both, and it keeps him occupied enough so that he doesn't have wandering eyes. So the Kollel guys and the work-only guys and the no-work guys ... no dice.
And then there were a few things that I realized ... things in which I think a PSA is needed!

• The reason people walk backwards away from the kotel is because it's as if you're walking away from a King. It's a sign of respect. Watch some old movies with English royalty and you'll see very much the same. A lot of people didn't seem to know why or for how long you are supposed to walk backwards (seriously? there isn't a limit, but don't run into people!). 
• The scarves that are available at the entrance are to cover your shoulders if you're wearing a tanktop or to cover your hair if you're married. Women were doing all sorts of crazy things with the scarves, but I noticed people of all ages covering their hair with the scarves. I think this is a bit of the confusion between the Orthodox Christian/Muslim/Jewish faith traditions. 

Part of me thinks there should be some kind of sign at the entrance to the Kotel in various languages explaining the traditions, practices, and so forth. What do you think? 

I realized after davening Minchah that there was actually a minyan down toward the Kotel (I was hanging out at the back) where the men stand really close to the mechitzah, allowing women to listen and participate. So when it came time for Maariv, I headed down there, which was nice, because they did a stellar havdalah! Yes, a giant cart pulled into the men's section with bundles of mint, which people passed out and around for havdalah! Talk about nifty. 

What a Shabbat. I saw so many attractive bochurim, so many young frum girls, and realized that I'm so old out here in the dating game. But that's what all the davening was for, right!?

Shavua tov, cheverim!

The Hebrew Index: If you ever have questions, let me know. Or if you want me to blog about any of the words I'm using or concepts I'm sharing, let me know, too! 
davening = praying
Maariv = evening/night prayers
Mincha = afternoon prayers
havdalah = the end-of-Shabbat prayers, separating Shabbat from the rest of the week
mechitzah = the divider that separates the men's and women's sections
bochurim = single guys
frum = Orthodox or observant
cheverim = "friends"
Ohel Sarah siddur = a specific prayer book for women published by Artscrolls
Kollel = that place where guys study after yeshiva -- it's like yeshiva for adults
yeshiva = religious "high school"
zivug = match, or partner
Kotel = the Western Wall, also known as Ha'Kotel Ha'Maarav (kotel = wall)

It's a MoSHY Life for Me!

Motzei Shabbat cooking ... sweet squash stuffed with lemon-pepper rice.

I've returned to the classic tradition of some of our greatest scholars ... the tradition of MoSHY -- Meat on Shabbos and Yontif. After spending a good bulk of the year as a vegan, I recently started eating fish again, and then with the holidays appearing I realized that my dietary restrictions made me a tough guest for people. So I've opted to be MoSHY for the time being. So the things I'm not eating? Dairy, gluten, and "added" sugar. And meat. But only during the week. 

Food is so complicated, but I've discovered that my body isn't absorbing the right nutrients, at least not in the right capacity, so I'm hoping consumption of fish and some meat will get my body back on track. My aliyah flight is kind of a bummer because I have two options: Gluten Free w/Meat or Vegetarian w/Gluten. Clearly I have to order the former. Chances are good I'll be bringing my own nosh on-board. 

So for Shabbat, I whipped up some delicious Dairy-Free, Gluten-Free Salmon Chowder. This recipe was me kind of winging it. I combined roughly four different recipes I found online but didn't like in full, so I picked them apart and put my own together! In the future, I anticipate adding some corn starch to thicken it up a bit and a bit more fish. But overall? Amazing. 

Ingredients

1 large yellow onion, diced 

1 can corn 

2 cups fingerling potatoes, diced 

1/2 bunch kale, roughly chopped 

2 carrots, peeled and diced 

4 cups vegetable broth 

1/2 cup almond milk (or other dairy-free milk)

1/2 cup Original So Delicious Coconut Creamer 

1 1/2 pound salmon fillet, skinned, boned and cut into small cubes 

1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley 

1/2 teaspoon dried dill 

1/4 teaspoon sea salt 

Plenty of pepper 

Directions

1. Saute the onion and celery until onion is translucent. Add potatoes and saute 5 minutes more. Do not brown. 
2. Add carrots and stock, bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer until vegetables are fork tender about 15-20 minutes. You really want the goods to be fork tender.
3. Add milk, half and half, salmon, kale, parsley, dill and pepper. 
4. Simmer over low heat 5-10 minutes or until fish is cooked through and liquid is steaming, but not boiling. Throw on some minced chives if that's your fancy.
5. Add plenty of pepper and salt to taste.

Motzei Shabbat cooking ... a random rice concoction including wild rice,

corn, red pepper, tomato, tangerine, maple syrup, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and ...

I think that's about it. Completely random ingredients I had around.

What Does Modern Orthodoxy Mean?

What. A. Shabbat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow. Right?

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

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

My Unorthodox Shabbat

If there's one thing in the world that I miss about being married, it's the big Shabbat meals I would prepare. The apartment filled with the scent of challah as I lit candles. The smell of cholent on Saturday morning filling every bit of air. Lots of vegetables and chicken and dessert and ... people.

Yes, I can make my own gluten-free cholent (I prefer the Moroccan variety with brown rice in place of barley and lots of beans and sweet potatoes and fragrant spices), but I'm not big on leftovers -- or eating cholent alone. I could make challah, but as I can't eat it, there would be no one to eat it. (I'm talking the real stuff here, folks. Yes, I still make gluten-free oat challah for me, but I miss being able to braid and serve my own delicious challot.

So, for now, I have unorthodox Shabbat meals alone. And for now, it will suffice. Items below consumed Friday night with some New Planet Beer (gluten free!).

A Mediterranean-style gluten-free, vegan pizza with artichoke hearts, sundried tomatoes,
kalamata olives, spinach, and Daiya vegan cheese!

A dessert pizza! Gluten-free crust with a homemade cashew spread,
grilled pineapple, blueberries, and pistachios!

Yucca fries! Boiled for a bit, then baked with olive oil and paprika. 

Brightening Up in Boulder

For me, Boulder is where it's at. Spiritually, with comfort, with kindness.

I spent another Shabbat there, and I was once again reminded why it feels so comfortable in that community. When you're sitting around a third-meal table singing niggunim and all of the voices -- no matter how few -- seem to match up like a well-trained chorus, when you feel comfortable moving from learning in the sanctuary to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, when children take you to you in seconds giggling with you, when you feel at home ... that's Boulder for me. It was what I needed in this moment of my life where "change" seems to be the only constant.

The learning aspect of being in Boulder is something that I love. When I'm alone in Denver, I don't know what shabbat is supposed to be.

Item 1: The parshah on Shabbat was Shemini and it contained the midpoint of the Torah as measured in words when Moshe considers offerings. Those words that fall on either side of the midpoint are דרש דרש, darosh darash. The doubling of words in Hebrew often implies an intensity of the basic word, so in this case it suggests intensive inquiry, an intense searching. That's Judaism in a nutshell, folks.

Item 2: We discussed Nadav and Avihu and the prohibition of certain actions while intoxicated. The conclusion that we arrived at was that they weren't literally drunk, but perhaps drunk on HaShem. They were so up in the clouds that this world didn't make sense to them. They were, in a way, too high up for this world. It's how I feel sometimes, like I can't connect to this world. I don't, however, want to be the next Nadav or Avihu ... but there are some minds that aren't long for this world because they can't connect on the appropriate level to people, they can't figure out relationships. The lesson: figure out how to live in this world, figure out relationships, figure out how to bring ourselves down to this world. We live here, we don't live in shamayim.

I feel like I walked away from my Shabbat in Boulder with a more vivid view of my neshama. I feel like the flame is brighter, and that I'm moving forward. Small steps, Chavi. Small steps.

And of coure, in addition to just feel at home in Boulder, there's the fact that the Pearl Street Mall is a lot like Ben Yehuda ... especially after Shabbat. Don't believe me?

This was Friday before Shabbat. I roamed the mall ...

This guy was bananas. Muscles like crazy. 

Ben Yehuda has break dancing, Boulder has Improv Yoga.