If You Feel Like Giving

Michael "Miki" Neumann was an amazing man, and I'm proud to have shared the Shavuot education stage with him at Beth David in West Hartford back in 2010. When he passed away suddenly last year of a heart attack, the entire community and all those tied to Miki were broken. He was a boon to the West Hartford community, but he also was internationally known and recognized for his research in Numerical Linear Algebra, Matrix Theory and Linear Algebra, and Numerical Analysis. Miki published more than 150 scholarly articles, coauthored a book in his field and was working on another book at the time of his death. In shul, I will always hear the prayer for the safety of Israel Defense Forces soldiers with his voice, as every Shabbat he led the prayer in West Hartford.

So why am I writing this now? Well, a fund has been set up in his honor at the University of Connecticut, where he was a professor at the time of his untimely death. This is a note from his wife, Helen:

I'm writing to tell you that the University of Connecticut has established a scholarship fund called the Michael Neumann Dissertation Award fund. This scholarship will be given every year to the student who writes the best PhD dissertation in mathematics. This is a very fitting way to honor Miki's memory. In his career at UConn he was a wonderful and devoted PhD supervisor to nine students. He remained a mentor to them all. 

A very generous member of the math department at UConn has offered to match all donations made between now and June 21st up to $5,000. Below is the information on how to make a donation to this fund. 

So, if you're feeling like giving today, considering giving to the Michael Neumann Dissertation Award. He was a brilliant, kind soul, and his memory should be for a blessing!

How to Make a Donation By Mail Checks, payable to "The University of Connecticut Foundation," can be mailed to: The University of Connecticut Foundation 2390 Alumni Drive Unit 3206 Storrs, CT 06269-3206 Please note Michael Neumann-22909 in the memo line. Online Donors can also make a gift, up to $5,000, to any part of the University from our secure Web server. ·         For gifts to the Michael Neumann Dissertation Award, visit: giving.uconn.edu ·         Check box: I would like to give to a fund not shown on this list. ·         Account or fund you would like to support: 22909 ·         Gift Amount: ______ ·         Please enter school, college or program this fund supports (if known): Michael Neumann Dissertation Award - 22909 Online donors should select the box on the giving screen (example on the left) that informs the Foundation that the gift is being made in memory or honor of someone. When this box is checked, a form will appear where the donor can enter the name of the honoree and who should be notified of the gift (often the honoree or a family member if it’s a memorial gift). Payroll Withholding If a UConn faculty or staff member would like to give through payroll deduction, they may call Human Resources for more information. As little as $1 per pay period can be deducted from your paycheck and designated to the account of your choice until you reach your goal. You may download the pledge form, which may be delivered to the UConn Foundation or faxed to the Office of Annual Giving at 860.486.0907. Phone Donors can also make a gift over the phone by calling the Office of Annual Giving at 860.269.9965.

Like Coming Home

When I can't sleep, I compose. Usually this entails a body too exhausted to move and a brain too active to shut up before getting all of its thoughts, emotions, and plans down in some unwritten vault of my brain, never to be written in any tangible form. I've written papers, book intros, you name it -- my brain has processed it brilliantly. But will you ever see the genius? Nah. I've always been too tired to put pen to paper. However, tonight I thought maybe if I write it all down, my brain will shut down and go to sleep, and maybe, just maybe, my stomach (which is upset from a cleanse-gone-wrong) will be satisfied and the two can agree peacefully to leave me alone.

So, on to the meat and potatoes of the post. After all, that was about all one could eat over Passover, right?

The last two days of Passover, Tuvia and I were in West Hartford staying with our most favorite Israeli transplants who, unfortunately, are re-transplanting to Israel in a few months. These are the amazing people that I stayed with for much of my time in West Hartford, bunking in a guest room and being woken up by the cutest little girl named after a body of water in Israel one can imagine. (That's Kinneret.) The great thing about this family is that they lived about two doors down from the shul, so my knees remained in tact and my soul got a lot of love.

Family, after all, is more than the people whose blood runs through our bodies and whose character traits we have unwillingly adopted.

Going to West Hartford, then, was like coming home. (Roll DirtyDittyMoney's "Coming Home.)

I didn't sleep much the last two days of the chag, for one reason or another. The sugar consumption of Passover was catching up to me, and the heat was obnoxiously keeping my cool-style sleep schedule off balance. So I didn't go to shul the first night, or the next morning, or the evening after that. Everyone knew I was there, because Tuvia was at shul, and the joke was that I was so frum I wasn't going to shul anymore. As. If. I was almost anxious to go to synagogue, the place where I really fell into my Orthodox pattern of life, where I learned to love and judge (yes, you read that right) other Jews and their practices, where I watched Tuvia grow in his Judaism, and where, eventually, I finalized my Orthodox conversion process.

We left that family nearly a year ago. After our May 31, 2010, wedding, we practically disappeared. Friends came to our wedding, and poof -- just like that, we were gone, caught up in the whirlwind of married life, moving, changing jobs and communities, and starting a new life. It's been great, too.

But sometimes, you just miss your friends. The people who know you best. The people who listened to your concerns, your fears, your life story in all of its detail and still chose to love you. Those people, Baruch haShem, I got to spend some time with over the last days of the chag. 


It was an amazing meal with two couples who are on a plan to move back to Israel when life gets easier. It was bonding with a wee lad named Asher (the name I've chosen for a future son of my own), who somehow gravitated toward me, staring at me deeply in the eyes looking at something that I can only imagine he saw in me. It was talking about the haggadah and the command to return to Israel. Then it was meals with our hosts, the casual and friendly way that I love it. The kids moving from couch to table and the littlest one patiently noshing tuna salad without a care in the world, smiling and giggling the whole time. It was being heard by our hosts in discussions about some of the hardest aspects of life and them being devoted to helping us along the way. It was schlepping a long way for a meal at the Brenner Bed & Breakfast (ha, ha) with some visitors from London, and learning about how the neighborhood has changed since we left and, of course, how lives have continued to move forward.

And seeing all of the regular kids in shul, grown up ... towering over each other and moving at the speed of life toward adolescence? It shook me.

The last time we were in West Hartford wasn't that long ago. Maybe six months? But in those six months, new couples have come, marriages have occurred, babies have been born, children have sprouted like well-watered plants, and people have continued living. Without us.

But walking into that synagogue, into the homes of our friends, and sitting down at the tables and chairs of people who know us all-to-well, well, that was more than I could have asked for during the last days of Passover. Being liberated from Egypt is one thing, but being liberated from the fear that the people who once knew you have forgotten who you were or stopped caring about you?

Priceless.

A Day's Travels.

What a day today was. Where do I begin? After the bounty of posts on topics of interest to the masses, I'll tone things down and give you one of those fun "here's what I did today, and here's the loot I gathered" kind of posts. So, if you enjoy those kind of things, read on!

Tuvia and I headed out today to "Celebrate West Hartford," a type of fair, craft-show kind of thing. On the way we stopped in at Burlington Hat Coat Factory, where I picked up FOUR, yes, FOUR beautifully spacious heads for my oversized noggin'. You'll see them via photo throughout the coming years, I'm sure. We parked near the Starbucks in West Hartford Center, which runs up next to Blue Back Square, where the big fair was. Not one booth into the fair and we were ooing and awing at the awesome goods up for sale.

Among five million jewelry vendors and booths with cheesy paintings of still-life objects were a few booths worth mentioning. The first belonged to Stefanie Marco and was this cool booth of lacquered works with kitschy sayings on them, including a line of coffee-bean inspired objects and this really cool mojito drink mix piece (see up top), and if it weren't for the price (ouch), we would have picked up some of the coffee goods. If you're interested in checking out some of these cool pieces, visit www.kindspindesign.com.

The next booth that rocked our socks belonged to Jim Leach, a wood-working genius. We've seen plenty of our friends with those nifty baskets that lay flat for storage and serve as a trivet, but that with a quick motion swing up and turn all baskety, but we'd never seen anyone selling them. So we were super stoked to pick one of these up! He does take custom orders, and if you're interested, I can pass along his email address to you.


Our most favorite booth belonged to Toby Rosenberg and rara avis designs, distinctive pottery & judaica. We were really taken by the goods offered by this Portland, Maine, artist, including her tzedakah boxes, menorot, and her washing cups.

The tzedakah boxes and menorot have this beautiful village-esque kind of whimsy about them, which I love. The menorot have 360-degree artwork, so no matter what angle you're approaching from, you're getting a village scene. Toby can even place your family name on one of the village houses on the tzedakah box! I was just really taken by Toby's attention to detail and her love of Judaica. Of the village tzedakah box she says, "imagine the community we build when we give tzedakah." That, folks, is a beautiful sentiment.

So if you're looking for something new to add to your collection, I suggest going to her website and looking at what she has to offer. If you're interested, she can probably make you something personal. One-of-a-kind Judaica is rare these days, so take advantage. We're looking into a pomegranate-inspired washing cup!

My thoughts are that if you have the opportunity to buy things from local, independent artists, just do it, folks. Just do it.

After walking around a bit more, Tuvia buying some kosher nosh from Yosi's Catering, and experiencing a bit of rainy drizzle, we headed into Barnes and Noble to take a gander at this new fangled Nook thing people have been talking about. I've been contemplating an e-reader for a while now, mostly because of the upcoming move and its subsequent result of a lengthy commute several days of the week. The backbreaking work of schlepping around books and a laptop, not to mention a few meals, will break me, so the fewer things I can carry, the better. Thus, enter the Nook. I did some online comparisons between the Kindle and the Nook, and in my mind, the Nook was a better deal. So we went in, let the salesman swing his pitch, I spent about a half-hour coveting all the Judaica books, and then, well, we bought one. Here's the little fella getting charged up (yes, that's a caricature of Kurt Vonnegut you see).

And now? Well, we're at home. Chilling. Chillaxing. Watching Toy Story, of all things. There are half-packed boxes, empty boxes, and two exhausted people who aren't really up to packing any of them at this point. We've really got about a week to get them done (less than, really, because Tuvia starts his gig in Newark on the 21st of June!). So, baruch haShem, things will get done.

Happy e-traversing, friends!

Arts & Crafts with Chaviva & Tuvia!

I've been dying to do something crafty, and because my crocheting skills have fallen very much by the wayside, I decided that motzei Shabbat Tuvia and I needed to go to one of those "paint it yourself" shops. Unfortunately, because we lollygagged so much after Shabbos ended, we were left with a mere hour to paint our masterpieces! I talked Tuvia into painting one of those things you put your rings on when you're doing the dishes or washing your hands, and I, inspired by the Gefilte Fish Plate in Judaikitsch, decided to mimic the design to the best of my ability. Here are some photos of the experience, and stay tuned for the finished, glazed and fired products (due to be picked up on Friday, March 12). Thanks to the kind lady at Claypen in West Hartford Center.

Chavi Goes All Purim On Yo Tush!

Motzei Shabbos moonlight, on the way to shul for the Purim Party!

I've never had a truly stellar and outrageous Purim experience before. My shul back in Nebraska always did a Purim Spiel (think, the megillah as a musical to the theme of Classic Rock or Beatles Classics), but I never dressed up or really rocked out Purim style (last year Tuvia and I were on a plane back from Chicago around now). And, of course, Purim isn't even over -- it's really just begun. But man alive, what an experience so far.

Our shul did three readings this year: the regular loud one, a women's one, and the quiet reading. Our amazing friends prompted the quiet reading, because of their children's sensory/noise concerns, and the turnout for the reading was outstanding. Not everyone loves noise on Purim, so we opted for a single grogger spin, and a quiet boo, or some subtle key shakes. It was excellent, and for my first time really listening to the megillah in full (I've read it about 1 million times) was really beautiful, especially because the person reading it was one of our closest friends.

And then? Then came the party. If I could describe it to you, I'd say this: It was like a bar mitzvah gone completely wrong. I mean that, of course, in the most positive way possible. The only thing it really lacked was a giant bouncy castle and some farm animals. there was a big racetrack for people to race cars, video game stations set up for guitar hero and other systems, and there was even a setup for MarioKart racing, bucket seats included. There was a bubble guy there who basically led the kids in the Chicken Dance while magically making bubbles appear, as well as a face-painting lady, and my favorite thing of all: the Ben and Jerry's people! There was a baked potato bar and pasta and cookies and candy and soda pop out your ears, and the kids, I'm sure, are at home right now regurgitating their evening's indulgences. The band that played was, in my opinion, less than impressive. But I have to share their pictures anyway. The lead singer fancied himself a modern day Mick Jagger (those moves were ... interesting) and the masks were a straight rip from that other band that tours and does shows in animal masks (is that Animal Collective?). Overall, I was just bummed. It made me long for and miss desperately Blue Fringe. Now THAT is a band!

But the best thing about the big ole crazy Purim Party? THE COSTUMES. Holy mother of Moses! There were gigantic bottles of mustard, penguins, hippies, a greaser dad and his poodle skirt wife, Dr. Seuss characters, knights, cowgirls and cowboys, Star Trekkies -- and those were just the ADULT costumes! And there was our costumes, and those, folks, were something special. Can you figure out what we are?

Okay, probably not. So, only two people out of several dozen got our costumes, which are what I call "punny" -- funny puns or plays on words. My costume is Pink Eye and Tuvia's costume is Swine Flu. A few other punny costumes were our friend who was dressed all in black with postage stamps attached (Black Mail) and another who was toting around a piece of mail around her neck while dressed in a wedding gown (Mail Order Bride). These, my friends, are creative costumes! Just a note, you'll NEVER see me in that much pink ever again. Ever. That robe was so bulky, too. I look kind of ridiculous. We want to mix things up for the second reading and party/seudah tomorrow, so we'll see what happens.

Oh, and the most amusing thing? The payot-toting, goat-mask wearing drummer of the band! AWESOME.

For those of you looking for a little something more in your Purim, I highly recommend looking up or checking out a copy of Greek Esther. The version we read and know now is Hebrew Esther. There are three main versions of Esther that float around -- Hebrew, Greek, and the Alpha text. The latter is a Greek text that pretty much resembles the Hebrew version we have today (a translation). However, "Greek Esther" is a version of the Esther story that is about 170 lines longer, includes tons and tons of HaShem, and has many inclusions in it that make the modern reader question why the rabbis chose to canonize Hebrew Esther, not Greek Esther. After all, Hebrew Esther doesn't mention HaShem, not once. In Greek Esther, Mordechai and Esther pray to HaShem, Mordechai has a vision about HaShem's plan, and more.

The simplest answer, of course, is that the longer version was written in Greek and Greek = bad. Another theory is that there originally was a longer Hebrew Esther that the Greek Esther was based on, but because it was lost by the time the rabbis got to it, they still believed that Greek = bad. My question is why they didn't translate the longer version into Hebrew and go with it (heck, burn the Greek copy!). Of course, the rabbis would probably say that the whole point of Esther is that HaShem, while implicit, must be hidden for the story to be truly impactful as it takes place in the Diaspora. The funny thing is that the Rabbis, in the Midrash, essentially DO what Greek Esther does in that it elaborates and sort of embellishes the Hebrew Esther and the result is that if you read Hebrew Esther with the Midrash you sort of get the same feel as Greek Esther.

Anyhow, I could talk about this for hours, but what I'm saying is this: Go read Greek Esther. It'll BLOW your mind. Chag Purim Sameach!! Chaviva out!

What!? Pigs need automobile gas, too!

Blue Fringe ROCKED My World.

A little over a month ago, I had the pleasure of meeting and listening to the stylings of Blue Fringe, an indie Jewish music group out of NYC featuring Hayyim Danzig, Avi Hoffman, Dov Rosenblatt, and Danny Zwillenberg. I'm not going to go into their history or how they met or who their influences are or any of that business, you can read that for yourself over on their website. I will, say, however, that I was completely blown away at how incredibly awesome these guys are. Not only do they play amazing indie music, but they also manage to weave beautiful Jewish melodies and lyrics into their songs. It's true "Jewish music," but without the overwhelming aura of much "Jewish music." Coming from a non-Jewish, hipster, show-going, musician-dating, bar-hopping background (as I am), it was a breath of fresh air to be able to hear these guys live.

After listening to their album "The Whole World Lit Up," I was struck by the sound. They sounded like someone else, but with their own, unique twist, but I couldn't place it. I let it go, and continued to listen, hoping it would come to me, and somewhere in the middle of Bereishit I realized that it was Iron and Wine. It's that hint of softness with hauntingly beautiful music that cater to that sound. I can't really pick a favorite on the album, but Bereishit and Eshet Chayil are two of my favorites. I also am a huge fan of their cover of The Flaming Lips' Do You Realize, which is a soft, distinct spin on the original.

The night they were at my shul (for a Chanukah performance), one of the guys -- Avi Hoffman -- wasn't available that night, so the stellar frontman of band Pitom, Yoshie Fruchter, filled in for him. The funny thing about this is that when I was at Middlebury over the summer for ulpan, I spotted a flier near the mailboxes for the band Pitom. So low and behold, when I finally met the frontman, I was stoked!

The great thing about Blue Fringe, aside from the awesomeness of their Jewish music abilities, is that they sound just as good -- if not better -- live than they do on their album. Now I just have to figure out how to get them to play for my wedding. (Nudge, nudge.) So go out, buy their albums, and enjoy the beautiful, beautiful lyrics, music, and voice of Dov. Oh, and if you get a chance, try to get a listen/copy of their song on Shidduchim and dating. It is, in a word, HILARIOUS.

Chavi Was Never a Cook.

I have never been a cook. My mother didn't really teach me to cook, so everything I picked up I picked up when I was forced to cook when I ended up in Washington D.C. Before that I relied on fast food like Subway and Wendy's and that's probably how I managed to gain so much weight my senior year of college. When I moved to D.C. I learned to cook, but mostly vegetarian. It burgeoned even more when I was living in Chicago and my ability really took off around Pesach in 2008 when I mastered the art of melting sugar and cooking fish.

This weekend, the friends I often stay with (I'm not really staying with the family I used to stay with anymore because as the weather gets colder, my knees become mush faster; Tuvia still is staying with them however) are out of town, so they're letting me stay at their place alone. Tuvia thought it'd be a good idea to host people there if they'd let us, so I agreed, telling Tuvia that it was his job to invite people and my job to cook. Well, we're expecting about SEVEN to EIGHT people altogether tonight (including us). So I freaked out and made about five million things to eat. I even found a recipe for parve pumpkin pie, but that went horribly, horribly wrong and I had to chuck it. But here's the menu for dinner tonight. Note: All dairy ingredients were adjusted to protect the innocent (that is, to make them parve).

Challah (it rose too much, browned to quick on the bottom, and looks a little weird; sigh)

Butternut Squash Soup with Bagel Chips

Salad with candied walnuts and pears, with a simple vinaigrette

Streuseled Sweet Potato Casserole (which, by the way, looks amazing)

Green beans

Corn Kugel (now a standby/staple)

Meatballs with Orzo (some with pasta sauce, some without)

Cranberry Upside Down Cake

Mixed Fruit

I think that's everything. I feel like there was more (well, there was the pumpkin pie). This is honestly the first time I've cooked food for anyone in the community. These are people who have cooked for me multiple times, and their food is outstanding. I'm anxious as hell. I was particularly anal because of bishul akum -- that is, Tuvia had to turn on all the burners for me since I'm not halakicly Jewish, I couldn't do the full cooking by myself for other Jews. I wanted to make everything perfect, making sure I didn't treyf anything up. Thus, the kitchen was a mess of things and I washed the parve bowls and cooking stuff probably seven times in the past day out of reuse. Either way, I am praying that it should be a successful meal. If anything, the soup and the casserole will be a big hit. I think they're outstandingly amazing.

Wish me luck!

Rosh Hashanah, I Wish You Were.

Every year, no matter how hard I try, the holidays -- be it Pesach or Rosh Hashanah or something else -- sneak up on me. I start reading and preparing, analyzing the meanings behind fasts and actions and how we daven, far in advance of the holidays. But then, out of nowhere, it is upon us and I'm lost. Lost in the music, the prayers, the people, the noise, the chaos. And this Rosh Hashanah, it wasn't enough that the days were full of all of these things, no, what was added to it was an incident that will probably be one of those "Hey, remember that year where Chavi didn't come to shul and when she did she looked like she'd been knocked out in a boxing match?" kind of memories.

I was staying in a new environment, and despite my best efforts -- bringing my own pillow cases, my own allergen-free pillow, my own pillows and body wash -- somehow I managed to develop a violent allergic reaction to something still unknown to me. It started Saturday morning when I woke up, progressed throughout the day, and culminated around 2 a.m. Sunday morning with a swollen-shut right eye and a left eye on the way there. In the morning, I didn't make it to shul because I'd been up all night wiping my eye and making sure my face didn't swell too much and that -- most importantly -- my throat didn't swell shut. Two people, two amazing friends, even made their way to the apartment to wake me up and check on me (they didn't know the situation). When I finally made it to shul, moments before shofar, I was surrounded by friends dishing medical advice (real doctors!) and handing me antihistamines. The swelling in my eye was down drastically when the service ended a few hours later, and by the evening my eyes were looking better and my skin was bumpy like the peel of an orange and red as can be. Did I mention how itchy it was?

Even today, my face is bumpy, red and blotchy, and I just have to hope that the Prednisone prescribed to me on Monday will really kick it up and make this go away. For someone like me -- with an always-clear complexion -- it's frustrating, disheartening, and depressing. I hate to be vain, but it's more than that. I was embarrassed to be at shul, and later, in class. It's hard to focus when your eyeballs are itchy and your skin is peeling and flaking. It's disgusting and distracting.

I tried so hard to focus on Rosh Hashanah services this weekend. Our chazzan, flown in from Israel for the High Holidays has a voice of honesty, passion, depth. I found myself, despite the state of my face, focusing on his arms as they swung about in song, his shukeling, his devotion to the words, to their meaning. He managed to find a space in his own world to bring his soul toward G-d, and despite all of those people in the sanctuary chattering and reading novels and paying no attention, he was real, he was true. His words were something special. I found that, when my face was itchy and looking horrible, it was easier for me to focus on the chazzan and his words -- more easy, that is, then when I'm normal, healthy, and focusing on the babblers around me.

[As an aside, the dinner I went to Friday night was at the home of some Israeli friends of mine (note: more like family!), and the chazzan was there as well. The chazzan, whose English isn't too stellar, allowed for our hosts and myself to speak a bit of Hebrew, and for Tuvia to nod along joyfully. It was so interesting to be in a household where we bounced back and forth between Hebrew and English, and it was absolutely something special for me because it gave me practice listening, comprehending, and even speaking a bit.]

I did, however, have an interesting conversation with friends about the state of affairs at shul over the High Holidays, and I have to agree with them -- to a point. They were talking about how for some of these people, these twice-a-year Jews, it's a huge step for them to make it to the shul for Rosh Hashanah to hear the shofar (which, in truth, is the major mitzvah of RH anyway). Although they drive me nuts, grate my cheese, and make it all-around more difficult to listen to the chazzan than a swollen melonhead, they're there, and that's something. That they chose to come to an Orthodox shul, where the only sound you'll hear is the purest voice of the chazzan, is also something. There was no production, no lights and choirs and extravagant displays of High Holiday excess. No, it was simple. It was chaos. It was organized, beautiful, chaos. They didn't extend the walls to pack in hundreds of people -- it was men and women smashed into the sanctuary listening to a chazzan with pipes of gold, pipes with a direct connection to the divine. And overall? It was beautiful. It was how I've always pictured the service. Simple, chaotic, perfect.

Interestingly, a friend suggested the following advice: If there are days of the year to skip shul, it's the High Holidays. It gave me a chuckle, but I understand. The pure volume of people there elevated the chattering behind the chazzan's davening. But I keep telling myself -- they were THERE.

I feel as though I was cheated a bit, however. Because of the state of my face. People kept checking up on me, asking if I was okay, making sure I could handle to be in the sanctuary during davening. So? I focused my energies on the shofar, and I was reminded of probably the one thing I miss most about my old Reform shul: the girl who blew the shofar -- she, she had pipes. That long note? She could blast it for minutes. Her skills were incomparable. Unimaginable.

But it's the sound of the shofar that brought everyone to quietude. The rabbi wouldn't let the shofar be blown until the entire crowd was silent. Children came running in from every direction. Women silenced their chattering. Men turned toward the bimah. The rabbi read the sound, the man blew the shofar. And it was beautiful. The sound that I hear in my dreams, that powerful sound above all quietness that connects us all on these days of Awe. Silence and beauty. Silence and loudness. It's that sound of creation, bringing order through noise to the quiet.

So here I am, in the days of Awe, contemplating whether my face will clear up and stop itching in time for me to enjoy Shabbat and Yom Kippur. To really focus on the reason for the season (if I can say that, that is). We have friends, the illustrious @SusQHB and @RavTex coming up for the weekend, and I'm so stoked. I love sharing my community with others, because it's the most amazing community out there. I think this weekend was the most perfect example of the gift I've been given -- people cared enough to check on me, people ran to their respective houses to bring me medicine, people offered up their homes to me to rest in the afternoon, their beds to rest my swollen head, food to comfort me, and jokes and calm things to make me less worried. These people, this community of mine, is a family unlike any other that I've known. Eizeh mishpacha!?


Thus, 5770 came in with an interesting bang. They say that how you spend the days of Rosh Hashanah will define your year -- if you nap on RH, you'll have a sleepy year and the like. I have to hope, with all my heart, that this won't be a year of pain and suffering. I have to hope that rather, it will be a year of friendship, community, family, and connections. A realizing of my dream to be an Orthodox Jew in all halakic senses of the word. So may I be sealed, for all my efforts and passion, in the book of life. And may you all -- my extended family through blogging, Twittering, and many other avenues -- be sealed in the book of life for a healthy, happy, productive, and peaceful 5770!

Reintegration Ain't Easy.

I'm warning you now: There are going to be a lot of Ulpan posts in the coming two weeks. I'll be writing about the catfish/kosher food fiasco, being observant and in a program where I was definitely not the norm, and more. The catfish issue will BLOW your mind. Here's a preview of how I feel:

But now. At long last (sof sof), I have returned to the English-speaking world. On Thursday night, halfway through our end-of-the-program party in the Juice Bar of the campus's "student center," the teachers all climbed on stage, boogied a bit, and did a countdown in Hebrew to announce that we could speak English. All the students (all 38 of us or so) stood there, counting, in anticipation, and the moment that pledge was up, the students were blabbering at light speed, running from person to person screaming "Say something to me in English!" There were some students that hadn't showed up until after the pledge, so we actually had no clue what people sounded like. It was outrageously funny -- a girl with a deep lusty Hebrew accent spoke in English with a heavy New York accent; the guy with the deep gronit (throaty) Hebrew voice had a much higher voice in English; the teachers all had exceedingly heavy Israeli accents.

But after the party, after Evan and I hopped onto the road and headed back to Connecticut, and after I entered the community for Shabbat, it really hit me that there was this divide, this difference, this unfortunate alienation because of my language experience in Vermont. Maybe alienation is too strong of a word. I found myself throughout the weekend exhausted, thinking about how weird it was to be around all these English conversations. At shul people walked up to me and spoke in Hebrew with a heavy American accent, I spoke to a guy who had a nice accent who was fluent, and I spoke to my Israeli friends in Hebrew -- mostly without hesitation, but with that over-arching fear that I was going to screw something up. A day out of bootcamp and I was anxious as hell that I was going to mispronounce a word or use a masculine verb instead of feminine. The anxiety. Oy. I woke up Saturday morning after a delicious REAL kosher meal on Friday night (oh the delicious Italian, thanks hosts!), and said to Evan "maybe coming to the community wasn't such a good idea."

It's sort of like returning to some place you lived for years, only to realize that everything's changed. New people, changes, new things. But it wasn't all that, it was that I wasn't sure how to talk to people. I'm sure the experience would have been the same anywhere. I'm guessing I'll feel like this for a long time. Wanting desperately to speak in Hebrew but not being sure if it's right or acceptable or if anyone will understand me. At the same time, worrying that what I'm saying won't be right. It's a teeter-tottering flux of anxiety.

On Saturday afternoon I crawled into bed. I snuck out of the room, out of the conversation, and crawled into bed to rest. I wanted quiet. I wanted peace. Although I'd been in the middle of nowhere for seven weeks, I'd spent 24 hours a day 7 days a week speaking Hebrew nestled within a group of 38 other people. Every minute and second of my time there was spent doing something, and because the subject was Hebrew, it never felt like I was just hanging out. I was never just being Chavi. I was always working, thinking, studying.

As a result, I felt like I didn't sleep for seven weeks. (Okay, I didn't much. We didn't have air conditioning, it was hot as hades, and the homework and studying kept me constantly going.)

Did I come out on the other end of the program in a better position than I was before? Yes and no. I can write better, I can speak better. I don't feel that I can read better or understand the spoken word any better. Part of the summer left me alienated as an "observant" Jew, and part of the summer left me feeling excited about my classmates and THEIR excitement about Judaism. I managed to discover some interesting perspectives on the Middle East conflict from my classmates from Palestine, too. I learned that images can be horrifying, and that people can be judgmental. I learned that we live in a big world, with a lot of people, and that in the end, we all want the same thing. I also learned that we all don't learn the same.

As I mentioned, I'm beat, still. I've slept a lot the past few days, and I still feel exhausted. My mind has finally stopped running around in Hebrew, and it's part of why I'm so anxious, but at least I'm sleeping.

Right now, I'm just scared that without the immersion, I'm going to lose it all.

But on a much, much happier note: I got to see one of my most AWESOME and most intelligent friends, @kosheracademic and her family in New Haven for some yummy kosher food. It wasn't nearly enough time to talk about the past year of our lives, but it felt like it's only been a few days. Boy do I miss her.

Miles, miles, miles and shiurs out my ears!

Shavuot was, in a word, excellent. In another word? Exhausting. The best way for me to relate the entire experience would probably be a timeline, so here goes. Elaborative posts shall follow!

Thursday

7 p.m. Head to our dinner hosts' house to drop off five challot and a bunch of soda and some juice for the young adults' dinner after services. Then headed to our OTHER host's house (where we sleep) where we dropped our bags, dropped the car, and schlepped off to the shul. Clocked distance: 1 mile. 


8:30 p.m.-11:30 p.m. After a rousing and people-filled service, not to mention a delightful shiur by a 5-year-old boy about the giving of the Torah and the varying tribes (which he named in order), all of the young adults headed next door for our big dinner. There were about 18 people and a few babies and kids in attendance. The dairy meal was outstanding, and left everyone full for the walk to our first shiur-fest location. Thus, around 11 something or other, we all headed off our OTHER host's house (where we sleep) for the first leg of our adventure. Clocked distance: 1 mile. In the rain!


11:30 p.m.-2:15 a.m. There were a ton of people at the first stop, and a truckload (not really) arrived at the house not long after our group arrived. They flooded like a clown car into the playroom adjacent to the living room where all the of the adults were listening to a shiur on a new form of minyans that have been popping up where women are granted similar aliyot as men. I'll be honest: I don't get much out of some of the victimist feminist theories that are out there. I like to think that I'm pretty darn forward thinking, but I love the mechitzah, I love that men and women are granted different "roles" within Judaism. It's not defeatist or realist, it's just that I get how things are. The second shiur was absolutely fascinating, and I'll write a whole other post on it perhaps. Or maybe I'll get the fellow who gave the shiur to write a guest post! It was an interesting look at how the rights of converts truly parallel those of Abraham, the original convert. Just as G-d gave Abraham, so G-d gives to the gerim. I'm not doing it justice, so I'll wait and deliver some more thoughts later. The final shiur was given by the rabbinical intern, who spoke about an Epistle to the Yemeni Jews by Maimonides, which was about how to discern a false prophet. Fascinating stuff! And then? With a bit of exhaustion in my step, we all headed off to the shul for the final portion of the program.

Friday

2:15 a.m.-4:15 a.m. We got soaked heading back to the shul -- the weather was miserable, yet beautiful. The streets were quiet and the street lights glistened in the puddles on our trek. I stepped in a gigantic mud puddle, but managed to laugh it off. We arrived at the shul to a group of loud and rowdy teenagers, the same who were stacked into the playroom earlier (they were a huge group of NCSY kids, about 35-40 of them). I grabbed a hot chocolate, and we regrouped when everyone arrived, settling in the main sanctuary for another interesting shiur. I'll admit that my mind was a little floaty at that point. I remember it being fascinating, about whether a stolen item can be used to complete a proper mitzvah (like eating stolen matzo on Pesach), and I think there was even another shiur after that but I forget. It was hard to stay up, but it was nice to have a group of about 10 other people who were there with me the entire night, laughing and joking, schlepping around the shul in order to keep awake. Clocked distance: 1 mile ... in the rain!

4:15 a.m. Someone announced that we could start davening at 4:20 and everyone got really excited -- we thought we couldn't start services until 4:30. A friend and I ran out into the lobby to check the sheet with all the times but, well, there was no announcing time for the service, so we ran back in and it turned out it was a false announcement! People were slowly arriving for services, and everything had been prepared for the service start. Amen. I was exhausted, my knees hurt, I needed sleep!

4:30-6:00 a.m. The service was a muddle of Hebrew, quick traditions and readings. Everyone was in a horrible hurry to get home to their beds, so there was no singing, much to the dismay of myself and one of the other women there. We tried our hardest, only to be scolded (playfully) by a friend! The entire thing started and finished in one quick action, and it disappointed me. Here we are, in this ultimate, beautiful moment of reliving the revelation at Sinai and it's zipped through as if it were a grocery list for meat loaf and mashed potatoes. I wanted to say, "Stop! Slow down! Read slowly! Feel the words, breathe them!" But alas, I was exhausted, and my energy didn't allow me to protest. So there I was, standing, listening to a speed reading of the 10 Commandments/Decalogue, and I wanted to cry. Even as the words were quickly read, I still felt them, in my own way, and it was beautiful. 

6:00-6:20 a.m. I walked home from shul, alone half of the way and half with a few friends, in the rain. The sky was gray and cloudy, and rain misted in that annoying way where it isn't enough but it's far too much. There were few cars on the street and the birds were in heaven with all the wiggly worms crawling out of the earth. I arrived back at my host's house, having realized halfway during the service that I neglected to secure a way to get back INTO the house upon my morning return. So I arrived, sat on the front stoop, waiting for Tuvia to come out on his way to work or someone to see me sitting there. I sat in silence, watching the birds pick at the ground, the rain falling from the trees, and people driving by on their way to work stuffing breakfast sandwiches in their faces. What an interesting, beautiful world. Clocked distance: 1 mile. 

Around 6:45 a.m., someone happened to walk out of the house, letting me in. The someone had fallen asleep early in the morning while studying, and had just woken up. Lucky me! I went upstairs, said hello to Tuvia who was on his way to work, and fell not so quickly asleep. 

Friday-Saturday

Shabbat was like any other Shabbat. Services (with lots of Shavuot-y goodness), meals, socializing, davening, schlepping. I walked back and forth to shul twice, clocking an additional 4 miles. I ate more than any normal person should ever eat in a two-day span, that's for sure, everything from pizza to cheesecake to blintzes to lasagna to macaroni and cheese. I think every dairy food possible made its way through these lips. The entire weekend was long, filled with people and constant movement from place to place. By Saturday night I was absolutely worn out. I can't imagine what it would be like for Shavuot to fall on a Weds-Thurs followed by Shabbos. It might well be murderous to the social butterfly. Overall ...

I clocked more than 8 miles (my knees weep), 

heard about 6 shiurs + 1 d'var Torah by a 5 year old, 

ate more than 5 meals (not to mention snacks), 

and stayed up until 7 something in the morning one day. 

For my first Shavuot, in full, it was excellent, outstanding, educational, spiritual, and moving. Next year, I'll probably take a schluff on one of the leather couches between 4:30 a.m. and the full 9:30 service on Shavuot so I can get a "real" experience of the full service, not a rushed incarnation of it. But overall? Beautiful. 

Pesach Reflections, Part II

I know this is long, but bear with me. The Pesach Miracle comes toward the end, as well as a question about those of you filling out the poll on your matzo toppings ... keep reading!

With a free day before the Second Seder in West Palm, Tuvia and I decided to trek out to the ocean. After all, my one trip to the Atlantic was amid a horrible rain storm in freezing cold weather, so I was looking forward to a beautiful day dipping  my toes in the ocean and collecting seashells. I'm not a big beach bum kind of person, but the vastness and blue of the ocean mystifies me! So we schlepped out, and I convinced Tuvia to dip his toes in the water. The beach was super crowded with families and the water was a little too chilly in my mind for swimming. The sky was clear and blue, the water matched in brightness, and colorful boats floated in the distance. We headed back in toward Tuvia's aunt's house for the second seder, stopping to change first out.

We arrived, and the night mimicked the previous night in many ways. The seder was very short, with few people carrying on for the second half of the seder (in truth, it was the same three people -- Tuvia, myself, and his cousin). It bummed me out a lot, but what can I do? The meal was good and the conversation was interesting. The crowd was mostly the same, save a few new neighbors and a semi-distant relative and his wife. There was philosophical conversation about what happiness is (oy, not going to even go there) and the evening sort of lulled around the living room as people trickled home. The hugs and warmth that were given to me by Tuvia's family is incomparable to anything I've ever experienced. I felt so welcomed by the family, like a true member of the family. Oh, and the dog? Yes, the dog ate the afikomen -- twice. And Elijah never came! Oy. Next year in Jerusalem!

On Friday morning, we got up and schlepped to Tuvia's grandma's place for one last goodbye and a breakfast of matzo brie and matzo pancakes. I've never had matzo brie before -- I tried to make it once and failed miserably -- and bubbe's was absolutely OUTSTANDING. I have yet to make any here yet, but I fully intend on making some tomorrow before the second chag! We said goodbye to his grandmother, headed to his aunt's for some more goodbyes to the cousins and everyone, and headed off to the airport.

On the way to the airport, my anxiety about the iPod incident continued to boil. I'd called the credit card company the night before (despite the chag) to find out if there was anything they could do -- most credit card companies have purchase protection for about 90 days after the purchase for lost, stolen or damaged items. The woman on the phone was kind to relate her own lost item (the bottom of a car seat, really?) and apologize that nothing could be done. So heading to the airport, my anxiety started to build again. I kept thinking -- maybe someone found it? Maybe someone turned it in? Maybe it will magically be there? After all, we were boarding at the same gate we de-boarded from.

We checked in, went to the gate, and there across from us sitting in the waiting area was a little old couple with a bag of matzo. I was jealous and starving and wishing I had some matzo. But I muffled my hunger, approached the woman at the counter who had been so brash with me just days before, and was informed they still hadn't found anything but that I could file a report with baggage claim. Right. It was gone, that was it.

The plane ride back was a lot more smooth than the ride to Florida. The moment we landed in New Jersey we were to pack up Tuvia's car with gefilte fish, matzo, kugel, Judaica, and more and head immediately to West Hartford for Shabbat. Yes, once again, travelling on the chag. It tore me up inside to do so, and I hope that if we go the same route next year, we won't travel on the chag. (NOTE: TUVIA!)

We arrived back in West Hartford just as Shabbos was beginning. Our host family had waited to have dinner until we arrived and we were so thankful. We were welcomed to a house full of friends, extended family, neighbors and children. The meal was loud and boisterous and the food was delicious. It felt like Shabbat in all ways except the amazing Everything Challah was nowhere in sight! We laughed and talked, related our seder experiences, and afterward everyone retired to the living room and we chatted about family and children and Judaism until the wee hours. Shabbat day was a repeat of the night before, with long and loud conversation among friends and loved ones. People from all over discussing religion and Judaism and Pesach and tradition and the chag and matzo. There was so much, so many people, so much noise! And it was beautiful. There was something also involving a hanging sheet in our sleeping quarters, but that's more fun as an inside joke. If you want to know more, let me know and I'll email you the hilarious details :)

But because of the stress and anxiety and constant noise and people for three days straight, I had Tuvia take me back to campus motzei Shabbos -- but only after a quick trip to the supermarket to shop the motzei Shabbos/seder SALES!!! I got some great deals, let me tell you ...

But the Pesach Miracle? I've been in contact with my credit card company, to no avail. I've filed a report with Continental, to no avail. I'd Tweeted and kvetched and cried about the stupid iTouch I'd lost. My success, my achievements, my physical manifestation of feeling good about my accomplishments. And then, as I'm lamenting how many jerks there are in the world, someone -- an e-friend out there in the ether -- decided to donate to the cause. I didn't ask, or plead, or request. There is merely a soul out there who is fighting the good fight, proving that amid all the jerks there are a few mensches. It was an unexpected gift, and thank yous have been issued but I still feel they are not enough. There is no doubt in my mind that this person will obtain their reward and place in the World to Come. If not, well, more immediately. I hope that someday, when I have the means, that I will be able to perform such giving to ease the minds and hearts of those around me. So all is not lost, fear not, dear readers.

So now, I'm busy eating  matzo and cream cheese and lots of other deliciously dairy things and I think my body is rebelling. I'm hoping to head to the store tomorrow maybe to get some fresh fruits and veggies, but we'll see if that ACTUALLY happens. Otherwise, I'll scavenge for food at the rabbi's for the second chag.

Also: For those of you voting in the poll to the right there -- what is the NOT LISTED that you guys put on your  matzo exactly? I'm super intrigued.  

Shabbos Roundup.

Since I had direct orders from my Shabbos lunch host (mind you it was him, and not her) to not, I repeat NOT blog about my experiences (though, to be honest they were completely tame) at their home, I'll just present my Shabbos in a series of bullet points.

+ Once again at the Rabbi's for dinner, we once again talked about Twitter. Twitting. Tweeting. Blogging. Etc.

+ I didn't convince a doctor to switch to the ways of the Google.

+ I had the most delicious hamantaschen, again.

+ Ordered to leave the rabbi's at 10 p.m., we failed, arriving back at our host's around 11ish.

+ We then stayed up till well after 1 discussing kashruth (which I feel a lot better about now), conversion, community politics, and family life.

+ I think I'm allergic to the laundry detergent.

+ Aufrufs are fun, especially since you get to peg the chatan with lots of tiny little pieces of chocolate.

+ The many, many hats women wear at my shul are beautiful, large, and I think I'll stick to scarves someday.

+ Evidently it's possible to be "drunk with kidney stones" when you're super preggo.

+ Houses in West Hartford are really, really, really expensive.

+ The rabbi, our hosts, and everyone else really, really, really wants us to move to West Hartford.

+ Buying a house built in the 1700s would be fun, and exciting, but impossible.

+ Hearts of Palm are actually really good in salad.

And lastly? I can't live without my weekly in-take of Everything Challah. How will I last over Pesach!?

"So is it Twitting, then?"

"Tell me about Twitter."

When these words came forth from the rabbi's mouth over Shabbat dinner, I was a little, well, shocked. I'm always blown away at how quickly I'm emailed back (considering my rabbi back in Nebraska never emailed me -- I'd have to call to get an answer to my emails days and days later), but I never expected for the rabbi to ask about Twitter. He knows well about Facebook and all those other web 2.0 giants, and I was even more surprised when another one of the Shabbat dinner guests posed the question, "Well, then, what is Tumblr?" (Just so everyone knows, not even I knew what Tumblr was.) I mean, I'm not saying I expect all people around my parents' ages to be completely inept, after all, my mom is on Facebook and MySpace. But I didn't expect the rabbi to ask for an explanation. I found myself stumped, I didn't know how to answer the question, "It's ... microblogging!" I blurted out. Another one of the guests asked in an intense Israeli accent, "What's microblogging?" And I just looked at Tuvia, in a mixture of awe and shock, while the man's wife (the one who asked about Tumblr) explained it to him. The conversation went on for some time, comparing Facebook to Twitter and explaining that it's "Tweeting" and not "Twitting" and that yes, the whole world can read your tweets if you're not set to a private account, but that yes, some people do have private accounts and that, well, yes, maybe that does defeat the purpose ...

And this was only half of the Shabbat dinner conversation.

The other half? Money. I'm always blown away when Shabbat dinners and lunches end up covering every aspect of finance and investment known to man. It seems to me that such conversations would be considered, well, as muktza as handling money on Shabbat (consult your local rabbi!). I'm only half kidding, and I'm sure some rebbe somewhere decided that such conversation was forbidden! So we heathens talked about investing now that stocks with big giants like ING are so low, learning about the market, buying and selling houses, returns on investments, interest rates! You name it. After all, Tuvia is an accountant and when people find out they're in awe, so they seek his depth of wisdom.

But this is only partially accurate. We did take a break -- between Twitter and the drowning market -- to discuss last week's parshah. The rabbi posed a question, Tuvia mentioned that Exodus 32 is my baby, and the rabbi gave his thoughts on the incident and then asked for mine. The rabbi was mostly in line with my thinking, but another fellow at the table took problem with some of my thinking. I mentioned having my two papers accepted to a conference, and at some point the dessert came out and the conversation about Torah and Talmud and all things parshah disappeared with the chomping of the rebbetzin's delicious hamantaschen (brown sugar, nuts AND honey? oh my!).

The other guests left and for the next hour plus Tuvia and I stood around with the rabbi and his wife talking about our plans -- houses, conversions, school, cars, life, our future ... by the time we got back to our host's house, the clock was striking midnight and I, completely alive and invigorated by a truly unique and warm Shabbat dinner, was turning into the obligatory pumpkin. Amid snoring and coughing, I managed to get a bit of sleep before waking up and schlepping off to morning services, where I quickied Shacharit to catch up to the Torah service. It was weird seeing the rabbi and his wife the next day, after such a personal Shabbat evening before at their home. I bid each a hearty "Shabbat Shalom!" and that was that.

I have this problem about being too personal with people sometimes, I think. I worry about comfort levels and how to act with people in different settings -- public versus private. A conversation and relationship in someone's home is not necessarily the same as it is outside that snug and comfy little box with rooms and Judaica and delicious food. You know what I mean?

But in all honesty, it was one of the best Shabbats I've had. Our host family was quite ill, the lot of them, but they were -- as always -- friendlier than anyone I've ever known. The youngest one continued to call Tuvia (whose name is really Evan) "Kevin," which gave me giggles, and cookies were the food of choice for just about all of us. And, of course, Friday night's dinner was definitely memorable and remarkably special, though I can't exactly explain why.

I suppose, in a way, eating dinner by the rabbi sort of sealed some kind of special deal. It was an official in, to the community, that is. Like a knowing glance or a firm handshake. An experience that lets you know that you're safe, you're welcomed, you're liked, and most importantly? You're home.

A Shabbos to Remember, a Lifetime to Go.

If you could paint a picture of your best or most ideal Shabbos, would it look anything like this?

I picked up Tuvia in Ye Olde Jeep on Friday around 4:30, and having an hour until we really needed to be at shul, he took me on a mini-tour of his old stomping ground in West Hartford. We headed to our host's house around 5 p.m. and, with open and warm arms, we were welcomed into their home. We said hi to the little ones who were pre-Shabbos bathing and we ran upstairs to put our things down and make sure all the lights we needed were on. Tuvia was in the library -- a room full of Judaica books, nifty artificats and a gigantic air mattress -- and I was in a room down the hall with possibly the most comfortable guest bed I've ever slept on. We thanked the host again and again, said we'd see her in a few after the service, and headed off to shul in the car. At the shul, we parked the car -- making sure we didn't leave anything in it that we might need, and (armed with umbrellas thanks to the impending storm) headed in for the service.

I don't need to go into the service because, well, as usual it was awesome. The rabbi is doing a series on how to go about asking/getting a non-Jew to do things for you on Shabbos that are necessary (the heat in the sanctuary is too hot, too cold, etc.). It's a pretty fascinating series, which we just started last week after a series of weeks on muktza.

After services, Tuvia and I put up the umbrellas (I know, assur to some, but I refuse to be soaked walking home from shul), and set off for our host's place. The house smelled absolutely divine when we arrived. It was the hosts, a few others, and us for dinner and we dug right in to the meal over casual conversation and stories. It was a pretty tame dinner, and shortly afterward we helped clean up the table, chatted with our host in the kitchen, and then set off to sleep on the third floor. I'd hoped to do some reading first, but man alive I conked out. (Probably because the night before Tuvia and I schlepped 4+ hours round-trip to see FrumSatire get his comedy on in Crown Heights!)

I can't say that I slept super well -- I was up every few minutes thanks to a heater that was touchy and the fact that I was worried about oversleeping. We were set to get up at 8 a.m., get ready, eat some breakfast (challah + jelly and butter? yes! coffee with hazelnut creamer? YES!), and head off to shul -- children and stroller in tow. It was incredibly windy and cold, but the walk was outstanding. There's something nice about schlepping to and fro from shul -- you work off all that food you haven't eaten, and all the food you will eat. The morning service is still a lot for me to pick up on. The rabbi's wife helped me out in what I should daven while the Torah service was going on, and by the time I was done it was time for the service to move on. I followed the rest of the service with ease, and the kiddush was pretty interesting (we ate on a food stamp budget), especially since the crowd, well, pretty much heckled the speakers. Tuvia and I left with a few other guests for the lunch at our host's place and on the way we talked about a lot of things, including the community, observance, and how I converted (a popular topic these days!).

The lunch and rest of Shabbos was just mind-blowing. The meal lasted several hours, there were l'chaims and discussions about Israel, faux meat, veggies, delicious wine and the most amazing everything challah I have and will ever eat, and plenty of time spent playing with the kids (there were FIVE children there, and I am in love with each one of their cute little faces). The crowd dwindled bit by bit, and those of us that were left discussed blogging and Hebrew. I was lucky that the guests at the lunch were so diverse -- lawyers, mothers, Israelis, super Orthodox, sort of Orthodox, you name it. Shabbos slowly dwindled and Tuvia and I packed up our things while the family got ready for their post-Shabbos plans. Havdalah rolled around and we smelled the spices, blessed the wine and the light, and said goodbye to probably the most restful, fulfilling Shabbos I've ever had. To be sure, it was my first real, complete Shabbos (umbrella-use aside).

I can't really describe how thankful I am for the community in West Hartford that has so welcomed us with the most open of arms. I have yet to run into a single person who isn't as eager as ever to have us over for a meal or to offer a bed or an ear or shoulder. People have stories, want to hear stories, and love to tell stories. It's a beautiful community willing to go to any length to fulfill the mitzvot while also acknowledging the great, big world that is out there and in their community. These people? They're my kind of people.

On Thursday, Tuvia and I will be in Chicago at my old shul (SO STOKED), and then after that, we'll be spending most weeks at our host's home, dining at the homes of friends, and meeting with the rabbi every Wednesday together to discuss the steps in our future -- and more specifically, in my future. There are a series of difficult aspects of the timeline for Tuvia and I, and they're making a lot of things really come into focus. Between our relationship, my conversion, graduate school, the geographic constraints of where we both live, and everything else, we're having to think about a lot of things. In reality, our lives are being put into perspective, and the most oft thing heard between us is, "I can't wait until we're married, living in West Hartford, with a kosher home."

I've come a long way from three years ago, don't you think?

A Warm Welcoming

What a wonderful Shabbos! What a wonderful weekend! Optimism abounds as the week begins again, and I'm hoping this high doesn't wear off.

On Friday, Tuvia and I rushed from downtown to West Hartford to make candle lighting at 5 p.m. at a friend's house. We arrived, parked in the kosher grocery store's parking lot, and schlepped to the friend's place. On the way, we ran into a few people -- one who knew me from my blog, another who knew me through friends from school -- and I was reminded of what a very, very small world the Jewish one is. We arrived, set the tables with tablecloths, plates, silverware, challah cutting boards, and more. More people arrived, and in the crunch to light within the 18-minute window, while trying to guide a friend to the house, while trying to set everything up ... we were cutting it close. Finally, the women light the candles, we put on our coats, and headed to shul (very late!). We went to a synagogue that Tuvia and I hadn't been to before, and it was a bit of a schlep in the cold. It was definitely an interesting experience, but not so different for me than at the other orthodox shuls I've been to. The women had a "balcony" and by this I mean that it was merely a few feet raised above the men's section, behind the men's section, portioned off by a short wall and a piece of glass. We davened, we schmoozed, and we went back to the friend's for dinner. It was the first Shabbos dinner I'd been to where I really helped out -- I put rice in bowls, mixed salads, took the kugel out, cleared plates, pre-opened seltzer bottles so Tuvia wouldn't make more messes, and more. It felt so good to be a part of the entire process, to be a member of the household, to really throw myself into the evening. There was singing and joke telling and a few d'var Torah bits. Overall? It was an amazing evening.

The next day, Tuvia and I showed up at the shul we've been going to for morning services. We got there much earlier than most of the crowd. It seems that the service begins, people slowly come in, and by an hour after the service start time, everyone else shows up! I had a rough time trying to figure out where we were in the service, and I've decided that my security-blanket transliterated siddur is hurting me more than helping me. I'd be better to follow the service in Hebrew/English and do the parts I know in Hebrew and the other parts in English rather than to get lost sifting through the transliterations that drive me nuts anyway because of the T(tav)/S issue. The service zipped by, friends came and sat with me, introduced me to others, and afterward there was a kiddush and a talk by the rabbi, where he discussed conversion and how we sort of get to the requirements we use today. It was interesting, but man alive I was exhausted, hungry, and unable to focus my energies to the topic at hand.

At last, we left with our lunch hosts, schlepped over to their place, and had an absolutely delicious Shabbos lunch. I think I consumed the most delicious lasagna I've ever had at their dinner table. There was conversation and discussion about the rabbi's talk, about how Tuvia and I had met, about many a'thing with the hosts and their other guests. Around 3 in the afternoon we all agreed that we all needed naps, and everyone went their separate ways.

Now, Tuvia and I did drive home Friday night, and we drove back to the shul Saturday morning, and we even drove home at 3 something in the afternoon -- but we were there, we were in the community seeing both sides of the Orthodox community there. It was a first step in really diving head-first into everything.

Starting the week after next, Tuvia and I will be staying in W. Hartford with a host family (did I already mention all of this?). These folks have opened their home to us when we need a place to stay, and even more people have opened their homes to us. Of course, the caveat that we're not married means that there are limited options for us to stay with people -- there has to be plenty of space for us to have our own separate sleeping spaces. But the open arms of the community are so uplifting to a couple of young Jews in love like ourselves who are trying to make our way into the community, to really fold ourselves within the dynamic and heart of the place.

After this Shabbat? I'm reassured in my confidence in the kindness of others to welcome others into the fold so readily, without questions, without concern. The love, the warmth, it reminds me that the perceptions of the outside world are not always accurate when it comes to Orthodoxy. The rejection and fear of outsiders is not the standard in my experience -- it's about self preservation a lot of the time.

So shavua tov, and here's to a week of good things! Next week, Tuvia and I will be in the Poconos -- the antithesis of the W. Hartford Orthodox community :)

5769: Yom Kippur Reflections

In my life lately, it appears that everything is interestingly coincidental. It leaves me wondering about bigger things at work. What was it this time? The rabbi's sermon at Yom Kippur morning services echoed my recent post on the statements of the Ger Rabbi. When he started speaking it, I grinned hugely, nudged Evan and felt completely proud. I need to email the rabbi to thank him for inviting us to services, not to mention for being so like-minded on one of the biggest sermons of the year.

This year, for some reason, Yom Kippur resonated more deeply, more thoroughly than all of my short years in the tribe. The fast went more smoothly (up until the point where I attempted to nap and didn't so much and woke up grumpy as all get out) than in all past years combined for some reason -- was it the weather? Being in shul more? Where I was mentally and emotionally? For some reason, the moment I stepped into shul for Kol Nidre after the pre-fast stuff-your-face fest at Hillel, I was prepared. I hadn't felt prepared before, but it just hit me the moment the service started that I was in sync with the day. The melodies and words came to me with ease, which is something I always worry about with those once-a-year celebrations in the Jewish calendar. I am a Shabbos maven because I get a dose nearly every week. But the holidays are a point of frustration for me much of the time. But this year, it was if the rabbi's words were zipping through my mind before they came out of his mouth. It probably sounds incredibly zen-like, but that's not what I'm getting at.

I felt a connection. I felt heard. I was atoning, speaking to G-d, seeing my name in the book of life.

So the low-down: Kol Nidre was at Hillel. Then morning services were at the conservative shul in West Hartford. I finished off afternoon/evening services back at Hillel.

Services in West Hartford were absolutely magnificent. Up until when the organ and choir busted out during the Torah service. Up until then, an elderly cantor (not the usual fellow) was moving the service along in a beautiful stream of prayer. I could have listened to him all day. The rabbi greeted us on our way in (and can I just say I LOVE this rabbi?), and the shul slowly filled up throughout the morning. If there's one thing I've learned though, it's to show up early for the prime seating in a big shul like that. I already mentioned the rabbi's sermon, so I won't go there, but we left right before Yizkor. I'm never sure whether to stick around for Yizkor, but my experience tells me that unless I've lost a parent or child, that it's more for mourners than people like me. I did realize, though, shortly after leaving that my grandfather did die this year and that maybe, just maybe, I should have stuck around. It probably would have made the rest of the day easier on my sleep issue, too. Services back at Hillel went fairly quickly (a mere two hours!), and I spent a bit of time up at the ark speaking quietly with G-d right before it was closed and Yom Kippur tied up. The shofar was blown and my heart sang, my lips curled into a smile, and I suddenly lost my light-headed/head-achy feeling.

The words of the prayerbook seemed to do more for me this year. I read the words and they did more than flip around in my mind for a few minutes. They echoed and swirled about throughout the day and continue to resonate in my heard and mind. The melodies enchant me and the entire idea of placing prayer above all else -- above all earthly and physical needs -- through fasting brings me to a beautiful place.

Essentially, I feel like I'm starting the new year with weights off my shoulders, my soul feeling light and as bright as the sun in the day and the moon at night. I know that my blog posts of late have been confused and frustrated, and I still am in that state of mind -- it's part of the Underconstructionist philosophy, you know. But I feel like G-d will be with me no matter how I walk the path, as long as I am walking forward and not backward.

And now? We prepare for Sukkot ! There will be THREE or FOUR sukkahs on campus, so I'm pretty stoked. Mostly because there will be one out here in the graduate quad for my using pleasure. The interesting thing? I've never observed Sukkot in any way shape or form before. I've always wanted to construct a sukkah, and when I was living in DC and saw sukkahs in people's front yards I was so jealous.

Until then, I wish upon you all the connectedness I feel with my Judaism and that you all continue on a forward-moving path.