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

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

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

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

But I digress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Quit My Job, and I Feel Great

Those of you who have been following this blog for the past 11 years of its existence know that I've gone through a bajillion life changes, and they often happen in quick spurts of anxiety and chaos all at once.

Well, welcome to another installment of "What did Chaviva do now?" I keep wavering between "This is going to be awesome" and "This is going to make me vomit." It's an epic place to be.

I'm happy to say that every job I've ever left, with the exception of two, I've left on my own free will and at my own time. The two jobs that this didn't happen with were soft "letting go" situations and both happened after I moved to Israel and the two Denver companies I was working for decided they needed people closer to home to make things work (thanks Marissa Meyer). Every other job I've ever had I left. I quit. I walked away Most of the time, I leave a job because I grow impatient or bored.

This time? I left a job because I was stressed, depressed, and felt terribly devalued. No job is worth those feelings.

So what now? Well, I've got three part-time gigs I'm juggling, and thanks to a close friend who lit a fire under me, I'm going to start developing my own company. And this time, for one in my life, I'm going to start charging what I'm worth. I have this problem where I just want to make brands amazing, so I'll take whatever they pay me to get the chance to make them awesome. No more, folks. I'm a pro, I've been doing this for a very long time, and I'm really, really good at what I do. If I continue to devalue myself, my clients will, too. If I say it's $100 or $150/hour, you better bet I'm going to work my tuches off during that hour and you're going to shine because of it.

Onward. Upward. It's time for me to take the reins of my destiny instead of someone else's. I'm ready to get back to where I was all those years ago where Chaviva was the brand, where my expertise was sought after, where I was the pro on panels. That's the person I am.

Stay tuned for a website geared toward my marketing prowess, a new logo and name, and more. Exciting times ahead, folks!

Doing All the Things and More

Asher's upsherin was a success! He's a super handsome kid with short hair.

Ah where to begin. Here are some random things that I'm dealing with/coping with/going through.

• At present, I'm working one FT job and three PT jobs/projects. How do I have time for all the things? I don't. Will there be a breaking point? Probably. Do I need all the jobs? Yes. Life is expensive. Kids are expensive. My health insurance can't be beat. Am I tired? Very. Do I need a break? Yes. Do I need a vacation? Yes. And it needs to involve me not having my phone with me. 
• I discovered the only thing wrong with Colorado when I was in California for a few days for work. That thing is elevation's effect on my mommy responsibilities. You see, I manage to pump a lot more milk at lower elevations than here. We're talking triple the amount. I'm deeply annoyed by this fact and don't know how much more liquid I can possibly consume. 
• Both of my kids are uniquely spirited. I'm baffled and amazed and blown away every day at how loving, kind, and nurturing they are. Was I like that at a child? I don't know. I don't think so. But if my son says, "Mommy, you's a beautiful lady" one more time my heart will explode with Asher-shaped confetti. 
• I like working in an office with people, especially super intelligent and passionate people. But I also find it incredibly exhausting to be surrounded by people all day, which is funny, because I prefer to work from coffee shops. 
• The smell of bacon has been really, really appealing to me lately. I don't know why. I always hated bacon as a child. Thus, tonight we're making (tofu) BLTs for dinner. 
• My greatest struggle these days as a Jew is keeping kosher. Not the actual act of it, but the attraction of fast food and the food of my childhood. I think it has to do with stress, because I'm a serious stress eater. When I'm stressed, I want to eat, a lot, and the more comforting the better. So I drive past places like Chick-Fil-A and McDonalds and Taco Bell and think about all the food I used to gorge on back in the day. Most of it I couldn't eat now anyway on account of me being gluten free, but the stuff I could eat, I could. Driving past those places every day gives my heart an ache and my "what if" brain a serious think. I think it's also really hard living in a place where you really aren't jazzed with the kosher options (all two of them, unless you're counting ice cream, in which case there's like five). 
• I've been binge watching the show Justified. It's changed my language back to the language of my people (my people hailing from France and then Virginia and then Tennessee and then Missouri). 

Oh life. What's new with you? 

I Fell Into a Black Hole, And?

Sweet holy Moses where have I been? It's like I'm stuck in a wormhole ... make that a workhole! Yes, the past month has had me travel to California twice (once for a week, boy oh boy did I miss my boys), leading up to the hugely awesome launch of the world's first intelligent tea infusion machine: Teforia!

Now? Well, now I'm just riding the wave and trying not to have my head explode in the process. I've neglected the blog hardcore, which has me feeling both guilty and upset. There's a lot going on that is worthy of talking about, but unfortunately I don't have the koach (strength, energy) for that at the moment.

What I will say is that I'm knee deep in reading The Secret of Chabad by David Eliezrie, and I'm absolutely loving it. It's got some fascinating tidbits about Chabad that I hadn't learned about in the other books I've written, with a really intense look at the Russian efforts of the movement.

I attempted to crochet a cozy for my mason jar tea infuser, and I failed, so I bought one on Etsy instead. I just wasn't cut out for this kind of stuff. I clearly missed the gene, because my mother is an amazing crocheter of all things.

I've got some goodies from Pereg Gourmet to giveaway. It's going to be a Chanukah giveaway, of course, because who wouldn't want some free food for the next Jewish holiday in the lineup, right? The best part, it's all gluten free, too!

What else what else? Asher is becoming quite the little man, Mr. T is finding his place as a Mr. Do It All here in Denver, and ... yeah, that's that.

What's new with you?

A Giveaway: The Tea Book

As you may or may not know, my most recent work adventures have taken me into the impressively fascinating world of loose leaf tea. Now, I'm not talking Doctor Who blends or Cotton Candy blends, but pure, authentic loose leaf tea from the world's most natural sources in historic growing regions like Taiwan. The great thing about tea, too, is that all unflavored teas are naturally kosher!

Thanks to my (amazing, wonderful, I seriously can't tell you how happy I am here) job, I've had the chance to taste a lot of tea I never would have before and my tea porn collection continues to grow, especially in the form of books. As a self-proclaimed bibliophile (I have a huge list of every book I've ever had to sell or get rid of in moves so I can repurchase them all someday), when I can rationalize a purchase because it makes sense for work, I'm a happy clam.

But the book I'm talking about today -- The Tea Book by Linda Gaylard -- is one that my awesome boss sent me. But I am so in love with it that I bought another copy to actually give away here. Why?

The tea industry in the U.S. is growing at an insane rate: $1.8 billion in 1990, $10.84 billion in 2014, and predicted to more than quadruple by 2020. But most of the tea consumed in the U.S. is black tea and it's iced. The funny thing about this is that traditionally, Americans were heavy green tea drinkers up until World War II. Then things changed and as the iced tea industry grew, American tea tastes continued to fall in that category.

Luckily, with books like The Tea Book, pure, unflavored teas are getting the attention they deserve. With five categories of leaves from the camellia sinuses plant -- black, white, oolong, yellow, green, and pu-erh -- there is an abundance of opportunities to experience tea (without sprinkles, fruit, and herbs if you don't mind me).

The great thing about this book, though, is that it takes you from the past to the present, around the world, into the teahouses, tea cultures, and tea farms so you, the reader, can really start to understand what tea is, why it's the second-most consumed beverage in the world after only water, and how it has evolved into an industry of blends, herbal teas (tisanes), and more.

Now, if you know me well enough, you know that I am, and have always been, first and foremost, a coffee drinker. The truth is that my love of coffee is still potent, but my love of tea is taking over (it's all thanks to a 2007 Aged Oolong, believe it or not). So both as an individual and as a representative of what I foresee being the most revolutionary tea company this side of the industrial revolution, I'm stoked to give away The Tea Book. 

Whether you drink tea or not, this book will blow you away. The visuals are stunning (it's a DK Book, which you might know from their amazing educational books and children's books), the history is quirky and fascinating, and it's just a beautiful conversation piece.

Ready? Enter to win by 08/20!

I'm 31 Today

Yea, verily, today I am 31 years old. I have been on this earth for 31 intensely perplexing, often stressful and emotionally exhausting, years.

I started my birthday with a 9-month-old pretending I was some mighty mountain to be conquered while spouting "Bahhhh" sounds and a notification that my bank account was overdrawn.

Then I got dressed in my birthday outfit (thanks inlaws!) and took off to Comcast (aka Xfinity), where I've been now three times over the past several days because some stranger managed to cancel our cable and internet over Rosh HaShanah. "We really don't know what happened," they continue to tell me.

And then? Then I went into my former place of employment and picked up my things and stuff and said "see ya!" That was both awkward, super awkward, and depressing.

Now we're trying to plan for -- G-d forbid -- the worst as Mr. T's grandmother appears to not be doing very well back in the UK, which means a nightmare of immigration problems as we are still, still, still waiting for his green card, travel documents, and work permit to come through. If we leave the country without getting approval, then the paperwork is canceled and we start again from scratch. Yay!

But hey. There's an ice cream cake in my future, a gift card to Old Navy to be spent, and, who knows, maybe I'll land an amazing job in the next few days or so. Unfortunately KISSmetrics was a bust (killed me, it was the perfect job).

Do I sound kvetchy? I am. Maybe Aimee Mann said it best in "31 Today." Minus the Guiness, of course.

"I thought my life would be different somehow."

Becoming Superwoman and Finding My Passion

Asher enjoys Garden of the Gods (and his chicken).

As I balanced Asher on one arm and rested his bottom on the counter while he breastfed, I carefully took the plate with the baked potato out of the microwave. Mr. T was sick, I was working from home and juggling an exhausted, teething 5-month-old, incoming messages and broken websites, and an ailing spouse. I am superwoman. Hear me sigh, yawn, and move along.

Motherhood isn't what I expected. Then again, what did I expect?

Another Shabbat has come and gone and I literally said "Baruch ha'Mavdil," made sure Ash was sleeping soundly, and checked on my computer's backup while running a bath. Mr. T is at shul still, and those precious 10 minutes I just spent soaked in bath-bombed sudsy bliss are about the most relaxing moments I'll experience all week. Just me, bath water, and silence.

I'm in the middle of reading Biz Stone's bio and take on life creating and launching Twitter, one of my most favorite social networking platforms on the planet. An early adopter, I joined the network in 2008. I've been Tweeting for 6.5 years and joined before 99.9% of other current Twitter users. Oddly enough, that was almost four years after I joined Facebook, where I also was an early adopter. The thing about Biz Stone's book is that he and I are complete opposites in many ways, but the way he talks about passion, emotion, and drive for what you do pulls at my heartstrings as it has during every incarnation of the "what am I doing with my life?" internal dialogue I've experienced.

As I balance motherhood, a career, and the desire to do what I'm truly passionate about, I'm really battling internally.

In a perfect world, I've always said I'd be a writer. I've been running Just Call Me Chaviva since April 2006, and before that I spent roughly 8 years on LiveJournal. My story, the narrative that runs through my head on a daily basis, is what I've wanted to write for ages, the joke being that as soon as the book advance shows up I'll be able to put everything else on hold, move into the mountains, and devote myself to composing the work and growing all of my own food (Mr. T's on board, believe me).

I love the work I do, but I've discovered that in just about every job I work I'm taking on more and more of the other stuff that isn't what I'm either good at or passionate about.

Biz Stone talks about how he and Evan (a Nebraskan, mind you) were working on a podcasting startup when they suddenly realized that neither of them (nor anyone on their team) really cared about podcasting. They didn't listen to podcasts. It wasn't their jam. So they found a way to restart and refocus on something they were passionate about. For Biz, that was the social web.

Since I started LiveJournaling back in 1997 or 1998, my focus has always been on storytelling, on reaching out to the universe in the hopes that it would reach back to me. It's where my passion and focus in Judaism come from, the idea that I can reach out to some higher power and a network of Jews around the world -- past and present mind you -- and find some type of answer, commiseration, understanding, acceptance.

From the moment I began writing -- really writing -- I found my way through journaling (technically my first diary dates to a Precious Moments journal circa 1992), Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Flickr, YouTube, and so on. If the platform allows for narrative and storytelling, I'm there. It's my passion.

And that goes for clients, too. The power of personal storytelling is something that I've transitioned into working for brands, and that ... THAT is my passion. Using the social web to create dialogue and build a narrative. To create a story that is meaningful to the consumer and brand-altering for the client. It isn't about making money, it's about building connections, empowering your advocates and evangelists, to create an ecosystem that is larger than your own office and internal structures.

I just have to figure out how to make that what I do every day. To dig through the weeds of the "extra" stuff and focus on my passion.

Maybe someday I'll write a book. But it seems like right now isn't that time. The universe hasn't seen fit to throw some money at my feet to get started, so for now I'll stick to what I'm good at on the small scale. Humans are storytellers. It's always been our jam. It's what we do. It's how we convey emotion, understanding, innovation. It seems so simple, but it's so overlooked.

The only thing I have to do now is to remember to stop and give myself a chance to keep storytelling here on the blog. It's been weeks since I last posted. I opened Blogger so many times to sit and write. To share what's going on. To detail a typical Sunday with an English husband playing for the all-Jewish softball league, drinking tea and wearing a flat cap, listening to the umpire say, "You're going to have to be closer to the base than that." To express the pain of a changed body shape, a child who seems to scream no matter how much homeopathic Orajel and Tylenol we give him, whose gas could easily take down an army, but who is still the most beautiful, amazing, precious gift I could ever have asked for. To explain how strange it is to be back in a place where the community grew and changed without me and how I'm coping with being better accepted and invited out now that I'm married and have a child.

I'm still finding my rhythm. I'm still fleshing out what being superwoman really means. I'm still trying to figure out who I am, where I'm going, and what HaShem's plan for me is.

Planning: What Happens Now?

We all know the saying: Man plans, G-d laughs. 

Several weeks back, I listened to a podcast -- a repeat from years prior -- on Plan B, that thing we have when life doesn't go the way we want the first time around (our Plan A). As I listened and considered my current situation, I began to think about my own plans and how many of them I've had.

My first plan, when I was a child was to be an artist. My entire childhood I longed to be involved in the arts, and my parents put me through art lessons, I entered art competitions, and I saw myself attending the Kansas City Art Institute. When I was in middle school, that all came to a crashing halt as I realized that my friend Kim was much more talented than I could ever be. Suddenly, it was all about writing and photography. The latter dream died when I was in high school and shadowed a photo journalist for a day and decided that it was the last thing on the planet I was willing to do.

After that, I decided poetry was where it was at and pursued that effort for the rest of high school and into my first semester of college with a degree in English. After a visit to the dentist and seeing an English degree on my dentist's wall, I realized that maybe it wasn't the most useful degree on the planet and quickly switched to journalism with an emphasis on copy editing.

As it turned out, copy editing was my true Plan A. I dreamed of working my way up and through internships and jobs to a post at The New York Times. I worked at the Daily Nebraskan for four years, landed a prestigious Dow Jones Internship at The Denver Post, was picked up by The Washington Post for an internship that turned into a job, and I was ready to stick to it. But unhappiness drowned Plan A.

Plan B didn't come about for quite some time. I moved to Chicago and worked for a Nobel Prize winner as his "Devil Wears Prada"-style assistant before applying to graduate school in Judaic studies. It was at that time that I realized Plan B was to teach. After a graduate degree from the University of Connecticut and starting up at New York University, I suddenly became aware that this Plan B wasn't exactly going to work out -- my Hebrew wasn't quite up to snuff and social media in Jewish schools wasn't something anyone had in mind.

And then?

While in graduate school I realized the power of my social media prowess and decided, well, maybe this will work out as Plan C? In Denver I put it to the test and landed three different jobs doing social media, building my skills and talents, and I was pretty set that this is where I belonged. After aliyah I kept those jobs and forged forth learning, doing, being.

Now? I'm at a crossroads where my superficial childhood plans and the various plans of adulthood seem to be saying "nope, this isn't it," and wondering what I am supposed to be doing. Writing? Back to editing?

I spend my days searching for work and mulling about on Social Media, trying to stay fresh, but I can't help but feel that I'm losing my edge, that my talent isn't exactly a talent so much as a skill I acquired that anyone could acquire. I've always said that it isn't that I know how to do all of these things perfectly but rather that I'm resourceful and willing, eager and able. I know where to look to find the answers to any problem, I know how to troubleshoot anything with a quick Google search.

Some people take comfort in the search for the next job opportunity or the next experience, but I find myself bored and frustrated. This blog hasn't seen much out of me recently because the truth is I'm best at blogging and working when I'm busy, when I have a million things going on at once. When there isn't much going on, the day just floats by and productivity slacks.

I'm trying to figure out what HaShem has in store for me exactly. Is the lull a nudge to look inward? Is it a push to reexamine my strengths and talents and figure out who I'm menat to be? Is it a forced vacation after 11 years of work, work, work?

Perhaps, then, I should be thankful instead of angry, happy instead of forlorn. What do you think?

Life Ch-ch-ch-changes

This is the view from the apartment we didn't take. 

I can't believe how long it's been since I last sat down and wrote a blog. I've gotten really spaced out in my blogging (in more ways than one), and for that I apologize immensely -- to you and to myself. I guess I've just been spending a lot of time trying to figure out life, what with a lost job, ulpan (intensive Hebrew learning) starting, and figuring out the logistics of marriage and starting life anew. 

So I've been applying to dozens of jobs every day, hoping to land something even part-time in the copywriting, editing, social media, SEO, or blogging world without much luck. I still have my part-time gig with Taste Guru back in the U.S., which is going really great (watching the Facebook likes and Twitter followers rise every day is the best treat in the world for me), but it doesn't pay all the bills I need it to, unfortunately. I'm happy that Mr. T has gainful employment and that he supports me in whatever I do (honestly, too), but after being financially arrested during my marriage, I found my way on my own with employment, paying off credit card debt incurred during my divorce and move, and living independently, so not having that comfort now with my lost job with CAJE has my stomach in knots. It's a weird feeling. 

Thus I've started Ulpan Etzion and have finished about a week in the program, although the first few days were lots of ice breakers and administrative things that didn't put us in the classroom. Right now there are roughly four levels below where I am, and several above. Essentially, I'm smack dab in the middle of the more than 200 students in this "class" of Ulpan Etzion. We're the 127th group to go through Israel's oldest ulpan, which is a pretty amazing feeling to be part of such an amazing and historic group of people. I'm in Kitah Bet Echad (כיתה ב-1), but I'm already feeling like I possibly should be one level up because the verb review and grammar are like air -- easy as breathing for me. I also think that being surrounded by people who are also stumbling in their various ways has allowed me to actually start using my Hebrew verbally, which is nice. I find myself talking to Mr. T a lot in Heebrish, but I still struggle when I'm in a store or restaurant. It's like I know they know that I'm Anglo and that chances are good I'm going to say something absolutely silly. 

But the truth is that I'm loving ulpan. I might not be learning much right now, and I might hate the textbook we're probably going to be using (I used the textbook in my first year of Hebrew at the University of Connecticut and actually finished the book, so …), but being in an environment where there are people devoted to learning the language and where most are taking it fairly seriously is a truly unique experience. It doesn't compare AT ALL to my experience at the Middlebury College ulpan, which took me from aleph-bet to where I am now, because there people spoke Hebrew in class, out of class, at the coffee shop, and in the car. It was everywhere, and that's what made it stick. In Israel, Hebrew is everywhere, but so is English. From the first month I was here until now, I use Hebrew a lot less. I'll be honest -- Israel makes it too easy to keep English as your 24/7 language. 

In other news, Mr. T and I are moving! Well, we've shaken on it so far, but we're moving to Neve Daniel so that I can join Har Ha'Bloggerim! We found a nice two bedroom, two bathroom apartment there with a beautiful mirpeset (balcony/patio) that has a small living/dining space that we're happy with. Mr. T has the most amazing outlook on life, and that is that we try something out, see if we like it, and if we don't, we figure something else out. He's easy going, confident, and patient. The funny thing is, I'll be able to get to Ulpan Etzion more quickly from Neve Daniel than from where I live in Jerusalem … and yes, I know I'll now be living "over there" across the green line. Am I worried? No. I've spent plenty of time in the Gush, and it's the most beautiful place on earth, if you must know. In some places, you feel peace, serenity, and you know that HaShem is there. That's how the Gush is for me. 

What else? I'm getting married in less than a month. Wow. Also? I might be going to England for Pesach, which is amazingly awesomely cool because I've never been to only two countries in my lifetime so far -- Israel and the U.S. 

Life is nuts. I feel like I have so many Israel-based reflections to make on the people, the food, the aura, everything, but the moment I think of it, *poof* it's gone. So what do you want to know? Hop over to Ask Chaviva Anything! and fill out the form. Seriously, give me a reason to think!

One Coach Seat

And this is how I started my day. Glowing. Elated. In the world of Tyra Banks, I've got my smize on. Why so happy?


GAH! McKayla! Get off my back! Yes, my flight to Israel to become an Israeli and to fulfill the mitzvah of possessing the land of Israel is booked! I cannot explain how I feel about all of this, how smooth and quick it's moved. As my boss said, sometimes HaShem clears the leaves from the ground and the path is clear and you have no choice but to follow it. Life. Is. Happening! And soon!

When I got the email from Nefesh b'Nefesh, I rolled around in bed giggling to myself as I said Modah Ani, then crawled out of bed and took on the day, starting at the Farmers Market. If you want to start a day off right, start it at the market surrounded by fresh, local produce. It will put a bounce in your step and hope in your stomach.

And then I went to work, where I realized that there are way too many cups on my desk and the place is just a mess this week.

And, of course, I once again stayed late enough that the cleaning guy came in to empty the trash, at which point I realized I really should go home. But about an hour and a half before I went home, I made this video!


And then, my poor car, I took it home.

And now? I'm ready for Shabbos. Just a few days to go ...

The Working Woman: Console Me, Please

Every night this week, I've done that thing you see in movies and on TV shows that tell the tale of the hardworking career woman.

I come home after 9 p.m. after a 12-hour workday, put my keys on the hook by the door, unload my bags on the table, kick off my shoes, start to take my earrings and watch off, get rid of my "work" clothes -- black pencil skirt and nice top -- trading them in for comfy lounge pants and my Boulder Startup Week T-shirt. I look at my living room, look at the kitchen, realize that my entire apartment is in need of a huge scrub-down, stare blankly into my fridge and pick a random something that's been in the fridge too long to warm up, plop on the couch, pray that Hulu has something mind-numbing in my queue to watch, find out otherwise, start working -- again -- and consider how I'd kill to have a husband or kids to serve as an excuse to step away from work more often than I do.

The nonprofit world isn't gentle on a working girl these days. I've been complaining -- a lot -- this week on Social Media about the mind-explosion-inducing level of work I've been enduring. I love my job, and I love my coworkers. It's the kind of work where I know I take on and commit to more than I can possibly accomplish in the 30 hours a week I'm paid for. The work amounts to more like 70 hours a week, putting me on my computer and throwing together some newsletter or graphic or social update or website fix or email list or ... something ... from the moment I wake up until quite literally the moment I close my computer and go into my bedroom (although I always check to make sure something didn't come up at, you know, the ridiculous hour that I happen to crawl into bed).

This week, my comfort-before-bed was in the book In Black and White by Dov Haller -- an Artscroll tome. I know, I know. Chaviva's dipping her toe in the Rabbi Artscroll pool. But the water is good, and I really, really enjoyed this book (mad props to Mrs. Z for letting me borrow it all those weeks ago). But it was the kind of reading that put my mind at ease and gave me some food for thought and Yiddish to nosh on while dozing off. (Word of the week: Abishter -- the Yiddish word for HaShem.)

And yet, I feel exhausted from too many nights of bad sleep, not making it to the gym at all this week as a result (I was set to go today between work and the work event tonight, but, well, I ended up working) didn't help either. I. am. beat.

So this Shabbat is Shabbat Nachuma. Baruch HaShem! In a nutshell:

Shabbat Nachamu means "Sabbath of Consolation." Shabbat Nachamu is the first of seven haftarot starting with the Shabbat after Tisha B'Av and leading up to Rosh Hashanah. These readings are meant to console us after the destruction of the Temple and reassure us that it will be built again. As with Shabbat Hazon, the cycle of Torah readings is structured in such a way that these readings will occur on the appropriate weeks.

I look forward to being consoled, to knowing that yes, the Temple will be rebuilt. After weeks like this, where I feel worked to the bone at a Jewish educational nonprofit, where every moment I spend working plays a role in tikkun olam and filling Jewish souls with the nurturing of knowledge, I have to believe that Mashiach is not far off. And -- puhlease HaShem -- rebuild the Temple soon, in this lifetime.

And, you know, a nice relaxing Shabbos would be nice, too. Please HaShem?

New Work, New Food!

This was Taylor's farewell meal. He's off to Carmel, CA, for a week.
If you're curious, it's an African Peanut Stew with Pineapple and Kale.
I hope to post the recipe ... if y'all are interested!

What a week, folks! What a week ... and I've been mute for the whole of it. I was driving home yesterday from a meeting and realized that I hadn't written a single thing on the blog this week and began to wonder -- have I reached the ceiling? Am I done blogging? Then I thought, well, with some new changes, my schedule is becoming more regimented and I should have more time for things like blogging because, thanks to this blog, I've achieved great things and I want to continue on that road of blogomania.

So, first off I want to announce some news on the work front. After living in Denver for four months, and doing consulting work for three of those months, I'm happy to say that I'm now a full-time employee at the Colorado Agency for Jewish Education as a the Social Media and Website Manager. This means I get to do oodles of fun things like run amok on the website, come up with cool socially innovative projects, and more. It's seriously a dream job. I work in Jewish Education and Social Media -- for me, this is the best of both worlds. Also, I'm working as a part-time intern for Blogmutt, a startup based in Boulder, as their social media go-to. It's been oodles of fun, and I get to be just as creative and innovative as a girl could dream of being.

So much snow in Denver!

Basically, I'm on Cloud Nine as far as work goes! Patience is all it took for things to land on their feet.

Speaking of my work at CAJE, there was a most excellent d'var on Beshalah given at our weekly meeting that discussed the significance and importance of the items that the Israelites took out of Egypt -- the timbrels, matzo, and Joseph's bones. The discussion involved a question: If you had to pick up and leave, what one item would you take with you? After all, when it came time to take Joseph's bones out of Egypt, Moses searched and persisted for Joseph's bones. So, if you had to search and persist for a single item, what would it be?

At first, I thought, Nothing! There is Nothing! And then I realized, there is something. One thing, in fact. This thing is a photo of my Grandpa and Grandma Edwards standing with my father and uncle, a few years before my grandmother died. (I've written before about them. My grandmother and grandfather both died before my dad was 12 years old.) It's one of the only things that attaches me to a past and to people I never knew.

For what would you search high and far?

On that note, I want to wish you all a Shabbat Shalom from snowy, snowy Denver. Here, I offer you an image of my new attempt at gluten-free, vegan challah! I promise to let you know how it tastes.

New Year, New Gig, New Dilbert!

I started a new job today, and it's going to be awesomely intense. I can't say much about it exactly, other than that I'm a Social Media "Intern," and my work is massively cut out for me (and I am crazy stoked). And now? I give you Dilbert.

:)

Life is AWESOME!

Let's deconstruct this e-mail.

Date: Wed, 23 Apr 2008 09:31:25
Subject: Happy Administrative Assistants Day

Please enjoy some pecan nut roll and cake in the Workroom. Don’t forget lunch will be held in Walker 302 at noon.

For starters, I never thought I'd be an administrative assistant (read: secretary) for more than a few months. Here I am, a whole year and a few days later, still doing it. Thank G-d I'm going back to school. Secondly, the nut roll and cake? Happy Pesach! Not to mention the lunch meal that I won't be able to eat. Awesome! It's convenient, as well, that this whole shebang was planned for when the other Jew in the department is out for Pesach with her kids. Coincidence? I think not (you see, she keeps fully kosher, and I think some might find that irritating when it comes to ordering food for staff lunches).

Luckily my dinner last night was SO AWESOME I can't wait to eat it again today.

On the Way into Work.

I'd like to think that my morning was my "Big Fat Jewish Morning."

I got on the train and after being thrown around by this woman with too many bags with too many things protruding from them. At about the third stop a man gets on, full beard and had, and my initial instinct was that he was probably Orthodox or the like. I notice a few stops later that he's reading a little maroon book that says "RASHI" on the cover with some Hebrew. I really wanted to strike up a conversation, but I didn't really know what to say to him. I didn't want to sound like a moron -- "Oooh! I love Rashi, too!" Obviously he is a learned man, reading Rashi on the El. So I sort of tried to figure out what he was reading and kept looking over his shoulder. I'm sure he caught me staring, but it was the ONE morning I wish I had had one of my many Jewish texts with me that I'm in the middle of. Instead, I had a book of NYT crossword puzzles, inspired by the movie "Wordplay." What he had, as I have searched tirelessly to discover, is the Sapirstein Edition of the Torah with Rashi's commentary (in the softcover, though). So guess what Chavi wants and is now going to try to locate? You betcha. I never did talk to the guy, despite sitting next to him later on the bus. I did, however, pull up this week's portion on my BlackBerry and as I sat there reading it, thought: It's like two very different generations of Jews right here on this bus on the south side. One with a long beard, black hat, and a paperback copy of the Rashi commentary and a brieface, and a girl with a short, spiky cut wearing a T-shirt, jeans and chucks and reading Torah online.

Then I got to campus and no kidding it seemed like every third person I walked past had on kippot and tzitzit.

I tried to take it as a sign that I needed to find my zen moment as I approached work. The bliss of being surrounded by Jews and Judaism quickly turned though and I now feel sick to my stomach.

The horror of this job never ends. I feel like I should write a tell-all article and submit it to some major publication to express how horrible the person I work for truly is -- that it isn't just a rumor. But I know how horrible that would be of me. Believe me, I'll pray for the person who has to take over this job.

Work, Stress, Exhaustion, and Shul.

Note: This is a long post, but it's meaningful. To me, anyway. I hope you read the whole thing. And if you don't? Well, you've saved yourself a slice from my life.

Yesterday -- that's Friday for those of you keeping score but not a calendar -- will go down in history as the Worst Day Ever in my Career as a Minion to Some Guy Who Thinks He's More Important Than Everyone Else. I've complained about my job in the past, but at this point I'll say I've hit my threshold. I've never in my life been thrown under the bus (I'd never used that expression before this job) or walked all over like a ratty Thrift Store rug this many times. I've never been treated so poorly, nay, treated like a complete waste of space, before in my life. I have also never met a human being in my life as ungrateful as the person that I work for. Every detail of my job basically comes down to kissing ass, bowing down, and doing it all without breaking into tears and/or telling said boss how I REALLY feel or what I REALLY think he should do with that thing HE misplaced, not me.

So I left work early yesterday, around 3 p.m. I went straight home, and when I got there, I checked my e-mail, paced around the room, and at 5:15, took an Ambien CR and called it a day. My doctor prescribed them for me months ago, but after taking them two or three times, I realized that the CR (controlled release) was a myth and that I was left feeling like complete crap for a full 24 hours AFTER waking up. But for days like yesterday, when you want to go into a coma and sleep at least 12-15 hours, it's perfect. It'll zonk you out enough so that when you do wake up every hour or so, you feel so horrible you have to close your eyes and force yourself back to sleep.

I know this isn't a healthy philosophy on life or sleep or a job. And I get that. I really do. I never expected to be working as someone's administrative assistant for as long as I have been, not me, not the girl with a bachelor's in journalism who spent some time at two of the nation's biggest newspapers. Life doesn't always fit the magical plan though and I blew it by not heading to Michigan and declining acceptance last year. But I'm in the process of righting that wrong. It's all the bullshit I have to put with to right that wrong that is slowly killing me.

People ooo'd and ahh'd at Heath Ledger when he died. Sleeping pills, they said. He couldn't sleep. He was strung out. He was tired, he was exhausted. He had too much on his plate. He once took two Ambiens and woke up an hour later. And I get it. I get how that feels. Where every little thing you do just feels like this gigantic weight placed on your head, like you're balancing it all and at any minute it's going to all crash to the ground and you'll have nothing but a pile of broken stuff at your feet. And you cry. And then you hit the wall, take some pills, and hope for the best. You hope to sleep. For once, to really sleep. To really feel like you've slept. Not the nights where you wake up constantly or are semi-conscious the entire time.

I now GET why my dad is so worn out. I get why that glitzy star was worn out.

I'm too young to really allow myself the pain of sleep deprivation. I'm too young to allow myself to be so stressed out about a job I don't even care about. But all of these things just hit me yesterday, and as I sat in my supervisor's (technically my "boss" isn't really my "boss") office with the light glaring through the mini-blinds at me, I realized I was done. I started bawling. "I can't do this anymore," I said. The thought of having to search for another job just to pass the time until I get those acceptance or denial letters haunts me. I don't want to job search. I don't want to sit in stale offices and interview for something I don't care about. Something "just to pay the bills." I want to save some money and finally pay off that last bit on my credit cards, I really do.

I'm just tired of being treated like shit and feeling like a zombie (sans brain consumption), day after day.

So there's that. The past two days have been absolutely miserable and I forced myself out of bed this morning, despite the urge to just stay there, all day, staring at the ceiling. I was awake, wide-eyed at 7 a.m. So I hauled my heavy body out of bed and got a peach from the crisper. I sat in the dark, in my bed, in my pajamas, and ate the peach. Ian would have killed me for that. He never let me eat in bed; but Ian's a part of that past of those things. So I ate my peach, threw away the peach pit, and got on the computer. My far-away friend Thom was there, thank heavens, and as we exchanged e-mails about whether I should or shouldn't go to shabbat services this morning, his final "just gos" were enough to put me in the shower, into some fairly decent clothes, and out the door to 9:30 service at the nearby Conservative shul.

Before I left home, I was examining the possibilities. There were a dozen different services at the synagogue today, and I didn't know what half of them were. I saw that the 9:30 service included a bar mitzvah, so I figured it was the most "normal" of the Saturday sabbath services. I didn't want to encroach on a minyan, because, damnit, I just don't get the Conservative service yet. I love it, because it feels more full, it's more filling than the Reform service, but I don't get the rhythm of it.

To me, Conservative service is like organized chaos. And it's beautiful.

I was at shul for THREE hours this morning. It wouldn't have felt like three hours, but the entire row of pre-teens behind me yapping for the entire three hours kept me aware of the time; they were keeping tabs, that is. It was the first bar mitzvah service I've ever been to where the bar mitzvah doesn't feel like a sideshow. I try to avoid such services because -- in the Reform movement anyway -- the kid typically sputters through a few things in Hebrew and gets blessed and all we have to talk about at the end of the day is how squeaky his voice was. At the service today, the kid LED the service. The integration was impeccable. Now, this kid was particularly well-spoken. His d'var Torah was about Jethro, not the decalogue. He talked about how leaders cannot do everything themselves, about how it is our responsibility as a community to assist and it is the responsibility of the leader to ask for help. Nothing can be done alone.

This kid's a fucking genius, I thought.

It took me a while to get into the flow of the service, but I magically always figured out where we were on the page. It's like the words glow and stick out and say "yo! we're here!" The sanctuary -- which, might I add, was beautiful -- was pretty full for what I'm used to and the bouncer at the door was shoving yarmulkes on the heads of everyone coming in late. People came in and out the entire three hours. This is something sort of foreign to me, as I show up early, and leave when it's over. Though, the next time I might have to step out for one of my Weight Watchers-prescribed snacks, lest my stomach start participating in the responsive reading. I also loved how there were many different aliyas for the Torah portion. How different people read and the bima seemed like it was exploding with people wandering about, singing and chanting and talking. When the Torah came around people filled the lower aisles and I just stood there, not wanting to fight the rush for an encounter with the scrolls. The best part, though, was that the chumashim were Etz Chaim, my chumash of choice. I liked having the full-size version; it's better on the eyes.

I guess what I'm trying to say is -- I felt like I was at shul.

One of the things I notice right away about the Conservative service is that everything is read so quickly. You can go through two pages silently in 30 seconds. Even the responsive stuff is hard to keep up with. I'm going to have to master my Hebrew speed reading. Maybe this is why the Reform service feels like it lags and drags and moves at a snail's pace. But then I wonder, are we missing the quality, for the quantity? Maybe there's a middle ground I haven't found yet.

I was glad I went, though. I'm glad I went out in the cold and trudged down to shul and sat there with those obnoxious tweens behind me talking about haircuts and only chiming in with their tone deaf voices when it seemed like parents were glaring back at them. I'm glad I got to experience that kid's bar mitzvah, even if I might never see him again. I attempted to wish him a hearty Mazel Tov afterward, but he was busy. I'm glad that I got to experience the chazzan, who I can't believe I haven't mentioned yet. The man has the voice of thousands of years of Jewish chanting -- it's mesmerizing, and it makes me get how people can sit there for hours on end, even if they're not participating. It's like attending a classical concert, every week, mostly for free. I'm glad I got to experience all three rabbis. At least, I think the three guys who led the services were the rabbis. I'm glad I got to sit in that huge sanctuary, watching and listening the different way the people around me recreated Sinai.

I guess it was the perfect week to go. After the crap of the past few days, it fit. I gathered with the tribe and we stood at the base of Sinai and listened to this bar mitzvah read to us the decalogue, the 10 Commandments. In our hearts we were there, in our minds we were there. It was emotional, and I'm not saying that to be cheesy or to make it more important than it was.

So I think I've found a new home. I need to do some more exploring and figure out what all those people my age were doing up until the last hour or so of the services when they finally joined us. Then I need to do whatever it was they were doing. It's not so important to belong, but to figure out the flow of the 30 different services on any given Saturday and then fit myself in.

Until then, though. I'm going to settle in for a Shabbos Nap and hope that when I wake up, the snow has stopped and my eyes are unheavy.

Shabbat Shalom, friends.

Hayyai Sarah: A deeper look!

First off, mad props to Blogger for finally setting up the blog-o-sphere so that comments can be tracked (I was really bad about going back to places I'd left comments to see if there was a response, not to mention that CoComment did weird things to my browser, so I got rid of it).

Secondly, I seem to have this weird problem. There's another Jewish woman in my office. I'm nearly positive she's Orthodox, though I'm pretty sure she's Modern Orthodox. The problem is that we never talk. I mean, we should have things to talk about, right? I don't mind saying "Yo! I'm Jewish!" to other people, but for some reason, things are not as easy with this gal. We were both in the copy room today for like 10 minutes together and nothing beyond "How are you?" "Fine, and you?" "Fine, thanks" was said. How awkward ... anyone have any icebreakers for Jews?

Thirdly, and most importantly, I find myself reading Torah very differently than I did even a year ago. This week's Torah portion is Hayyai Sarah, which is one I recognized immediately. It's the portion where Sarah dies, she's buried, and Abraham sends his servant out to find Isaac a wife and he comes back with Rebekah and then Abraham dies and is buried with Sarah. It's pretty basic and there isn't a whole lot of depth to the portion -- but I gather that this is because several things I might question (the oath by genitalia, love after marriage, the discrepancy in the storytelling in each version) I questioned last year in my blog and thus answered. I also find that I question things differently; I ask questions in the style of the sages in Talmud! I think this is a reflection of reading Rashi's Daughters, as the amount of commentary and discussion that takes place is too much to count! I say this because the questions I derived from my Torah study this evening were not answered in my chumash, like many of the basic question's answers are. Thus, these provide more room for exploration, which makes me wish I were a Talmud chacham. I find myself exceedingly jealous of the children raised Jewish with Talmud learning and especially Rashi's daughters, who were so learned ... jealousy!

My queries on Hayyai Sarah:

• At the beginning of the portion, how did Abraham choose the land to buy in which to bury Sarah on? He very quickly and explicitly chose the cave on the land of Ephron, but what was the significance of the spot? We know that the purpose of buying the land was to establish residency so he would no longer be a stranger in the land, and also because he knew that the land would someday be theirs, as given by G-d ... so establishing a sense of ownership was important. But why the cave on the land of Ephron? What was special about this space?
• In Gen. 23:10, did Abraham inadvertently violate the law that says one may not approach the land owner directly, but must first deal with the "people of the land"? I ask this because when Sarah dies and Abraham is talking to the Hittites about needing to procure land, he says he wants the cave on the land of Ephron. Without knowing it, Ephron is in the crowd and responds to Abraham. However, this violates the law I guess. But what are the repercussions? If any? (There were none in the Torah, of course, but I'm speaking about the "what if" here.)
• How much land was there with the cave in the deal Ephron made? It was a 400-shekel deal, but there was no speculation in my chumash about the size of the land. It also didn't discuss what the land was used for. Was it worked by the Hittites? Was it barren? If there's all this land with a cave amid the community, wouldn't it be used for something?
• In Gen. 24:16, and throughout the story of the servant and Rebekah, there is a discrepancy of the well versus the spring. I imagine the two words could be interchangeable, as a spring is a source of water from the ground and a well is a hole dug to create a water source. But in this verse it says that Rebekah "came up" from the spring ... would one have to "come up" from a well? Maybe I'm not familiar with biblical well-going, but that seems awkward. I suppose it could be chocked up to different authors or translations?

So that's my Torah babble for this week. Stay tuned ...

TORAH! And Work.

First, a quick read on this week's Torah, which allows us some of Moses's last days. Then, a bit about work and some thoughts I'm having.

+ The double portion this week -- Nitzavim-Vayelech -- expresses some of the most basic and fundamental tenets of Judaism. Its opening beckons all men, women, children and converts within the camp. This is the all-encompassing aspect of Judaism!

+ Deut. 29:14 -- "But not only with you am I making this covenant and this oath, but with ... those who are not here with us, this day." My first inclination was that this is speaking of future generations. I checked out Rashi's commentary and BAM! Same thing. This may seem like a "duh" thing, but that could be interpreted as those not present (idolators, people elsewhere, etc.), or future generations, or past generations.

+ Deut. 29:28 -- "The hidden things belong to the Lord, our G-d, but the revealed things apply to us and to our children forever: that we must fulfill all the words of this Torah." I had to read this sentence several times and do some web searching before I got the gist of it. Then I found this great explication over on the Edinburg (yes that Edingburg)Hebrew Congregation website. In sum: "Our verse, therefore, comes to tell us that we are only accountable for the ‘revealed things’: the way society acts and behaves; not the ‘hidden things’ of everyone’s private behaviour." It definitely emphasizes the importance of community!

+ Deut. 30:6 -- "And the Lord, your G-d, will circumcise your heart ..." Okay. On the surface, yes, this is the spiritual representation of the physical circumcision as ordered by G-d. During the wanderings, circumcision ceased temporarily, but now, as they enter the land, the Israelites are called to circumcise their hearts (this also appears in Deut. 10:12-16). I was sort of shocked that when I did searching on the web for this portion, most of the sites that came up were Christian sites, and the second top site was a Jews for Jesus article. They all say similar things ... and they're all pretty ... Jesus-y.

-----RANDOM NOTE: One of the Temple Sholom staff members, and my personal favorite -- Josie A.G. Shapiro -- is on Dinner: Impossible! WOW!!!! -----

+ Deut. 31:17-18 -- These must be what prompted so many to assume that after just about every major catastrophe (inquisition, pogroms, Holocaust) that surely G-d had turned away his face and that surely it was "because of all the evil they have committed." So many who called for Jews to convert after such travesties probably eyed these events and these verses. It also calls into attention the "why do bad things happen to good people" adage. It's why -- so often -- when someone dies or a tragedy happens, pundits and zealots automatically scream "YOU WERE BAD! YOU ARE BEING PUNISHED!" But there has to be more to this than what comes off the surface. G-d isn't just a punishing god, there's compassion in there. In all my bad moments, never once have I said "I have earned this, G-d has turned his face from me. I have been abandoned."

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Now for job stuff. Every morning on the #66 bus down Chicago Avenue, I ride past the nearly open Dominick's grocery store. It's going up right next to a McDonalds -- one of the few chain restaurants on my end of Chicago Avenue. The moment that the "Now Hiring" sign showed up outside the store a few weeks ago, I turned to Ian on the ride and said "Hah, maybe I should apply there!"

Now, I'm not presently searching for a new job. In the future, yes, I'll be looking for a new job that's a little more up my alley. But here's the thing.

I want a mindless job. I want a mindless job so that I can focus on the things that matter: reading, Torah, Hebrew, my studies.

Every morning I ride by that store and think that if only I didn't have bills and groceries to buy and things and stuff. I could get by on minimum wage with the minimum things, working a mindless job where I can disconnect myself when I leave. Where I can hop on the bus and be there two seconds later. Where I can spend my spare time thinking about literature and Rashi and things that mean something to me, instead of all the things that don't (ahem, those things at my present gig).

I don't hate my job. It's just completely not stimulating. It has nothing to do with anything that has to do with me. And if I'm going to work a job like that, I want it to at least be less all-consuming and something that doesn't cut into my after hours.

So maybe I will look into working some slum job like a grocery store or retail. It would kill my father and it would make me look like a complete shmuck. I went from a job hundreds and thousands would kill for (Washington Post) to another job dozens if not hundreds would kill for (working for a Nobel prize winning economist). So if I called it a day here and went downhill in order to go uphill to what I want to do ... wouldn't it be worth it?

So maybe. Just maybe I'll be bagging your groceries someday. I'm not so prideful that I wouldn't do that. I'm the girl who worked at McDonalds and Wal-Mart growing up. The end goal is being happy and doing something that I'm passionate about, so in any case, the means are not necessarily the most important thing on my mind.

The complexities of really wanting something.

First, my job quandary. Secondly, some incidents at synagogue from Friday.

I don't dislike my job, but I don't love it. It's something I use to pay the bills, pay off those credit cards, and hopefully can use to pay some tuition for graduate school next fall if I get my butt in gear and do some things and, you know, apply places. But amid this all, there was the chance-of-a-lifetime opportunity to go to Italy on my boss's behalf to speak on early childhood education and the technology of skill formation. I'm more than happy to do this, of course. It's probably the most awesome experience I'll have for a while.

But then there were the job postings at the Jewish United Fund. Office Manager for the Hillel at Northwestern. Operations Manager for the University of Chicago Hillel. Then came the big wammy from my friend Michael: a job at Jewish World Digest, a newspaper housed right here in my very own Chicago. Jewish and journalism? Isn't that what I was looking for when I first moved here? Yes, yes it was. And now, it's there under my nose, among the other stellar opportunities and I can't budge on them.

Last week at synagogue there was this nifty open house for prospective members thing, and I was one of the folks who got to tout the blue name tag that meant "I pay this place dues galore!" I ended up meeting some really stellar people and hopefully some new synagogue friends who happen to be my own age. In the process, I also caught up with the membership coordinator and some others. I happened to mention my predicament to a few people and they all lamented the situation with me, but hands-down agreed that sticking with the job for the Italy adventure is worth the hassle, the commute, and the drama. I agree, but nu? Will such jobs be around when I find that the timer has popped?

On the fun service note, I have to share a bit of the night. I found myself meeting some of the nice temple community, which was good, considering I hate going and feeling like I'm sitting in the back of the classroom in the cardboard box where "loquacious" students end up (this is an allusion to kindergarten at Stapleton Elementary in Joplin, MO where I grew up). I met a nice older couple who happened to ask where I lived. I explained that Ian and I live way the hell away from anything pertinent to either of our lives (work, school, temple, friends), but that we were hoping to move up near Wrigleyville, and I added that we were eying the building next door to the synagogue. The nice couple (whose names escape me) then informed me that my synagogue, my very own shul, owns the apartment complex! They then informed me that chances are sometime in 5 or 10 odd years that building will make way for a temple expansion once the money is there, but they quickly added that by then, "you and your boyfriend will be ready to move to the suburbs anyway!" Right. But either way, talk about STELLAR news for us! Maybe this will grant us an in? Here's to hopin' anyway :)

I also have to share about the fellow there at the special service who said he stopped in because he often walks by but had never been. His name was Lawrence and he was constantly smiling, this almost devilish grin, the kind you see on a little boy before he pushes his sister into the fountain she is so quietly leaning over by to eye the quarters 'neath. Like he had something he wasn't telling, a secret or plan or something. It made me nervous. But I was friendly. The gal who I met that night, Natalie, and I sat near him and struck up conversation. We sort of assumed that perhaps he was interested in Judaism. He was curious, yes, but then said that he thought it was the "second best religion." We didn't continue with that line of conversation. No way, no how. Natalie turned to me and we started talking about my conversion (which happened to come up in the commons hall during the wine and cheese reception). Of course this got Lawrence going and he started questioning how I got to Judaism. I couldn't give him the whole spiel of how at home I grew up being able to believe what I wanted but that in public and with friends I was more or less cornered into Christianity out of a want to belong. So he concluded, "So you went from nothing to Judaism ...?" with that grin. That "oh I know your kind" grin. I wanted to slap him. He left me mumbling and unable to finish my thoughts. Then the service started.

He made me uncomfortable, and it wasn't because I had the walls up. The moment I saw him I felt there was something unsettling about him. His Judaism as the "second best religion" question just pushed me a little over. I knew there was something uncomfortable. I'm really sure why he was really there or what he wanted out of it. He got shmoozy with some people, but that grin. It's the kind you see on pop-up clown boxes. Creepy carnival rides. The kind you have nightmares about. I'll be happy if I don't have to see him again. If I do? I'll tuck away the unease and be welcoming. After all, he hasn't done anything to garner my disrespect or fear. At least, I don't think he has.