Giveaway: Personalized Silver Name Necklace!

For a long time, one of the classic bat mitzvah gifts handed out was the personalized name necklace, usually in Hebrew, and usually retrieved from the Holy Land, so elusive to American Jews. I want to say this was during the 1970s and 1980s, because by the time the 2000s rolled around and I hit Israel in 2008, the jewelry stores along Ben Yehudah Street were selling them second hand. I thought the trend had died, but the truth is with Sex and the City and the Carrie necklace being ever-so-popular for all time, personalized name necklaces are -- and will always be -- popular and beloved.

Although I don't have one myself, I do have the uniquely hand-crafted necklace that Mr. T gave me for our anniversary and a simple name necklace that I got years and years ago from Sima Gilady jewelry (that, honestly, I take off maybe two or three times a year at the most).

So I thought to myself, wouldn't it be nice to give the gift of personalized jewelry to one of my readers? Yes, yes, I thought to myself, it would be nice. Enter the folks at Name Factory, who are helping me give away a personalized silver necklace (value up to $42) just for you!

And because I know how much people love entering giveaways with ease, all you have to do is comment on this post telling me which of the necklaces on the site you'd love to call your own (or to gift to a friend, daughter, mother, your dog, you get the drift).

Ready? Set ... GO!

Note: This giveaway ends on Wednesday, February 17, 2016 at noon MDT. 

Shabbat Shalom!

The Sabbath cometh, and Tuvia and I are going to the Orthodox shul and then to the home of some members of the shul for a Shabbat dinner. It'll be my first Shabbat dinner in a while, and I'm looking forward to it. It sounds like there'll be three families plus Tuvia and I, so we'll see how it goes. They're of the knowledge that post-dinner we have to drive back to Manchester, since the Orthodox shul is nowhere near where we live. It's one of those things that you just do, until you can work out the details. The family has offered their upstairs, which it appears is completely private -- own room, own bathroom, etc. -- for future Shabbats if we want to stay for a full Shabbos experience. Next week, back on campus, chances are I'll be staying on campus and doing Shabbos up Chabad style, and maybe even for the next few weeks since I have a Friday afternoon class and getting into Manchester to be with Tuvia on Shabbos won't be possible. You bend, you work, you make it happen.

In the meantime, I offer you a video. It's really more a slideshow than a video, since I have lots of pictures of the Bat Mitzvah ceremony. There was one fellow filming it all, but I can't remember who he was, so until I get that video, this is the best I can do. I think that my facial expressions and reactions will probably display the experience better than I can in words at this point. It was emotional, spiritual, and overpowering -- being on top of a mountain where people lived, people died, and people have come and prayed for years and years. Enjoy, and Shabbat Shalom!

A Shabbos here, a Shabbos there -- Shavua Tov!

For the first time, I made bread. But it wasn't just any bread, it was challah. It was made in haste, without really measuring anything, but with love and necessity as Shabbos approached Friday. And it was seriously the (second) best challah I've ever had. I can't lie, Chabad rebbetzins make the best challah out there. But next time? I'll make it on Thursday, for it was really pushing it. Also, I fully intend on making a half batch, maybe even a third -- this much bread is enough to feed a few families. I give you, the beautiful loaf (unfortunately you won't get to see the ugly loaf, for it was truly ugly).

It was my first Shabbat back in the U.S. after two spent in Israel -- one in Jerusalem, one in Tel Aviv. Shabbat in Jerusalem was flanked by trips to the Western Wall, haKotel haMaaravi. We visited the wall, where men and women were bringing in Shabbat in droves, dressed in their best, davening and weeping at the wall. I searched far and wide on the shelves that line a small wall near the Western Wall for a siddur that might be my speed, but the only Artscroll I could find was a weekday. As I perused the shelves, a woman with a head covering, long skirt, and modest top walked up to me and questioned something in Hebrew. I responded that I didn't understand and she, in English, asked where I was from. We exchanged pleasantries about her being from Canada and me being from the U.S. and then she asked me which siddur she should use. Me!? She asked me? I guess I looked like a pro, but unfortunately I couldn't offer much help. I was frustrated that I hadn't taken my siddur with me, not to mention that I'd left my chumash at the hotel so I couldn't say tehillim for my dad. So I took my place at the wall, and tried to say Misheberach, but the words? They didn't come. I tried time and time again to focus on the words, to daven, but they wouldn't come. My thoughts were jumbled. I shoved two notes into the wall, placed my hand upon the old, cold stone, brought my forehead to rest on the back of my hand, and wept. I did as the women did and walked backwards away from the wall, crying, wondering how I'd become that person -- that emotional, devout, religious, hopeful and optimistic person who could be so moved by a wall! It's just a wall! A gigantic remnant at which generations of Jews have prayed. A place of solace and common ground, a meeting place for prayer, a wall that, if perhaps a few stones taller might reach the feet of G-d. Then? I gathered back with the group, and we walked about 3 miles, though it seemed like a lot longer (it took us more than an hour) back to our hotel.

(Note: That photo was taken on Saturday, after havdalah, post-Shabbat!)

Shabbat day was interesting -- both in Jerusalem and in Tel Aviv -- in that people asked me a lot of questions  about why I was doing what I was doing. Oftentimes I was stopped by Hasidic Jews at the Shabbos elevator saying, "You know this is the Shabbos elevator, right?" So I was probably confusing to the eye -- wearing pants, modest top, hair covered (because hair dryers are so not Shabbos friendly). One of my roommates in Jerusalem offered to blow dry my hair, but after I explained why it wasn't in the spirit of Shabbat, she loaned me a cute hat instead. I relied on others to let me into our hotel rooms, for others to push hotel elevator buttons when the Shabbos elevator was packed (we were essentially on the 8th floor in Jerusalem, but lucked out on floor No. 1 in Tel Aviv), and answered questions about why I did these things and why I don't think they're outdated and useless mitzvot. In Jerusalem, everything was shut down -- cars were few on the street, workers were few in number at the hotel, and Jews mulled about the lobby reading Torah and napping in easy chairs. In Tel Aviv, businesses were open and cars abounded, filling the streets as if it were any other day of the week. As you can imagine, I preferred Shabbos in Jerusalem over Tel Aviv. I napped on Shabbat, but I missed Tuvia and our Shabbats filled with boardgames, reading, and rest. It definitely wasn't the same, and I felt pretty isolated amid a group of people who -- although I love them to pieces -- complained quite a bit about how we couldn't go out and about on Shabbat. If only I had had boardgames there ... maybe I could have swayed a few to the absolute bliss of a restful Shabbat (and I say this half-jesting).

The meals? They were okay, and the kiddush and haMotzi were much appreciated. As a result, and thanks to one of our group leaders and a loyal former-IDF soldier-turned-security guard, I finally learned why it is that we dip our challah in salt on Shabbat. You see, salt never spoils or decays, thus it represents the eternal covenant we have with G-d. Brilliant!

As time goes on, I know I'll remember more about Shabbat, and as such I'll share bits and pieces as they come to me. Like the beautiful havdalah ceremony we had in Jerusalem thanks to a ba'al teshuvah by the name of Rabbi Mottel (the hippest rabbi this side of Eden), the singing and burning of the havdalah candle, explaining why I cover my hair, having my roommates at both hotel experiences be kind enough to let me in and out of the room and keep certain lights on, and more. I spent a lot of time this Shabbat feeling kind of empty, but that's for another post. I am glad to be back, though, and I'm glad I got to spend some time playing games, resting, and I look forward to using the brand new Kosher Lamp that Tuvia's mum picked us up for Chanukah.

With that? Shavua tov everyone :)

5769 + 2009

Live from the desert of Judea, I give you the most awesome Birthright group ever, including the bus driver -- Mashiach -- in the front there. It is with this photo that I say HAPPY NEW YEAR as 5769 is now joined by 2009.

I demand a year of peace, progress, and peaceful progress. Shanah tovah!

More Wine, Please?

Disclaimer: These posts will be in, well, no particular order. Please forgive me?

On December 23, in the midst of an irritating rain storm, we stopped by the Rimon pomegranate winery in the heart of the Galilee Mountains. This place is the hippest, most random little winery I've ever seen -- the look is very clean, crisp art deco with the most beautiful light fixtures I have ever seen. Someday -- I repeat, someday -- I will find these light fixtures and most definitely put them in my house. It's thanks to this winery that I am now obsessed with pomegranates. The unique thing about these wines is that they aren't just flavored with pomegranate. Oh no, they're made from 100 percent pomegranates!

We weren't there very long, but we were there long enough to try their wines, of which I took to the dessert and port (pictured there). For some reason, the Port was a lot sweeter than the dessert, so I picked up a bottle for the express purpose of my first kiddush home with Tuvia. You see, the first chance we'd had to shop -- out on Ben Yehuda in Jerusalem -- I picked up (after some haggling) the most beautiful kiddush cup, so I needed some Israeli wine to go with it. So I purchased the wine, some delicious chocolate, and a jar of Israeli-made honey.

Here are some photos for your viewing pleasure. I'll let you know how the wine goes over with Tuvia on Shabbos.

Cheers!

I'm baaaaaaackkk!!!

We arrived at Ben Gurion, schluffed through security, I managed to talk the woman at the counter out of charging me for a bag that somehow acquired 11 pounds on the trip, shopped at duty free, and sat down at our gate. I needed a window seat. I walked up to the Continental desk, requested a change, it was processed, and I was set for a row in the 40s on the window. I sat down, chatted with my new friends, and then it was time to board the three-cabin behemoth of a plane. I realized, after taking my seat, that I was rows and rows away from my new friends, placed in the midst of one of the other Birthright groups, for the nearly 12-hour ride home. I took out my journal (that Tuvia's stepmom got me) and began to attempt to write more notes about the trip and the Shabbat adventures I hadn't recorded. Then? The plane took to the runway and lifted into the clear, blue Israeli sky. And I?

I started to cry. Alligator tears. Uncontrollable drops that confused me. I watched as Israel disappeared behind me as we went up, up, up. I peered out my little window, watching as we went away, moving away from Israel -- like the women who walk backwards as they leave the Western Wall, like leaving a loved one, it's hard to just turn around and leave. I watched until my neck hurt from looking backwards and until I couldn't see the coast any longer amid the thinning clouds. And even when I couldn't see Israel anymore, I kept crying.

I can't really explain the emotion, but I feel like I've left something very special behind. Like a piece of me was buried in the desert, dropped while riding camels or sleeping in the Bedouin tent or watching the sun rise slowly and then quickly over the Judean desert. Something was left there, and maybe it's why my stomach feels so empty today.

When we first went on the trip, the trip madrachim told us that they didn't want to be so bold as to call us Israelis, but that they hoped that by the end of the trip, we would be proud and eager to call ourselves as such. I can honestly say, with a full heart and a steady mind that I am an Israeli. Albeit, more of the Jerusalem or Kibbutzim Israeli than a Tel Aviv Israeli (to be honest, T.A. just didn't jibe with me).

I have so many stories to tell. I have people to talk about. Forty and more new friends I made with varying degrees of Jewishness that is as beautiful as the varying terrain across Israel. I have stories to tell about people who touched me and people I touched, stories that are amusing ("welcome to pimp my camel!") and stories of tragedy (visiting the border with Lebanon and Syria and Gaza and the Save a Child's Heart program) that always, ALWAYS manage to defeat the odds in the pursuit of life and happiness.

It will take me weeks. It might take months. But eventually I hope I can really explain what Israel has done to me. Watching, while we were still in Israel, as missiles and bombs flew out of Gaza onto homes and hopes, I was devastated. I knew IDF soldiers who, after our departure, were likely heading there, into Gaza, in order to protect Israel and the Jewish people. One of the soldiers? His family's home was destroyed in the attacks. Listening to the stories and hearing how people live day-by-day and how they just want to do that -- live -- has given me a newfound respect for the Israel Defense Forces, the soldiers who are there fighting for ME, and the entire country and its hopes and efforts. So, being here, in the U.S., the place that the customs man called "home" when welcoming me back, is difficult. Incredibly difficult. Because I now know what is on the other side, and I know what I have left behind.

At any rate, I have lots of unpacking to do, a stomach to make better, more sleep to get, and pictures -- of which there are hundreds -- to look through. Until then?

Am Yisrael Chai!

Bon voyage!

Okay. I'm about 95 percent positive I'm going to leave my computer with Tuvia and not take it with me to Israel. I was gifted a notebook for journaling, and I think most assuredly that this is a sign (since I have another, as well) that I should be WRITING, not TYPING, my Israel experience. It'll be therapy for me -- someone so plugged in 24/7. But, you know, if there happens to be a computer there for my use? I'll whittle away at my likely ever-growing inbox, never fear. 

Catch you all on the other side of the trip! L'hitraot!

Shabbos and ... I'm heading to Israel now!

Well, in 24 hours I'll be sitting at the airport with dozens of other Birthright attendees, waiting patiently for our 3 something flight. Thus, I should be packing right now, but I'm blogging. Why? Because I'm a wholly devoted blogger, you know.

Over the past month, plus a little, the significant other and I have been keeping Shabbos -- both here in Connecticut and when we've stayed in the Poconos. There have been a few exceptions to the rule that I'll explain, but for the most part, we've gone all out -- cooked dinner a night or two early, warmed up in the preheated oven on Shabbos; turned off all unused lights pre-Shabbat (and taped the light switches up to keep us from turning lights off accidentally); purchased canteens to keep water hot throughout the holiday; and all other Shabbat-friendly things. The exceptions to the rule have been few, but they involve going to shul and coming back. Usually when we come back the house is all ready to go -- the SO having set everything before work in the morning. The debate continues over going to synagogue, and I know the rabbis have ruled that it is better to not go to shul than to operate a motor vehicle on the sabbath, but we live nowhere near a synagogue, as they're all in West Hartford for the most part. Barring picking up and moving, the only option right now is either no shul or driving to shul pre-Sabbath and making our best happen after synagogue.

This past week we did probably the ultimate no no -- we hit up an Orthodox shul, only to drive home afterward since we were miles and miles and miles from home. But I'd wanted to go to the synagogue for some time and there was no way *to* go without driving. Everyone was very welcoming, and although the women's section included just me and two other women, the melodies were familiar and the service was more what I had become oriented to living back in Chicago. I felt at home, and on a Shabbos like that -- right after my father's diagnosis -- I need that mechitzah and the separation and the time to pray within myself. Add to this that they didn't have the Artscroll transliterated, and, well, I was incredibly focused on the words. It was a truly excellent experience and just what I'd needed. The only dilemma now is figuring out how to make that kind of experience happen when I live so, so, so far away.

The semester ended so abruptly, and so busily, that I've been feeling quite overwhelmed and I'm feeling a bit out of sorts emotionally and Jewishly. Thus, I guess it's probably a stellar time for me to head to Eretz Yisrael, to get a dose of the homeland, to stand and walk on ages-old streets and daven with the best of them, in the places our ancestors breathed and ate and read and drank. I'm not sure what to think at this point, as I'm filled with a mixture of excitement and -- not fear -- but apprehension. I'm not sure why apprehension, but it's the best word I can come up with at this point. I'll have a friend on the trip, and I'll know plenty of others in Israel at the time, but there's still a bit of nervousness. It is, after all, my first trip out of the U.S. -- EVER.

Anyhow, enough about the trip. Hopefully I'll be doing a bit of blogging from the road because the hotels we're staying at (when we're not out in the Bedouin tents) have free WiFi. But there will be pictures (I have 12 GB worth of storage space, I hope it's enough!), and stories (a paper journal is armed for these things) and plenty of goodies for friends and bloggers alike.

So, stay tuned. I'll be around, but if you don't see much of me in the next 10 days, well, you know I'm probably scaling Masada or davening at the Western Wall or purchasing goodies with shekels or something. I'll have all of you on my mind, though, the entire time I'm away. After the drama earlier this year with Birthright, I'm so happy I'm finally on my way.

If there's anything YOU'd like while I'm in Israel, shoot me a comment or email STAT! I'll be out of communication starting around 3 p.m. tomorrow -- when our plane leaves -- until Thursday night at the earliest.

Papers, Cards, and Wishes.

I've spent the past two days, hidden away in the Poconos, hammering out 30 pages of two papers -- one on the Golden Calf, the other on Qohelet. The calf paper has been turned out in 19 pages and I have at least five more to write. Qohelet isn't even halfway composed and it's already at 11 pages. I have about a week and a half to finish them, though in reality I only have about a week considering the next two days I'm going to be floating around New Jersey for Thanksgiving festivities and then comes Shabbat. I did, though, happen to get consoled by the falling snow this morning, which was a beautiful thing to wake up to in a little cabin-esque house in the woods of Pennsylvania. I'm pretty proud of my achieved compositions, not to mention the parve chocolate chip cookies I made and the dinner that's currently roasting in the oven. It has been a productive 48 hours.

The moment my papers are done, I'm going to settle in to composing Chanukah and Holiday cards. I know a lot of people don't send cards out anymore, but I do, because I firmly believe that people love real mail, especially this time of year. Yes, I tend to send out the form letter with the updates and news on my life (and this year there has been a LOT), but I also like to include plenty of personal notes on the card itself. So, if you would like to receive one of my dazzling Chanukah (if that's your flavor) or Holiday (if that's your other flavor) cards this holiday season, please e-mail me your mailing address! You can get to me by clicking on the "Contact" link at the top of the page, or by using chaviva at kvetchingeditor dot com.

In the meantime, if you're in the gift-giving mood, check out my Wish List on Amazon.com. Yes, it's all a bunch of Judaica books, but, you know, that's how I roll and books are my most favorite thing.




After papers, finals, and card-making are finalized, I head off to Israel on December 17 for 10 days of exciting trekking. I finally received the itinerary and cellphone rental information via email today, and it looks like there's going to be quite a bit of free time and independent dinner outings. I know at least one person on my bus, and I'm guessing (and hoping) that the rest of the people on the bus will be of the older persuasion (man I'm old and crotchety when it comes to college kids, heh). In fact, at this time next month, my trip will almost be over! My intent to stay an extra week won't come to fruition, as there are far too many external factors at work that just doesn't make it possible right now. Thus, I'm going to look into options for studying in Israel in the summer and see what I can pull up.

Be well, and Happy Thanksgiving!

A Brief Interlude for a Pic and Query.

So this isn't the official group picture, but I guess it'll have to do for now. That's me (in the completely unobvious gigantic white circle) there off to the right next to the lady with the most adorable baby I've ever seen. Yes, I'm wearing my scarf, and yes, I look impatient.

In unrelated news: I'm hoping one of my readers can chance to help me out with something. So as everyone knows I'm going to Israel -- in fact, in one month I will BE in Israel. I'm likely going to be there for three weeks and seeing as I have T-Mobile, they're international, and seeing as I have a Blackberry, I'm hoping that I can manage something where I can schlep my Blackberry to Israel and use it for data and maybe voice (but not necessary). Now, the woman at T-Mobile said something about getting a $19.99 one-month international data plan -- but it doesn't include web browsing. This is fine, except that I use the GMail application and Twitterberry -- both of which I'm pretty sure use over-air "web browsing" functions. So what I'm asking the masses is: Do you know what the best thing for me to do is so I don't break the bank but can still Twitter (to update people on my exciting adventure), maybe post brief blogs, and call home to prove to my mother that I'm not dead? (She's freaking out already.)

Your help is much appreciated. Oh, and that is all -- for now!

Israel, Prepare to Meet Chavi!

Just before Shabbos, just before turning off my Blackberry to the world and shortly after dealing with bus drama while trying to get to Hartford, I got an email from the Birthright organization I had reapplied to for a winter trip. While sitting on a gigantic stone slab at the bus stop, watching an already over-packed bus drive away, leaving about 20 of us stranded, I smiled.

I am going to Israel! 

(Insert hollers of excitement and elation here.)Yes, after all of the drama from earlier this year , I am set to depart from Newark for Israel on December 17. I'll be in Israel from December 18-28, with the option to extend my trip -- anyone want to keep me for an extra week?

I've never been more excited about anything in my life. I am, however, concerned that once I get there I'll never leave. Look out!

It's My Therapy

Having just zipped through all the updated blogs on my Google Reader -- and commenting on quite a few of them -- I am at last finished with just about all of my web activities for the night. I really need to respond to about five emails of pressing importance, if only for the fact that I hate having emails sitting in my inbox for more than a day without a response. But then there's that whole "homework" thing that is quite necessary to attend to, and did I mention it's nearly 11 p.m.?

This week has been rough, and for a while there it was taking a pretty intense emotional toll on me. It started Monday with a class, then another class, then some work, then a seminar, then a Chabad thing and then a departmental thing and my night finally ended around three in the morning after a phonecall with California. I attest most of the anxiety/stress/frustration with my seminar class, which is testing my bounds as a student -- oh, and it's only the third week of classes.

The class is a lot of philosophy -- post-modern thought -- on the Bible, the book of Kohelet and the Song of Songs and G-d knows what else because I seem to get lost a lot. I had a long conversation at the departmental event with a fellow graduate student (someone who is much older, much wiser, and studied at a Yeshiveh in Israel for two years) about my issues with the class, since he seems to be at one with the flow, and he figured out my problem: I am a linear learner, the professor? He's nonlinear, if that's the best word. I find these concrete themes and ideas and I grasp onto them for dear life, only to be cast away after a few moments of chatter on what was once a concrete theme and has since turned into a metaphysical idea somehow relating to Buddhism or near-death experiences. Luckily, this classmate/colleague perhaps can help me float some of the airy education down to a linear level worth writing home about. I want to understand, and I don't want to feel like a complete moron (which is how I've felt for the past two weeks in this class). Did I also mention that I seem to somehow have garnered the status of peon as far as languages go? My Hebrew isn't outstanding, but it isn't bad. I can d'var Torah my way out of a paper bag if necessary, and I don't like being belittled about my level of knowledge. That, though, isn't worth kvetching about.

I feel, at times, like the entire world of students (graduate, I guess) took some class or inherited some special quality of knowledge that gave them the mastery of various languages and the wherewithal to be masters of their crafts. And then there's me, and someone left the light turned off and didn't bother to tell me how to find the switch and the room is large -- we're talking stadium-sized. I'm a smart person. I'm a brilliant, gifted, driven woman who is going to make her place in the world of Judaic studies, even if it kills me. It's just these downs that really smack me around.

And since then, well, I can't say I've done a whole lot of reading or homework or studying. The oomph has been deflated. But today, a ray of light shone through during a three-hour marathon session of Hebrew, in which my class (which has grown pretty close already) was nearly bouncing off the walls at the end. It was a good feeling, the feeling of learning and retaining. Like little seeds of knowledge were really blossoming inside my noggin.

So this is my therapy: blogging. I come here, I feel important and powerful. People scoff at me when I mention that I've spent the past two years doing academic (not to mention personal) work via my blog -- a blog? they say? But this blog is where I found my voice and where I discovered that I didn't just have to dream about pursuing Judaic studies, and where I didn't just have to think about the possibilities. I discovered my academic self in this realm. This is a place where my words touch people, where my knowledge on topics of Jewish studies and living Jewishly resonate and echo across the J-blogosphere. This is the place where I go to remind myself why I'm doing this whole graduate school thing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh, and as an aside and sort of unrelated note: I have reapplied to Birthright via the "Stand With Us" trip at the advice of a friend over at Jewlicious. After looking over the application, I think I have a case. It seems that students at Yeshiveh or Seminary are disqualified, but perhaps not those at secular institutions. So, cross your fingers and hope that it works out. Especially after, well, everything from earlier this year. And if it doesn't work out? Feh. I'll wait and go on one of the trips through the university. But I'm eager to see people in Israel who I know only by name. If only for a second near a falafel stand or something.

It's Like a Big Pink Kugle in the Room.

I got an e-mail earlier today, right as I was arriving back in Chicago from a delightful mini-roadtrip to a (crappy) drive-in in Nowheresville, Indiana, and I spent the entire day mulling over the text trying to find the appropriate way to say what I was feeling about the words.

Bat Ayin is not for conversion candidates. It is for Jewish women but they also accept conversion candidates.

Bat Ayin was what the woman at Aish suggested for me, as a "conversion candidate." In this very simple couple of sentences, this woman is saying "You are not a Jew." As soon as I got in front of the computer earlier today, I wrote ferociously and quickly. It was angry, it was volatile. It was a big "take off your hater pants" fest directed at this woman, at Aish, at Orthodoxy. And I couldn't center my thoughts. I couldn't put exactly what was so frustrating into words.

So tonight, while bawling my eyes out in the shower because I feel like I'm in a vacuum -- things pulling me every which way, tugging my heart strings and prodding my delicate brain about love and religion and belief and faith and the future and the things we cannot effect or change -- it came to me. I finally can say what it is about such people that makes me want to tear my clothes and scream and weep and completely fall apart.

The thing of it is, I had a conversion. I went into the mikvah (twice, actually), I sat before a beth din, I stood in front of a congregation of Jews and (some) family and friends and vowed to take on the plight of the Jew, to raise a Jewish family, to have one G-d, to be a connected member of the Jewish community, of Israel, and I was pronounced Chaviva bat Avraham v'Sarah. It happened. There are witnesses and there is documented proof and pictures to prove I was there. There was a synagogue, a beautiful building, and a mikvah and there was even sushi afterward.

You cannot tell me that I did not step in a mikvah or that I did not stand before those people and proclaim, I am a Jew.

But yes, I understand that to many this was not a "Torah true" conversion. It was a conversion, just not that which some Conservative and all Orthodox parties recognize as legit. But it did happen. Even if it is some rickity-rack conversion that has no meaning, it happened. You can't tell me I didn't feel the mikvah waters over my skin or that I did not say the blessing over the Torah.

It might not be right to you, but something *did* happen. It isn't a tree-falls-in-the-forest situation.

It's like if you order a coffee with two sugars and the waitress brings it to you and you swear up and down that she didn't sweeten it, yet her coworkers saw her, it doesn't mean the sugar isn't there, it just means it isn't sweet enough for you. But the sugar is still there. It isn't as if nothing happened. Something, something is there.

Am I making sense? I guess what I'm saying is that you can't ignore my situation. You can't pretend like I'm some shmuck starting from scratch. I know more halakah and Jewish thought than probably some pretty observant folk. I am aware and I am proud. So don't tell me that nothing happened. Don't pretend like I am some random no one who has not spent at least five years moving backwards and forwards and every which way wrapping her heart and mind around Torah and Judaism and G-d. Acknowledge. ACKNOWLEDGE that something happened. I just want you to say "okay, it is there, now let us move on."

ACKNOWLEDGE that something, even a small something, did happen. I don't expect you to say it's right or it's true or it's legitimate. I just want you to say that something happened.

No one wants me. I am the convert.

Everyone remembers my Birthright drama, yes? Well, I've been rejected -- again. This time by a program called Jewel, also run by Aish, that was right up my alley. It was four weeks studying with other Jewish woman in Israel over my winter break from school. There were scholarships and everything and it screamed "Chavi!"

But they said they don't think their program would "fit" my needs. Right. I'm sure that's precisely what they mean. They did, however, suggest that I check out a couple other programs! Yes, they said, they think those programs would be outstanding for me. What are they?

Essentially they're two different bootcamps (one Lubavitch) for women converting to Torah-true Judaism in Israel.

I'd like to issue a big, heaping spoonful of "sigh" right now. It looks like I won't be getting to Israel this year. Or any time in the foreseeable future. Unless I somehow come up with the cash on my own. I so wanted to go and study with others and explore. This is just one big mess.

I'm so frustrated I could cry.

Well folks. Chavi isn't going to Israel. No Birthright, no Israel.

Aish has two trips open -- one July 21-30 and one August 11-21. Thanks, Aish. Thanks for pushing me all the way back. For forgetting about me and then giving me the only options you have left.

The matter of it is, I start school on August 25. My assistantship starts on August 23. I am leaving to move to Connecticut (which will take me about two days driving, it's a nearly 15 hour trip) early to mid-week of August 11. My last day of work will likely be August 8.

Thus, I can't say "By the way, can I take nearly two weeks off and then come back to work for a week and then quit?" Because that won't happen. There will be someone to train, and there will be me training said person. It cannot be approved. Likewise, I can't make the August 11-21 trip work, because, well, I have to MOVE half-way across the country, and coming back on August 21 would not give me enough time to move and get to work/school.

So I'm really disappointed, and I'm incredibly upset. I wanted to be able to discover Israel with other Jews, like me in some ways or many, who have never been. I wanted to find out if Israel is part of my future, if aliyah is something that I'll be planning into my path. And I wanted to do it with other Jews! But I'm being punished because I'm making Jewish studies my life's work.

I could cry at this point. But I won't. If you're curious about the detailed experience that I had with Aish and Birthright, you can check out my timeline by clicking here.

Thanks to everyone who put up with me complaining and whining about being ignored, and thanks to those who kept tabs and wanted to hear what happened. On the upside, I won't be writing about it anymore.

EDIT: The rabbi has brought to my attention a program called Jewel, in which women go to Israel for 3.5 weeks to study and travel and do things and stuff. It seems right up my alley, and might actually be more valuable than a Birthright trip, eh? Anyhow, I'm going to explore this as an option, and probably throw my hat in the ring. The rabbi said he could help me get a scholarship, and at that point, I'll be broke. So things might not be all gloom and doom.

I need to get a grip.

Publishing and the Pursuit of Happiness

A friend pointed me in the direction yesterday (or was it the day before?) of a blog posting about publishing as a blogger. We're talking book publishing, of course. What it takes and how to get it done and what will fly and what won't. Now, since I started "professionally" blogging here two years ago (that is, when I left the world of LiveJournal behind for a more focused and mature blogging experience), I've thought about this. I've thought about writing and publishing and as I make my way into academia it's only expected that at some point I'll publish academic works on Judaism and whatever subject area I actually focus in.

But what about publishing my blog-inspired work? All this bloggersizing can't be for nought, can it?

Lately I seem to be doing a lot of searching, or as one commenter recently put it, writing about how I "interact between the 'worlds'." I don't know if there's a market for it, but I know for a lot of JBCs, this interaction between where one enters and where one settles in Judaism can be a perplexing and sometimes irritating experience. Reform is often the gateway drug and as we grow and expand in our mitzvot we find ourselves wandering through Conservative and Reconstructionist and Conservadox and all sorts of odd concoctions in between. I just don't know if there's much on it in the published world, or even if there's a market for it. Short stories of experiences and things of that nature. I mean, when I went to the Conservative shul back in January, I was elated, in love, completely sold. Then I did some research and reading and I haven't been back in a few months. Then I went to the Modern Orthodox shul and was elated again, but I find that there isn't much literature on the movement (being a highly non-proselytizing kind of group of Jews and all). There are a few books on Orthodoxy and it's move into the modern community, but there isn't really an "Orthodoxy for Dummies" or anything remotely accessible to the potential convert. And oy! How intimidating. I've always wondered how some converts manage to go straight into the Orthodox conversion process -- it seems that many Orthodox JBCs I've met have been those who converted Reform or Conservative and later decided to go the route of Orthodox. It has to be easier that way, nu?

Anyhow. I've been thinking about publishing and things. Of course, going into grad school, I can't even seek out an agent and consider anything because I just wouldn't have the time. Plus, being only 24, I think I have a bit of time available, not to mention that I have these immaculate records of my thoughts and gleanings on everything from movies to shuls and beyond. So we'll see.

On another, unrelated note, I still haven't heard back from Aish about my Israel birthright trip. It's been nearly a month since I met with the Ortho rabbi in Skokie. I'm at the point where I am completely turned off by Aish, and I'm pretty sure that my being a Reform convert has completely made them hope I go away. Since I'm going into a Judaic studies program in the fall, it makes me ineligible for birthright trips after this summer (hence why this is such a pressing issue). I'm giving them until the month mark after I met with the rabbi, and then I'm sending them a very stern letter. If it takes me dragging Aish and their suspicious processes through the mud, then so be it. It's interesting that all of their registration deposit deadlines have passed, and yet, I haven't made a deposit. I think they're just hoping I'll go away, and that just stinks. I understand that it's Israel's 60th and this is big doings, but really people. Come on.

Oooh! And on that same (but happier) note, I just bought a beautiful, beautiful shirt that I found from a seller (EllaKlara) on Etsy.com, but discovered she also has a website. So go buy one of these shirts (the hamsa shirt is also beautiful). I highly recommend it :)

Birthright and Graduate School Things and Stuff!

I'm going to the Great Debate up in Skokie tonight. The trek from Hyde Park to Skokie and then back home late this evening is going to be, well, less than fun. The mapping of public transit has been fun (not really) and I'm going largely because I need to meet a rabbi there face to face so he can okay that I'm a real, live Jew so that I can get the final confirmation on a Birthright trip. These are the hoops, and I'm jumping through them. The interesting thing is that even if I meet the rabbi, and even if he crosses the Ts and dots the Is, it doesn't guarantee me a spot. And that, well, that's frustrating. For those wondering, the event itself is basically a debate between a Republican and Democrat about who Jews should vote for. I figure if anything, it will definitely be interesting, and I feel for some reason that Hillary is going to come out on top (which, well, isn't who I'm voting for).

In other, perhaps more exciting, news, I sent in my acceptance to the University of Connecticut today. After visiting both campuses, I think my decision was made for me. I wrote up a letter to the University of Michigan explaining that them having no financial assistance completely deterred me from even considering them, which was unfortunate because that was the top cookie last year and when I initially applied this year. And Brandeis? Well, some things are better left just left alone. And that's okay. The sort of crappy thing now is that I have to start thinking about PhD programs, since, well, I'll have to apply for a PhD program in less than two years from now. Yikes. I suppose I should really hammer out what I want to study though. I cling to the Middle Ages, Rashi and his daughters and the legend of them therein. In fact, a friend recently e-mailed me about it and I was staunchly defending that the things surrounding Rashi's daughters is just that -- legend. The only widely known incidences of women openly donning tefillin from back in the day were King Saul's daughter Michal and a few other noble women.

Anyhow. The point is, I have a graduate school set up. Now I need to buy a T-shirt, get housing, get a meal plan so I can enjoy the feast of the Kosher dining facility, get hooked up with the Hillel, and, you know, other things along those routes.

I'm excited, I'm stoked, I'm ready.

HELP!

Guys! Help! Jews! I don't know which Birthright organizer to go through ... they stress that the trip isn't necessarily "religious" and that the trips are geared toward those with perhaps a fractured or slight connection to their Judaism. But I can't decide which one to go on. I mean, there are the outdoorsy ones ... but I don't do outdoors. I mean, I want to experience outdoors Israel, but I'm not a rock climber or anything. Anyone have any experience with the trips?

(For those who don't know, Jewish youth ages 18-26 get a free trip to Israel that can last five to 10 days and includes lots of fun-having, merrymaking, and general development of a connection to Israel.)