Are You Friends with Esther?

[Come tomorrow, I'll post images of my OWN hamantaschen!]

As you all know, I work at the Colorado Agency for Jewish Education as their social media ninja (that's not the title on my business card, but come on). I was tapped to write the March newsletter bit on Purim, and this is what I came up with.

It’s the month of Adar, and that means it’s time for Purim, one of the most festive holidays in the Jewish calendar. Everyone is a’twitter with talk of mishloach manot (gift baskets), hamantaschen, costumes, festive meals, Megillat Esther readings, Purim shpiels, carnivals, and more. Commemorating a time when a young Jewish woman, Esther, rose to power to become Queen of Persia under the tutelage of her guardian Mordechai, the Purim story tells of Esther risking her life to save the Jews from the evil Haman. The story concludes with the Jews turning the tables on their enemies, who are punished in place of their intended victims. This miracle is the major theme of Purim, and it’s clear that — although not mentioned in the entirety of the Book of Esther — God is behind the scenes “pulling the strings.” The story of Purim gives us hope that no matter the circumstances, redemption is right around the corner. It took just one person — Esther — putting herself in harms way by speaking out against an imminent evil to save an entire people.

So what if the Purim story were unraveling in today’s times? Would Esther be blogging her tough decisions? Would Mordechai be writing on Esther’s Facebook wall “Risk your life! Save the Jews!”? And what about Haman, would he unfriend Esther after his plot was ruined?

The reality today is that you can find Pinterest boards full of images of delicious varieties of hamantaschen, costume ideas, and Purim decorations. You can hop over to YouTube and find plenty of Purim-themed videos or visit Facebook to “like” Queen Esther. You can even listen or watch the Megillah read online! But Esther probably would have used social media for more than just finding the fun and entertaining pieces of Purim.

In our modern, digitally social world, local and international events of persecution make it to the internet in no time. The internet is a great place to plan your Purim party or to connect with others about meal ideas, but it’s also a powerful means of social action. If you haven’t taken the time to check out how we’re using social media, we urge you to hop online and test the waters of Twitter or Facebook to see how you can impact change in a new, virtual environment. Whether it’s donating to an impactful organization or speaking out against injustices, you cannot imagine the power your virtual voice can have.

Be a modern Esther, and help the essence of Purim go viral! Best wishes for a festive Purim!

To be honest, I was surprised that my past writings on Purim are pretty nil. Have a favorite d'var or blog post written about Purim? Let me know!

Also, if you need a really good laugh, read this.

Greek Esther: It's What's for Purim!

I'm recycling this from 2010, but, well, I thought y'all should know about Greek Esther. Read on!

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

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

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

Like Coming Home

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

Priceless.

Cheesecake Out Your Ears!

Shavuot came, saw, and left. Of course, it also conquered (mad props to the folks in my shiur for adding that neglected "conquering" into my talk on Rachav, wink wink). It was dramatic, dairy-licious, gluten free (for me anyway), and, well, long.

For the second year in a row, I stayed up all night getting my Torah study on. I woke up around 10:30 a.m. on Tuesday, went about my business, and then ended up in West Hartford for davening. We ate dinner with friends, and then headed off to the first bout of learning at the home of some excellent yidden who have the most beautiful interior (read: kitchen and sunporch) I have ever seen. After I got done coveting (oops) their cabinets and backsplash, I made my way to the sunporch, nabbed a comfy chair, and nestled in for the long haul. The first talk was given by a math professor, but unlike usual, he spent his time talking about a few songs and their connection to the texts (both biblical and rabbinic). There was even singing, which livened the audience participation and helped keep nodding heads awake. My resolve is now to track down those songs and learn them. The only one I can remember off the top of my head is "To sing is to be like the Jordan" (לשיר זה כמו להיות ירדן). Beautiful words, beautiful tune.

Next, it was my turn. I passed out my handouts (I'm an academic after all) with sources for Rachav from the Midrash and Bible, and began my talk. I like to keep things interesting, and I try to use colloquial language because I want to keep people awake and involved. I try to remain just informal enough that it's acceptable, you know? I like people to listen! And I definitely don't like talking at people. So I rocked my talk, which I'm still trying to figure out how to post up here in some fashion -- you might find something in the sidebar there to the right soon -- because the talk illicited a lot of really interesting questions and conversation. After it was over, I felt so good, not to mention completely reawakened. After all, it was 1 something in the morning!

Another fellow gave a quick talk and we all schlepped on to the shul for the second half of learning. We got there, meeting the sprawling group of teenagers that were funneling in, and then? The alarm went off. BURGLARY! BURGLARY! Talk about an inopportune time for the alarm to go off. I waited in the lobby and the policeman showed up after about 10 minutes (very prompt there, fellas), and I had to explain to him exactly what was going on. Late night learning, holiday, Judaism, blah blah blah. He seemed to buy it, so he asked if anyone had the code for the alarm. Alas! Only the rabbi. "Oh, I'll go pick him up and bring him back," the police man said. My response? "No dice." I explained that he'd need to get the code from the rabbi and then drive back with it. As he walked out the door, we also asked him to get the key to the ark. "The what?" he said. The ark! "You guys have an ark here!?" he joked. Luckily, right as he stepped outside, the rabbi's son showed up and saved the day with the code. Baruch haShem!

The rest of the night was kind of a blur. There were two more shiurim (let's not even get into the drama surrounding what happened with the third), and by the time davening rolled around at 4:45 a.m., I was exhausted, full of coffee and sweets, but unable to stand up straight. The interesting thing is that it was as if I were in trance. I stood, and I read the words so fast (you see, early-morning, post-all-night davening usually moves at the speed of light, which it did), and my eyes closed on their own. It was almost like I was experiencing the davening out of body. The words swimming around me. It was, in a word, weird.

I went back to the place I was staying, and crashed around 6:30 a.m. I slept off and on until 9:30 a.m., when I got up, got dressed, and walked to the other side of town to the other shul for a supposed 11 a.m. shiur that, in reality, didn't start until 11:45. I sat, half-alive, through their davening, tried to stay awake during the shiur, and then enjoyed a lengthy meal with a former professor and his family (which, can I say, is completely awesome). I didn't end up back over at my bed until around 5:30, and by then I decided it was futile to even attempt to sleep. I stayed up, forcing Tuvia to do the same, and we chatted with my hosts. Then came davening, then dinner at the rabbis (by which time I was practically loopy and giggling 90 miles a minute). I found my way home, rinsed off the allergens that had stuck themselves to my entire body, and went to bed around midnight.

All told, I had been up for nearly 40 hours with a nap probably clocking at two hours, max. I slept like a baby (which, someone pointed out, does not mean that I woke up every two hours crying for milk or in the fetal position sucking my thumb). The problem was that I didn't want to wake up for shul yesterday, and even after a short nap yesterday I still woke up exhausted. This morning it was painful to pull myself out of bed. I am exhausted. 


Luckily, it was worth it. All-night learning lends itself to a lot of interesting conversations and interactions, especially with people whom I probably won't see much of once Tuvia and I trek off to the greater NYC area. We're begging them all -- already -- to come visit, stay, and eat with us, and I hope they do. We've made too many good friends here to just wish ourselves away. But Shavuot this year was interesting, especially learning about some interesting characters found in the Talmud/Midrash called Mashiach ben Yosef and Mashiach ben David. 


Don't worry. I'm going to write a whole post on that. Maybe @DovBear will let me post it to his blog? Who knows. Shavua tov, friends. Time to get down with Shabbos now. 

Do You Really *Get* Shavuot?

Shavuot is right around the corner, and by that I mean it starts tomorrow night! Have you made your cheesecake? Warmed your blintzes? Figured out where all those Lactaid pills are? But seriously, cheese aside, have you really thought about Shavuot? Have you considered what the chag means, what it stands for both historically and religiously? Or has it been Colby Jack, Mozzarella, Cheese Puffs, and more dairy?

I was blessed to have a professor who really stressed to his undergraduate students the importance of the historical and the religious of the three pilgrimage festivals (a.k.a. Shlosha Regalim): Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot.

The funny thing is, they've all but lost their agricultural (that is, pilgrimage) meanings, and they've come to mean a variety of things: Pesach being the holiday where we eat matzo and do those annoying seder things; Shavuot being that holiday where we stay up all night studying Torah and noshing dairy; and Sukkot the chag where we sit outside in booths and swat at flies. But what do these chagim really mean, and why are they tied together so tightly? In reality, you can't have one without the other, and if you celebrate one or two but not the others, you're really missing the point.

In a nutshell, agriculturally and historically, Passover starts the grain harvest, Shavuot marks the end of the grain harvest and the beginning of the fruit harvest, and Sukkot marks ... you guessed it ... the end of the fruit harvest. Living in the Diaspora, you really miss the sense of the seasons, and as such you really don't get these simple and basic histories behind the holidays.

Of course, each of them have religious significance as well, with Passover marking the Exodus, Shavuot marking the giving of the Torah at Sinai, and Sukkot commemorating the living of booths in the Wilderness of the Exile. Again, these historic/religious events are cyclical and play a part in a timeline that is, without a doubt, connected. You can't remember the Exile without remembering the Exodus, and the giving of the Torah is sort of insignificant unless you understand why it was given, where it was given, and how.

What's my point? My point here is that these holidays aren't just about our modern observances. Much of what we know about our modern observances (especially about Sukkot) come from sort of a mishmosh of understandings of the Biblical and Rabbinic texts, and although they are just as valid as everything else, it's the basics that are found in the Torah -- in regards to the agricultural festivals -- that really evolved these three pilgrimage/agricultural festivals!

Are you still jonesing to know why we down lots of dairy (and Lactaid) on Shavuot? There are a few interesting and compelling reasons for this. Perhaps my favorite being that the Israelites didn't know how to properly take on meat before the giving of the Torah, so they opted for dairy, dairy, and more dairy, until Moshe came back down and told them how to properly handle meat. Another popular opinion is that it is the sense of Israel as the "land of milk and honey" that appears throughout the Torah that is cause for us to get all milchig over the two-day chag in the Diaspora.

Whichever opinion you like, just make sure you don't forget where Shavuot really came from and that it's the beginning of the next harvest season. You might say, I guess, that the Jewish holidays are "more than meets the eye."

Man is a Tree of the Field

Tu B'Shevat cometh! I sort of feel like it's one of those chagim that becomes irrelevant or insignificant in the Diaspora. It's the kind of holiday that makes sense when you're lucky enough to be living in the Land of Israel, but when you're in the U.S. or somewhere else, it's difficult to connect. After all, here in Connecticut we had a big, blizzardy snowstorm yesterday that resulted in me nearly killing myself twice. I'll admit it looks beautiful outside, but it definitely doesn't compare at all to it being the New Year of Trees in the Jewish calendar. In Israel, this is the time in which the earliest-blooming trees start to show their flare. Jews mark the day -- which happens to fall on Shabbat this year, January 30 -- by eating fruits, including grapes, figs, pomegranates, olives, and dates; these all are fruits of Israel named in the Hebrew Bible/Torah.

We also remember, or we're supposed to, that "Man is a tree of the field" (Deut. 20:19). At least, that's what Chabad.org tells me. So what does it mean, that "Man is a tree of the field"? To me, it means that there is a field of HaShem's creation, and man is the tree in that field of creation, standing tall and firm through wind, rain, and everything else nature and HaShem throw our way. Trees are quite resilient, withstanding the pressure of heavy snow, the break of lightning, and the gale-force wind that blows houses and cars away like leaves. Also, trees stand firm through all seasons, going through cycles of life while firmly rooted in the earth. They lose leaves, gain leaves, stand dry and bare, and blossom beautifully. Man, too, is like a tree. We stand firmly, rooted in the religion and ways of our forefathers, our roots spread the world over, connected to each and every Jew so that together, with our roots intertwined, we can withstand all that history has thrown at us. As the seasons come and go, man also is like a tree. Our life-cycle events come and go. We grow sick, and healthy, we experience simchas of joy and beauty and instances of sadness and bareness. Our emotions and outlooks sway in the winds of change, but it is our roots that help us stand firm through even our darkest moments and heaviest storms.

Of course, I could be completely wrong. This is simply my understanding of the verse. As such, then, on Tu B'Shevat, those of us in the Diaspora must transplant ourselves to Israel, where the earliest blooming trees are starting to show their color and bounty, giving off new fruit and new hope. Thus, we, too, can stand as the tree of the field, remembering that there are cycles in life and that now is a time for us to bloom, to stand as tall as we can, showing our bounty and our pride in our roots and resilience.

At this time of newness and bounty, how do you understand the phrase, "Man is a tree of the field"? There are plenty of explanations on the web. Simply Google the phrase and see what you find!

Shabbat shalom, friends!

Note: You also might want to read something I wrote *WAY BACK* in 2006 about the roots of trees and standing during kaddish.

Oh!Nuts Purim Basket Giveaway!

I'm proud to announce that Oh!Nuts is sponsoring a giveaway on this here blog of mine, and it's just in time for Purim -- everyone's favorite hamantaschen and indulgence filled holiday on the Jewish calendar. Whether you're jonesing for some chocolate covered nuts, some delicious rock candy, some sparkling juice, or just plain-ole chocolate, there is a Purim basket (up to $30!) with YOUR name on it. So how do you rope yourself a Purim basket?

1. Leave a comment on this here blog post by Sunday, March 1, 2009 at 11:59 p.m. Eastern Time.

2. In the comment, be sure to include how I can contact you (email, that is), as well as which Purim basket on the Oh!Nuts website you fancy most.

3. On Monday, March 2, 2009, I will announce a winner first thing in the morning before sauntering off to class.

4. If you're the winner, I will announce it on the blog and will email you instructions on how to retrieve your recently won basket (up to $30).

And if you're worried about getting it in time for Purim, don't. There are two companies online that I have dealt with that have lightning-fast shipping, and those are Oh!Nuts and Artscroll . Never fear, your goodies will arrive in time for you to get chocolate stains all over your favorite Purim Superman outfit.

Let the giveaway begin!

NOTE: All items from Oh!Nuts are KOSHER! Also, the winner will be chosen at random. I'll throw all the names in a cute hat I recently bought at CoverYourHair, and pick a winner that way.