Fourth of July: In and Out Like a Ghost

It's Tuesday July 6, and Independence Day just zipped on past me. In fact, yesterday zipped past me. I think it's the first Fourth of July in years that I really haven't thought much about the day or longed for July 4ths of years gone by.

This picture probably describes what I was doing on the Fourth better than I can.

Or maybe this one? 

We were on a bridge, driving back from Connecticut with a UHaul full of the rest of our "stuff." I didn't see a single burst of fireworks, and I only heard a smattering of poppage. It was depressing, mostly because where I come from, that is to so say where I grew up in Southern Missouri and Eastern Nebraska, the Fourth of July was a big deal.

I remember attending one year an installment of the dualing neighbors in their fireworks displays that rang in at $2,000+ at each house. Other years I went out to the lake with friends and watched the fireworks. One year I even hosted people at my parent's house; it was the July 4 after graduating, in 2006. We grilled out, had a water-balloon fight, and accidentally blew fireworks off in the garage (much to my father's dismay). Afterward, we went across town to watch the big display. That, folks, was a year to remember. A few years back I was in Oak Park with my then-boyfriend, drinking bears, playing bags (Chicago style), and ogling a friend's new baby. The year after that -- my last in Chicago -- I schlepped out to the local harbor, plopped down with hundreds of other people, and waited for the fireworks to begin. I watched people order Latino corn treats off carts, children edging near the water and parents pulling them back. It was a peaceful, calm, and, for me, perfect way to celebrate Independence Day.

And this year? Moving boxes, packing boxes, emptying boxes, staring at boxes, wondering when it will all be done. Painting, trying to find time to eat, nursing back pain, knee pain, leg pain, arm pain. One thing's for sure: I was never cut out to move heavy or light objects up and/or down stairs.

I was joking with Tuvia that I am a thinker, an intellectual. Worse came to worse, I wouldn't be able to snuff it physically with the rest of them. Thinking about the Holocaust, the camps, those who couldn't snuff it, it depresses me. Would I have been one of them? Such a morbid thought for Independence Day, but that's the way the cookie crumbles right now.

We hope to have everything painted and unpacked by Friday. Hopefully Shabbos will come in to a well-organized, settled, comfortable house that feels like a home. Come Monday, I'm back to being a student (for the time being anyhow, as I have to start and finish my grad exam in two weeks). It'll feel good to be back doing something that I'm good at: learning, writing, positing.

Back to the unpackin' and paintin' grind, folks. Be well!

Chavi Appleseed

Today the shul setup a young adults and kids outing to go apple picking, and to be honest I was pretty disappointed in the turnout. Luckily, Tuvia and I convinced one of our most awesome friends to come at the last moment, and she even managed to bring her wee one with her. I was hoping for more representation from the young adults group (we're the folks that have the most in common and tend to be the most observant of the crowd at shul), but I shouldn't complain. For my first time apple-picking, it was outstanding. We picked up two bags worth of apples, half of which we donated to a local homeless shelter. I'm hoping they make some gnarly apple crisp out of them. Here are just some of the photos from the trip out to Ellington, Connecticut. Enjoy!

I really love this photo. Yes, it's a half-rotted apple still dangling from the tree, but it screams "Gan Eden."

Tuvia enjoys showing off by grabbing the highest apple from the tallest tree. (Irony: He hates apples.)

This is classic New England: crisp and cool fall foliage painted with church steeples in white.

And lastly, Chavi takes a bite out of crime ... er ... fresh off-the-vine apples!

Note: I had a lot of REALLY CUTE photos of Evan with one of the wee lasses, as well as plenty of the wee ones gnawing on apples right off the vine, but for the sake of privacy and the curtailment of cute on the intertubes, you'll have to check out my Facebook or Flickr albums. 

The Ultimate Kosher Culture Shock

Last year, Tuvia had mentioned something called "The Big E" to me when I asked him whether states out this way rock State Fairs like we do in the Midwest. We missed it last year because we were newly dating and our schedules weren't meshing, so we'd vowed to go this year to the gigantic fair that honors all of the states out here -- Maine, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont. I was stoked that we got tickets and managed to find a small window of time to go this past week. But boy oh boy was I in for a serious shock.

We arrived at The Big E fairgrounds with dozens and dozens of other cars, people schlepping on food, and RVs pulling in for the long-haul. We parked, walked through piles of mud, handed them our tickets (which they digitally scanned, which I thought was odd considering fairs in my mind are old-school), and went on our way. We wove our way through sheds and jacuzzis for sale, landing out near the Midway and near what would be something I wasn't prepared for: Fair Food.

When I was a kid, we once drove to the fairgrounds in Missouri, driving around for hours trying to find an empty hotel room, just to see some butter sculpture of Garth Brooks. We ate fried food, funnel cakes, gigantic turkey legs, and every fried goodie in between. You see, the Midwestern way when it comes to fairs is to consume as much as you can that is either fried or on a stick, or better yet -- both! You drink soda or hot chocolate or a big slushie, chow down on a deep-fried Twinkie, and marvel at gigantic vegetation or animals.

As we walked around the fair, I was reminded at how un-Midwestern it was. Yes, they had all the food trappings (the fried dough could be smelled from every corner of this place), but to see the gigantic animals you had to pay a buck. It was disappointing. But the buildings all housed the basic goods -- ShamWOW!s, choppers and knives, various pet goods, and the obligatory "Pray with Us" booth and the "Abortion is Wrong" booth with a gigantic fetus plastered on the booth wall.

As we walked around, I was feeling starved. All I wanted to do was buy some fried pickles (a classic Southern Missouri/Northern Arkansas treat), grab a basket of cheese fries, and top it off with some funnel cake. But I couldn't. I couldn't even approach the stands. I couldn't even consider it.

I'm kosher.

So imagine my delight when, after entering the craft corner, Tuvia shouted "Chavi! Look! Kosher!" Yes, there we were, in front of a candied nut booth that sported a local hechsher. Nuts. This is what I can eat at a fried, fatty-filled fair? Nuts? Cinnamon candied nuts? That's it? Okay, that's a lie. Tuvia managed to grab a coffee (a locally hechshered brand, mind you) while I had some chai (also kosher). We thought about purchasing a pretzel, since the brand that's plastered all over the heating elements is one that's kosher. But who's to say that the pretzels IN there are kosher?

As we walked through the state houses, we discovered Ben and Jerry's and a local dessert ice place, as well as a placed that was dishing out baked potatoes (with OU-certified Cabot [barf] sour cream), but by then we were worn out. Tired from all the food we couldn't eat. Or maybe it was just me. Tuvia's a Jersey boy. I'm a born-and-bred Midwestern with a palate for fried cheese and treats on sticks.

I know that it's just food, but food is how we socialize, it's how we relate to one another, the world around us. And being there, on gigantic fairgrounds spewing food that we couldn't eat, was depressing. It was a culture shock. The reality of my situation really hit me then.

Since early June, I've only eaten non-kosher once (it was a Jones for some TGIFridays). It's not so bad, but it is hard. I like to eat out. After all, my Yelp profile is full of eateries in Chicago and Washington DC and even here in Connecticut. Unfortunately, in Connecticut, the closest kosher restaurants are in Waterbury and that's just deli and pizza. If you want something real -- sushi, burgers, barbecue, steak -- you have to schlep to Monsey or Boston or New York.

I haven't had a cheeseburger in probably five years. That goes the same for shrimp and pork. If I consumed pork or shellfish since then, it was by no knowledge of my own. It took me a while to warm up to the idea of no meat and cheese. Don't get me wrong -- I've been doing no beef/dairy for years. But the chicken/cheese took me a while to really figure out. Keeping kosher dishes and containers and pots and pans and stuff hasn't been so bad. It's been staying healthy and kosher that's been the biggest problem for me. But I'm working on it. I'm back on my Morningstar Burger bent. Amen for Morningstar.

How do we do it? How do Jews in the boonies (not that Hartford is boonies, but I can't even go to the deli and get a sandwich for Pete's sake) manage without kosher restaurants? We all get tired of cooking, especially when it's the same stuff over and over again. Even trying new dishes can burn you out. I just know that when Tuvia and I are in Israel in two months that coming back will be difficult, if not impossible. Having kosher food at your fingertips -- even having that cultural mindset of kashrut -- will blow our collective minds into submission to those pushing aliyah.

But one thing's for sure: I can never go to the fair again.

Until, of course, they offer something kosher and delicious. How hard would it be to put up a kosher booth? After all, The Big E states are full of Jews -- Connecticut and Massachusetts especially. Do Jews not go to the fair? Maybe I'll start my own fair. Or maybe that's what the Purim fair is for. Who knows.

Either way, this Kosher Cornhusker can't go home again. At least, not with a corn dog in one hand and fried cheese on a stick in the other.

Beat of the Same Drum.

Slap me silly and call me crazy, but I love Waterbury, Connecticut.

When I told people that Tuvia and I were going on Sunday to visit, the initial reaction was "Seriously?" and "You can't move there" and "They're black hat, yeshivish, you could never fit in there." So I went in a little closed, a little cautious. The defense was most certainly up. We arrived atop this gigantic hill in a housing development that is slowly going up for the Orthodox Jewish community. There were maybe 10-12 houses already built with another couple dozen in the works as soon as buyers pop up. The couple we were visiting were put in touch with Tuvia through a blog reader who so graciously made the connection. We arrived to freshly baked muffins and the kindest and most welcoming couple. They were ready, without reservation, to welcome us into their home, take us around town, introduce us to their friends and rabbi, and that they did.

We visited the grocery store to see the kosher options (outstanding), a deli (fried chicken and fries for $4.95? yes!), the rabbi's house (where we were given pastries and welcomed with an incomparable eagerness), the yeshivah, the school, the shul, and we landed at last at the newly opened pizza place where I took part in the most delicious piece of cheese pizza!

Yes, it's a very frum community, but they're so devoted to growth, to maintaining friendships and family, to Torah, mitzvot, to a Jewish life. It wasn't scary, pushy, or too far off the right wing plank for us. In fact, it was kind of refreshing.

Am I nuts?

There's something beautiful about living where everyone is sort of rocking the same tune. I love the diversity of the community I'm currently in -- some drive to shul, some don't, some are shomer Shabbos, some aren't, some are kosher in the home and some are vegetarian out. I respect the rights of everyone to do what is right for them Jewishly -- it's the beauty of the Jewish community! But there's something nice about being someplace where everyone's rocking the same hashkafah, where everyone's kind of in tune with each other. It's possible to be in-tune without being drones, and that's not what I'm getting at.

Am I making sense here?

At any rate, it was an outstanding experience, followed by a hike at Sleeping Giant State Park with the Young Adults Club from my shul and a good-gone-bad dinner at Claire's Corner Copia in New Haven, CT (a kosher, veggie joint where it took us more than an hour to get all of our food -- UGH). Here are a few photos of our adventure.

There are more photos, of course, up at my personalized Facebook page!

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.

Lech Lecha, and I will be like the River.

This is a big Shabbos blog post, but I'm asking myself: Where do I begin? If this is long and wandering and all touchy feely and makes you feel queasy with nauseousness, I do apologize in advance :) Likewise, this isn't nearly as eloquent as it was in my head earlier today, so please forgive me!

I spent my Friday afternoon talking to a fellow who will be known as JDater E on the phone and then the interwebs while he trekked off for a little long-weekend getaway. I put on my skirt and my cardigan, minimized the items I was carrying to my building/room key and my ID pouch, and headed off to meet others walking to the Chabad rabbi's house off campus around 6:45. I got to the meeting spot and after a few minutes others joined me there, others whom I had met at the big Hillel BBQ last week, as well as a few people from Hebrew class and elsewhere. We headed off to the rabbi's house, getting there a little after 7 p.m. There were warm welcomes and introductions and the rabbi started the service with about a half-dozen or so other guys, while the four or five of us women lit the Shabbos candles. There were children -- six of them -- running rampant the entire night, and I'll admit they were a distraction, but I think I just haven't been around children in so long that I forgot that they, too, are part of the Shabbos evening dinner.

The services didn't last long, and I found it hard to follow along in the prayerbook. I've become so familiar with the Artscroll Siddur that I sort of just wandered around in the pages, while also watching the kids run around screaming and trying to gain our attention. More people continued to show up and join in services and by the time we sat down for dinner there was an entire house full of people. There were three courses, including the requisite gefilte fish (YUM!!). There was wine and singing and challah (the challah, btw, was AMAZING), and lots, and lots of conversation.

I was sitting at the end of the table with what I would say are the older folks that attend Shabbos at the Chabad rabbi's house. There was an engaged couple and three others -- all who are Shomer Negiah -- and me. They all have known each other well, and they were busy talking about future Shabbos plans and the conversation was flying by around me, but I slowly started to work my way in and grew comfortable with the conversation. At one point, during conversation about each of my new friends' paths to Orthodoxy, someone said "what did you grow up as?" And of course my answer is always: "I didn't grow up Jewish." Someone mentioned that they were surprised -- I looked Jewish! They would have never guessed. So the questions came and for the first time, I felt completely at ease talking about everything with these people because most of them weren't frum from birth, and as I explained my path and thoughts about having an Orthodox conversion, one even suggested setting me up with a rabbi in West Hartford.

Dinner concluded and there was more singing and conversation and the group of us headed off back to campus for a post-Shabbos dinner get together that included pickles and vodka. Now, this was around 11 something and it was incredibly humid outside. We trekked, quite quickly, back to campus, up to the sixth floor of a building, and into a small dorm room -- mind you, there were about a dozen of us. It was hot, and we were all tired, and definitely dehydrated, but we had our L'Chaims and told stories and talked about Israel and what it means to be Jewish. We sang songs -- Am Yisrael Chai -- and we shared with eachother. We toasted and we laughed and we joked and even when the lights went off (auto-timer!) at 2 something, we continued to talk. G-d, someone said, had wanted us to continue talking and sharing, even with the lights off. We talked about life being a narrow bridge, and what that meant to us. For me, I said, it meant that I had chosen a path that was difficult, one that was not oft-traveled, and that despite everything around me, I continue to walk the narrow path. And then I explained why I'd converted, about my soul lighting up, and one of the guys talked to me about how my sincerity, my soul, made it all true. And then, around 3 in the morning, we all took off back home, to sleep.

Unfortunately, I was pretty much awake until 7 a.m. tossing and turning. I was dehyradated and intoxicated and uncomfortable. Davening began at 10:30 a.m., and lunch was set for around 1 p.m. I finally fell asleep and woke up around noon, feeling miserable. I decided not to go to the Chabad house, and rather, I ate something here and went back to sleep. I felt pretty miserable about not making it to morning services and the events today because last night? Last night was absolutely perfect. I wasn't worried that other people would wonder "Why isn't Chavi here?" I was worried about my own guilt. My own irritation with not handling myself in a way that would allow me to get up and be a part of the community. So here I am.

I learned that an eruv has been set up within my building to allow for carrying on Shabbat (AWESOME), because there's a fellow who lives a floor down who is frum. It turns out there are quite a few of us more observant Jews in the grad housing area, which makes me feel cozy.

But this has just been a "this is what I did" kind of post, and I really want to make it more a "this is how I felt" post. I feel like, in this community of people, I can really embrace where I want to be Jewishly. I was thinking about it and I think my only beef with being frum would be the no showering on Shabbos (nu? hair like this doesn't do well without a shower, and wearing scarves will make me look like I'm hitched). But otherwise? It's completely feasible. There is a kosher kitchen, meals at the Chabad house on Shabbos, an eruv in the building, other frum Jews who dress modestly, people I can ask questions, people who can answer questions. There is an every Shabbos together bit where people come here and other weeks go to West Hartford for Shabbos or there was talk even of going to Monsey.

I feel so at home. So completely and utterly at home, like I am arriving again. It reminded me of when I first went to shul and felt like I was being enveloped in large, warm arms, like the G-d I had embraced was embracing me back. That is how it feels to be here amid this community. Singing Am Yisrael Chai in a dorm room stuffed to the brim with people, sweating up a storm, and talking about what it means that the people Israel lives? It sounds hippie dippy, I know, but it wasn't. These people are so passionate about their Judaism and who they are Jewishly and what it means to be a part of this community that it is impossible to not feel it as well.

Coming home last night, before I started to feel completely crappy physically, I felt high. Like the world was at my fingertips, filled with complete bliss. These people around me embraced me as I could only have hoped they would have. There was a point at dinner when there was a lull in conversation when I smiled really big and said "I am so happy right now" and everyone sort of looked at me funny, but I explained that this is what I was hoping to find here, at school, in this second attempt to make things right.

And so it is, this place is home now. I have no questions about that. I am happy and healthy and once this heat passes, things will all fit very nicely, I think. And in all honesty, if the hardest thing for me is figuring out this whole no showering on Shabbos business, then I think I'm doing pretty well. The theology is there (even if I haven't blogged about it), the heart is there, the soul is there, and here is the community. And why am I telling you all this? Because it's part of my process. It allows you to see through my eyes, maybe, what it means to be a convert who is continuing the path, I guess.

The journey is never over, of course, we're never static -- at least, we shouldn't be -- and in this way, I intend to be like river in a stream, constantly moving, over rocks or twigs or even the smoothest underbelly of the riverbed. This is just another bend in the river.

Shavua Tov, readers.

Look Ma! I Done it!

It only took me about 3.5 days to master the Hebrew script. Seriously? I bought a book with the express purpose of mastering Hebrew Script because I was fearful of this class, and I get here, and with one day's worth of homework assignments under my belt and two days (that's actually three) classes, I have for you, Aleph-Bet a la Chavi:

Let's call it Chavi script. And if you want to see what the REAL Hebrew Script looks like, you can click here and check out the fancy, handy dandy chart that every Hebrew professor on the planet uses. Of course, I have to wait and see what the professor thinks of my take on the letters, since, as with all handwriting, things come out different. Maybe I should take on Rashi Script next? HA! But I just wanted to share my mastering what I was so scared of.

The long weekend approaches, and right now the only plans I have tentatively made are for a fellow I've met on JDate and I to perhaps get some nosh and explore Letterboxing on Monday afternoon. Other than that, I intend on doing a lot of reading in Qohelet, some exploration in Exodus for Bible class, a bit of dabbling in the Hebrew vocabulary, and reading up on something to prepare some quirky interview questions for PopJudaica's blog, AND ... yes, lots of blogging here. In the works are the following:

• Blog on Rabbi Marc D. Angel's "The Search Committee" ... long overdue, and needing to be written!
• Blog (perhaps a video blog?) on how I managed to organize myself and all there is to know about Judaism during my conversion process (a nod to Rachel at Shavua Tov! for inquiring and inspiring!). 

And of course, some sleep (though I seem to get plenty) and I might actually manage to trek to the gym and see what they have to offer! Oh, and I suppose I should start figuring out my late September, early October plans, buying plane tickets back to Nebraska for my BFF Annie's wedding and figuring out High Holiday plans.

Why must they creep up so!?

(By the way, don't tell anyone, but now I'm thinking ... wow ... becoming a Professor of Hebrew? That would be the most awesome job ever. The question is ... am I too far behind in getting started to even consider such a thing?)

Feeling like home.

My best bud Annie and her beau (that's fiance to you folks!) Ben came to Storrs today to check out my new digs and see a little smidgin of campus (they live just a hop, skip, and a jump away in Hartford). We got lunch, walked around a bit, and then they took me grocery shopping because they are AWESOME. I ended up with some jelly, crackers, microwave-friendly items, juice, oatmeal and more. Essentially, enough to last me when the snack-style hunger comes. But before we went shopping, we spent some quality time with the Huskie dog, Jonathan.

 

  

And my personal favorite, Ben on his mighty steed.

 

I think the greatest thing about B&A is that I've been able to watch their relationship progress since Day 1 since I was there. That makes me happy :) Stoked to see them get hitched in October, just after Yom Kippur, too!

The next few weeks, then UConn.

So it is, that in a mere two weeks, I will be leaving Chicago for a week-long trip prior to my arriving in Storrs, Connecticut, where I will be attending school to acquire a master's degree in Judaic studies. It's a two year program, and whether I end up in a PhD program in New York or Israel or elsewhere or if I end up meeting my beshert and starting a family or if I end up doing school temporarily in Israel or converting Orthodox or working at some Jewish organization, well ... those things are yet to be seen/decided/figured out. I could, of course, get hit by a bus tomorrow -- who knows!

When I leave Chicago, I'm making the (semi-) brief trek to Lincoln, Nebraska, where I spent my adolescence and undergraduate years. I'll be spending time with my little brother, who is 16, meeting his new (and first) girlfriend. I'll be going to the restaurants that I so miss, eating the food that I remember as distinctly Nebraskan, visiting the locales (the CoHo) where I would sometimes spend eight hours a day studying biblical Hebrew. I'll be in Lincoln for about four days, hopefully seeing old friends and having drinks and doing that "last hurrah" kind of thing before I scoot off to Connecticut, where I plan to make some lifestyle changes. Of course, I say that I plan, but we all know how planning goes -- most of the time it doesn't. I hesitate to make any grandiose statements, and at this point making those statements without my big WHAT IS MY THEOLOGY post would probably result in some criticism and furthering opinions about my sincerity. So, let's just say, my time in Nebraska is meant to be a full, all-out time of enjoyment and good times.

I'll then make the 22-hour drive from Lincoln to Storrs over a few days. I'm still not sure how I'm splitting the trip up, or whether I'll be stopping at all. I know driving 22 hours is pretty brutal, and it's difficult because I'll be driving through several states were friends -- some whom I haven't seen in years or met at all -- reside. In a perfect world, I'd loop through Indiana and Ohio and Pennsylvania, making stops to see e-friends and college friends alike. Then again, the price of gas and the thought of turning my car in after the deadline make my wallet weep. So chances are, it'll be a straight-shot.

I am hoping, though, that when I am in Connecticut, that I will be able to make at least once-a-month treks into New York city for Shabbos with (at present) e-friends. I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be on Shabbat, especially with my ever-evolving Underconstructionist existence. Plus, if I'm going to meet a nice Jewish boy, the chances are good that I'll be able to pick one up in NYC, nu? From what I can tell, there's a mighty (or perhaps just visible) Jewish presence on the U of C campus. There's a Hillel (with their own website!) and Chabad, and it appears that they have cross-denomination services on Shabbat (this intrigues me immensely -- egalitarian? which prayer book? women leading services?). West Hartford, a half-hour jaunt from Storrs, has a mighty Jewish presence, including an active eruv. They even have a weekly Jewish newspaper: the Jewish Ledger. It seems, though, that it might be easier for me to go to NYC than to get to Hartford. Shocking, eh? My plan is to stay on campus for Shabbos, see how services are, and perhaps develop my own Shabbat habits. But it's hard to write about what I want to happen, thinking about what will happen. I guess in about a month, I should have already experienced my first Shabbat, as well as having experienced the opening Jewish BBQ festivities, and hopefully I'll have some idea of what the Jewish presence on campus is like.

And I know what some reader is thinking: Who cares? Well, I care. My undergraduate school had about 90 Jews enrolled (or was it 60?), and of those, there were about 15-20 who were actually "actively Jewish," as in, showed up for Hillel events and took the Jewish studies courses and what have you. I'd be happy with even 100 Jewish students who show their faces every now and again. I mean, in a state with 6,000 Jews, most of whom live in Omaha, it was tough cookies as far as making a Jewish connection or finding a mate went. So I'm excited at the prospect of a more prevalent, populous community. And the thought of even being near NYC, an American Jewish mecca, well, really gets my gears going.

Community, folks, is a BIG part of Judaism, being Jewish, living Jewishly. At least, it is for me!