"I was more Hasidic Jew than I knew!"

This is a really amazing interview by the very special @mottiseligson. I would have plotzed at the chance to interview Oprah!

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To Life, To Life, L'Chaim!

For the second time in the past month, Tuvia and I schlepped down to New York City to Crown Heights for something exciting! A few weeks ago? It was to see FrumSatire get his comedy on. Last night? It was to attend the L'Chaim of my wisdom-ful blogger friend, Mottel.

We drove down after Tuvia got off work, in a shwanky rental car since Tuvia's is getting fixed up thanks to some bad weather rear-endings. The trek was incredibly quick, and we stopped off for some incredibly disappointing cupcakes in the city before heading off to Crown Heights. We found a parking spot pretty quickly down the block from the Jewish Children's Museum, and a few minutes after 9 p.m. walked into the F.R.E.E. (Friends of Refugees of Eastern Europe) building.

Because I'm a fond believer in the private lives and the privacy of other bloggers, I'm not going to go into massive details of the engagement event. I'll just say that for my first L'Chaim, it was absolutely beautiful. I was in the women's section the entire time, but people flowed almost gracefully between the two groups, but with respecting completely the necessity of modesty and separation. The food was amazing, the people were so kind, and perhaps most importantly, the kallah was absolutely beautiful.

Whenever I attend events like this, where there's a ton of Chabadniks and modestly dressed women (believe me, I was all frummed up and the only skin to be seen was on my hands and face), I feel out of place without trying. I have short, short hair and every Jewish woman on the planet dons long, flowing dark hair -- even with her sheitl styles! The clothes are satiny and elegant, the women are graceful without trying. And the men? Pious, excited about who they are and HaShem above. Their passion is something to be seen, something to be understood, and it fails to compare to anything else I know. I see those men, and those women, and I'm filled with admiration. Can I be like that? Would I be able to be like that? Would I want to be like that? I left feeling a desire to be shomer negiah. Is that obscene? The entire idea of matchmaking suddenly felt so beautiful. So romantic. Thousands of years of Jewish matches made can't be wrong, can they?

At any rate, it was a wonderful evening and all I can say is Mazel Tov and many, many happy things to Mottel and his kallah!

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!

Shabbaton Reflections, Part II

It's been nearly a week since I sat down to write my reflections on the first day of the Shabbaton that took place Nov. 7-9. To read the first installment, just click here . And then? Continue on!

I woke up Saturday morning primed to give the Shabbaton the old one-two go! I slept in late, mostly because the folks who lived upstairs (my host lived in a basement apartment) were up at 6 or 7 in the morning and children were running back and forth, feet stomping, throughout the morning. Services and a few programs were running in the morning, but I just couldn't bring myself to crawl out of bed (partially from the sleep deprivation and partially because of my experience the night before at services). I got up, got dressed in a long black skirt and I layered two shirts atop it. And then? I put on a scarf. I'm serious, folks. You haven't seen me in the morning. My hair, while cute when done up right, is an absolute mess pre-shower and doing up. It's like a wild forest of twists and crazy angles and nothing can keep it down. Plus, with the humid weather from the rain, my hair wasn't the only thing looking like hell. I, too, looked like hell. I was feeling sticky and gross, and I knew it was going to be a long day sans shower (I prescribe to the "a shower is okay on Shabbat" philosophy). As I was finishing up dressing, my host awoke and came out to talk to me, not to mention gave me some yogurt and goodies before I went on my way.

I left the apartment and schlepped through the rain (not that it mattered, since my hair was scarfed a la a frummie housewife) to the building where all of the programming was happening. I, like the night before, blended in with the crowd of Jews rushing to and fro from services to lunch to meetings with friends and family. My black skirt whipped back and forth in the rain, and I felt apart of the community, for sure.

I arrived at the building in time for lunch around the noon hour, located some of my fellow UConn Jews and the doors opened and we grabbed a table right inside the door. I sort of forgot that I was wearing my scarf and it wasn't really like I'd felt any different than the evening before, but then someone mentioned to me the scarf and I went into my spiel about how my hair looks hideous in the morning. Someone commented that I looked super frum, and as usual, I smiled. The meal came and was, to be honest, pretty darn delicious. There was gefilte fish, various salads, cholent, challah, salad, cookies, cake, you name it. But it wasn't the meal that was the most memorable part.

Throughout the meal, rabbis got up to tell jokes and parables -- a really funny one about a rabbi and lawyer on a long flight (remind me to tell you about it later!). There was dancing around the main lectern in the center of the ballroom, and men flew through the crowd legs flying and voices wailing. It was a really, really unique and beautiful site. The women, eager to partake, tried to get something going (that is, two of the gals at my table and myself), and eventually we had a circle going and our voices flew. But just about as soon as we'd started the men broke up and we got the social nod to quit and sit. Also throughout the meal, I had the pleasure of chasing the rabbi's youngest boy around the ballroom. He is, really, seriously, the cutest little boy I've ever encountered. At one point, while chasing him as he looked for the rabbi, I grabbed him right as he was jetting off into unknown territory. As I picked him up, the girl with me said "You look so religious, so maternal right now." It was a moment of pride, I'll admit, but the little one quickly squirmed out of my arms and ran on and I, like a good Jewish mother, followed him along until about 10 minutes later we finally got back to the table. I have radar for the little one -- he'd get up and run for the door, I'd let the rebbetzin know he was off again. I have the instinct, what can I say?

After lunch, there were a series of "seminars" on various topics -- Jewish dating, belief, prayer, etc. -- by rabbis and rebbetzins of the Chabad persuasion. I decided to settle into a talk by a rabbi on the topic of belief in Judaism. I was one of the first in the classroom, followed by a girl from Syracuse. We exchanged pleasantries and where we were from and then she asked, "So are you the rebbetzin at UConn?" The scarf! Always with the scarf. I replied no, and made a sort of sudden realization that in the Chabad community, sheitels are the standard it seems, not scarves or other head coverings. The room started to fill up and by the time the talk started, there was standing room only and people were sitting on the floor. The rabbi, who is known for his work on the Gunick Edition of the chumash, kept the conversation incredibly lively by discussing whether Judaism is a rational or irrational religion. Whether our belief is of the rational variety or is irrational, and boy did that stir some discussion. Many people in the crowd began talking about taking a "leap of faith" in believing, and how it's an essential part of Judaism. It was interesting because the men were the only one talking, and the women were sitting quietly. A few of the women next to me commented, saying "the women have nothing to say!"

But me? I always have something to say.

I raised my hand, and said that I wasn't sure if I had an opinion on whether Judaism was rational or irrational, but that the idea that Judaism takes a "leap of faith" is a misconception. I explained that Kierkegaard, when writing about Christianity, said that to be a Christian requires a "leap of faith." In response, Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote that Judaism, alternatively, requires a "leap of action." If you think about it (this needs a full blog post to be honest), it's pretty accurate. I also mentioned that what we think of as "faith" is really meant to be "faithfulness." I blogged about this at length a while ago. But it frustrates me that people confuse faith with belief. The rabbi thanked me for my comments, someone commented that I was nuts, and the seminar went on. Afterward, I wandered the hallways trying to figure out which seminar to go to next, but none struck me. Luckily, I ran into the rabbi from the talk, who I ended up having a lengthy conversation with -- about what I'm studying and working on, the Golden Calf issue (about which he sent me some really comprehensive and stellar stuff from the Gutnick edition), and other things. It was truly -- after the Shabbat dinner -- my favorite part of the Shabbaton. I'm an academic geek, and there's truly nothing like a discussion with a rabbi about anything at all.

But after the seminar? My Shabbat hit a huge, huge brick wall.

I can't explain it, but talking to the rabbi and attending that seminar was a high. After that, and after the second seminar time expired, it was time to prepare for Havdalah and the big group photo. As soon as that all ended, the evening broke out into individual dinners, a gigantic party with a band, and fabrengen's into the wee hours of the night. But as I crowded into the ballroom with hundreds of other students, and as we plastered ourselves against the side wall, I grew anxious and uncomfortable. Every five seconds, as the crowd grew louder and the people grew more tense while we waited for everything to get set up for havdalah and the group photo ... I wanted to leave. I kept wanting to walk out. I could see the rabbi and the rebbetzin across the room and knew I should stay. I looked around the room at the comaradarie, the students chanting school songs and there I was, in a crowd of strangers. Havdalah candles were lit, prayers were said, a few songs were sung, and then the flashbulbs burned and we were done. Like a stampede, people piled out of the ballroom to run home to shower, eat, prepare for the night's festivities as only college students might.

But me? I ran home, called someone, showered, got dressed, and sat down for a few hours with my host to explain why that person I'd called was coming to pick me up and take me away from Crown Heights. As I explained feeling quite alone, too old for the crowd, overwhelmed by the rebbe-as-moshiach-posters everywhere, the sheer volume and size of the group of people, and everything ... she understood why I was leaving. She -- as well as many others since then -- suggested I go back to Crown Heights when I have the chance to really experience a Shabbat without hundreds of other kids, and the suggestion is valid and I intend to take it into account. But by leaving early, I was sacrificing the events on Sunday, which included the trip to the rebbe's ohel and experiencing the entire site with my peers -- something I want to do, but perhaps alone or with merely one or two others, not in a gigantic crowd of hundreds. And just like that, Saturday night, I hopped into the car of a friend with some rugelach from my host in hand, and drove off into the night away from the Shabbaton and away from Crown Heights.

Listen, what it comes down to -- and I must say this briefly, else I'll have a 20 part series on the event -- is that it was overwhelming for someone so conditioned to inward thinking (a result of living a year in Washington DC and becoming as antisocial as a hermit), everyone was doing their own thing and I was left to consider how completely out of the loop I really was, and I felt a lack of connection religiously to anything in Crown Heights. I went in with very high hopes, and the absolute magnitude of the entire event and the population of students there, paired with the lack of cohesion between the students from my school, threw me to the ground and left me feeling lonely. I did, though, realize my limits. I can't say much more than that, but I'll leave it there for now and perhaps develop something for a future post.

It isn't, by any means, an event I'll forget, and I might even give the Shabbaton another try next year. Or, I might just schlep down to New York on my own or with someone special, visit the Ohel, explore Crown Heights, and maybe show up again for a Shabbat. Or, just maybe, I'll stick to Washington Heights, where I felt beyond comfortable and felt at home in the services. I felt in WH like the women wanted to be there, that it was more than a social hour. (As an aside: Maybe I'll make my tour de force empowering Orthodox women to own their religion. It's more than a social hour, damnit. Women aren't bound to the same mitzvot as men, necessarily, but it doesn't mean we shouldn't strive for that connection that we gain by davening and being a part of a society of prayer.)

But there you are. A mere two parts, because after more than a week, it's almost a lost cause trying to put together coherent thoughts about such an emotionally stressful weekend. If you got this far? Congratulations and thank you for the time!

Shabbaton Reflections, Part I of ??

I have nearly 100 blog entries from friends to catch up on between Friday morning and today, not to mention that I just spent the past few hours catching up on responding to the dozens and dozens of emails that I received since Friday. I have somehow become a very, very busy e-person. But the point of this post is to get down a general outline of the Shabbaton in Crown Heights from this weekend before it all escapes me. This will be a two parter, though I'm not sure how I'll divide it up just yet. The short of the story is that I left Crown Heights to trek back to Connecticut on Saturday night after Shabbos was over. There are a variety of reasons that will probably come out between the lines of text, but I'll summarize likely in Part II or III, which will come later. Not sure how many parts this will be, so bear with me. Let us begin.

Five students packed into a car on Friday around 12:30 p.m. to schlep to Crown Heights (CH) for this year's annual Shabbaton. For two of us, it was our first Shabbaton, and for the other three, it was like old hat. We hit the highway and one of our passengers read the traveler's prayer off his palm device, setting us up for a safe trip. It sprinkled on and off, and we all anticipated at least a bit of rain, but the trip was fairly smooth and we made it into CH with about an hour and a half to spare before Shabbos started. We skipped check-in ("not enough time!") and everyone piled out of the car and the two girls headed one way and the two guys another and I, in my infinite confusion, said "Guys, I have no idea where I'm going, anyone?" Luckily, after some gentle prodding for SOME semblance of order, I was pointed in a general direction of my host's home and after some wandering I arrived, feeling gross from the muggy weather and ready to get the Shabbaton on the road. There was only one problem.

No one told me anything. I didn't know where to go. I didn't know when to go where. I didn't know where davening was or dinner was or where the opening program was. With Shabbos fast approaching, I was frustrated because I didn't seem to have any way of getting any information. Since we hadn't registered, I didn't know the itinerary and for those of you that know me well, I'm the kind of person who needs to know what's going on well in advance. I was frustrated from square one before the weekend even arrived because I didn't know who was going, how we were getting there, or what the itinerary was. Maybe I'm a little OCD in the organizing department, but that's just how I am. So the rabbi magically showed up (baruch hashem!) with linens and a schedule for me, as well as a map so I could get around. Talk about a blessing. The sirens went off, warning us of the impending beginning to Shabbat (nearly 4:30! oy so early!), and I finished the munchies I was noshing (thank you host!) and I eventually made my way to the main building where everything was to be held, and I started to feel more prepared for everything.

The crowd was, in a word, intense. It was huge. From our school there were maybe about seven people. There were hundreds of undergraduates (and maybe some graduates, but I had no way of telling) in a ballroom and the noise level was extreme. To express how loud it was both at the beginning and later at the farbrengen, when I arrived back home around 1 a.m. that night, my ears were RINGING, as if I'd been at a rock concert. The icebreakers didn't last long because of the noise level and I spent a lot of time wandering around looking for others in the group. Eventually everyone sat down (with their schools) and there was an opening session followed by a schlep to evening services at 770 (Lubavitch Headquarters). The opening session seemed to last forever because the noise level -- a constant frustration for the speakers and leaders of the event -- just wouldn't calm itself. Maybe I'm old and lame and spend too much time shaking my fists at those darn kids to get off my lawn, but the entire weekend it seemed like there was an intense lack of respect for the rabbis who were trying to speak.

At any rate, services were definitely interesting. Now, I feel like I'm sounding really negative, and I don't mean to. There were a lot of really intensely amazing things about the weekend (the two big ones being the Shabbat dinner by the rebbetzin's family and the session on belief that I attended Saturday), but being a newbie to the world of CH and Chabad, it felt like I was a spectator, and being someone who is intensely committed to her Judaism and davening and the experience of being a Jew, it was frustrating sometimes. At services, the men went into a lower entrance and the women into an upper entrance. Now, being someone who adores the mechitzah, this didn't bug me in the slightest. But then you get into what feels like a "viewing room" where the women overlook the men's prayer hall -- there are tables in the back where the Yeshiva bochurim were chatting and davening and up front where the Shabbaton folks and others were davening. Upstairs, the women overlook the gigantic room through tinted windows with a small area at the bottom which you can see clearly through. So we get there and I'm ready to daven. Shabbat for me is so much about prayer, right? But after a while, I realized that there was no way we could know where the men were in their prayers because there was so much noise. I looked around and women were chatting, watching the men, no one was praying. Not a single one. I was so confused. Isn't this what we go to shul for? To daven in a community? After a while, I threw up my hands and started davening the service on my own around the same time one of the other girls from my group did the same. Then, the service was over and we took off for Shabbat dinner.

I finally fell back into my comfort zone. The dinner was by the rebbetzin's sister and brother-in-law, and it was to be all of the UConn kids as well as a few from Oregon who had come in, not to mention the family of the rebbetzin -- including her father and the great bubbe of the family! The Shabbat dinner was, in a word, magnificent. It was full of song and stories and discussion and the most delicious food. We did introductions, we laughed, we listened to the rebbetzin's father tell stories that were accompanied by songs to the tunes of "Yesterday" by the Beatles and "Come on Baby Light My Fire" by the Doors. We talked of parables and Torah and what it means to find your path and to follow it. The kids ran around playing and laughing and one even fell asleep on the wood floor in the corner. There was one moment, that I just can't bring myself to write about here, where I was sort of shocked and dismayed with the children, but what can you do? They're children, I guess. It reminds me, though, that we are living in funny times. The songs we sang were songs I was unfamiliar with -- "Ain't Gonna Work on Saturday," which I now love, and others. But it felt like a family. I felt like I was a part of a big Jewish family who was cohesive and comfortable. I was also excited because it was the first time I'd ever been in a house that had two separate ovens and counters and the works! I think my awe and excitement had some people giving me funny looks, but I'm the Liberal Jewish product of a Conservative Christian upbringing, so what can you expect? On our way out that night, one of the little boys was singing a song about cholent and I thought, This, this is what Shabbat is -- it's family and food and songs and stories and prayer and bentchers marking weddings and bar mitzvahs of years long past.

We left and walked back to the building with the ballroom for the farbrengen. It was late, and I -- being old and lame as I am -- was exhausted. But I forged forth, trying to soak in every morsel of the Shabbat that I could. We got there and the various events that were supposed to be going on seemed to be muddled by noise and people moving from room to room and volume levels I can't describe. I wandered around for a while, trying to find part of the UConn group, but without much luck for a great deal of time. We walked over together, and people went their separate ways. Everyone seemed to know someone, and I tried to chat with strangers. I found myself most comfortable in a room watching men dance around and sing, women beating their fists on the table to tunes they all knew but I was unfamiliar with. Eventually I grew tired and found a few people and one of the fellows walked me home in the drizzling rain. I got home that night to my host's house where everyone was asleep feeling tired, my ears ringing, my clothes soaked, trying to figure out what the evening had meant outside of my amazing time at the Shabbat dinner. Walking through the streets in my long skirt walking 90 miles a minute, I felt as if I fit in so well to the aesthetic of the community, but something was off.

I'll end this portion of my Shabbaton reflection by saying a few things about me. I don't do well with crowds. Loud environments make me anxious. I was unlucky enough to inherit much of my mother's anxiety issues when it comes to these things. The feeling of claustrophobia and anxiousness when put in close quarters with people screaming and hollering and bumping into you. I swear I've never been touched so much in my life as I was this weekend (which, I'll admit is strange considering the Chabad environment, but you have to remember that it was a LOT of undergradate kids). I guess what I'm trying to say is that the Shabbaton was probably intensely wonderful for a lot of people. But for me? I'm 25 years old. I have something going on in the Jewish couple thing, which means that sessions on Jewish dating and scoping out the meat market are two things that didn't register for me. Maybe I'm crotchety, but meeting dozens of random people who I'll likely never see again who I can't likely relate to on a delicate level because of our different outlooks and perspectives wasn't appealing. I'm a graduate student, and I have a certain way I look at life. When I was an undergraduate, I had a completely different perspective. The two crowds? Might be able to mingle loosely, but it's hard in such gigantic settings. This is probably why, to some degree, I felt left out by the people I'd come with who -- on a weekly Shabbat level -- I relate to and feel friendly with. And I'm sure that played a role in my reaction to the weekend, too.

At any rate, more to come tomorrow about sleeping in, covering my hair and what kind of reaction it got ("Are you the rebbetzin at UConn?"), the lunch and the funny jokesters, the rabbi with the amazing stories and thoughts, the seminar on belief that helped me to make an important connection with an important rabbi, the end of Shabbat, seeing the rebbe's picture everywhere and the signs of the impending arrival of moshiach, and how I ended up leaving the Shabbaton an entire day early to head back to Connecticut  -- missing my trip to the rebbe's ohel. 

Hitting the Road, Jack!

In about an hour I'm hopping in a car with four other eager Jewish college students to trek to Crown Heights for the International Shabbaton there this weekend. We'll be eating Shabbos meals by family members of the Chabad rabbi on campus and partying it up Crown Heights style, I guess. There are several things I've had to think about in packing for the trip, and even though I got a 50-50 (yes-no) response on whether it was a faux pas to wear a Jean Skirt to the Shabbaton weekend, I've decided against it.

Why?

I don't know. I was browsing the web and found a ChabadTalk forum ranting and raving about how Jean Skirts should be banned (as they evidently are or were in Israel in some places) since they're not so tzinius. So whatever, I have plenty of skirts. Yes, people might look at me in a Jean Skirt and say "she's probably Modern Orthodox," but I'd rather not deal with anything that might make ME uncomfortable.

Don't get me wrong, I love skirts. I own more skirts now than I did pretty much my entire life. So it's a something, considering I used to be very anti-skirt in my pant-loving days of my youth (sort of never was a girly girl, that is, despite mom dressing me up in jumpers and homemade dresses crafted on her sewing machine).

At any rate, I think I'll have a lot to write about post-Shabbat.

Is it sad that when Shabbat rolls around the thing I worry about the most is my hair? You cookie-cutter Jewish girls with your long dark hair don't know how easy you have it! Yes, I might stand out and look hip and different, but on Shabbos morning? This do is a mess!

Shabbat Shalom, everyone!

Chavi's Life in Fewer than 500 Words

Are you ready for a "roundup of the life of Chavi" post? Brace yourself, it's absolutely thrilling. (Oh, and a note? The hedgehog birthday note was for Mottel , so I hope he enjoyed it.)

At any rate, this is what happens when I spend days taking notes on all of the ways that Qohelet espouses on how to live/act to find happiness (via wisdom). Yes, I scribble and doodle. I think it's my way of thinking. Thought through random objects with random shapes with random shading.

I'm quite excited for this Shabbos, because it means I'm one week closer to the International Shabbaton in Crown Heights, NY next weekend. It will not only be my first time in Crown Heights, but it will once again be an observant Shabbos with hopefully like-minded people. But I'm also excited for this Shabbos because I got my lamp timers in the mail (thanks for the suggestion Susanne), and my lamps are all set up to turn on and turn off at specific times. The wonders of technology are magnificent, and they'll finally allow me to turn my lamps off without violating the Sabbath! Add to this I got some more scarves, a pair of (cheesily plaid) snow boots, not to mention a long jean skirt (man, I never thought I'd want another one of those) on the way, and I'm stoked.

And ... I'm seconds away from having the oomph to email a couple rabbis to discuss how I can go about proceeding with a conversion, as well. But that's taking some working up to. I figure I have some Orthodox references on my side who are willing to attest to my want, nay, need, for an Orthodox conversion in the near/not-so-distant future.

And lastly? (Man this is a big "ooo Orthodoxy post.") I hopped over to Nosh, the kosher dining facility for dinner tonight and was so glad I did -- cheese lasagna, garlic bread, strawberry shortcake, and a delicious Italian salad? Yum. I've also -- for the past week -- been completely solid on the separation of meat and dairy in my meals. I was holding out for so long on the chicken/milk, but it's become interesting and intriguing eating in the (non-kosher) cafeteria while attempting to eat things without dairy for meat meals and vice-a-versa. Now that I've realized how easy it is to get to Nosh, I'll probably venture there regularly. The kitchen staff are great, and aside from being short on the mashgiach and not being able to serve some meals, they're nice digs.

Most importantly? I'm pretty darn content with where I'm going.