Ask Chaviva Anything!: Being a Convert, School, and Music

Ready for another installment of Ask Chaviva Anything!? Because I am! Let's get started. [PS: Ask more questions here!]

Do you think that maybe you over-emphasize the whole convert thing? That most Jews (myself included) don't really care if you are a convert, that they'll accept you for who you are? I sometimes wonder how real the feeling of being an outsider is for you, because to me, you seem as much a part of our crazy tribe as the next yid. And it is as normal for you to struggle with your Jewish identity as it is for anybody to struggle with their identity. I know this is phrased as a yes or no question, but any further thoughts from you would be appreciated.

This is a question that I was asked a bit ago and am just now answering. Not because I hesitate with my response, but because I didn't want to give 'tude and give someone a reason to be mean. My answer: No, never, it's impossible, are you crazy!? I can't explain how it's different to be a convert moving through Judaism than for someone who was born Jewish, except to say that as a convert, nothing is ever certain. Nothing. Confidence is everything, but confidence is never going to be enough. I'm a proud, confident, certifiable Jew, no doubt, but just because you are okay with that and don't think it's a big deal doesn't mean that many, many, many Jews out there who were born that way feel the same. Can I pick up and move to Israel with the same ease as a born Jew? No. Can I marry a Kohen? No. If I marry another convert can our child marry a Kohen? No. Can I sit down with a table full of Jews -- secular or not -- and reminisce about childhood Shabbats or Passover or Chanukah or camp or family lost in the Shoah or inheriting my ancestor's Judaica? No. Someone will always care, someone will always make it a big deal, and it will always matter. I will always be different.

Am I bitter about it? No. Is it a big freaking deal? Yes. Am I okay with it? Heck yeah!

I am happy that you are able to look beyond the things that make you and me different (there should be more Jews like you!), but that's not the real world, and I embraced it very early on. Many converts never get to that point where they can cope with the fact that no matter how many rabbis say it, and no matter whether the gemara professes it, I'll always be a convert. And with that, I'm okay!

I wish I could make it easier, but that's me speaking truth.

Are you afraid that the scholarship committee will shy away from future applicants who are converts because of your actions?

Um. No? I'm not sure what my actions are, anyway. Please elaborate! I mean, everyone goes through life changes, everyone hits a point where things change. Does me getting divorced and having huge life changes make me a bad person? And does being a convert have anything to do with that ...? I don't think so. But thanks for asking!

Do you have a favorite song?

I have a million of them, seriously, a million. My life has a very detailed and lengthy soundtrack. Right now -- if you want to know my soul -- my favorites are anything by Mumford & Sons, Abigail Washburn, and Adele. I'm also wholly devoted to Death Cab for Cutie, Erez Lev Ari, Rilo Kiley, Tegan & Sara, Weezer, and so many other musicians.

Ask Chaviva Anything!: Hair, Struggles, and School

I've already received so many great questions for my new Ask Chaviva Anything! series. Here's my response to a few of them, and stay tuned for more! If you want to ask me something, anything, just click here.

For you, what's the hardest part of being a convert?

That's a really excellent question, for which there are many answers! I think the hardest thing about being a convert is those moments when you feel lost or wandering (which is how I feel right now post-divorce and post-move). The thing about being a born-Jew is that no matter how far you stray, you can always come back -- Once a Jew, Always a Jew. (Okay, let's not talk about Spinoza here.) When you're a convert, you can't stray and come back, because your credibility is shot. As an Orthodox convert, the option to give up kashrut and the mitzvot just isn't an option if I want to stay or be accepted by Israel and Orthodox Jewry. I'm not saying I want to give everything up, but that the pressure to stay on the straight-and-narrow sometimes means that you feel as though you can't spread your wings and fly in ways that you might before converting.

As I wrote here, the temptations to fly in either direction -- more religious, less religious -- are strong when you're feeling lost, and staying the derech can be exceedingly hard, but that's part of being Jewish, and that's what I signed up for!

Did you get a heter from a reliable rav to uncover your hair? 

Believe it or not, I answered this in a recent blog post! I didn't name the rabbi, but if you really want to know, shoot me an email.

What happened to grad school? Are you going to have to pay back your scholarship? Are you going to go back or are you finished?

Currently, I'm on a "Leave of Absence" with the option to return in the Spring. Will I? Probably not. I might see about getting it extended with the option to return in Fall 2012, but I'm still undecided.

When I initially started my second and third masters' degrees at NYU, I wanted to be a Hebrew language educator, or at least a trail-blazer to update and revamp the way Hebrew is taught in the United States. I was super stoked to be at NYU after getting my first M.A. at the University of Connecticut -- I'd dreamed of going to NYU since I was in high school. When I moved to the NY area, however, my focus changed over to Social Media and the role it plays in the Jewish nonprofit world and in Jewish day schools. The problem? There isn't much of a curriculum at NYU for such a field, because it's hard to teach Social Media to someone like me who knows and does as much as I do already. Also, it being an experimental field, I'm probably better suited to be teaching than taking the classes. (Man, that sounds snobby, but I was going to take a Social Networking course and the teacher asked me to come speak to her class because of my experience.) So I'm really torn and questioning what the Education and Jewish Studies program can really do for me; I was struggling to find meaning in the program for a while now, and it might just be chocked up to the difficult emotional time I was going through.

I don't have to pay back the scholarship, but I know what a hardship it will be for the program and thus this is not a decision I'm making lightly. NYU was my dream, but some things just don't turn out to be what we think they are.

Ahem.

You'll have to click it to see full size. My apologies.

See you soon!

Food + Class: What Would You Do?

I told a classmate back at the beginning of the semester that I was going to blog about this, and she was game, but I sort of put it off and put it off, and now I'm ready. Ready?

We're all put in situations where we have to have meals with non-kosher-keeping coworkers or friends. We're all also put in situations where we have to have meals with our friends and coworkers who do keep kosher, but maybe not the same type of kosher that we keep. This issue is compounded, especially, with family. Most of the time, it's doable to either talk those who don't hold to your kashrut into going to a restaurant where you feel comfortable, or having them come to your house, but it doesn't always work out that way. Sure, you can meet people at a coffee shop or a bar for a cup o' Joe or beer (of which kosher versions are abundant), but what about a classroom?

I'm in a class right now where every single student is Jewish, but of varying types of observance and views on Judaism. From the most cultural/secular to graduates of YU and, well, me. We're working on final papers/projects right now, which involve everything from gefilte fish and kugel to delis to Ovadiah ha'Ger. The point? Jewish primary sources (which means a document or even food) built around the idea of what community means.

For our final class, it has been suggested that we bring in gobs of food for noshing. This was brought up a long time ago, but with the impending end of the semester, I'm trying to figure out the best way to approach this with the class. Not everyone will eat the food that anyone makes. There's talk of making gefilte or kugel to bring in. I know in most situations, the best option is to just call up Murray's or something and get some food catered in, but it seems that people really really really want to make food and bring it in.

Sure, I can not eat the food, but I don't want to get into that kind of a situation, especially in an all-Jewish class. Comprende? 


So what should I do? How should I go about starting this conversation? Time is a'tickin' folks.

Going Mad Before the Deaf

I've been busy watching a nine-hour, nine-part series called Heritage: Civilization and the Jews for my Jewish Communities course. It hasn't been easy, but between the overly dramatic music and the Fiddler on the Roof-style breakouts on shtetl life and Yiddish theater it's been interesting. I was particularly taken with an opening line that, to scholars, Mesopotamia is identified "as the starting point not of creation, but civilization." The narrator, Abba Eban, says, "You cannot recount the story of civilization without coming face to face with what the Jews have" said, written, and performed. A truer statement nary has been uttered.

But it was a mention of the Ba'al Shem Tov ("master of the good name" aka the Besht), the father of Hasidism, and a store he often told in response to those who were opposed to the unique styles of Hasidic life and worship. The story goes something like this:

A deaf man passed by a hall where a wedding reception was being celebrated. When he looked through the window, he saw people engaged in exultant and tumultuous dancing. But because he could not hear the music, he assumed they were mad.

Another version of the story goes like this:

Once, a musician came to town -- a musician of great but unknown talent. He stood on a street corner and began to play.

Those who stopped to listen could not tear themselves away, and soon a large crowd stood enthralled by the glorious music whose equal they had never heard. Before long they were moving to its rhythm, and the entire street was transformed into a dancing mass of humanity.

A deaf man walking by wondered: Has the world gone mad? Why are the townspeople jumping up and down, waving their arms and turning in circles in middle of the street?

Sometimes, this is how I feel. The dancing, exultant Jewess fervent in my Judaism and spinning in my own circles while others pass by deaf, or blind, assuming I'm mad. The appeal of Hasidism, I understand. The idea that anyone, even the simplest of mind, can study Torah and grow toward G-d. And as such, I truly appreciate this simple story. My neshama, or soul, is the people in this story, and the world around me the deaf man (at least, sometimes). The oft-asked question is, "Why on earth would you want to be Jewish, let alone Orthodox?" Sometimes it is difficult to express, to explain, the inner-workings and dancings of my soul. Even with fancy eye surgery, you might not see it. I'm not sure if the Besht meant what I mean when I discuss this story, but I think for converts, the story speaks volumes.

On a side note: It is truly interesting that at its advent, Hasidism was viewed as a threat to traditional Judaism, to Judaism in any and all ways. And yet, today Hasidism is alive, well, and powerful. Then again, there is always an internal threat, the perpetual driving force of Jew vs. Jew.

Zig Zaggin' Rhetoric

I'm currently in a Teaching a Second Language: Theory and Practice course, and although I was really apprehensive about it at the beginning, I'm slowly growing to enjoy it. The textbook is kind of a drag, but every now and again there's something particularly interesting or thought-provoking. For the most part, what is most fascinating about this class is the off-topic, tangential interaction of the students on our experiences in learning, teaching, or encountering second languages. Probably three-quarters of the class is from China, Korea, Japan, or Taiwan, which has really opened my eyes to a culture group I've never really spent much time with before. Overall, all of our experiences are truly unique and interesting, and I like to bring in the Jewish and Israeli cultural experience.

Something we read recently gave me pause, and we discussed it, and I'm still not sure I get it. I thought perhaps you -- my highly intelligent and educated readers -- might have better insight on this. There's this guy, Robert Kaplan, who wrote a paper on contrastive rhetoric in 1966 suggesting that different languages (and their cultures) have different patterns of written discourse. Okay, easy enough, makes sense. But then he went and created this diagram, which is really beyond me. Sort of.

So, English makes sense. English speakers, and Americans especially, like to be direct, to get to the point, and they expect others to get to the point. They don't dance around the answer or subject or topic. I didn't really get the Oriental image until it was explained to me that individuals from the Asiatic countries don't like to say "yes" or "no," because, depending on who you're talking to, your opinion isn't really necessary to share. So you sort of loop around a "yes" or "no" by explaining all of the possible answers and reasoning and never really stating your opinion, except in a roundabout way.

But Semitic, Russian, and Romance really leave me confused.  Any Russian or Romance language speakers think they can explain the visual representation of a written or spoken discussion? And Hebrew speakers? Care to take on the Zig Zag?

The dashes represent something, too. I'm perplexed.

A New (or Old) Convert!

Ouch. I definitely managed to screw up that little nook between my shoulder and my neck attempting to hit the "dismiss" button on my phone alarm this morning. Ouch. I schlepped around a super-full backpack all day, a well as a bag (a la SXSW 2010) full of other stuff. Oh the pain.

I added a book to the pile of growing books that I tug around nearly every day of the week. This book, inspired by a professor's suggestion, is "Other Middle Ages: Witnesses at the Margins of Medieval Society" by Michael Goodich. I have to do a sort of semester project on a document or primary source that has to do with Jewish community. My fascination with conversion, specifically medieval conversion, is strong, and after mentioning this to the professor he told me to look up Ovadiah the Convert, whose writings were found in the Cairo Genizah (that's like a storage space for old documents). Shock and amazement came to me. After all the research I did on Herman the Jew, the Jewish apostate to Christianity in the early middle ages, I thought ... surely ... I had heard of every Jewishly connected medieval convert, right?

Ovadiah's music notes!

Not Ovadiah (or Obadiah if that floats your boat). Yes, Ovadiah, the Norman fella' that was compelled to convert to Judaism, which led to him running all over kingdom come in order to hide from the Christians out to get his apostate tush. Color me excited. I read Ovadiah's text this evening (it's pretty short) and it seems like a very interesting tale ... which has led me to a variety of other questions (including one about a supposed medieval messiah that I'd never heard of before).

So stay tuned for more interesting tidbits on Ovadiah and what he means for medieval conversion. I will mention that there is a biblical Ovadiah, who is said (in the Talmud) to have been a convert from Edom. Thus, it supposedly was a thing in the middle ages to convert and call yourself Ovadiah in order to honor the convert Ovadiah in the Bible/Talmud.

The question is: Did all woman converts call themselves Ruth? Maybe Rahab? Again, stay tuned!

Related sidenote: Ovadiah (the convert) is the writer or copyist of the earliest surviving manuscript notations of Jewish music, including a eulogy to the biblical Moses ("Mi al har Horev?"), and the tunes are very ... well ... Gregorian. Fascinatin'! (Oh, and I mean the convert in the middle ages, in case you were thinking there were surviving musical tunes from the early days.)

She's Gonna' Be a Big Star!

Well, it's official. I mean, it was official before, but now my name and information and photo are up for the world to see: I am an NYU grad student, and here's my profile to prove it!

Man. I dreamed of this day back in 1998 when I was in high school and dreaming of someday heading to NYU for college. When the pamphlets started coming in 2000 (two years ahead of my 2002 high school graduation), I was decided, I was going to NYU. And then? Reality. Costs. Money. Financial impossibilities.

So here I am, a decade later and heading to the school of my dreams to pursue the career of my dreams. Teacher. Social media guru. Hebrew educator. Educated educator.

Anything's possible, folks. Anything.

Rahab the Harlot: The Rabbis' Convert

Over Shavuot, I gave a shiur on Rahab (which, actually, is pronounced Rachav, or more appropriately, here's the Hebrew: רחב), and I'd been planning on posting some form of the shiur here, so here I am. This paper originated in the Fall semester 2009 for a Midrashic Literature course. How did I happen upon Rahab? You know, I honestly can't remember. I wanted to do something with conversion, and I had originally intended to write about the Rabbi's views on conversion. The literature on this, actually, is pretty broad, so I narrowed things down to one, single, well-loved convert: Rahab ha'zonah. After some interesting mentions of "red cords" and "red threads" in various parashot, I've decided to continue my exploration of Rahab and some inconsistencies and curiosities about the red cord (related to the Passover, perhaps, but in sacrifices of repentance, the red thread becomes as such through the dying of the thread with a substance derived from a lowly snail, showing a rise from a lowly state [repentance] to a higher place [Rashi]).

Anyhow. Let's start with my intro.

In the Book of Joshua, the reader encounters Rahab the Canaanite harlot (zonah, זונה), who is charged with saving Joshua’s spies from imminent danger and as a result is herself saved from certain death at the hands of the Israelites. Subsequently, the Rabbis understand Rahab as mending her unfortunate ways, accepting the Israelite G-d as the only god, and becoming the ultimate example among the Rabbis of the truly righteous convert. They sing her praises throughout the midrash, particularly her wisdom in concealing the spies and negotiating her own rescue. Because the Rabbis paint an extremely positive picture of the woman who, according to the midrash, would marry Joshua and produce eight prophets, it is clear that they view Rahab as symbolizing “the positive influence that Israel exerts on the surrounding Gentile nations, as well as successful conversion.” Any negativity surrounding her occupation, her national affiliation, or the incident of her being spared – despite the commands of Deuteronomy 20:10-20, specifically 10-16 to “not let a soul remain alive” – is washed away and ultimately romanticized throughout the midrash, save for one instance citing Israel’s failure to commit complete destruction by sparing Rahab, which will be discussed in brief. The Rabbis clearly view Rahab as the ultimate, ideal convert, applying to Jeremiah, who is said to have descended from Rahab, the proverb: “The son of the corrupted one who mended her ways will come and reproach the son of the fit one who had gone astray.”

The most intriguing question, however, is why the Rabbis chose Rahab as an example to gentiles as the ideal, righteous proselyte – what attracted the Rabbis to Rahab and her story, prompting their message that if a harlot can convert, so, too, can anyone? This paper will address this question through a discussion of the midrash, as well as its treatment in sources such as those of Josephus. This discussion ultimately will show that what Rahab offered the Rabbis was the model of the repentant fallen woman who finds the true G-d and emerges as a matriarch of Israel, in a “Jewish setting apparently anxious for female figures of conversion and repentance.” Rahab thus becomes the paramount model of the righteous proselyte, indeed one that surpasses even the most well-known of the Rabbis converts, such as Jethro, in her recognition of HaShem's true powers.

It's a little wordy, and it was hacked down by quite a bit for my Graduate Presentation in March and even more so for my shiur. The thing is, for the shiur I opted to axe the academics/scholars from the mix. Dangerous? Maybe. But it fit the shiur better.

The paper goes on to detail the narrative, then examining how Rahab becomes known as a harlot, followed by an exploration of the Midrashic literature on Rahab as a convert in the eyes of the Rabbis, and concluding with a discussion of why the Rabbis chose Rahab over all others as witness to the righteous convert.

I've got a boatload of sources, including a variety that attempt to launder Rahab's post as a harlot (she's named as a perfumer, innkeeper, and more!). But smashing 18 pages into one blog post is, well, ridiculous. So I decided to just post the sources up HERE and the actual paper up HERE. Enjoy. Read. And let me know what you think. I apologize for any mistakes, errors, or assumptions that might seem absolutely obscene to you. After all -- this is an academic exploration of Rahab, but it caters itself well to a religious inquiry as well, I think. Here are my concluding thoughts (in case you're too lazy to read the paper, that is).

The ultimate conclusion the Rabbis drew from Rahab’s conversion is the superiority of repentance over prayer, for even though Moses prayed exceedingly, G-d did not accept his entreaty to enter the land. The repentance of Rahab the harlot was accepted, and the midrash concludes that seven kings and eight prophets were issued forth from her (Seder Eliyahu Zuta). That the biblical Rahab becomes transformed into a repentant convert and wife and ancestress of worthy priests and prophets in Israel reflects the Rabbis’ need to adopt biblical models of the welcome Judaism extends to all sincere proselytes – regardless of their past. Rahab is thus evidence for the Rabbis of the “efficacy of Judaism and its traditions in taming the disordering powers of female sexuality.” These stories are evident in the midrash, including a popular tale in BT Menahot 44a (and Sifre Numbers 115) in a discussion of the importance of observing the precept of ritual fringes, or tzitzit, by recounting the tale of a student who, while careful in observing this precept, himself gets caught up with a harlot. The harlot, after a series of events, ends up converting and marrying the student. This narrative, like the Rahab story, is appealing and romantic, juxtaposing some of the “risqué imaged details of its subject’s profession with a religious miracle and the spiritually elevating account of her acceptance into the Jewish community.” That this prized convert is a woman attests to something even more unique, and that is that there were more men than women proselytes mentioned in rabbinic literature. Thus, it is understandable that the Rabbis would focus on key individuals such as Rahab in their discussion of the female proselyte as a penitent courtesan.

As Phyllis Bird suggests, the story depends on a certain “reversal of expectations.” It is unlikely to expect a “shrewd and calculating operator” like a prostitute to save the spies and declare allegiance to G-d, but she does. The Rabbis, then, understood something profound about their choice as the ultimate righteous convert: “The harlot understands what the king of the city does not – that Israelite victory is imminent and inevitable.”

(Note: In the paper, I use the fully spelled out name of HaShem (I know, I know, not in Hebrew it doesn't matter, but it feels weird to me), because in academia, this is how we roll. I apologize if I offend you!)

Oh Academics, You Slay Me!

I'm busying struggling to catch up on reading and preparations for two papers and comp exams. After all, I have merely 6.5 weeks until my semester is up, and part of that will be eaten up by Pesach, so yeah. Madness is what we're looking at. I've got a binder full of about 215 pages worth of documents that cover basically all of the great academics of their subject and period (from ancient to modern and social Jewish studies) and how they felt about what, as well as another binder full of texts about Medieval versions of Tobit and a few texts on Herman the Jew (still developing this idea, concerned it's going nowhere), not to mention a binder in progress on am ha'aretz, which, let's be honest, I haven't really started on.

Heaping spoonful of sigh.



The upside is that there are lots of little amusing morsels of academic wisdom (or ridiculousness) that I get to share with my interested readership. You see, academics are hilarious. They're sarcastic and snotty and snarky at every turn, and it makes me giggle. I get it. I get the jabs, and I get the sneaky scripted way they present them. The over-arching statements that poke at revisionists or classicists ... they're beautiful. Here's a gem, from William Dever, from "The Crisis in Historiography" from John Collins The Bible After Babel.

But what if ancient Israel was "invented by Jews living much later, and the biblical literature is therefore nothing but pious propaganda? If that is the case, as some revisionist historians now loudly proclaim, then there was no ancient Israel. ... The story of Israel in the Hebrew Bible would have to be considered a monstrous literary hoax, one that has cruelly deceived countless millions of people until its recent exposure by a few courageous scholars. And now, at last, thanks to these social revolutionaries, we sophisticated modern secularists can be "liberated" from the biblical myths, free to venture into a Brave New World unencumbered by the biblical baggage with which we grew up. (p. 40-41)

Oh that was good. Do you feel the knives and jagged edges in those words? Look out revisionists, you just got your tush handed to you on a platter by Dever.

And then there's this, which is less sarcastic than it is a brilliant approach to this question of historiography. This comes from the mouths of Iain Provan, V. Phillips Long, and Tremper Longman III, again in Collins "The Crisis in Historiography."

"Why," they ask, "should verification be a prerequisite for our acceptance of a tradition as valuable in respect of historical reality? Why should not ancient historical texts rather be given the benefit of the doubt in regard to their statements about the past unless good reasons exist to consider them unreliable in these statements? ... Why should we adopt a verification instead of a falsification principle? 

I tend to agree with these guys when it comes to the idea of revisionists that it's all a bunch of ballyhoo. I also am a big fan of the benefit of the doubt theory, because more often than not academics assume that absence automatically suggests non-existence. This, of course, is ridiculous. However, I think their statement fails in one way, because who is to say what a "good" reason really is when it comes to deciding what is reliable and what isn't.

Anyhow, those are my gems for now. Eat them up, swallow 'em down, and get your brain all juicy with smart-stuff goodness.

I've Got MORE Big News!

I have big, gigantic, amazing news. Are you ready for more good stuff in 2010/5770 for Chaviva?

I got into NYU!

Yes, I have been accepted for their Dual Degree in Education/Jewish Studies and Jewish Studies/Hebrew. Color me stoked. I also am happy to report a scholarship for tuition and fees! At NYU, that's big doings. Now, there are those of you who are thinking, Why on earth are you getting ANOTHER MA? At that, why TWO more? Well, the answer is really long and complicated, but let's just say that although I love the program here at UConn, it's not doing what I need it to do, and I wasn't qualified on paper to compete with PhD students for the caliber program I would like to be in. I'm short on language, teaching experience, you name it. Sure, I've given papers and taught classes and stuff, but it's bigger picture things that matter. There's one main professor in my program, and while he is the most awesome professor out there, he's holding the program on his own. Thus, I'm off for more academic pursuits, in the hopes of becoming a Jewish educator of tomorrow. I'm going to light all sorts of fires, darn't.

So stay tuned. We'll be talking new jobs, moving, not moving, me commuting five million hours from Connecticut (listen: this isn't an option), etc. We'll figure something out, just stay tuned. It's going to be an interesting few months!

You Have Entered the Stress Bubble!

I'm fairly close to 1,000 posts (which I'll probably try to hit precisely around my four-year blogiversary in April), I've got about 70 followers through the Blogger follow function, and I receive about 150 visits per day and 200 page views per day. I'm not tooting my own horn, I'm just laying out the statistics here on Just Call Me Chaviva. What does this mean? This means I spend a lot of time blogging, people actually dig what I write, and it provides proof that this blog is sincerely an important part of my everyday life. I often tell people that this blog is my therapy, and it really is. For some people, running or knitting or crocheting help to get the body focused and balanced. Well, for me it's writing. I'm lucky that I have an audience to which I write. So let's talk.

I just finished editing those 80-ish undergraduate exams last night, this morning I finished up the last few bits of editing for a freelance editing project that's been in my lap since around August last year, and now I'm able to really focus on my schoolwork 24/7. I realized that yesterday I was up from about 9 a.m. until 2 a.m., and every waking minute was spent doing SOMETHING. I didn't stop and rest for a single moment. Here's what my day looked like:

• 9 a.m. Woke up, showered, ate, packed up, headed out
• 11 a.m. Hebrew class
• 12 p.m. Spent an hour reading for class, while waiting for class to start
• 1 p.m. Palestine Under Greeks and Romans course
• 2 p.m. Worked for an hour and a half, inventorying old books donated by a recently passed rabbi
• 4:30 p.m. Went back to my dorm, spent about 30-45 minutes working (HARDCORE) to Biggest Loser Bootcamp DVD
• 5:15 p.m. Walked over to grad mailboxes to cool down, checked mail, bought some milk and tea
• 5:45 p.m. Spent the next 6+ hours grading exams (I did break for dinner for about 10 minutes ...)
• 1 a.m. Figured out what I needed to do for Tuesday, packed my bag, cleaned up a bit
• 2 a.m. Went to sleep

So, you know, I'm in constant go-go-go motion. How on EARTH do I have time to blog? I have no idea. I just do it. It's necessary. It's like breathing or eating. Sometimes I have to stop and just do it. It destresses me. So here I am, blogging, about nothing in particular, because once again I'm stressed. Sure, I got exams graded and the editing finished, but now I've got something new that's eating at me: Admissions Responses for my Graduate Applications to NYU and University of Maryland!

At least I know that I won't hear from the Wexner Foundation about my possible Fellowship until the end of March, but knowing when I'll get a "REJECTED" or "ACCEPTED" from these two schools is a little bit out in the ether. I know that NYU is meeting this week to discuss, so that's a little ray of hope. But now I'm thinking,  by this time next week, I could be depressed as all get out. I've wanted to go to NYU since I was in high school. I remember getting the NYU catalog in the mail, sifting through it, dreaming of my life in NYC, living in coffee shops and schlepping dirty city streets. It's always been my dream to live there, before I was Jewish, before I had even visited -- I was going to be a city girl. So even getting the chance to go there, well, that'd be awesome. It'd be a full-circle, life-fulfilled kind of thing. And the program is perfect for what I want to do! Jewish education and Judaic studies. They might as well call it the "Chaviva Edwards Program for Awesomeness in Rocking the Jewish World."

Anyhow, I just want to thank everyone for listening to me kvetch and lament, as well as for listening to me go on about simchas and happy moments in my life. You guys are my family, and I love you for that. The continued support means more than you can possibly understand!

Stay tuned for a future blog post (hopefully) on how becoming more observant has made me more judgmental.

Should Jews Thank the Church?

As I finish up Paula Fredricksen's "Augustine and the Jews," there is a question that lingers in my mind. Perhaps those of you with strong opinions one way or another about Christianity and/or the church can weigh in here. I'm talking about Augustine's "witness doctrine," derived from Psalm 59 that says, "Slay them not, lest my people forget." I know this was big doings for the church in the medieval period, but I don't know how much it played into other strands of Christianity throughout time and through the present.

Augustine's philosophy, although really, incredibly backhanded, was that Jews survive and should survive throughout all time until the End of Days in order that they serve as evidence to Christianity's truth. By Jewish survival, Jewish books survive, and, according to Augustine, it is Jews and their books that provide a walking, talking, breathing witness to the truth of Christianity -- that the church fathers didn't just "make it up." Jews and Judaism were not a challenge to Christianity, insisted Augustine, but a witness to it!

So my question is this: Does the world's Jewish community underestimate the power of this doctrine's importance throughout the past 1600+ years? Is it Augustine's (REALLY BACKHANDED) doctrine that has allowed the world to not completely destroy Jews and Judaism? Hitler wasn't too interested in church philosophy, and I honestly don't know his thoughts on Augustine or the "slay them not" doctrine. Anyone know?

Either way, I'm intrigued. We joke so often about how every great nation, political entity, or world power that has tried to destroy us has failed and disappeared into time. But is this G-d, or is it the church?

Talk amongst ya'selves.

I'll Take the Tanker of Coffee Now, Please

I give you, the tanker truck of coffee, spotted on I-84 near Hartford.

I must apologize to my readers, friends, lurkers, and other blogging types for my lack of presence over the past week, especially when it comes to reading your blogs and responding with appropriately Chaviva-esque comments. What have I been up to? A lot. A whole lot.

Aside from my regular coursework -- which includes (for one class) reading a book or so a week plus various primary sources, in addition to (for a second class) lots of reading and more reading and some more reading of yummy things about the Samaritans and the Ptolemies, and, of course, Hebrew work and general office work of book inventorying -- I've been thrown the setup for our graduate exam, which is in and of itself wretched. Now, being an academic I'm secretly thrilled about the work and reading; I'm merely in shock and distress about the volume of it. Typically, students will receive the corpus of reading in their first semester, not their fourth. So I'm in "holy crap" mode right now. Pardon the ever-present kvetching.

Superbowl

Additionally, Tuvia and I decided it would be a most outstanding idea to invite over a ton of people for a Super Bowl viewing. Last year we had four or five friends over, and it was quiet and cozy and I really didn't pull out all my Jewish mother stops to feed the masses with thirty different types of chips and dips. This year, however, I went all out. After all, we were inviting over upwards of 20 people and expecting at least 14 to 16 to show up. So what did I do? Well, I made a big batch of pasta and threw it into the crock, I made a spicy veggie chili, I made a giant red velvet cupcake with cream cheese frosting with my new cake pan, I made a delicious batch of Chocolate Cheerio Marshmallow Bites, and then we bought a bunch of dips, sliced a bunch of cheese, put out gobs of veggies and fruit, and filled bowls full of a half-dozen varying types of chips. Yes, it was a ROYAL spread, fit for a Superbowl King. It just took a long time to put together and perfect -- I am, after all, a perfectionist OCD-aholic. I'll admit, it was loads of fun. Having all of our closest friends over to partake in food and a good game was honestly one of the best things we've done in a long time. I really felt like it gave us a chance to pay back the community, in the best way we know how, for the kindness they've shown us with food, lodging, and friendship. We seriously have the best friends on the planet.

Wedding Dresses

Oh, and then there was the pre-kickoff wedding dress viewing that actually ate up most of the first two quarters. I didn't realize we were upstairs that long, and the game truly was flying by. But this was the wedding dress that I purchased online. Yes, I bought a wedding dress ONLINE. I never saw it in person, I didn't know it's dimensions exactly, I had no idea how it would look or feel beyond the photo of the girl on the website, who, by the way, was about 50 sizes smaller than me. But I had an instinct. It was the first gown I found online when I started looking, and after perusing many other gowns, I was still stuck on this first one. I emailed my two best buddies up in the Great White North, and they agreed it was stunning. So I bought it. Then it came, about three days later (talk about quick shipping -- most wedding gown sites make you wait upwards of 20-40 days for the dress), and I had approximately three additional days to figure out whether it was right. Yes, the online wedding dress business is cut-throat, and they keep their claws in you as long as they can. So the Superbowl Sunday party was perfect as far as timing goes. We all crawled up the stairs, I stripped, and the dress was on and zipped in seconds. The reaction? Completely positive. And then? The "tuck this here!" and "tuck that there!" comments came. I am lucky to say that I am blessed, absolutely blessed, with seamstress-minded lady friends. These women, after expressing their love of the dress, were all ready to point me in the direction of a seamstress/tailor and get the job done -- there was no way I was returning this gown. I expressed my concerns to them -- Tzniut? Length? Fit? The answers were that the tzniut was perfectly modest, the length could be fixed (the dress was MADE to be tailored like a charm), and the fit was perfect for my figure.

So it's decided. I, Chaviva Edwards, purchased a wedding gown online, from a store out West where nary a Jew probably lives, and I am keeping it with utter and absolute pleasure. Yes, I am an online dress purchasing success story! You, too, can buy a wedding dress online and be satisfied!

My only beef? I returned a slip that I bought but definitely don't need (for poof's sake), and it cost me a whopping $30+ to ship back. Is that worth it? Probably not. I'll get back, in the end, about $30 for my troubles. My advice? Don't buy a slip online until you absolutely know that you'll need it.

So I'm pleased. I had a million friends over, fed them successfully, decided on a dress that I absolutely love, finished a bunch of editing that leaves me with only two more weeks of such editing, and I just submitted an application for a fellowship assuming I get into NYU or UMD for further studies. It has been a truly, truly productive three days. Oh! I also cleaned out my inbox. Thank heavens. I was about to lose my mind.

I guess, my point, then, is that everything is doable. It takes time management, sleeping about four hours a night, and a passion to have things just how you want them right when you want them. I'll take my little successes when I can get them. I couldn't ask for anything more. And when all else fails, there's always that tanker truck of coffee!

(For what it's worth, that tanker truck actually said "PILOT" on the side. It was a clever ploy by the popular roadside gas station chain! From a distance, it looks like it just says "COFFEE." Upclose, however, it mentioned something about them having the best roadside coffee. Clever!)

Yah, I'm a Grad Student. WHAT'S IT TO YA!?

My good friend KosherAcademic posted this Simpsons video, and I have to share. It's the truth and it's appropriate, but I definitely don't think I made poor life choices. Students for life ... UNITE!

A Walking, Talking Stress Ball.

The semester is over and the winter doldrums have hit -- it's that time of the year where it's easy to sleep 15 hours a day and eat nothing but holiday cookies and ice cream. What is it about wintertime that turns the mind into a playplace of the absurd?

At any rate, I'm glad everything's turned in and finished, and aside from a single incident of shock-and-awe while grading, everything went pretty smoothly. I did up two papers, a Hebrew final exam, a final exam paper on anti-Christian rhetoric in Leviticus Rabbah, and ... oh, then I proctored one exam and graded another. And now? Nothing. I have some editing to do, I want to put together a couple of projects, focus on my blog(s) and rest my mind. The difficult and paradoxical thing, however, is that it's hard for me to do this. I function best when I'm stressed out -- when I have a dozen things due, a million things on my mind. The more I have going on, the quieter my head is. It's when everything slows down that it gets difficult to find motivation and calm. Maybe I should take up meditation (I've considered this before, but with the amount of trouble I have getting good sleep and quieting my noggin', I don't think I'd have much luck).

So I've got about a month to relax and rejuvenate before the next semester rolls around. I'll be taking Hebrew once again, as well as Palestine under the Greeks and Romans, followed by a Jewish-Christian relations course based in the Middle Ages. After that comes a boatload of preparations for my graduate exams. Hopefully between now and then I'll find out about my next academic step.

I've applied/am applying to two programs: a dual-master's program at NYU in Judaic Studies and Jewish Education (brand new; this is their first year) and a Hebrew language master's program at UMD down outside of Washington D.C. So this scholar will end up with either one, two, or three MAs. I think the more MAs I have, the harder it will be to market myself without over-shooting how much I'm worth.

But I'm excited. If I don't get into either program, I'll probably lose it. I could easily go and start teaching in a Hebrew High School, but I'm not done learning yet, and my ultimate goal is University-Level Professoring. So wish me luck, folks.

Respond at Will, Please.

I am thinking of joining a gym. I have a free gym membership on campus, but the joint is a mess and it's full of ski bunnies and that's not how I roll. It would be worth the price, I think. It's motivation.

I shipped off an application to the Rabbinical Council of America's beth din wing. Yes, I have spoken out against the process in the past because I heard horror stories of women across the internet -- waiting months, sometimes years for rabbis and interviews and hoops. After considering my options, and having various batei din organized, and after careful, hard, difficult, and frustrating consideration, I have decided that the RCA way, while not perfect, is the best route for me at this current juncture. B'ezrat haShem, maybe I'll be converted by the time I go to Israel in late November. Please daven for me! And if you want to read my 11-page-long "Journey to Orthodox Judaism" ... let me know. It's a real crowd-pleaser and tearjerker (maybe?).

I'm feeling incredibly disenchanted about school right now. My head just isn't in it. I've realized that having a "real life" and trying to have a "school life" is a mess. It's even messier when you have three Shabbos meals to prepare, 250-page novels to read over a period of a few days, and paper topics to come up with on the fly. If I hadn't been at my Ulpan this summer, I don't know what I'd do because I'd also be having to worry about Hebrew. I find my mind wandering to lists of "what to buy" and "what to do" rather than "what to read for class." I'm in Suzy Homemaker mode these days, and I can't figure out why. I think my mind is on the conversion, my life in the community, my future and possibly impending life with Tuvia, and everything therein. I know it's possible to double, triple, and quadruple duty everything, but I'm not use to the multi-tasking and responsibility outside of my own personal bubble.

I've been pondering a lot of questions, but I'll just pose one here. It relates to prayer. I know I read in my b'racha book that a b'racha said in the head and not out loud means it is as if the b'racha wasn't even said. I know that this is equally try with the Sh'ma from the Midrash. Does this apply to all prayer? Or just blessings (b'rachot)? In my mind, this is where all of the mumbling in shul comes from, but I know there is a precedent for the lips actively moving (without sound in the case of all davening with the exception of those things that *must* be said aloud, like the sh'ma). Am I crazy here?

I'll leave everything at that for now. I have some interesting things to write about from my Midrash class, but I just don't have the energy to grab the book and my Tanakh and type it all out right now. Stay tuned!

The Road Diverges, Where's Chavi Going?

I'm worried that I've lost hope in the future (or the present) of mankind. All it took was a small stack of exams given to me to grade, and I was scratching my head, shaking my head, opening my mouth in utter surprise. All I could think was, "This isn't rocket science, folks," as I marked down points that would make even a regular ole D student cry. I mean, these exams? They're bad. They're really bad. And as I scribbled notes into the margins -- the same idea about 20 times, that is -- I began to wonder, to really wonder, if I could handle being a professor, knowing that the words that I might speak on a daily basis would be sucked into ears, processed in some absolutely mindless filter, only to be regurgitated out on paper like this.

Ever since I returned from Middlebury, I've been thinking, reconsidering, where I'm going. My desire to teach hasn't changed, don't get me wrong, but I am trying to figure out what's practical and possible for me at this point in my academic journey. I started out thinking modern, after all, my big-time term paper in my undergrad was on Ulysses S. Grant and the Jews. I slowly moved backward, thinking about Rashi and his daughters, considering Medieval Jewry. I read books and more books and the text that discusses the rabbi who decreed that if you're yawning in shul you better cover your mouth had me delighted. And then I came here to Connecticut and I found myself drifting even further back, to the Talmud, the rabbis, and the Second Temple Period as we know it today. But as the past year showed me, I'm so far behind it might take me years to catch up. In a perfect world, I'd be reading-fluent in Aramaic, Greek, French, German, and of course Biblical Hebrew. I'd read the texts in their originals, because that's what a scholar does. I vowed after realizing that the author of Rashi's Daughters didn't do any of her own legwork that I wouldn't be like that -- I'd work from scratch forward. But the reality? It might take me years.

I keep telling myself that I have all the time in the world. Tuvia has granted me that time, knowing that I want to follow my heart and really throw myself into that which I am passionate about. He's patient and kind like that. And in reality, I could probably toil away at school for the rest of my life studying those languages and working the texts until I'm blue in the face. Even if I don't pursue academic Talmudic work or what have you, I'll still do that in the outside world -- after all, my inquiring mind doesn't let me sit still on the sidelines when it comes to my Orthodox Judaism. I seek, read, and learn.

But the reality of the situation is that I'm reconsidering my situation. Life is a series of reconsiderations, you know. And after Middlebury, and even before, I was considering a future in Hebrew language. My time in Middlebury allowed me to gain a fluency I couldn't have dreamed of. But it was just a start, and much like my hungry neshama, my hungry brain wants more. Speaking Hebrew feeds my mind, my heart, and my soul. It's like I'm speaking in the voice of generations past and future. It empowers me and it makes me happy and excited.

And for all intents and purposes, it's practical and doable. At least, I think so.

So I sent an email off to my morah (teacher) from the summer, to see what she thinks and whether she has any advice. I would continue on with a PhD, but it would be in language -- Hebrew language. I'd rehash all the grammar rules I've forgotten (from English, that is; who can tell me what a past participle is!?). I hate to say it but although I've got mad editing skills, when it comes to the vocab and the nitty gritty, even the best editors are lacking. I want to perfect my language skills so that I can take what I know to a university or day school level and INSPIRE people. Inspire them to use and love the living language of the Jewish people. And furthermore, at least with a language, there are rules and measures and styles and words that mean exactly what they mean. I don't have to explain themes or devices to students. Language is like mathematics -- 99 percent of the time, there is really one right answer.

And maybe, once I've got that under wraps, I'll turn back to my dreams of being a Talmud chacham.

Of course, I want to be a mother, too. A mother, a wife, a community member, a shul member. A friend and a confidant. There are many things I want to be, and I find that as time goes on, my desires change along with my needs. What the soul needs to be comforted changes as new people come into our lives and also when we realize we need to reassess a situation. Unfortunately for Tuvia, being Morah Chavi the Hebrew teacher might not be exceedingly lucrative, but if there's one thing my father taught me, it's to do what makes me happy.

I've learned that, in life, you can't waste your time on the things that don't excite you. If it isn't one of the first things you think about when you wake up and when you go to sleep -- positively, with absolute excitement and eagerness -- then maybe you should reconsider where you are and where you're going. Life's to short to waste your time and energy. As Qohelet tells us,

So enjoy what you have. (Note: Many read Qohelet/Ecclesiastes as a text about the futility of life. I do not read it this way. I read Qohelet as an old man, full of wisdom, relating to us how to live one's life in order to gain the most from it. To seek happiness in all things and to not toil over that which is wasteful or futile. Rather, seek happiness in all that you do, here, in this life!)

I Want to be in the Zone. Where is my Zone!?

When it comes to homework -- be it reading some delicious text or working on Hebrew homework -- I am so susceptible to my environment. I have to find and stay in the zone. What is the zone you ask? It's that place free of distractions, free of the wrong kind of noise, free of all the things that make me stop and fixate on something other than my homework.

You see, I have absolutely no will power.

I know, that's a huge fault. A horrible fault. It's why I dedicated myself to Weight Watchers last year and tried not to have a TV in my dorm room (but that girl last year was just giving it away!).

I'm attempting to read Chaereas and Callirhoe by Chariton for my Ancient (Jewish) Fictions course. (Note: I dropped my Sexual Politics/Women in Tanakh course, but that's for another post at another time.) I'm sitting here, with the book sitting next to me, and for some reason I can't pull myself away from trashy VH1 "reality" shows filled with potential murderers and definite narcissists. Their ridiculousness has captured me, more than a classic ancient fiction can. Why is that? Why is it that the horrible reality of being a tool is more riveting than a story of love, lies, and Aphrodite? Is it me? Am I weak!?

At any rate, the point is that a learning environment is important. For me, this means no television, no computer, no distracting noises (but definitely some type of music, probably Itzhak Perlman or something similar), no noisy people, no distracting items on the walls, or places with a lot going on all at once. Interestingly, I could blog in a hurricane or wind storm or with hail beating down on my face and fingers.

What's YOUR zone? How do you focus? Can you make homework and important things happen with kids running around, things flying across the room, the TV blaring, and noise elevating every second? How do you make yourself walk away from distracting things? What's your secret?

Help!

My Mezuzah is Gone.

I'm devastated. Just devastated.

When I converted to Judaism in 2006 (via Reform auspices), my congregation gave me a beautiful basket of goodies to get me started on the derekh. There were candlesticks, candlestick holders, a bottle of Kedem grapejuice, all the fixins for a proper Shabbos. And most importanty was the gift they gave me with the basket -- a mezuzah.

You'll remember the mezuzah. It was beautiful, pewter, and it had adorned so many doors of mine throughout the past three years. I loved that mezuzah. I know that it's got to be somewhere in Evan's house, mixed in with my books or storage or the Judaica, but I can't find it, and it makes me want to cry. I've looked in every knook and cranny, every space that I could have stored it for safe-keeping. It was the last item I removed from my dorm last year when I moved out. That mezuzah means so much to me. I want to hang it on my doorpost at school, because my room feels naked without it, but I can't find it and as a result I'm feeling pretty down.

My initial reaction to losing the mezuzah was that maybe it's a sign. After all, my path has continued to extend itself into the horizon. I have rejected or denied my Reform past, but rather I've built new and different stepping stones through Conservative Judaism and on into Orthodox Judaism. Is losing my mezuzah, a gift after my Reform conversion, a sign that I'm really ready? I'm ready to accept the 613 mitzvoth? To live my life as a Torah-observant Jew? That maybe I need a new mezuzah to fit my new shoes?

I know some of you will say I'm nuts. Signs shmines. And maybe you're right. But knowing how important this mezuzah was to me makes me wonder why it would up and disappear. I checked the places I know I would have put it, but it just vanished.

I guess I'll have to call up Chabad and get a mezuzah for my door. Its generic and plain, but it's something. After all, I suppose the cosmetic appeal of the mezuzah isn't as important as it's fixture. I need that separation of space that the mezuzah brings.