Saving a Sefer Torah

Many, many months ago, my dear husband was tasked with organizing the home of a relative, and in the process he has found some true treasures. I've blogged some of the photos before, but I can't help but post them again because I, myself, am shocked that we have this.

The only surviving family photo of the Berkowitz family.
The three oldest (on the far left, middle, and far right)  were the only to survive.
Two of the sisters married two of the Katz brothers, pictured below.

That being said, we were told by this relative whose house Tuvia is organizing that there was a Sefer Torah somewhere in the house. Now, Tuvia had no prior knowledge of such an item in the family and neither did anyone else. Tuvia made sure to look for the Sefer Torah, and even checked with the local synagogues to see if it had been donated back in the 1960s as we'd been told it might have been. Eventually, Tuvia gave up and assumed the Sefer was gone, never to be seen again -- after all, it hadn't been seen in probably 30 or 40 years. And then? He found it! Out of the blue, there it was, rolled up safely in a carpet.

Okay, hold on, you're probably asking yourself: Why on earth does Tuvia's family have a Sefer Torah hanging out somewhere in their house?

Where's the etz chayim!?

Well, legend has it (seriously) that when the Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, community's four synagogues combined forces as the community shrank, the Sifrei Torah were dished out to members of the community who had donated money toward the original writing/purchase of the scrolls. The person in charge of the disbursement was my husband's grandfather's step-father, so -- knowing that the family had given toward the scroll -- handed the Sefer Torah over to the family.

Thus, there's a family Sefer Torah, and this is where you come in. We took the sefer to a sofer (scribe) to give it a once over and let us know what kind of shape it was in and what it would take to fix it. Yes, we noticed right away that one of the etz chayims was missing (that's the wooden thing that the parchment is rolled on), but the parchment looked like it was in pretty good condition. But these things aren't cheap, folks.

The sofer aged the Sefer Torah to at least 70-80 years, and he said that it's in pretty good condition for being so old. (Of course, my first thought was: I wonder if this came from Europe pre-Shoah?) The klaf (parchment) has some fraying and small tears, but nothing too severe. It is written in Ksav Bait Yosef, which is the Ashkenazi form of lettering. Oddly enough, one section of the sefer -- from Parshat Ekev through Ki Setzei -- was written by a different sofer, meaning that perhaps the section was damaged and needed to be written.

The Sefer Torah goes for a ride ... to the sofer!

Despite it being in good shape, there's been a lot of fading in Sefer Bamidbar and Devarim, and that with a complete refurbishing, we'll be good to go with a beautiful Sefer Torah! There also is a lot of wonky things going on with many of the letters like the yod (י), hey (ה), chet (ח), and tet (ט), which means that the refurbishing will cost anywhere between $1,500 to $3,400 (depending on if we go machmir and get the letters fixed). Yikes.

The Katz Family, probably from the 1930s. The man in the hat, Fred Katz, Tuvia's great grandfather,
we believe, is who gave money toward the purchase or writing of the scroll.

As the sofer said, "The mitzvah of actually writing a Sefer Torah is one that does not come around very often. Consider this a great zechus and a perfect opportunity to fulfill it in a most Mehudar way."

Translated: To take part in fixing up a Sefer Torah is a great virtue and fulfills a mitzvah in a most enhanced way! And this is where you guys come in. The sefer recommends doing the minimum fixing of $1,500 plus fixing the yod ("The letter י is missing the 'kotz' in the majority of instances. According to the vast majority of poskim, this renders the Torah possul, and must be repaired") for $600.

So help us save this Torah. Our plan is to loan the Sefer Torah to an organization or synagogue that needs a Torah use it, but for the Sefer Torah to remain in the family for use at b'nai mitzvah. (If you know of an organization that needs a sefer, please let us know!)

Will you help us in this mitzvah?

To help us in this mitzvah, click on the DONATE button on the top right of my homepage. We are trying to raise at least $2,100 by the High Holidays! I will be compiling a list of those who donate, and we hope to somehow acknowledge the donors upon the completion of the Sefer Torah's renovations by Rosh HaShanah!

The Tzniut Project

After hitting up several stores today for what I thought was called a "pencil skirt," I was corrected by some of my Twitter friends and realized what I really was looking for was a "straight skirt." All I know is that the straight skirts I have I have outgrown (even though I haven't lost weight) and they sag on me in weird areas (maybe I bought them thinking I was bigger than I was?). I love them, and I got them super cheap from Lands End, but I haven't had luck finding anything else like them. I suppose I could always get them tailored, but, wel, that costs money. (I know; I should learn how to use a sewing machine.)

Ahh to be a modestly dressed woman in search of light, summer-appropriate, tzniut skirts that won't break the bank and will withstand the hot temperatures of the U.S. and Israel. Woe, oh woe is me.

I posted something to Facebook a few days ago, and I received a surprising amount of emails and Facebook messages from women hoping to participate, so I'm stoked about what one responder called The Tzniut Project. What's this mean? I want to start a series of Q&A posts with Jewish women who observe tzniut (modesty) and the stereotypes they face, the experiences they have, and everything about what it means to dress one way and have people perceive you in their own way. You know, the classic frum (observant) woman who wears pants and short sleeves and doesn't cover her hair but would kill her kid for flipping the TV on on Shabbos or eating anything that bears a Triangle-K hechsher. We all have our preconceived notions about the way people dress and how it reflects who they are spiritually or religiously, and I want to start a dialogue about it. (This also plays to a post I wrote last week that got some questioning replies.)

Are you interested in participating? Shoot me an email and the questions will be on their way. There are about 10 questions and you can take your time answering them. This is going to be an ongoing series, and I will be doing minimal editing (only for my OCD grammar concerns) -- and most importantly, all posts will remain anonymous.

For all the posts, click here!

Shamelessly in Love With Sabra Hummus

I assumed it was obvious, but people seem to want me to say flat out that this trip was paid for by Sabra. So there you have it: they flew me down, they paid for my hotel, and they paid for my food. As part of the Tastemakers Panel, I agreed to blog about the trip, to develop hummus-based recipes, and more. So deal with it.

Close your eyes. Imagine taking a bath in garlic. Imagine the smell of spices swirling around you. Imagine feeling the entire Mediterranean world having a gigantic party in your nose, dancing on your tastebuds.

Open your eyes. And? You're standing in the Sabra hummus factory in Chesterfield County, Va! Okay, so you aren't standing there, but you're standing there, vicariously, through me.

The final group that attended was Liz, Diane, Linda, Kristin, and Renee!

As a member of the 2011 Sabra Tastemakers Panel, I schlepped with five other ladies from the group to an amazing (non-kosher, unfortunately) restaurant called Acacia last Tuesday, stayed in an amazing room at a Residence Inn (where I stayed up until 2 a.m. watching חיים יקרים, even though I had to wake up at 7 something a.m.), and took a tour of culinary delights. The goal of the trip? To give some bloggers a behind-the-scenes view of the factory, a chance to taste brand new products, to meet the Sabra chefs, and to ask the tough questions (exactly how many chickpeas are used each day? Top Secret!).

It's kind of like we're famous.

Knowing that I was the only member of the panel with a kosher bent, I viewed everything through the lens of kashrut, which made the entire experience interesting. Food was catered to the hotel Tuesday night for myself and one of the group leaders and to the Sabra Factory for Wednesday lunch and dinner to take to the airport. I ended up eating the delicious meal Tuesday before we went out to dinner, because I didn't want to face the awkward experience of the kosher Jew drinking only water and starving while everyone else ate. The waiter attempted to understand our dietary concerns ("That just means no pork, right?"), and even though he was from LA, he was pretty clueless. Luckily, with the powers of the bartendress and our waiter combined, I had a delicious alcoholic beverage that got me through the evening! The restaurant's set-up was beautiful, with an "open kitchen" that sort of creates a trusting sense of transparency.

Say hello to MaryDawn!

On Wednesday, with coffee in hand, we took off to the Sabra Factory, which was sort of out in the middle of nowhere on a beautiful Silver LEED Certified facility. What does this mean? Well, the facility is made with 20 percent recyclable materials, and they use the collected rainwater in the building for cooling -- they really don't waste, but they do reuse and recycle (did you know the hummus lid and bowl are recyclable?!). We spent most of the day being followed around by a great two-man film crew, and our fearless leader was Mike S., the head of Research and Development for Sabra, and Executive Research Chef MaryDawn also accompanied us along the journey.

After putting on a less-than-stylish outfit that included a factory jacket, a hairnet, some goggles, and a hardhat, we took off to the factory floor. Lucky for me, because I have glasses, I got to skip the goggle things, but I did find that wearing a tichel with a hairnet with a hardhat was, well, less than comfortable. I did notice there was one woman -- who I assumed was Muslim -- in the spice room wearing a head scarf with the hardhat, so I felt a sense of sisterhood!

The first step into official factory space was, of course, the garlic. The aroma of spices. Then? The 1 ton bags of chickpeas! They're kept in super bags, 2,000 pounds apiece! We snaked through hydration and washing stations, the garnish (you know, those pine nuts on top of the hummus) room, and got to watch live-action hummus making, and we even got to try the first-run goods off the line, before they get spiced, blended, and packaged. The color was very yellow and the texture much chunkier than the final product. We walked through the packaging area, watching how they transport the garnishes and hummus from place to place in these gigantic metal pods. After the factory, we went to the test kitchen area, where there were some fresh goods to sample (alas, believe it or not, the Sabra kitchen isn't kosher, even though the products are). Luckily, they busted out the two newest flavors of hummus fresh from the package, and we got to sample them: Buffalo Style and Basil Pesto hummus.

I didn't partake, but I plan on replicating the hummus-meets-eggplant heated-up recipe at home!

Now, I was really stoked about the prospect of Buffalo Style Hummus complete with celery and the taste of buffalo with ranch (even though it's parve), but I'll admit, it was the Basil Pesto Hummus that took my breathe away. I have hated pesto for as long as I can remember, but this new product from Sabra has me hooked. I want to put it in meatballs, and melt it on pasta, and ... you get the drift.

The other real winners of the trip were the new Greek Yogurt dips that Sabra has started producing. I honestly couldn't stop eating the Spinach and Artichoke dip. I figured that I could sit down and eat the entire container and not completely destroy my eating schedule -- it's that good for you (or, rather, not bad for you). These dips are dairy, and they have traditional hashgacha, but also are marked Chalav Stam, in case you're concerned. I really applaud Sabra for using Greek Yogurt in their dips, because they're the only ones out there making dips that are not based on sour cream. Bravo for a health-conscious company.

After testing out the new hummus flavors and the new dairy dips, we sampled the four new salsa flavors, as well as the two new guacamole flavors (I didn't partake, because, well, I've always hated guac!). The salsa has me beyond excited. It tasted fresh and traditional (as in, the kind of Mexican I'd get at the small mom-and-pop places run by people who spoke no English), and I can't wait to see the gigantic tubs of this stuff at the Big Box retailers!

Our kind hosts prepared some delicious nosh for the non-kosher keepers, including an amazing dessert that I can't wait to replicate once the recipe comes my way, and if you're lucky, I'll be sharing it with you, too! The recipe makes for "Chocolate Hummus." With coconut. And it looked amazing. If only I could have tried it! Agh. And I also got to meet -- but held back my excitement -- Colombe Jacobsen, whom you might remember as "The Cat" from the Mighty Ducks movies! Color me star-struck. She's one of the Sabra chefs, believe it or not.

The day ended with some outstanding schwag and a van ride to the airport, where we issued our goodbyes and went on our way. It was a whirlwind 24 hours, but it was totally worth the trip and time. Why? Well, I learned some interesting things.

• Pumping hummus through pipes compromises its texture, so the factory uses gravity to its advantage, dropping the hummus from one layer of the factory to another!
• Sabra Hummus is now officially gluten free!
• Sabra has removed every preservative from its hummus except for one, which is considered standard in the industry, but the plan is to get rid of even that in the future! The folks at Sabra are very devoted to healthy, sensible choices.
• Hummus isn't just for dipping. No, it's for cooking. The best example? Well, that delicious coconut dish up there: Toasted Coconut Topped Chocolate Hummus Cups! (Check out recipes here.)
• The factory in Virginia produces only hummus, and it peaked at 60 tons of hummus in one 8-hour shift! Holy wow!
• The Virginia location broke ground in 2009 and already has outgrown its breeches! That's how quickly they're growing, everyone.
• By volume, the U.S. consumes more hummus than Israel, even though more households in Israel (by a huge margin) purchase the product. In the U.S., Sabra holds 10 percent of the hummus market, which is up from 7 percent at the beginning of 2010.
• In a word: Sabra Hummus is growing. Are you on the Hummus Train?

The entire experience was enlightening. I've been on factory tours before, but only the beer and tea variety back in Colorado. Sabra opened their world to us, and I feel a greater connection to the hummus that we consume every Friday and Saturday for Shabbos. Now, my goal is to get these new products into all of the grocery stores in Teaneck -- come on! I've got the bug, I want my dip and hummus!

Also, stay tuned for more blog posts about Sabra, my trip, and, of course, giveaways. I have some schwag to pass along to one lucky reader. Could it be you? That depends. Until next time ...

Good lord my hair is long.

The Shabbos Menu

I haven't posted a Shabbos menu in a while, but I was particularly pleased with the outcome of this past weekend's nosh. The variety of cookbooks used, too, I think will boggle your mind. Are you ready?

We had guests over on Saturday, so most of my oomph was focused on Saturday, so we'll start there. The menu:

Challah

Mexican Salad from Quick and Kosher 

Broccoli and Raisin Salad from Simply Sugar and Gluten-Free

(Vegetarian) Kishke (that I couldn't eat)

Maple Chicken (Tuvia's favorite these days)

Polka-dot Squash Quinoa from No Whine with Dinner (recipe here)

Green Beans with Thyme and Almonds

Roasted Cauliflower

Mixed Sweet and White Potatoes (and I made my own homemade onion soup mix, sans the sugar)

Blueberry Crisp in Ramekins from the Eat Clean Diet

Chickpea Brownies (click for recipe)

If you click on each link, it will take you either to a website where I got the recipe, or to a Google Doc I've created for the recipe. If you try anything out, let me know what you think.

Now, as for the challah -- it wasn't my own, personal recipe. In fact, it was something I picked up in Dallas when I was visiting my good friends @susqhb and @ravtex for Shabbos before SXSW Interactive. We went out to dinner that motzei Shabbos and the restaurant Cafe Finos happened to be selling this interesting product called Simply Add Water. Essentially, it's a bread mix to which you just add water, you mix, you let rise, you go. BAM! You have challah. Now, I love making challah, but I hate the mess I always make, and although this product turned out dense (from the feel of it), my guests and Tuvia loved the taste. They said it was "dense in that good way." So, for what it's worth, it might be worth buying a few and keeping them as standbys when you want homemade, fresh challah but you don't have or want to make it yourself. And really, the fun of challah is the braiding anyway, so it's like you get to do that, without the mess. I just wish I had taken some photos ...

Stay tuned for a full review of The Meal Makeover Moms' "No Whine with Dinner" cookbook (I made their other quinoa recipe for dinner Friday), as well as a post on my trip to the Sabra factory in Richmond, VA, as part of the Sabra Tastemakers Panel!

I Hate Tooting My Own Horn ...

But I feel obligated to mention that I was named one of The Jewish Week's 36 Under 36: The New Re-Engineers. Find my profile here.

This, the fourth installment of the “36 Under 36” list, highlights the dedicated lay leaders who are reordering our legacy organizations alongside community activists and social justice crusaders whose startups are chock-full of innovation.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find any copies of the newspaper in Teaneck, despite going to every single place on Cedar Lane. Supposedly some folks are keeping copies for me, so phew on that note.

Last year I wrote about my awesome friend Susanne, who was named on last year's list as a social media rockstar. I haven't had the time yet to sit down and completely devour the list of amazing people I'm listed with, including many rabbis, but I'll get to it. After all, I should be adding these people on Facebook and Twitter and making sure there's a massive meeting of the minds. Between this and the impending visit to the 2011 ROI Summit in Israel, I'm on top of the world.

The question is: Can I live up to the hype?

The Month of May -- Through the Years

The month of May, over the past five years, has held some interesting posts and thoughts. The only year that was lacking? 2007. Probably because I'd just started a new job and was insanely busy. Here are some posts, from May 2006 until May 2010. And, well, you know where we are today.

05.01.2006
You have what my mother would have called a Yiddishe kupf – a Jewish head. You see the subtleties, the nuances in things. You see the humor that’s enveloped in tragedy, and the tears hidden inside the laughter. ~ My Jewish-American Fiction professor
I loved this professor, and I think he knew something about me that I was still figuring out.

05.03.2006
There are moments when I wish I had converted via a more observant route. Then again, I think in time I will convert more conservative. Why? Becuase I want to be immersed.
I wrote this mere weeks after completing my Reform conversion. It's really interesting to me that I was so perceptive of what my neshama needed and wanted so soon after my first dip. 

05.29.2008
The more I think back to my conversion, the more I have to consider the validity of the beth din. I dipped in the mikvah (twice), but the validity of that even relies on those there in the beth din. The more I consider it, the more I feel more confident about pursuing an Orthodox conversion. I won't get into it here, but that's just how it goes.
It was around this time that the politics of conversion really made sense to me. The "twice" is because of a funny story surrounding my conversion and a mistake that was made that required a double dip (not my Reform and Orthodox conversions, after all, it was only 2008). I also think that this is moment that I realized that Orthodoxy was the future.

05.22.2008
My philosophy has always been -- and mostly still is, though I have moments of weakness where I'm beaten to pulp emotionally over the topic by others -- that I'm a Jew. That much is black and white. I either am or am not, and I most certainly am. A black woman convert once said that she tells people that she was born Jewish, just not in a Jewish womb, and I think it's pretty accurate. Some are blessed being born into it from breath number one, and some of us have to get there. It's like realizing you have a nose when you're a baby. It's an amazing feeling, too.

But I'm a Jew. I'll jump through thirty hoops and dip in the mikvah a dozen times if you want.

What do I care? There will always be people who think you're not enough. Or that you're too much (as it seems to be the case with me sometimes). And the balance is necessary. These negative Nancy and positive Petes keep you in check, they keep you fighting, they keep you passionate and alive. They remind you that it is not effortless to be a Jew -- convert or not. Someone will always want you to cover more or butcher the cow yourself, and someone else will tell you to loosen up and let your hair down and eat that non-kosher candy bar. It's becuase it isn't black and white.

So this is all I have to say -- right now anyway -- on this whole conversion debacle in Israel and Europe and everywhere else that converts are feeling the burn. I feel for them, we're kindred spirits wandering back to the mount together, catching up with the rest of the tribe camped there. I understand the frustration and the hurt, and I understand the want for it all to just go away and for the slippery slope to flatten out and become coarse as sand paper. But for now, we'll forge forth.

There is always someone standing in our path, and that never changes. It is the reaction to the situation that truly matters. And me? Well, you'll see how I turn out.
This truly sums up my philosophy -- then and now -- on conversion and converting and converts. No matter how "judgmental" people think I am, and no matter the thoughts I have or the way I question myself and others, I will always feel this way. It's our reaction to such sentiments and feelings more than any other factor that counts the most. 

05.28.2009
[A narrative -- my memory -- of standing at Sinai.] This isn't creative fiction or narrative. It isn't me being thoughtful or pensive or hopeful as to what maybe it would have been like to be at Sinai. I've had these memories, the vivid imagery that I cannot even put into words appropriately here. The colors, the smells, the sound of the wind and the voices. It's the truth I have to accept, my neshama stood there with a child, it seems, awaiting the Torah.
I honestly think people thought I was nuts when I wrote this. Click and read the full story, but it's for real. Honest and for real.

05.25.2010
Ever since I was a kid, I felt overwhelmed. Like, the world is so big. That there's so much going on. That it's all just too much to handle as one person. Do you guys ever feel like that? Like the pressure of the world is on your shoulders? Like you're meant to do something really big, important, and amazing, but that sometimes you feel it's just too much. I spent a large part of my life trying to fix some personal relationships, family, friends. My outpourings -- more often than not -- are met with failure or brick walls. It all piles up sometimes, and it starts to feel like it's beyond too much. Infinitely too much.
And this is where I am today, still. The past year has been a whirlwind, but that feeling of being overwhelmed by people and blessings? Well, it's sticking with me. That professor knew something about me that I didn't, and perhaps it's those nuances that I see, those intricacies, that keep everything feel so big and so ... amazing and scary all at the same time. I often feel like HaShem has a plan for me that I can not even begin to understand, but I know that I just have to go with it. And I think, honestly, that this blog is a big part of it. 

Being Propositioned: This is My Life?

Sometimes, I'm just blown away by what people are willing to say, out loud, to strangers.

I have oodles to say about my experience at the Sabra Factory in Richmond, VA, from Tuesday-Wednesday, but that's coming later. Right now, I have to focus on a peculiar and unsettling thing that happened to me this morning. That being said, it also was really amusing.

I had to head into NYC early because I had a ticket to The Nate Berkus Show, and I had to be there by 9:45. I woke up later than I wanted, so I got into the city later than I wanted, and I ended up taking a taxi from Port Authority to the studio up on 57th Street.

The taxi ride started out normal: The Middle Eastern driver was kvetching about his last passenger and how she didn't speak English and had no idea where she wanted to go, and then? It got really weird. Here's how the dialogue went between the two of us. (D: Driver | C: Chavi)

D: So you're Jewish, right?
C: Um, yeah.
D: It's the hair, it's that (he searches for the words) you know, you're one of those (still searching for the word) the guys with the long hair (and he motioned like the peyot curls).
C: Orthodox?
D: Yes! That's it. Orthodox women are very faithful to their husbands, right?
C: Yeah, we are. We're devoted.
D: So you never cheat?
C: Um, I've never cheated. I never would. I don't know anyone else who has, either.
D: How long have you been married?
C: Almost a year.
D: Things get old, right? I mean, I'm married, but, when I find a woman I want, I have her.
(at this point, I'm like, WTH!?)
C: Well, I'd never cheat. I love my husband.
D: Do you live in the city?
C: Nope. I live in Jersey.
D: You are very beautiful, you know. Very beautiful.
C: ... thanks. That's very kind of you.
D: I've never slept with a Jewish woman before.
C: Well, lucky for you there are a lot of them here in New York.
D: You know, if your husband ever goes away, I could give you my card, I could come to you.
C: Listen, I'm really flattered, but, I'm married.
D: Are you sure you don't want my card?
[We arrive to my destination.]
C: No, thank you.
D: Well, good luck with your husband!
C: Thanks ...

Yes, that happened. To me. Here's a taxi driver, who knows I'm an Orthodox Jew, but clearly knows nothing about Orthodox Jews or Judaism, and he propositioned me. I should have taken his number down. I mean, it was flattering, but incredibly awkward. I had zero clue how to handle this situation.

But then I was at The Nate Berkus show, which was awesomely amazing, and I got some nice schwag to bring home with me. I'm actually submitting a story that I hope he'll take on, which I'll let you guys know about soon enough. Check out the goodies:

A messenger-style blanket/bag by The Diaper Dude and Chris Gardner's new book (he was on the show!).

So that was my day. Man alive. Has this ever happened to any of you?

EDIT: The portion up there in bold I forgot to write the first time around. WOW. Because that was the funniest thing.

The Real Danger? Other Converts

When born Jews first find out that I converted - reform or orthodox, it doesn't matter - the first question that gets asked is Why? as in, Why on earth would you choose this people, with their difficult past? The next question usually is How I ended up choosing Judaism, followed by, What Does your family think? Rarely, if ever, does a born Jew say, Who converted you and Who was in your beth din.

Oddly enough, it is the converts who throw out the questionable questions.

You see, I might be the first convert to admit this, but when I first encounter another Orthodox convert, my first thought is usually What led you to Judaism? But it is quickly, and without warning, followed up with Who converted you? Who was in your beth din? Did you have an RCA conversion? But am I the only one? Does this make me judgmental? Or, perhaps, am I more concerned with self-preservation and making sure every Orthodox convert will be accepted by the highest number of people RIGHT now?

For many converts, it is about self preservation. Why? Because you want to make sure the other converts in your community are doing things "right," whatever that means, so that if and when others in your community find out that YOU are a convert they see that YOU did things right. It only takes one "bad seed" to make the rest of us look bad and make those born Jews wonder whether converts really make the kosher cut.

And, I'll admit, this thought process doesn't bother me. It makes sense. However ...

There is a really startling and anger-inducing (for me anyway) trend in the conversion community. I don't know if it's new, but all of the conversion crises talk has exacerbated this self preservation to the point that converts, in some communities, have become bullies. It is the classic case where the bullied become the bullies. What do I mean?

A conversion candidate posts something online in a safe space in confidence or maybe shares a struggle with a friend. It is nothing major, maybe about doing something on Shabbos while struggling to take on observance or gripe about your experiences in the process. But someone in that community sees or hears about it. They tell your rabbi, community members, friends, and eventually you are chastised by your beth din, and, in severe cases, your mikvah is canceled.

In my experience, the people who out converts or converts-in-process are other converts. And this disgusts me. The thought process is baffling, but I am guessing it is that if you turn the light on another convert, and their missteps, then your own won't make their way to daylight. Why would someone question you and your observance, when clearly you know more than the newbie?

As many of you know, I created a "secret" group on Facebook for converts of all denominations to discuss the process, observance, resources, and more. The space was created to be a positive outlet of conversation, but sometimes the interactions become accusatory or hateful or judgmental. A little judging is healthy - it just means we are working out our own insecurities and uncertainties about who we are individually. But when those judgments turn into bullying and outing other converts, a line has been crossed.

After all, if converts won't even stand up for each other, then who will?

Meeting Mayim Bialik: Yes, She's As Nice As You Think She Is

So ... she really liked my mini Sharpie!

When I was a kid, there were some shows that just stuck with me, and one of those shows was Blossom. In fact, for my fifth grade enrichment program project (which was about origami), I got dressed to the nines. That is, for my overweight fifth-grade self I got dressed to the nines. This means I was wearing a homemade black dress with small pink flowers on it, some fancy Mary Janes, and, of course, my Blossom-inspired hat. A photo will be coming -- never fear. Tuvia and I are heading to Nebraska at the end of the month, and there will be gobs of amazing photos of me for your viewing pleasure.

So you can imagine how delighted I was to find out that the one, the only Mayim Bialik of Blossom fame, and more recently of Big Bang Theory (one of my most favorite shows), was visiting my town, Teaneck! I signed up immediately for a pair of tickets for Tuvia and I, and after being rudely quickly shuffled to the event room at a large house in Teaneck that blew my mind, and with my camera at the ready, I was beyond jazzed to meet a childhood hero of mine. And, to think, that when I was a kid watching Blossom I wasn't Jewish, and I didn't even have Judaism on my mind, and all I could think was "Who names their kid Mayim? What does that even mean?"

The event was run by Jew in the City -- the amazing outreach site that is redesigning the public image of Orthodox Jews as you read this very blog post. I've been a fan of Jew in the City for eons, and if you're not, you should be. Mayim and the face behind Jew in the City, Allison Josephs, are Partners in Torah buddies, and that's how this amazing connection happened, and all to our benefit! Mayim talked about her background in Judaism, her life as a starlet, and how learning with Allison showed her the beauty in observance and doing things at your own pace.

From the first time I met Allison, I felt uber connected to her and her own story of growth in observance. After all, we both had existential crises when we were kids, so HaShem had some of the same work in mind for the both of us. Mayim talked about how Allison asked her: Why did HaShem make you famous? Why did he choose you to make famous?

That got me thinking: Why is this blog so well known? Why do people feel connected to me? What is it about my story, my words, my narrative, that other people find compelling enough to email a complete stranger? This is something I'm going to be thinking about. I've always felt that HaShem had a special plan for me, but I've been trying to really peg what that plan is. Maybe it's just the blog? It's reaching out and making the Jewish world a better place? Lighting a fire in all those dimmed neshamot out there?

Think about it. And, while you're at it, go buy some Blossom DVDs!

The Underground Scoop on Tzniut Style

I try really hard not to contact awesome retailers for product samples, because, well, I feel like it cheapens the whole experience. But when retailers contact me with beautiful, tzniut products, I can't turn them down, and I never have! Thus, I'm excited to share with you a retailer that I've been hoping and praying would contact me for some time now (ever since I moved into Teaneck and heard about it, that is), and that is The Style Underground, the fine purveyors of innovative, classic, and modest hairwear and headgear. Julie at TSU contacted me and sent me two amazing products: A Purple Yoshi Braid Hat and the Luxe Silk Voile Scarf.

I'll admit it -- when the package came, it was small and well wrapped, and I was concerned. Will her products fit my gigantic German noggin? Yes, I have a big head, and it's always caused me woe and drama when it comes to buying hats, which is why I don't really wear hats outside of winter when slouchy, knit hats are oversized and comfortable. If I had my way, I'd wear comfy hats all year round, so consider me stoked to discover that TSU makes a comfortable, stretch-cotton hat, called the "Yoshi Braid Hat."

The Yoshi Braid Hat is what it says -- it's soft, cotton, and stretchy, but without that "you wore it once and now it's stretched out" kind of feeling. It was comfortable, looked like a tichel (according to Tuvia), and it provided versatility, as the braid is attached in the back but is able to be moved around on the crown of your head. I was incredibly excited the moment I put it on -- I felt like summer wouldn't be so bad after all! My only concern is that, because my noggin is so big, the hat doesn't look exactly like it does on Julie on her website. It's just a little too snug to look casual. As Tuvia said, from the side I look like an elf. I tried to rectify the situation by pulling and tucking the extra fabric in, and it worked for the most part, but I noticed throughout the day that I did suffer some slippage of the hat because, well, of my gigantic head. (I know, I know, it doesn't look that big, but it is.) Overall, however, I'm super excited about the hat, and I'm excited to buy the other colors (especially the versatile black!).

The Luxe Scarf at first glance had me thinking that this wasn't anything special, but then I unwrapped it and ... holy wow ... it's shaped like a triangle! Which means there isn't gobs of extra fabric to try and tuck away, and it makes it easier to leave the part around the neck out without it reaching half-way down my back and making me look like a peasant. The fabric is incredibly lightweight and comfortable -- it honestly feels like I'm wearing nothing on my head, which is perfect in time for summer. The stitching on the scarf, too, is impressive. I can't use a sewing machine, let alone make something this elegant.

Overall, I have to say I am very, very impressed with what The Style Underground has to offer. I was taken aback at first by the prices, but after receiving the products, I can tell you that it is beyond worth it. The product is elegant, the stitching is expert and flawless, and the color options are innovative and seasonal. I'll be wearing these for years, and they won't show the wear, either. We're talking Boutique Tzniut, folks! And I'm sold.

Do you have a favorite The Style Underground scarf or hat? Let me know what you think!

EDIT: Don't forget to check out the invaluable resource of The Style Underground's scarf-tying videos on Facebook!

The Death of Evil: Osama bin Laden

I can't help it. I'm compelled to write something. Anything.

Osama bin Laden has been killed by U.S. troops. 

I know what you're thinking -- yes, we know, Chaviva. It's been everywhere. You'd have to be living in a bunker in Pakistan not to know (d'oh). But I have a few things to say about this.

First, I'm happy. I'm celebrating. But I'm not celebrating the death of Osama bin Laden. No, despite the Purim story, it seems wrong to me. We're not meant to celebrate death. We're meant to celebrate justice, freedom, and the removal of fear of a deadly hand reaching out and destroying the world. Osama bin Laden wasn't a Muslim leader, as President Obama said. He was an enemy of Muslims. He was a mass murderer of Muslims. He was a murderer of everyone that got in his way. He was pure evil. We should all celebrate the freedom from that evil. 

Secondly, it's so weird to think that 10 years ago, I was back in Nebraska, dreaming of someday living in New York City and going to NYU. I wanted to be a New Yorker. During 9/11, that feeling never waned. And now, here I am, footsteps from New York, spending almost every day of the week in the Big Apple, and I am more than excited to be a part of a burgeoning city 10 years after the destruction of so many lives. The heart of the United States is a big, red, juicy apple. 

Thirdly, my view on the aftermath of all of this is that there will be some serious infighting among Al-Qaeda leaders, resulting in an implosion of sorts in the leadership, and it will have a demoralizing impact on the lower factions of Al-Qaeda. We'll see if that happens. 

Fourthly, nights like this, I really miss being a copy editor. Can you imagine sitting at the copy desk of a major daily at this hour? Ripping apart the front page, updating the article every five seconds, writing the most amazing headline on the planet? The rush of that feeling ... man I miss that. And with Obama glowing as he was, well, all I can think is ... this event is going to alter the news up until the 2012 election, for better or worse. We'll see how this goes, but I know he's proud of himself. 

With that, friends, celebrate our freedom from evil. 

"Your enemies shall perish;

all the wicked shall disintegrate.

I have seen the downfall of my foes;

I have seen the doom of my attackers."

~ Psalm 92

May we all know nothing but peace. 

Like Coming Home

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

Priceless.

Dreaming in a Daze

I've written about my wacky dreams before, in all of their vivid and memorable and horrifying glory. My favorite dreams have been those like the one where I was studying with a Hasidic master (that was years ago), and I wish I had more like those. But last night?

The first dream was me (looking like Rihanna of all people), and I was in charge of subbing in a class for a math teacher. The class was learning about basic algebra, and I was trying to get technology involved and the class was very dysfunctional. But the problem? The teacher was actually there in the class the whole time, correcting every little thing I was doing and saying. I couldn't control the class, let alone the lesson. And then, the dream flipped.

I was standing on a street in the Old City or something that looked like it, wearing IDF garb. We were investigating a rumor that a woman on the street was planning to blow herself up on that street. We were questioning several people out on the street (Arabs) and they said they knew nothing, but then this woman walked out, dressed in 1940's style garb, dressed to the nines, and she walked by and just winked at me. I instantly knew that this was the woman who was going to blow herself up. I grabbed the device out of her hand that she would have pushed to detonate and started to move down the street while she just stared at me. She moved near a large group of people (all Arabs, which makes no sense) and she pushed her stomach, like that was where the bomb was, and at the same moment, I pushed the button on the device -- and nothing happened. She started to run and I got her and arrested her. Almost instantly, she turned from being an Arab woman into being a bleach-blond with bright blue eyes and milky skin. I was parading her through town, shouting "She's a Nazi!" I took her through this large hall -- it was almost like a bath house -- full of Jews and everyone was saying "Wow, she's beautiful" and I would spit back, "She's a Nazi!" and everyone responded with disgust. We left the large hall and were heading into the police station and she wrangled herself loose from my grip. I knew I couldn't chase her, so I started to load my gun as she knocked over an IDF soldier and took his garb, got dressed, and ran into one of the IDF gates across the street. I started shooting at her, while yelling that she was a Nazi. I shot her twice, and the rest of the soldiers dragged her into this big room where she ended up being killed. I got really, really upset, curled into a ball, and started weeping about how she should have been put through a trial, prosecuted, and sentenced.

Weird. Okay dream readers -- what's it mean?

Making Passover in Monsey

On Monday, I took a schlep over to the community chametz burning and left smelling like bonfire (my apologies to anyone and everyone at the grocery store who had to smell me afterward).

Burn chametz burn!

Monday night, I took off to Monsey (or, rather, Spring Valley) to meet up with Tuvia, because we were set to spend the first two nights of Passover -- the seder nights -- with our amazing family (well, Tuvia's family, my in-laws, the Katzes). I was eager, nay, excited for Pesach by them because, well, the past two years we'd jet-setted off to Florida for Pesach with the Galatz side of the family, and although it was always great, we were among the few religious relatives and we spent our days pool-side instead of at synagogue.

These sederim were filled with mishpacha from Toronto, us from Jersey, and the Monsey family, and the table was full of children -- five, to be exact! It felt like what I can only understand as a "real" seder where there are enough children to read the Four Questions and sing the kid-geared songs, where the kids are at an age where matzo still tastes good. I really felt like a part of the family; I connected with the hosts on a personal level and I felt like the kids really were excited to have me there. Having a Jewish family that wants me there feels so powerful, especially on a chag.

The first night, we topped off the evening at 12:15 and the second, we shaved five minutes off the seder. The food was outstanding (homemade applesauce? yes, I got leftovers), and everything tasted so fresh and delicious because, honestly, it was made with love for such an important chag. 


The second night, I was charged with washing and checking the lettuce -- oy. Talk about some major pressure. But we put the seder together in record time before the guys got home from shul and for the first time in my life, I actually really enjoyed being the woman behind the scenes, at home, rushing and fixing the table for the meal, proud of my handiwork, having placed all of the items on each of the seder plates. I stood back proud. (Of course, I did have to check the haggadah for what was what because, let's be honest, I couldn't remember the Hebrew for the shank bone, which left me feeling like I couldn't muster the proper Jewish strength to figure out the chag.)

Every year, I get anxious around the chagim. They come once a year, and let's be honest -- this was actually only my fourth or fifth official Passover in the history of me. That means I don't have much experience on the nitty gritty, and I've never had to put together my own seder. But the confidence that the hostess -- who is amazing -- had in me made me feel a part of the whole thing.

Now it's time to enjoy some chol ha'moed matzo and cream cheese. Although I had my ($28/box) oat matzo for the sederim, I'm sticking to the Yehuda brand "matzo-style" crackers. And? I'm excited. Excited for homemade applesauce, some leftover ratatouille, and lots, and lots of schoolwork.

Alas, school doesn't stop just because we stop to recall and relive the Exodus ...

The Tale of the Magic Tichel and Its Hijab Envy

Last week I was sitting in the office of a coworker (I use that term loosely since I work from home and don't technically have coworkers) when a woman walked in and began talking to him swiftly in Hebrew about something he had sitting on his desk. The conversation was incredibly fast-paced, even for me, and I didn't catch most of what was going on. Something one of them said I did understand and I smiled, and the woman looked at me and said something in Hebrew (I forget what) and then asked if I spoke/understood Hebrew, to which I motioned that "so-so" thing with my hand. She apologized and said she'd assumed I spoke Hebrew, I said "kol b'seder" (it's okay), and they continued their conversation.

I immediately realized why this woman had assumed I spoke Hebrew. I was sitting in an office at a Jewish institution, and I was wearing a tichel (nifty Isreali head-scarf) on my head.

The tichel, I realized was the tip-off to my supposed mastery of Hebrew. The tichel meant I was Israeli or had some connection. I wasn't wearing a hat or a sheitel (wig).

That got me thinking -- again, as always -- about head coverings and what they mean. In my Hebrew class last week we read an article about the politics of the kippah and what it means, whether it's black velvet, or knitted, or one of those Nah Nach style ones. Our headgear, it seems, delegates how others view and categorize us, both politically and religiously. If you wear a tichel, chances are people will assume you're somehow tied to or involved in Zionism and Israel. If you wear a sheitel, you're from Monsey or one of the more religious and showy areas of Teaneck. And if you wear a hat -- especially a baseball cap -- well, then we all know you're just doing it to appease everyone else. (These are generalizations, folks, not my own beliefs.)

And then I was sitting in Bergen Town Center, biding time waiting for Tuvia to show up so we could look at those fancy lightweight suitcases since I'm going to be traveling so much and have a problem with ... ahem ... overpacking. I was people-watching near the fancy fishtanks that attract children and elderly alike for their bizarre, prehistoric-style fish that just look fake. Two Muslim girls walked past me in the most beautiful hijab coverings I've ever seen. I started thinking: These women look so beautiful in their head coverings that wrap over and around and here I am, wearing a headscarf that I'm perpetually shifting and pulling and tucking and I don't feel beautiful in it.

I expressed my frustration on Twitter and people suggested that it's because no hair is showing -- the focus of the viewer rests entirely on the face of the woman. Someone else posed a question that I've been wondering for quite some time: Is there anything that says a Jewish woman can't cover her hair hijab-style? And if not, why don't we? Is it because it's a Muslim thing to do and we want to distinguish ourselves? I know that in many parts of the world, Jewish women do cover their hair hijab-style, and it tends to be those with historic ties to historically Muslim lands.

Yes, that's J.Lo on the right. Stylin' in her tichel.

I guess, what I'm saying is, the hijab seems to be more, well, more tzniut and more stylish -- more mysterious, if you will. Am I nuts?

When the seasons change, I always have this kind of existential hair-covering crisis. I got married as spring was upon us, then I dealt with the summer-to-fall change, the fall-to-winter change, and now I'm dealing once again with that winter-to-spring change. I'm almost a full cycle of weather-related hair woes, and I don't think I'm a pro yet. I've had my bangs since I was a wee lass, and I just can't get rid of them. That bodes well for cute winter knit hats, but I am not loving how it looks with a tichel these days. I feel like I'm cheating. Tefach (the hand's breadth allotment of hair showing) or not.

I'm guessing if I walked out of my house and to shul with my scarf wrapped all hijab-like, I'd probably be chastised, and my conversion would go out in the window (she's a closet Muslim!). But sometimes, I troll the sites that sell these beautiful scarves and am jealous. Envious. I sometimes covet the beauty that these women accomplish in their clothing and hair coverings.

Sure, some might say I fall into the Orthofox category with my fashion sensibilities, but I'll never look as good as some of the women I see schlepping around the mall. And my tichel will never fit the way it should -- even so far as my ability to suddenly master Hebrew when it's placed upon my head (like a magic slipper or something).

Thoughts?

The Linden Shabbaton -- Will You Be There?

Once upon a time, I went to a Shabbaton in Crown Heights, and it was probably one of the most amazing Shabbats of my life (despite being completely overwhelmed by what can only be described as a massive crowd). Once upon another time, I indirectly ended up at a Shabbaton in West Orange at my dear husband's family's shul, and that, too, was amazing. So, I suppose, you could call me a proponent of the Shabbaton experience -- it's like an awesome camp experience, for adults!

Enter, if you will, The Linden (NJ) Shabbaton on May 6-7, 2011, for young couples and families, buyers and renters. Someone once told me that if Linden were compared to a pair of jeans, it would be "relaxed fit." Now, I'm not a pants-wearing kind of gal, but I remember relaxed-fit jeans, and they were cozy and comfortable and made me feel at home in my own skin (thank heavens for jean skirts!). At Congregation Anshe Chesed in Linden, shul isn't a fashion show, and it's not a place to see if you're keeping up with the Schwartzes. Linden folks, I've been told, come together in a relaxed environment to focus on G-d and community.

Thus, during this Shabbaton, the Linden community wants to invite the curious and hopeful to take a gander at what it means to be comfortable and relaxed before your friends and community, as well as HaShem.

And if I haven't caught your attention yet, how about this: The Shabbos Park. This is a place where all of the couples -- children or no children -- get together and hang out on Shabbos afternoon. During this Shabbos afternoon powwow, the rabbi holds a class for women, while the men entertain the children (and themselves, one hopes!). All I can say is, drool. Learning for women while the men (who are really kids) get to play with the kids? This is a definite win-win.

According to my sources, Linden is a beautiful, safe, and very affordable community. The location is great, and the community is devoted to simplicity and spiritual growth -- all according to a "relaxed fit" atmosphere.

For more information on The Linden Shabbaton, just shoot an email to the shul. I just might be there. Will you? It never hurts to check out a new community -- you never know when you might fall in love and find that perfect fit for which you've been searching.

And, for what it's worth, Anshe Chesed's Rabbi Hess is on Twitter and he has a blog! Talk about a tech-savvy community.

Hebrew Language and the Passover Connection

Passover is mere steps from our doorsteps, and its expecting no crumbs of bread or other wheat-filled goodies to greet it. Are you ready?

I've been busy doing research for looming papers (following in the steps of Pesach, of course), and the most interesting at this point is a paper on the Impact of Hebrew Language Education on Jewish Identity. I've got more sources than I know what to do with, but few actually appear to have talked to students or individuals on what kind of impact such education has or hasn't had on how they identify. One of the interesting things that I read in one of the many books I've got sitting around is about Passover and the role of language in the redemption of the Israelites from the hands of the Egyptians.

According to Rav Huna, in the name of Bar Kapara, in the Midrash on Shemot (Exodus), four things kept the Jews together and thus merited their redemption from Egypt, and one of those was that they didn't change their language. Hebrew held a utilitarian function: it helped (and helps) to maintain Jewish identity and identification.

For me, at this time of Passover, this bit of knowledge speaks volumes to me. It makes me wonder, as is my tendency, why we don't do more to encourage the learning and fluency of Hebrew in the Diaspora. If, at one time, the Israelites were united through a common tongue, why do we pay so little importance to it outside of Israel?

According to David Schers, "There are ways of belonging to a people without knowing it's main-historical-cultural-language(s), but in such circumstances, the implementation and maintenance of cultural, and social, dimensions face more difficulties." The great Chaim (Hayyim) Nahman Bialik once referred to language as a "repository of a culture's most cherished attitudes and values."

Ultimately, language is symbolic communication. It is symbolic of values and culture. It saved us once -- can it save us again?

An unrelated random thought:

The numerical value of chometz (חמץ) is 138. This is the same as the numerical value for pegimah (פגימה), the word for blemish. Whoever eats chometz on Pesach thus blemishes his neshama. ~ Rabbi Yaakov Culi


Some random Passover blog posts:


Last year, I wrote Passover haikus, highlighted some stomach-ache-filled cooking, and wrote Pesach Cometh, Have You Shaken Your Books?

In 2009, I did a poll about favorite matzah toppings, and I did two parts of a Passover roundup on my experiences in Florida with Tuvia's family. I also lamented the fact that I think we should all throw our chametz away or donate it to charity, not sell it (I don't get the selling bit ... ). As it turns out, I blogged A LOT in 2009 about Passover. There's like 10-12 posts on Pesach there, in case you want to peruse the Q&A and commentary (by moi).

And then, of course, there is the bizarre Chabad-inspired Pesach dream I had in 2008. Not to mention the interesting encounter I had during Passover 2008 in Chicago that I deemed the "Passover Paradox." My most favorite Passover memory, of course, is my first true Passover Seder in Chicago that really drew me further than ever into my desire to be Orthodox, as well as my failure at Shabbos and abiding by the Passover rules (sort of).

In 2007, I wrote about the miserable experience I had at a gigantic seder in Chicago. Talk about bad news bears.

Overall I'm blown away by how many blog posts I have on Passover. It seems 2008 and 2009 were big years for me as I learned how to observe and cook for Passover on my own. Since then, the chagim seem to come and go without notice or fanfare. Maybe I should do another poll this year -- the question is, what to ask?

A Song for the IDF Soldiers

I'm all about the music videos these days, so I can't help but give a little love to this very emotional video and song that plays to a very American sensibility: the support and protection of the military, except this song/video is about IDF Soldiers!

I will mention that the artist, Dov, did contact me with this video and he said that the song is "a tribute to all the mothers who lay awake at night while their sons and daughters defend the rights of the Jewish Nation in Israel." Amen, Amen.

Joy of Kosher Magazine Giveaway!

NO MORE COPIES LEFT! THANKS EVERYONE!

I have EIGHT copies of Jamie Geller's new Joy of Kosher magazine to send to eight lucky readers! Will you be one of them?

The new Joy of Kosher website launched recently, and if you haven't visited it, you're really missing out (and not just because I guest posted on being gluten-free on Passover). It's chock full of recipes, food goodies, and more.

The magazine that I have is 64 pages of recipes and seder plate ideas, and it's the quantity of recipes that has me kvelling. I know Passover is right around the corner, so these Yom Tov recipes might not make it into your already-planned meals, but these recipes are year-round friendly. I'm particularly stoked about the desserts, which look amazing, including a Chocolate Mousse recipe, a Vacherin recipe, a Chocolate Crackle recipe and ... nom nom nom ... a yummy looking Chocolate Macaroon recipe. The magazine has simple recipes for sauces and dips, and it also lays out menu ideas for the main meals and some light sides and breakfast goods.

So you want a copy of this amazing magazine? All you have to do is be one of the FIRST EIGHT people to comment with a way for me to reach you via email to get your mailing address.

I can't wait to see you guys put some of these delicious recipes to the test!

A Jewish Funeral Experience

It's been around 13 years since I attended a funeral. At least, that's the last one I remember. It was my Uncle David, who wasn't really my Uncle David. I wrote a poem about it in college, recollecting the man who was more of a grandfather figure to me than anything else. Uncle David was my father's step-mother's family, distant, but oh-so-close to my father and to us kids. From the poem, "Uncle David Stole My Nose" ...

When I think about the funeral,
I remember looking into the casket
and seeing Uncle David’s face.
I remember, at that awkward age between
childhood and becoming a young woman,
wondering why he wasn’t smiling.
I remember telling my father, as we
left the burial site after crying and hugging
and holding relatives close, that Uncle
David’s lips should have been curved up.
Smiling as he always was.
Because that’s how everyone knew him,
that’s how I knew him,
when he was alive. ... 

I’ve try to forget the funeral and the burial,
while trying to keep Uncle David as
he was the last time I saw him before
he looked so sad in that big black box.
But I continue to recall driving past the Big Boy
where we’d eat with Uncle David every
now and then when we visited.
I remember crying and thinking about how
empty my dad was, because he’d
lost a father figure. But I know I cried
mostly because I’d lost a
Grandfather, and my nose would stay put
and I realized I was no longer
a child.

That funeral took place during a bizarre weekend where there was a wedding and a funeral. Emotional ups and downs were extreme. But this is my memory of funerals -- Christian funerals. 

Until this past week, I had not been to a Jewish funeral. I've written about paying shiva calls and the difficulty of really coming to terms with that tradition, but nothing could have prepared me for this week. I was, in plain words, an emotional wreck graveside. 

At my Uncle's funeral, it began with service at the funeral chapel, there were Bible verses read, the mood was depressing and morose, and seeing my dead uncle in the box put a forever-image in my head. We all took off to the graveside service afterward, where, everyone, dressed in black, huddled around the plot that had been carved out. The beautiful casket was held on props while words were said, words from the Bible were read, and then we departed. Only after that was the casket lowered -- we didn't watch the casket go down. We left knowing that he was still floating somewhere above the service. 

At Roszi's funeral (I blogged about her passing here) -- as I assume is true at all Jewish funerals -- the casket was lowered simply in its wooden-box form into the space in the ground. A rabbi related Roszi's life to those of us huddled under umbrellas in the cold rain, and then, then the men took a shovel and heaved dirt onto the wooden casket. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

And I lost it. I don't know why, but my tears just streamed -- and as I write this, my eyes are welling ... and I just don't know why. The sound of dirt -- dirt to dirt -- hitting a simple wooden casket was something I hadn't expected. Something that, to be honest, would never have happened at a funeral back home, back in my old life. The sounds ruptured something deep within me, emotions for a woman who I had barely known and who had not known me at all. 

"How many times did you even meet Roszi?" my husband asked after the funeral. 

I suppose that this is the purpose of such a visceral display of Jewish burial. It is participatory, permanent, and real. In a way, I suppose it seals the truth and the reality of what has happened. As people started to walk away, people were chattering and smiling and everyone except for the immediate family and I seemed to be unshaken by the events. 

I started to wonder: Have I become a softy? Overemotional? Or was it simply my neshama crying out for the loss of a soul so tortured for absolutely no reason.