Wednesday, July 31, 2013

When You Feel Like a Hippo

Yes, I also sleep with an eye mask. That is, when I sleep. 

The weirdest thing about being pregnant is that you feel huge -- like hippopotamus huge -- even though you don't always look it in the first half or so of the process. I'm in that awkward phase of the pregnancy (20 weeks, about halfway through the pregnancy) where my weight has shifted and the clothing I've been getting by in just isn't necessarily working. Everything feels snug, and the things that I have that are naturally oversized make me look more huge (I think, anyway). 

I'm blessed with an amazing husband who -- on the first date -- told me that he thinks pregnant women are beautiful (it means they work, come on, how is that not attractive?) and that a woman's body changes more rapidly and frequently than a man's body and that he's cool with that. 

I've spent the past few months in anticipation of going to the U.S. and doing a crazy shopping adventure at Old Navy and Target to pick up maternity maxi dresses and skirts and sleeveless tops that I can modest-up with the the shells I own in abundance. When I canceled my U.S. trip, I thought, well, I'll just keep wearing what I'm wearing and if it stretches out, it stretches out and I'll figure out what to do when our finances are more in a mode of being able to afford things that fit. 

Alas, I don't think that's going to work. Or maybe I just need to come to grips with my size. 


As someone who has never been skinny or thin or even average, I can tell you that being pregnant is tough on the ego and self-image. There's a reason I haven't been taking the typical pregnancy photos. I'm struggling with feeling like my overall image hasn't changed much, even though it has, and I can feel it. It's a huge mind-mess. 

Looking at maternity bras and clothing and scanning discussion groups, it seems to me that there's something huge missing from the conversation: what it means and what it's like to be a curvy girl that's pregnant. 

When I was living in New Jersey and Colorado, I had a fairly regular gym regimen. In Colorado, I was going almost every day, spending a half-hour on the elliptical and then a half-hour on weights and working on balancing exercises. Burdened with misaligned patella on both legs, there are not many exercises I can do that aren't going to worsen an already bad knee problem (swimming and elliptical were the two okays I got from the last three physical therapists I had). Unfortunately, there isn't a pool super close, and there's no gym in sight. 

Right before I found out I was pregnant (which we found out while we were in England over Pesach, by the way), I was game to start a workout regimen again. I wanted to track down a Wii Fit and get moving, but the moment you find out you're pregnant, all the books and advice sound bytes tell you not to start up anything new. 

Stick to walking! they say. 

I've always found walking to be like ... the most boring thing on the planet when you don't have someplace to go. It's why I always hated running during volleyball in high school. When your'e running in circles, it's just pointless. Give me a destination!

So I'm doing what I can. My diet is still largely vegetarian (although with the pregnancy I've been craving meat and feeding that craving once a week or so), so I'm not gaining weight very rapidly according to my checkups. At my size, you're encouraged to not gain more than 15 or 20 pounds during the pregnancy, and I'm on a good pace for that. I try to walk up to the grocery store, even on the hottest of days, and every Shabbat we take a hard schlep around the neighborhood, which is crazy hilly and hard on me, but it's something. 

Anyone out there struggled with the "I'm already curvy" and "I'm getting much curvier" transition? How did you handle it? Did you just layer more? Wear more loose-fitting clothes? Or is it a non-starter when it comes to dealing?

Monday, July 29, 2013

The Big Reveal: It's Better, I Promise

The last time I wrote a "Big Reveal" post all hell broke loose. We'll see if that happens this time around, although I don't think it will be the same kind of hell breaking loose.

What do you think?


I'm due mid-December (that ultrasound is several weeks old, and I'm now in my 20th week), for those of you still stuck on the shotgun wedding bandwagon of conspiracy theory. Yes, we got pregnant pretty quickly and unexpectedly, but sometimes, when things work, they work in the most amazing way.

Six months in Israel, and I was engaged, married, and pregnant (and lost two jobs and was broke, but whose keeping score?).

Waaahhhhh?

It was really hard writing that three-months later post about me and Mr. T and not saying anything, believe you me, and it's part of the reason I haven't had much to blog about these days. But I also was trying to get hired and really needed to keep the pregnancy quiet. Why? Israelis don't like hiring pregnant women, unfortunately.

Starting August 1, b'ezrat HaShem, I'll be gainfully employed doing social media, content writing, brand management, and all that good stuff that I like to think I'm pretty darn stellar at.

It's been unbelievably hard not writing about the past several months of the pregnancy, especially when it comes to asking questions and sharing the weird and bizarre moments of being a first-time mom married to someone who already has a child (who just turned 10, by the way), not to mention why my financial stress has been compounded beyond the norm.

I'm lamenting that I can't pop over to Target or Old Navy for pregnancy attire, that the comfort foods that I so crave (Mexican, Mexican, and more Mexican) are practically unavailable in this country, and that I always feel like it's about 110 degrees. The pluses about being pregnant so far in Israel? I know that I'm going to have a ton of help finding all the bobbles and necessities for a baby thanks to a huge network of moms who share, lend, and swap everything from cribs to baby clothes. Oh, and my awesome mom is making sure things from the U.S. come over, too!

But here I am, ready to share and regale y'all with yet another interesting chapter in my life. It's going to be a wild and interesting ride folks!

Note: For those of you uninitiated, that cartoon is done in the style of BitStrips a la Facebook. 

Sunday, July 28, 2013

The Israeli Driver's License: Only Me

Oh hello there. You're going to save the day?
And then you're going to make me battered and bruised?
Okay.


Today was a big day -- I took a driving lesson and test in order to switch my driver's license over to Israel so that I can legally drive here. Technically, you you can drive legally on your U.S.-based (or other international) license for one year after making aliyah, and then you have another two years to convert or transfer your international license before you're stuck with starting from zero.

So, me, being a bit yekke, I opted to get it done (with a bit of nudging from Mr. T). I found an awesome English-speaking driving instructor, and after going through the paperwork process of the conversion, I met up with the instructor this morning around 10:20.

We drove around, he gave me lots of tips, explained how to best enter and understand a roundabout (seriously helpful), and we went back to the starting point after about 40 minutes, with the instructor telling me that my driving is very relaxing (aww thanks). After all, I've been driving for nearly 15-16 years, folks!

Now, because I was told that converting/transferring your license is a pretty painless and quick process (one lesson, one test), I assumed that it would all just happen magically very quickly, so when we got back to the starting point, I thought we were done. Alas, that was just the lesson, and I spent the next hour in the back seat of the car fearing for my life while a Haredi driver with a New York license took the road. Tip to drivers: Stopping in the middle of an intersection -- any intersection -- is a bad idea!

After a while, we picked up another person, drove for a bit, and then ended up at the testing facility around noon. This is when things get a little wacky, folks.

When the testing guy got in the car with the three of us (our instructor was going to stay behind and wait for us), he looked at the Haredi guy's paperwork and it was fine. Then he moved on to mine and -- oh! What? What's that? Problem? Oh right! Awesome!

What happened next is one of those "only me, only in Jerusalem" kind of moments.

The driving instructor didn't want me to miss out on getting my test done, so he ran over to the area where they were doing motorbike and scooter testing and lessons, asked to borrow a scooter, zipped over to me, handed me a helmet, told me to get on and to hold on if I want and we zoomed a few miles away.

Now, I'm wearing a skirt, which didn't go well with the expediency with which I needed to mount this scooter (and then unmount and remount a few minutes later). I've never been on a motorbike or scooter. And with someone who was fairly a stranger, the entire experience was petrifying. He's not a small guy, and I'm not exactly a twig, and on a little scooter? This thing was super small, not the typical Israeli scooters you see flying around. It had one side-view mirror, and barely fit the two of us.

Note: Motorbike helmets don't really fit onto my style of head covering. Had I fallen off ... who knows.

I basically sat on the metal bar on the back of the scooter and every time we turned or went uphill, I was pretty sure I was going to die. As the bike tipped on a turn and scraped the ground, I knew we were in for ... but no worries. The driving instructor knew it was my first time, and my clutching to him for dear life I think he found amusing.

So the instructor got me to the optometrist so they could check off three boxes that the other folks had forgotten. I paid my 15 shekels, and we hopped back on the scooter.

The drive back was incredibly painful, mostly because I was more on the metal bar than before and we hit a huge pothole (I thought I was flying off the thing). I'm feeling it in my bum and in my back, and I'm not looking forward to how I'm going to be feeling tomorrow, but the funniest thing?

We get back to the testing center just in time for me to do the test, which consisted of ... get this ... something along the lines of four turns. I was in the car for roughly five minutes! Five minutes! Pull out of the testing facility, make a right, then another right, then another right, and then a left and you're done!

Shoot me now.

Luckily, I got a call from my amazing instructor, and I passed, so I won't have to go through that insanity again. Will the bruises and pain I know I'm going to feel tomorrow be worth it? Meh. It gives me a story to tell. I'm sure I'll laugh about it later, but I feel like my insides are trying to crawl outside.

Time to recover. D'oh.

Note: If you want the name/phone number of this most amazing instructor, send me an email, and I'll pass along his details!

Thursday, July 25, 2013

At Last: Blog Merging

I waited a long time to do it, and it's not perfect, but I merged the old blog (where there's lots of scandalous posts and hateful comments) with the new blog, so you can now find all posts from 2006 to the present in one place.

However! You'll notice that comments are missing from a lot of the earlier posts, and some of you might have even posted comments on recent posts and you're not seeing them. (Blessing in disguise?!)

Let me explain.

I use Disqus commenting on the blog, which unfortunately isn't compatible with mobile, meaning that if you're posting a comment from the mobile site that it doesn't show up except on the back end. So I see them, but the rest of the world doesn't. It's really mind-boggling, honestly, that in 2013 that Disqus hasn't figured out how to make commenting available for mobile.

I installed Disqus a few years back, so you'll see all of those on the blog, but from the early years you won't see any comments unless they're new. You'll probably be a bit confused becuase it will say that there are comments, and when you click, you won't see any. That's because they live in the backend and not in the public world.

For this, I apologize.

As soon as I find a solution, I'll get it fixed up quickly. If you want to comment, please try and wait until you're in front of a computer.

Thanks!

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

At last! Gluten-Free Cinnamon Rolls




Um, it smells really good in here.

I can't tell you how long I've been craving cinnamon rolls. When I was living back in the U.S. I did the best I could to consume the closest thing I could find to classic cinnamon rolls, but unfortunately Udi's take on the gooey classic just didn't compare to anything I knew.


Living in Israel, you can't go anywhere without the smell of freshly baked pastries wafting every which way, which makes it tough for a gluten-free foodie. The benefit of being me is that I'm not constantly noshing the crap people buy at bakeries (once in a while is fine, but some people feed their kids this stuff daily). The downside is that it means I have to seriously muss up the kitchen to make something delicious to satisfy that fleeting desire.


So cinnamon rolls. I found this recipe over at Sarah Bakes Gluten Free and got a few recommendations for her recipes being very stand up, and it turned out to be a pretty easy recipe to follow and put together. I had to do some modifications because I didn't have any dairy-free milk on hand, just lactose-free milk, and it's tough to find honest vegan butter in this country (if I could import Earth Balance, I would). I also used her lighter version of the flour blend as she suggested, which seemed to be the best option available.


I'll was really surprised at how easy these were to roll, because my past attempts at cinnamon rolls using recipes from You Won't Believe it's Gluten Free! ended up in a mushy mess that was more like a coffee cake than cinnamon rolls. I'm super pleased with this recipe and can't wait to make them again.


These rolls proved perfect, absolutely perfect! Crisp on the top, and with that gooey center, they hit the spot in a way that no factory-produced gluten-free cinnamon rolls ever will.

The question is: Will these last until Shabbat ...?

Make Me Modest: Tips for Your Wardrobe

I realized something funny recently while interviewing for jobs. I dress the way I think that the interviewee will perceive me. Getting all up in my head much?

I interviewed with a few individuals in a more "frum" atmosphere and made sure to wear a longer skirt and more reserved colors while when going to more startup-style offices I dabbled in more bold color combinations and varied fabric choices. I made sure my mitpacha (head scarf) was a bit more wild in color at the startups and a bit more tame at the other offices. I wore my high-wedge sandals to the startup offices, but flats to the other interviews. Without a doubt, I was almost always the most "dressed up" person in all of the startup offices because, well, much to my husband's dismay, this isn't a suit-and-tie culture in the workplace. It's a quirky shirt, jeans, and sandals that come off the moment you sit down in your work chair kind of place. (Which I just squeeeee at!)

On a daily basis, I don't dwell much on what I'm wearing, mostly because it's Israel and there are as many different ways to dress here as there are Jews. I'm never really concerned about looking too religious or not religious enough; I just wear what I wear. In that way, then, Israel is a bit more freeing when it comes to clothing and tzniut (modesty).

On that note, I recently got a question from a reader that I thought might be perfect for answering in this post. She asks,
My question is if you have advice on how to "tzniusify" a normal, secular wardrobe. Any tips and tricks for people who are transitioning to a more modest style of clothing? I'd appreciate any advice, especially for cold climates as well (sorry to remind of cold in this heat). Oh, and I'd also love to get some tips on head covering. What are your favourites? What accessories and helpers do you use?
The amazing thing about making your normal wardrobe more modest is that it's easier than ever since the kosher clothing community has made some pretty cool advances in making it easier to shop in the "real world" and still be modest as we understand the term.

In short, in the religious Jewish world, tzniut is considering how you dress, carry yourself, and the words you use as if HaShem were always with you (and, really, HaShem is always with you): 
Do justly, love mercy, and walk modestly with your God (Micah 6:8)
Most religious Jews accomplish this by covering the knees, the elbows, and the collarbone --  not in a stifling way, but in a "hey, the stuff I'm covering is special and between me, HaShem, and my partner (if I have one)!" I will mention that there are lots of variations here in Israel, including some women who wear "Hammer" or Harem pants and short-sleeve shirts. The pants, to me, seem less airy and more diaper-like than wearing a skirt. There are also women who won't wear open-toed shoes, always wearing stockings or hose, and don't show a lick of skin besides from that on the hands and face. Call me crazy, but in Israel, that's a huge no-go for me. 

The nice thing about colder climates is that layering is always in, meaning it's actually easier to be modestly dressed. Using cardigans and layering really give you endless opportunities for modest attire. But to transition some of your non-modest clothing over, there are plenty of options.

This is a tank top I purchased at TJ Maxx
with a black 3/4-length shell.

Plenty of companies sell shells, which allow you to turn tank tops, short-sleeve shirts, v-necks and beautiful summer dresses into something more modest. My favorites are Kosher Casual and Halftees, the latter which makes its shells in a more forgiving fabric that is cooler in the summer, not to mention that they are versatile in that they're reversible for different depths in the front. I find Kosher Casual's fabric to be a little stifling in the summertime, but in the winter the higher neck keeps me warm! Kosher Casual also sells a cool bolero-style shell that is nice underneath T-shirts. Halftees offers quite a few different options, including 3/4-length, "boyfriend"-style, tank top-style and cap-sleeve halftees, and Kosher Casual offers up 3/4 length and tank-style. (Note: I exclusively buy the "crop" style, simply because I find the extra fabric of regular shells overwhelming.)

On that note, if you're not quite as svelte as me, there are lots of options for skirt extenders and other nifty and sneaky modesty helpers, like the Layering Dress and Skirt Extenders. There's also the SuperSlip Skirt Extender by Shell Sheli, which Redefining Rebbetzin reviewed last year. If you're tall, sometimes these things are just convenient, rather than exclusively made for modesty. I'll admit that I don't usually need the skirt extenders, mostly because even the average skirt tends to be long on me because I'm not that tall (around 5'4.5"). I like to stock my wardrobe with lots of cotton foldover skirts, mostly because they're comfortable, airy, and go with just about anything. 

This is a sleeveless shirt I purchased at Target.
It would be quite 
revealing without a shell underneath. 

The only difficult thing to transition from not-modest to modest these days is the swimsuit. Unfortunately, there just isn't a way to make that super cute bikini fit the modest model. That being said, there are a half-dozen companies that have come out with some pretty amazing alternatives that, I'll be completely honest, I'd probably rather wear even if I weren't a religious Jew. They're stylish and cover up all the areas that make us ladies a bit skittish about going to the pool. I own a suit by HydroChic that I recently wore to a very chiloni (secular) pool and shockingly, I didn't get too many wacky looks, despite being the only woman over several days wearing such a getup. 
It's like I'm glowing!!

As for head covering, that's a whole other post on its own! Let me work something up and maybe make a quick video with a few different ways I wear mine. Stay tuned (and keep me honest by nudging me if I don't post anything soon). 

If you have questions, Ask Chaviva Anything! is dead, but you can still email your questions in to kvetching dot editor at gmail dot com. 


Saturday, July 20, 2013

Emunah: The Ultimate Loyalty

Old faithful!

Some days I really miss being in school, because I feel like when I was in school, I asked a lot more questions, sought out answers, and really delved into the things that kept me awake at night. Then again, when you're in graduate school, you're constantly surrounded by fascinating texts and trying to figure them out in the context of some obscure topic.

So over Shabbat, while discussing a bit of this week's parshah and how it has the tools for emunah, Mr. T and I got into a brief discussion about what emunah even means. I knew I'd written something on it way back when, but I couldn't remember the context. Lucky for me, I found it -- way back in June 2008, actually. This is pretty  lengthy, but I think it makes some fascinating points about faith and belief.

At a point where I'm struggling to understand why I am battling the struggles I am, this gave me some peace of mind.



I want to start simply, and this week's parshah [June 2008] is pretty apropos for this conversation about faith. In the wilderness we have Moses conversing with G-d about the Israelites. Moses knows G-d exists, for he chats regularly with G-d. Moses needs not have faith in G-d because he knows G-d. Thus, G-d exists to Moses. And thereafter, with the knowledge of G-d, Moses has emunah (commonly translated as "faith"). Finally, Moses is faithful to G-d, whom he knows. The people, on the other hand, even knowing G-d fail in this last step of faithfulness. Is it because knowing results in no need for effort to be faithful? To know is the final frontier? This, unfortunately, is a discussion for a d'var Torah. But let's take a few steps back now that we have the premise of knowledge and emunah.

Tonight I sat down with several blog entries from A Simple Jew, as well as some text from Letters to a Buddhist Jew at the advice of a friend, David Gottlieb, who co-wrote the book with Rabbi Akiva Tatz. I'll admit reading through the four-part blog entry on ASJ was overwhelming. The comments in and of themselves were filled with a dozen or more Hebrew words and concepts of Judaism that I am unfamiliar with. But there were many gleanings from great sages that caught my eye, which I will include. It was within Letters to a Buddhist Jew, though, that I began to really understand what emunah means. Throughout this entry, I will purposely use the word emunah instead of faith, because I have come to realize that faith is a poor translation of what emunah means in and to Judaism.

From Letters to a Buddhist Jew, we read,
"In Western usage, belief and faith relate essentially to the unknowable, they are necessarily blind ('blind faith'). You do not believe something you see or experience, you know it. Relating to that which you cannot know is called belief..."
This was my "aha!" moment. I began this adventure in exploring the topic because two friends at separate times in GChat conversations had expressed some form of "where's your faith?" or "you gotta have faith." My auto-response was that faith is a Christian concept, not a Jewish one. The reality is that I think many Jews would agree with me in this respect precisely because of the aforementioned text -- belief and faith are relegated to the unknown, the unseen, the might-be-there-but-not-sure-if-it-is. The culture of faith/belief circles around the idea that there is a group of people who want to end up in heaven and in order to do so, belief/faith is all that is necessary. It is a simple, easy out to a very complex issue.

Oftentimes when we say "you gotta have faith" I think that we mean hope. Hope being to expect something with confidence. When we say that we have faith that things will turn out alright, yes there is the unknowable of the outcome, but what we mean is that we are confident that things will come out as we expect them to. But, as my father has said, when we use words, we pretty much choose what we want them to mean, and perhaps that's the problem. As a copy editor, I prefer the black and white when it comes to specific words. Concepts can be multifaceted without question, but a word must be precise in its meaning. One well-known Jewish blogger recently posed the question as to whether the word "goy" was offensive and a lengthy conversation ensued and it drudged up, once again, the meanings of words and their colloquial versus dictionary versus historical versus accepted meanings. To the common person perhaps words are just words, but to me, well, they pack a very large punch.

Back in Letters to a Buddhist Jew, we read,
"... if you have no evidence for a thing, why should you believe it?" and "If you can demonstrate or experience the existence of G-d, then we should talk only of the process of coming to know that existence. Belief would be the wrong direction here."
This took me to a comment that someone on one of the many posts on A Simple Jew, where the writer said that it is enough that his father and grandfather told him of G-d, that their fathers did the same, and so on back to Sinai, that this was his proof, the demonstration (as it were) of the existence of G-d. From Letters:
What we mean by emuna is not belief. We do not commit ourselves to something that is the product of imagination. We have not committed ourselves to G-d throughout history because we decided subjectively and personally that such commitment was a good idea. Our commitment is based on knowledge. We assert that the object of our 'faith' can be established and known.
This takes us back to Moses. Moses' commitment to G-d was based on the knowledge that G-d exists and performed the miracles that took the Jews out of Egypt, parted the sea, etc. This was the first step -- knowledge -- that led to emunah.

I had to really look at this and compare it to what I was reading in the comments from the blogs on A Simple Jew, because the expression of emunah and knowledge is quite the opposite. On ASJ it is asserted that we must have faith in order to know. Someone in the comments suggests that "... one must accept premises before one can then use logic," and that "... one asserts his faith first, which allows him to then apply reason/logic." Thus it is belief/faith that comes first and knowledge is only an outcome of accepting unknown or unproven ideas. Unfortunately, I do not agree. This is simply blind faith -- in this you believe something merely to reap the benefits of having the knowledge. It simply cannot work in that manner. However, if you start with the knowledge that something is right, then you can deconstruct it from there and thus you are faithful to the knowledge in your deconstructing ... but I am getting ahead of myself.

Back to Letters, we read that
"... clarity of knowledge is exactly what we are seeking." 
So this takes us back to what I was just talking about. We have the knowledge that G-d exists (think: the commenter whose father told him and his father before him, as well as other "proof" as a basic, central tenet of Judaism), and thus we are faithful to this knowledge and so what is the point of the faithfulness if we simply know? This is what the people in the wilderness didn't get that the text of Letters to a Buddhist Jew so simply puts forth: our effort, our souls are poured into seeking clarity of this knowledge. We seek to grow closer to G-d and to understand, and thus we have emunah. But we know very well that just because we understand how something is supposed to be -- the truth is known -- does not mean that we hold to it. Look at the laws we have which are broken day in and day out. People know what is right and what is wrong, but remaining faithful to what we know is right and true is difficult.

Here is the key: The correct translation of emuna is not faith but faithfulness, loyalty. The concept is this: when you have acquired spiritual knowledge, when you know clearly that what meets the eye is not all there is, the question then is will you be loyal to that knowledge? Will you live up to it? The problem of emuna is not how to gain knowledge of the spiritual world, it is the challenge of being faithful to that knowledge.

The way that Letters to a Buddhist Jew is written is such that the concept is laid out and then we are given the definition, which follows.
Emuna derives from the same root as ne'eman, meaning faithful or loyal. Even the most superficial examination of the word in Torah will show that it cannot be translated as faith in the sense of belief. [The author gives examples, which I will not add here for the sake of brevity.]
The author more or less concluded the argument with that which I have said, but perhaps is more eloquently detailed here:
Understanding a thing and all its consequences clearly does not guarantee that you will live in accord with your understanding, that you will be loyal to it. Not at all. It takes work to live up to the truth. That work is emuna.
At this point, I want to back track for a few moments to some things I read on the ASJ blogs. In Genesis 15:6 we read
"Our father Abraham did not earn both This World and the World to Come except in the merit of faith; as it is written, 'And he believed in G-d ...' " 
The truth of it is that we are not a religion or people or community where simply believing flies. ASJ asserts that simple faith does have a place in Judaism, and while I do not disagree, there is more to this. Abraham did not merely believe, but he lived a life faithful to G-d. It was not pure faith and belief, it was an existence devoted to loyalty to the one G-d, right?

On ASJ's blog, in a guest post by Rabbi Dovid Sears, he says
"As Reb Noson says in explaining one of Rabbi Nachman's teachings, 'Faith only applies when something can't be understood. Where one can understand something rationally, faith is not relevant.' (Likkutei Eitzos, 'Emes ve-Emunah,' 4)." 
I think that this is accurate, but perhaps misconstrued because of the Western meaning of faith. Indeed, faith -- a belief in the unknown, blind belief -- is applied in such instances, and indeed when we understand (as rationally as is possible) that G-d exists, such belief in an unknown is both unnecessary and irrelevant. But I don't know that this is what Rabbi Sears, Reb Noson or Rabbi Nachman are saying.

I do have to say that I did read something absolutely brilliant on the ASJ blogs that highlights Rabbi Nachman quoting from Sefer Bechinas Olam:
The ultimate knowledge is 'not-knowing' (Likkutei Moharan I, 24:8 and elsewhere).
Yes, this might seem contradictory to everything I've laid out so far as my understanding of emunah, but in reality it is perfectly in line. How? Well, I acknowledge that G-d exists. I have this knowledge, and I am faithful to this knowledge and pursue the understanding of this. However, I do not know all there is to know, and it is difficult even in a lifetime to absorb everything and to come to a complete and full understanding. And in truth, is this not only achieved after death or -- if you're inclined to believe -- at the coming of the Messiah?

Often, when people ask me if I think that my beliefs system, if my way, Judaism, is the one true and right way, I respond similarly: "For me, yes. For you, who is to say? Not me." Perhaps this is where the whole muddled Western idea of faith comes in. I know that G-d exists, even with the occasional doubting and questions, but that's part of the process. But the at the most basic level, this I know. But it's just me, right? I can't speak for the masses or the thousands of questioning Jews. I know what I know from my heart and mind and understanding, and thus I am faithful.

Am I making sense here? The essence of emunah, in a nutshell, is that emunah truly means faithfulness and/or loyalty, or as Merriam-Webster (my old pal) says, "true to the facts." We believe, therefore we cleave to the knowledge, thus we are faithful to the knowledge, thus we pursue understanding of the knowledge. To know something is only half the battle. I know that G-d exists, thus I have emunah. I can stray, indeed, for it is difficult to stay true. But it is the pursuit of understanding that keeps me on this path. If only those in the wilderness had kept their emunah intact, eh? But the lesson in that is that even with the truth, the knowledge of something, it is completely feasible to walk astray. Staying faithful is the difficult part, perhaps the true test.

Friday, July 19, 2013

Congrats Haters!

Oh hater mail, oh hater mail!
How silly are your queries!

Seriously. I try really hard not to go all grumpfest with the haters on my anonymous question-asking series, Ask Chaviva Anything, but essentially since I revealed Mr. T to the world, someone has decided to make it their #1 priority to devote a bunch of unnecessary time and energy to making me feel like a fat, whiny, ugly, horrible person who has surely ruined Mr. T's life.

I have to wonder what kind of people are so miserable that they have to devote even an ounce of energy to making someone else who is having a rough time of it feel this bad.

So bravo!

Mission accomplished, haters of the world!

Yeah, I'm fat -- man, I'm HUGE (shamu, as one hater has called me) -- and yes, I whine, because I'm a horrible, miserable person with nothing better to do but come online and kvetch.

And yes, it appears that Mr. T's life has gotten a whole lot more miserable since I joined the party. No need to poll innocent bystandards on this one.

It would appear that I am the source of all of the misery of the world, so let me remove myself as hastily as possible. How would you like me to go exactly? Please feel free to reply anonymously, of course.

Your wish is my desire, haters. You win.


Sunday, July 14, 2013

Nu? What's Doin?

The view from a coffee shop in Tel Aviv. 

This has been probably one of the longest blogging breaks in recent history, and I have a good excuse, but not necessarily one I'm willing to divulge -- yet. I know, I know. It's killing me, too. Patience, friends!

I've spent the past two weeks traveling between job interviews at some of Israel's largest internet companies, and every day I'm praying that they call me back and I land the job. In the meantime, I've picked up some decent freelance work doing content writing (aka ghost writing, because gosh knows my name isn't attached to 99 percent of when it hits the web) and a bit of editing here and there, as well as some very part-time social media work. It's amazing how busy it keeps me, and yet it's amazing how it doesn't manage to pay the bills. (See my recent post on Contently about writer wages.)

I'm also discovering through job interviews at smaller firms that the ethics that are so clutch in Judaism don't always translate into the working world. I'm not into sleazy, black-hat practices where fake Twitter and Facebook accounts and personas are the tools for building brand awareness. I've never been on board with buying followers and likes, and companies that have all-or-nothing policies that are damaging to their clients are a huge turnoff.

The more time I spend freelancing, the more it makes sense to consider building my own business up if these jobs with big Israeli brands don't pan out. I've avoided it for years, partially out of fear of not making enough money and partially out of a fear of failure. There's also, of course, the fear of developing that god complex where you think that everything you do is gold-plated, just because simple, small brands don't seem to know how to create and maintain a Facebook page. For people like me, it isn't rocket science, but when it comes to clients, they always come first, no matter how much or little they know about what goes on when they're not knee-deep in their brand's own tweets.

I've also spent the past few weeks living in a five-star hotel in Ramat Gan while my in-laws are in town. Glamorous as it may seem, close quarters, repetitive food, and gobs of noise from Team USA here for the Maccabiah Games 2013 has made it quite the challenge. It's nice to get away and sleep on a big squishy bed, but after a few days I missed my kitchen, my jars of quinoa and millet, my full-bean coffee and French press, my comfy purple couch, the cool breeze of Neve Daniel.

Oh, and the ability to get up and go to the bathroom in the middle of the night without getting fully dressed and putting on a head covering? Priceless! I miss that, too.

The benefits have been that I've been close enough to the Mercaz (center) of Israel where all of the tech jobs are to properly hit up interviews, I've gotten to spend some quality time here and there with iBoy and my in-laws, and I've even enjoyed some time poolside, gaining a bit of color in my otherwise pale skin (unfortunately, computer screens don't make good tans). A major difficulty has been being in a small space with people who have different approaches to raising iBoy -- all people working out of love, but man alive if it hasn't been tough -- and constant conversations about work and money.

Nine months ago I hopped a plane for Israel, anticipating a pretty amazing and life changing experience. The truth is that it's been more than that, and different than that, in so many ways. Seven months ago I got engaged and nearly five months ago I got married. I've lost two jobs, gained freelance work, applied for well over 200 jobs, and canceled a much-needed trip to the U.S. because of a lack of finances. Who knows where I'll be at the 12-month mark -- hopefully, I'll have a full-time job or have worked out how to be a rockstar business owner.

Nobody said aliyah was easy. My dad always said life wasn't easy. But it's all for a purpose, right? It's all for an end. I have the most amazing husband in the world, the most supportive friends a girl could ask for, and the future is bright, gall darn't.

What have YOU been up to? How's your summer going so far (if you get one, that is)? Don't forget to Ask Chaviva Anything!

Sunday, June 30, 2013

When Language Ego Ruins You


This past Shabbat, there was a community experience here in Neve Daniel. You could sign up to either be a host or a guest, you were paired up with perfect strangers, and the idea was that you'd meet new people and spread yourself out a bit on the yishuv.

I've experienced these kinds of things before, and I've always loved them. Back in Teaneck they called it Mystery Shabbat, and you didn't know where you were going for the meal until you showed up at synagogue and someone handed you a card with an address on it. It was fun, I met some awesome new people, and I got to break out of my insulated introverted bubble.

Here, on the other hand, my attempt to burst out of that bubble failed miserably and resulted in a demoralizing and alienating experience.

It's no one's fault but my own, I'm sure.

The hosts were great -- the hostess even went out of her way to make a gluten-free cake for dessert. When we arrived they spoke in English, the comfort zone for both Mr. T and I, but when the other guests showed up, there was no turning back, Hebrew was the name of the game at the meal.

Mr. T has been in Israel off and on for nine years and works as an electrician on job sites where Hebrew is the common denominator among Russians, Arabs, and other workers. As a result, he doesn't have much of a language ego -- he just speaks, he doesn't care if he gets things wrong or his accent isn't right, he knows he's getting the message across and that's fine for him.

I, on the other hand, have a huge language ego. My first Hebrew class was my senior year of undergrad in 2006 in Nebraska, and it was biblical Hebrew, one semester. I refined my already keen knowledge of the aleph-bet (thanks to attendance at a Reform synagogue where singing allowed me to pick up on the Hebrew sounds and words) and picked up a few basic words that, thankfully, existed in biblical and also modern Hebrew. But it was several more years before I took a legit Hebrew course in graduate school and then carried on to the intensive Hebrew-language learning program at Middlebury College in 2009.

June-August 2009. That was my first taste of actual Hebrew. Of being able to speak a full sentence with some semblance of confidence. That's less than four years of modern Hebrew under my belt.

I know plenty of people who got a bit of Hebrew in primary school or Sunday school, even a few people who had cousins in Israel, who are able to get more out than me. My problem is I know it, but because of my background in copy editing and how well-spoken I am in English, my language ego halts me.

I think of what I need to say, I evaluate the sentence structure, I consider the pronouns, I conjugate the verb, I make sure I have the right tense. And by the time I've finally reassured myself that I know what to say, the moment has passed.

So I sat there throughout the meal just listening. I picked up bits and pieces of the conversation. The hosts translated words here and there into English, but the other couple seemed to act as if I wasn't even there. When I did want to say something, I tried in Hebrew, and inevitably switched to quick English, getting whatever I needed to say out of the way as quickly as possible.

It was embarrassing.

And yet, I can walk into a restaurant, ask for a menu, ask questions about the menu, place an order, make smalltalk with the waitress, ask for my bill and pay with the greatest of ease. I can see the Efrat Burgers Bar girl working in Jerusalem and -- without thinking -- instantly blurt out in Hebrew, "Hey! What are you doing here, you don't work here!" and have a brief conversation about how she needed a change of scenery.

I know that someday, when I have children, they'll hear the sounds of Hebrew outside and at school, and they'll teach me something I don't know. Inside the house they'll get a polite mixture of American and English, thanks to their parents whose languages are similar but so different. My kids will be fluently bilingual.

But there's something about being placed in a situation with people you would call my neighbors in a community that isn't so big where Hebrew is what will be spoken where I just cave, I turn inward, and I look like an idiot.

I've had a Jewish neshama my entire life, but with my awakening didn't come automatic or even primitive Hebrew knowledge. With four years of Modern Hebrew floating around my brain, it's done nothing but insulate me. And Israel makes it far too easy to default to English.

Something's got to change.

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Israeli Presidential Conference: Take One



A few years ago, I was lucky enough to attend the Israeli Presidential Conference in Jerusalem as a blogger, where I had the opportunity to speak to some amazing minds about topics that were important to me like conversion, Jewish peoplehood, and the future of the State of Israel. This year, I'm here as a regular ol' blogger with the fun privilege of getting to sit in the PRESS section and attend special sessions just for those of us in the press and blogging world (yes, tomorrow I get to get up close and personal with Sharon Stone)!

So far today I've attended some fascinating sessions and some really disappointing and poorly thought out sessions like the one on the media and another on technology in education -- both neglected to have anything remotely to do with technology, social media, or new media. Fail.

The day started out with a session that was geared toward honoring President Bill Clinton with the Israeli Presidential Medal of Freedom, but it started out with Tony Blair, Israeli President Shimon Peres, and Rahm Emanuel talking tachlis about what makes a good leader and what we need most now in the realm of leadership. Tony Blair regaled the crowd with some very sweet stories, wisdom, and inspiration words like "Do what is right, not what is popular," "Isreal's security is our security in the whole of the western world," and "Democracy means religion has a voice, not a veto."

Unfortunately Rahm Emanuel spouted out lots of ad material about Chicago, trying to sell us all on the glory of the city based on improvements in parks, airports, and transit! I will give him credit for one thing he said: "Never let a good crisis go to waste." That's sort of the Number 1 rule in marketing and social media.

And then, of course, you had the illustrious and wisdomful President Peres, who said, "I never thought in my time that fresh air would become a commodity." He also shocked the crowd by saying that he thinks that our new leaders shouldn't model themselves after the great Israeli leaders of the past like Sharon and Ben-Gurion, because our  new leaders must embrace a new world with an open mind and that our leaders must not lead people, but be led by the people. A beautiful sentiment.

Just as I was jazzed by Tony Blair, President Clinton also really blew me away. I've never heard him speak in person before, but he has such an air of confidence and wisdom about him. He spoke about successes and failures in his presidency, focusing on the failure to act in time, but the success in acting at all when the rest of the world turned a blind eye to what had happened. "Don't give up or give in," he said, "but get up and go on!" He also spoke about how we build a successful future, saying, "We have to stop seeing ourselves as victims and claim our future" while also stressing how we need to move away from the "us" and "them" concept. This sentiment, of course, made me think about the Palestinian issue and the existence of a peoplehood in the state of victimhood. He concluded a really moving (I almost cried) acceptance speech by saying, "I accept this award because I feel like a poor pilgrim on the journey to expand the definition of us, not them."

Then there was an economic session that didn't float my boat at all, but the next session was probably my favorite because it highlighted tomorrow -- the conference's namesake. There were three speakers, but two of them really jazzed me: Dr. David Agus and Professor Dan Gilbert. The former spoke about gene mapping and our responsibility to the global community and healthcare to know what's going on inside our bodies and the latter spoke about our brains, happiness, and how we respond to danger. Prof Gilbert spoke about how we react to things that involve intentionality, immorality, imminent danger, and instantaneous impact the most aggressively, because it's right there (like terror). But things that don't hit those categories (like global warming) we don't react to as quickly. It's why we're more upset about kidnappers than obesity when the latter is so much more dangerous and deadly. Why? Because the part of our brain that thinks about tomorrow is very small. Then he said this, which made giggle:
"If a bad man with a mustache were waging the war of global warming on us, we'd react."
So wow. What a day? I want to pick up Gilbert's and Agus's books because they sound amazing. These guys were super compelling speakers.

And now? More conferencing and then a party! It's going to be a long night ...

Monday, June 17, 2013

Planning: What Happens Now?

We all know the saying: Man plans, G-d laughs. 

Several weeks back, I listened to a podcast -- a repeat from years prior -- on Plan B, that thing we have when life doesn't go the way we want the first time around (our Plan A). As I listened and considered my current situation, I began to think about my own plans and how many of them I've had.

My first plan, when I was a child was to be an artist. My entire childhood I longed to be involved in the arts, and my parents put me through art lessons, I entered art competitions, and I saw myself attending the Kansas City Art Institute. When I was in middle school, that all came to a crashing halt as I realized that my friend Kim was much more talented than I could ever be. Suddenly, it was all about writing and photography. The latter dream died when I was in high school and shadowed a photo journalist for a day and decided that it was the last thing on the planet I was willing to do.

After that, I decided poetry was where it was at and pursued that effort for the rest of high school and into my first semester of college with a degree in English. After a visit to the dentist and seeing an English degree on my dentist's wall, I realized that maybe it wasn't the most useful degree on the planet and quickly switched to journalism with an emphasis on copy editing.

As it turned out, copy editing was my true Plan A. I dreamed of working my way up and through internships and jobs to a post at The New York Times. I worked at the Daily Nebraskan for four years, landed a prestigious Dow Jones Internship at The Denver Post, was picked up by The Washington Post for an internship that turned into a job, and I was ready to stick to it. But unhappiness drowned Plan A.

Plan B didn't come about for quite some time. I moved to Chicago and worked for a Nobel Prize winner as his "Devil Wears Prada"-style assistant before applying to graduate school in Judaic studies. It was at that time that I realized Plan B was to teach. After a graduate degree from the University of Connecticut and starting up at New York University, I suddenly became aware that this Plan B wasn't exactly going to work out -- my Hebrew wasn't quite up to snuff and social media in Jewish schools wasn't something anyone had in mind.

And then?

While in graduate school I realized the power of my social media prowess and decided, well, maybe this will work out as Plan C? In Denver I put it to the test and landed three different jobs doing social media, building my skills and talents, and I was pretty set that this is where I belonged. After aliyah I kept those jobs and forged forth learning, doing, being.

Now? I'm at a crossroads where my superficial childhood plans and the various plans of adulthood seem to be saying "nope, this isn't it," and wondering what I am supposed to be doing. Writing? Back to editing?

I spend my days searching for work and mulling about on Social Media, trying to stay fresh, but I can't help but feel that I'm losing my edge, that my talent isn't exactly a talent so much as a skill I acquired that anyone could acquire. I've always said that it isn't that I know how to do all of these things perfectly but rather that I'm resourceful and willing, eager and able. I know where to look to find the answers to any problem, I know how to troubleshoot anything with a quick Google search.

Some people take comfort in the search for the next job opportunity or the next experience, but I find myself bored and frustrated. This blog hasn't seen much out of me recently because the truth is I'm best at blogging and working when I'm busy, when I have a million things going on at once. When there isn't much going on, the day just floats by and productivity slacks.

I'm trying to figure out what HaShem has in store for me exactly. Is the lull a nudge to look inward? Is it a push to reexamine my strengths and talents and figure out who I'm menat to be? Is it a forced vacation after 11 years of work, work, work?

Perhaps, then, I should be thankful instead of angry, happy instead of forlorn. What do you think?


Saturday, June 15, 2013

Sometimes You Need a Sign


We spent Shabbat in Aderet with good, old friends of Mr. T's, and it was an amazing and calming experience (even with two rambunctious little girls). When our host poured grape juice for havdalah, the little bubbles came together to form a giant heart.

Now that, folks, is beautiful. Shavua Tov! 

Monday, June 10, 2013

Let's Chat: Free Education


As you may or may not remember, I have been a member of the ROI Community since my attendance at the ROI Summit in Israel in 2011. This year, I'm in Israel but not at the summit, but I'm doing my part to share the awesomeness of the summit with everyone out there in e-land.

Next Tuesday, I'm hosting an online chat based on one of the amazing presentations from the ROI Summit this year, and I hope you'll join me and share with your friends, family, colleagues, and anyone else interested in the free education system.

This discussion/online meetup will focus on a presentation given by Shai Reshef, an Israeli businessman and educational entrepreneur who is the founder and president of University of the People – a nonprofit, tuition-free, online academic institution dedicated to the democratization of higher education by making college-level studies accessible to students worldwide.

Here are the details:

University of the People or University of the Future? 
Tuesday, June 18 @ 8 p.m. (Israel) / 1 p.m. (Eastern)
We will discuss whether free, accessible education will level the global playing field and release students from the financial burdens of education or will it devalue education and lower the standards of learning. What about teachers? When education is free, where do we find qualified educators willing to offer free lessons when educators are already underpaid and overworked?



So please join me on Twitter and Facebook by looking out for #roicom and #FreeUni! Bring your thoughts, your gripes, your ideas. 

Sunday, June 9, 2013

A Change in Plans

Wait, stop, don't hate me! I spoke too soon. I had anticipated doing a video with Mr. T, but things beyond both of our control means we're putting it on hold. Stay tuned but I promise that there will be something in the future, I'm just not sure when.

I apologize that the blog has been so sparse, but I'm devoting 99 percent of my days these days to trying to find full-time work. It's amazing how difficult it is to get hired here -- I had no clue that it was going to be this difficult.

If aliyah were easy, everyone would be doing it, right?

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Recipe: The Vegan Loaf


This past Shabbat, I regaled my dear Mr. T with a classic Edwards Family favorite: Meatloaf and Mashed Potatoes. The big changeup? This loaf was completely vegetarian, but it was hearty and full of tummy-warming goodness. I anticipate this being a regular on my menu, mostly because the ingredients are inexpensive and the recipe is very versatile.

Brown Rice and Lentil Terrine
(adapted from Clean Eating)

1 cup brown rice
1 cup brown lentils
olive oil
1/2 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 whole eggs (or egg substitute)
2 Tbls flaxseed meal
2 Tbls tomato paste
1/4 cup flat leaf parsley, chopped finely
1/4 cup black olives, drained and chopped
1/4 tsp each coriander, paprika, garlic powder, and onion powder
1/4 tsp sea salt
1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup low-sodium vegetable broth, divided
1 1/2 cups gluten-free breadcrumbs, plus more if needed (I blended up gluten-free cereal, but you can also use regular or gluten-free bread)
  1. Cook the rice (I used a rice maker), then put the lentils on with 2 cups water. Bring to a boil, then reduce to simmer, partially covered, until tender, about 35 minutes. 
  2. Preheat the oven to 400 Fahrenheit (200 Celsius). Prep a 9x5" pan with olive oil, butter, or PAM. 
  3. Heat about a tsp of olive oil in a skillet on medium and add onion. When the onion starts to brown, stir in garlic and cook 1 minute more. Transfer to a large bowl and stir in eggs, flaxseed meal, tomato paste, parsley, olives, spices, salt, and pepper. Add the breadcrumbs and mix thoroughly. 
  4. Put half of the cooked lentils in a food processor with 1/4 cup of the vegetable broth and process until smooth. Transfer the pureed and whole cooked lentils to a bowl and mix in the rice and remaining 1/4 cup of vegetable broth. Mix well!
  5. Finally, mix both of the rice/lentil and onion/spice mixtures together until well combined. 
  6. Scrape into the prepared loaf pan and mound the center to make it look like that classic meatloaf. Bake until lightly browned and crunchy on top, about 35-40 minutes. 
  7. Serve with your favorite brown gravy!
The original called for wild rice, green lentils, Bragg's Liquid Aminos, fresh basil, fresh sage, and pimento-stuffed green olives, but I didn't have them on hand so I just worked with what I had. It turned out amazingly!

For a gravy, I used this recipe because I didn't have any mushrooms on hand. However, I used half of the amount of water it called for and Brown Rice Flour instead of the called-for Chickpea Flour. 

Thursday, May 30, 2013

IKEA: The Mitzvah


Tonight, Mr. T and I trekked off to IKEA to track down a few clutch items for the kitchen (I can't get enough of those storage jars). We partook of the food (fish at a price more than half that of most restaurants in Israel) and picked up the dozen items we'd gone there for and headed out to the car park.

While I waited for Mr. T to pull the car up to the curb, I watched an older Israeli couple reviewing their purchase and their incredibly small car. When Mr. T pulled up, I suggested he go help them out, and that's where the fun starts.

He walked over and helped them remove the cardboard and the plastic, and we were all shocked to find this was a piece of furniture that came completely put together -- only the feet needed to be added on. As a result, the small car was not going to hold this piece of furniture. They wedged it in the best way they could, Mr. T suggested they tie it off with rope and then walked over toward me. My immediate reaction? "Ask them where they live," I said. So he went over, found out they lived in Rishon LeZiyon, where the IKEA was, and I told him we should offer to take it home for them. With a quick flip of the back seat, the chair slid in like a dream. The wife hopped in the car, and we were off.

After a winding adventure through Rishon LeZiyon (who knew it was so gigantic), we arrived at some beautiful high-rises surrounded by palm trees that reminded me of Florida. I was going to sit in the car and wait, but the wife insisted I come upstairs with them. So while the boys managed the chair in a cart, I went upstairs with the woman, who apologized to me that she didn't speak English (she has family living in English-speaking countries, so it's hard for her, she said). I realized that this woman is the epitome of a generation -- the child of survivors, most likely, and if not, of kibbutzniks who settled the land and built this country, who knew that Hebrew was the only language that anyone needed, that Israel was the Jewish homeland and Hebrew its sustenance.

When the boys got upstairs, Mr. T quickly put on the feet of the chair, removed it from the cart, and we wished them well and started to head off. But after asking again and again if we wanted a sandwich or something to drink, we finally relented when the woman offered us watermelon. She cut some up and we all went out to the mirpeset for some cool air. Sitting around the table, we joked about how far off the ground the chairs were, making our feet swing off the floor. After a few minutes, we told them we really needed to go, I gathered up a beautiful outdoor lantern the woman had given me, and we were off into the cool, humid night.

I've been having a very hard time lately -- finances, missing Colorado, realizing how permanent this move really is. Yes, I hit the six-month slump of "Wait a second, I really did this?" and am struggling to find my footing with HaShem. I'm struggling to feel grateful some days, to feel happy other days, to feel like it's all going to be okay most days. I'm blessed with an amazing husband and friends, but I miss the conveniences that I had in Colorado of inexpensive gluten-free food, being able to go into a Target and find anything I wanted, and knowing that when I'm feeling down that comforting cup of always-the-same-made coffee I always ordered would be there. It's hard knowing that if I were living in Colorado I'd still be employed right now, but it's even harder knowing that if I were living in Colorado I wouldn't have met Mr. T or started filling up that eternally empty space inside that longed for Israel.

Living here is a tug-of-war. A violent, confusing, explosive tug-of-war of emotions. It's never easy -- even the woman who gave me watermelon said it can't be hard living here, not for people who weren't born here. This sabra understands.

But it's moments like this, when you offer someone help and they ply you with watermelon and soda water on their balcony, where I remember why living in Israel is a gift. When someone takes down your phone number, invites you to come back, and makes you wish you had Israeli grandparents, you know that you're at home.

Monday, May 27, 2013

A Memorial Day Tribute

I come from a devout military family that, up until my generation, treks back hundreds of years throughout Europe. My father was a Navy man, my mother an Army brat, and the military representation just keeps going.

I'm blessed because my mom's side of the family traces itself through the Duval Family Association, which documents a very well-documented family hailing from France and arriving in the U.S. while fleeing religious persecution in 1701. (Think Catholics marrying Hugeonots!) These folks rubbed elbows with George Washington and other well-known historical giants.

But let's get to honoring so many of my family members who defended freedom.


My dad's dad, Joseph Edwards, was a military man who served during World War II in France, but what he did there I'll never know because the facility that held his military records burned down in the 1950s or 60s, which I find hugely disappointing. What I do know is that he ended up in France after the liberation, but I don't know what he did there, what his rank was, or anything like that. Joseph -- my middle name sake -- died of a heart attack on August 17, 1965, just 11 days after my dad turned 12 years old (his mother died a few years prior).


My mom's dad, John Baskette, was a Navy man who served during World War II in Pearl Harbor -- and yes, he was there when the attacks of December 7, 1941 happened. He spent his entire life in the military, and when my mom was born he was stationed in France. He died in April 2007 after quite a long life devoted to retelling what happened at Pearl Harbor. When I was in Middle School in Joplin, Missouri, I got to do a huge report on my grandfather and even borrowed my dad's old Navy uniform and dressed up like him.

Much further back, we're talking Civil War time, I have oodles of family that served. John Howard Baskette was born in 1829 and died in 1884 and was a Colonel of the 68th Regiment of Tennessee Militia of Coffee Company (mmm ... coffee). Then there was Dr. William Turner Baskette (the aformentioned's father) who was caught three times by the North while traversing across the war line. His house still stands today in Mufreesboro, Tennessee, where the local Women's Club now meets.

William's father, Abraham, was a private in the War of 1812, and his father William Semple Baskette was a Baptist minister in Virginia who was a Lieutenant during the Revolutionary War.

There are dozens of other members of my family that served in the military, but I think this will suffice. I wish I knew more about my father's family line, but with his parents having died so young, there are a million questions I didn't get to ask and will probably never get the answers I need.

So here's to soldiers -- past, present, and future -- who fight for peace, freedom, and liberty!

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Ask Chaviva Anything: Women of the Wall

ANNOUNCEMENT: I am super stoked to say that there will be a Mr. T video coming up in the next few weeks. Brace yourselves for the awesomeness that is my husband. Stay tuned to the YouTube channel and/or here for the video. If you have questions for Mr. T, feel free to ask them in the comments of this post and/or on Ask Chaviva Anything!

And now ... back to your regularly scheduled post ...


I had a question on Ask Chaviva Anything about my thoughts on "Women of the Wall," so I thought I'd go ahead and address it since, for now, the insanity surrounding the group has died down a bit. Although the next time Rosh Chodesh rolls around it will be one more big giant display of Chillul HaShem from both sides of the issue down at the Kotel, which I find hugely disappointing and a shame for Judaism.

Women of the Wall is an organization that has been around since the late 1980s in Israel but only in the past few years has the group come under increased scrutiny after throwing themselves at the media like a 12-year-old girl at a Justin Bieber concert. According to their website, their main goal is
to achieve the right, as women, to wear prayer shawls, pray and read from the Torah collectively and out loud at the Western Wall (Kotel) in Jerusalem, Israel.
As my understanding of the group goes, the group struggled for the ability to do this in legal battles up until 2003, when the group was granted the right to hold their services at Robinson's Arch. In 2009 a complaint was filed and the insanity broke out again, and over the past few years Anat Hoffman and the WoW crew have taken their plight to new media levels. On the WoW website, it says that Anat has dedicated her life to "the Jewish principle of tikkun olam, which literally means repairing the world." But seriously, is what WoW doing repairing the world? At all? In any way shape or form? 

I believe in the right for any person -- Jewish or not -- to express themselves and their religious beliefs in a manner that does not bring physical or emotional harm on others, in a manner that follows a standard of basic human rights, but that also is conscious of the responsibility of one human being on another human being for respect. 

(Also: I have to say that wearing a prayer shawl or tefillin or a kippah or anything like that has never appealed to me, even when I was a Reform Jew being called up for aliyot regularly. I'm a firm believer that equality is a misunderstood concept. Men are not women and women are not men. If men and women could be perfectly equal in the eyes of HaShem or Judaism or any religion, then there would only be one human and that human would be sexless and genderless and everyone would look exactly the same. Unfortunately, that's just not how we were created.)

Do I think that Women of the Wall meet that perspective? Not really, no. Do I think that the violent Haredi mobs that attack WoW meet that perspective? Definitely not. Do I support either side? No, I don't. 

Basically I think both sides are screwing up royally, and, in the process, are making the ritual side of Jewish life look like a joke and making the kotel look like a pagan shrine rather than what it is -- a retaining wall from the time of the fall of the Second Temple. Yes, it's an important site, but good lord we've turned the Kotel into the last thing on earth it was meant to be. We're treating it as if the wall itself holds the shechinah, the dwelling place of HaShem. And if that's how people on both sides of the aisle want to see the Kotel, then I think Judaism has a major, major problem. 

If the Women of the Wall really wanted to do themselves, Judaism, and ritual a favor, they'd go into the Kotel tunnels and hold their service at the space closest to the Holy of Holies. Call me crazy, but it seems to make a whole lot more sense. 

Also, as an aside, I think that their choice of name is just ... sigh ... unfortunate. Historically, women of the wall were prostitutes. Rachav, in the book of Joshua, was a woman of the wall. Prostitutes worked in the city's walls because they would catch travelers going in and out of the city and because for dignitaries it was far enough away from their homes that no one would traverse the seedy area looking for them. 

I know I'm opening myself up for criticism here, and I'm willing to take it. I believe we all connect to HaShem in our own way, in our own time, and I support everyone's right to connect or not connect. For me, what is most important is owning -- 110 percent -- where you are, defining yourself by what you believe and who you are as opposed to what you are not. I think that one of the problems with the Women of the Wall and a lot of very liberal organizations is that they devote themselves to not being Orthodox, to not separating men and women, to not keeping kosher, to not doing this and that. 

It's easy to define ourselves by what we aren't. It's a lot harder to define yourself by who you are, what you believe, and to own it. 

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Gluten Free in Israel

UPDATE (December 2014): 

Good news gluten-free foodies! If you're looking for gluten-free, ha'motzi challah in Israel, check out Challaluya in Jerusalem. Also, a new bakery has opened on Emek Refaim called Coney Island Bakery that has gluten-free pizza, cupcakes, cookies, and more! Although I haven't tried either location/product, I have to say the prospect alone is amazing.

On a similar note, while in Israel, I was really dismayed at visits to Cafe Cafe and Cafe Greg, two places that, previously, were amazing when it came to gluten-free eating. Now, it appears, that fear has grasped the chefs and they don't recommend anything from their kitchens, despite having gluten-free bread. In truth, they're just being paranoid, but please proceed at your own risk.

UPDATE (January 2014): 

Morgen's has closed and an amazing new restaurant has opened in Efrat, just 20 minutes south of Jerusalem, that offers not only Mexican cuisine, but gluten-free Mexican cuisine! See below.

Living in Israel as a gluten-free foodie, things have been going pretty smoothly. I've found a variety of local chains and some single-location haunts that offer up lots of delicious gluten-free-friendly options. These are some of my picks! I apologize that they're very Jerusalem-centric, but that's where I hang my hat.

I'm slowly discovering that more and more people are starting to offer gluten-free buns and bread, which is a huge bonus, because the truth is that you can eat just about anywhere these days! The places to avoid? Those classic, Israeli-style restaurants with meat patties (bread crumbs) and the heavy use of MSG- and gluten-packed soup mixes. Steakhouses and places that serve fish are always good bets, because the grill is a safe place and the fryer should be avoided. When in doubt, always tell the server that you can't eat gluten, and they will tell the chef and make sure you're set! (It's a very welcoming country!)

Aroma
Yes, I know, not the most exciting place in the world to eat, but they sell gluten-free cakes and bread, so you can get a delicious breakfast with a hot gluten-free roll to go with it. In a pinch, if you want bread, it's a decent option that isn't too expensive.

Ben Ami
With locations around Israel, this restaurant is known for their gluten-free friendly menu, chock full of sandwiches, toasts, breakfast, and even some pretty amazing desserts. This is always my go-to when friends come to town and want to eat out. I highly recommend the polenta!

Black Bar and Burger
This meaty restaurant offers up gluten-free buns and even gluten-free beer for their patrons. I ate here for the first time several years back when I visited as a non-vegetarian, but on days when I am jonesing for meat, I prefer BB&B because it's nice to feel like everyone else in the restaurant.

Bodega
This amazing little restaurant in Efrat sings to my heart by serving fajitas, burritos, nachos, and other delicious Mexican-inspired dishes. They've also recently added a bit of Mexican-Sushi fusion to their menu. Just mention to your server that you're gluten-free or celiac, and they'll make sure your meal is prepared accordingly.

Cafe Cafe
I don't know if this is normal at all Cafe Cafe locations, but I recently learned that they offer up gluten-free rolls with their meals if you ask! Although most of the options on the menu are not gluten-free friendly, there are plenty of salads, shakshuka, and even a gluten-free chocolate cake for your dining enjoyment.

Falafel
It's next to impossible to find gluten-free falafel in Israel, unfortunately. There is one location that I've found outside the shuk (Mahane Yehudah) where they stay true to the original recipe and use chickpea flour instead of wheat flour like everybody else. I want to say it's called Number 1 Falafel, but I can't remember the name exactly. It's a small cart, outside the shuk, next to the guys who sell the nuts and gummies. Get a falafel plate and avoid the pita!

Morgen's 
Although I haven't eaten here yet, the owners of this restaurant off Emek Refaim used to own the Village Green location. Now, they offer up gluten-free pasta, bread, wraps, and more on their cafe-style menu. I'm eager to give them a try!

Pera e Mela
Say hello to your best Italian friend. This restaurant is owned by two authentic Italians with a sensitivity to the gluten-free community. They offer gluten-free pasta, lasagna, pizza, and more. I ate here recently and the pizza crust was a little soft, but the ability to be able to go out to eat Italian style in Jerusalem? It's priceless, seriously. Try the garlic broccoli starter!

Pizza Hut
If you're jonesing for that classic Pizza Hut taste, the location in Jerusalem on Ben Hillel has gluten-free family-sized pies! I haven't, unfortunately, partaken, but it's on my to-do list.

Sushi Rechavia
The great thing about Sushi Rechavia is that they have lots of gluten-free liquor (try the plum wine) options and they will happily bring out a bottle of gluten-free Tamari soy sauce with your sushi. By and large, most sushi restaurants in Israel seem to be very gluten-free friendly, stocking Tamari!

The Village Green
With locations on Yafo and Emek Refaim (new) in Jerusalem, this vegan/vegetarian-friendly restaurant offers countless gluten-free options every day, from soup to quiche to their amazingly broad variety of options on their hot and cold bars. They also have gluten-free cookies! I always feel so full, but light after eating here.

If you're looking for snacks, sandwich bread, flour, crackers, cookies, and just about anything else under the sun, most health food stores have a healthy stock of gluten-free products. The best out there in the Jerusalem area is a store called L'Lo Gluten on Agrippas near the shuk. The store is full of gluten-free and sugar-free stuff. Oh, they have beer, too! It can be tough to find gluten-free beer in bars in Israel, but most stock plenty of naturally gluten-free ciders, so never fear.

If you want more suggestions from people who have tried out restaurants around Israel, please feel free to join the Gluten Free in Israel Facebook Group!