Chabad and a Review of Turning Judaism Outward

It's late after Shabbat and I'm pretty tired, but if I don't write this now, my head will explode and my heart will melt. The intense need to write? I finished reading Turning Judaism Outward today, which is the biography about the seventh Chabad Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson written by friend and colleague Rabbi Chaim Miller (I worked with him on his chumash project several years back).

I was well into the book when I went into synagogue today to discuss this week's parsha (Torah portion) with my women's learning group. Luckily, I'd landed the third aliyah, which was the bit about the people kvetching after Miriam dies because the water dries up, there's a brief mention of her death and burial, followed by Moshe and Aharon approaching HaShem with what to do. HaShem says to go, speak to the rock, and water will pour forth. Moshe doesn't bother asking what to say, but goes forth to the people, calls them a band of rebels, and smacks the rock with his staff. The result of this incident is that Moshe is destined to never enter Eretz Yisrael.

As we talked about the parsha, I realized the significance of being the unwilling leader. Moshe was devastated by the death of his sister Miriam and the peoples' lack of realization that the water was because of Miriam's merit. Frustrated and at his absolute wit's end, he broke. HaShem knew the narrative, HaShem knew that Moshe wouldn't enter the land and needed an "out" in this narrative. It was at this point, where Moshe became truly human that it was possible to build the "exit strategy."

It only made sense to me to tie in the "unwilling leader" to the Rebbe.

I knew it before, but reading Turning Judaism Outward just reinforced the fact that the Rebbe never sought out leadership. Until he set foot in the U.S. and it was evident that his father-in-law (the sixth rebbe) had plans for him, he evaded leadership at every turn. I read this book awaiting the magical explanation for how he ended up in the role of the Rebbe and how the "Rebbe is messiah" movement, but there was never a firm point that either of these aspects of Rabbi Schneerson's life manifested. They were organic.

There are several things I did learn for certain in this book that have provided me with a heightened respect and love for a rabbi I never knew.

• The Rebbe was a savant. He devoured literature and had a complete memory of the Torah, both Talmuds, and gobs of commentary. From childhood through the end of his life, he was able to give hour-long talks without even opening a book. The way that he processed information and relayed it make me wonder if the Rebbe had a touch of Asperger's, actually. As a savant who evaded public life and communal leadership, it would seem that he had these classic social trappings. I also found it frustrating that he was so well versed in the Yerushalmi (Jerusalem Talmud), because so many Chabadniks these days don't bother learning it or teaching it. The Rebbe clearly saw the value in knowing it, quoting it, and discussing it. 
• The Rebbe was an engineering and mathematical genius. The stories that Rabbi Miller relates about his skill with understanding mechanics, machines, military plans, and so much more really blew my mind. I had no idea that he spent years in university getting an engineering degree and applied his skills and talents throughout his life to both relate to experts and to make suggestions to world leaders. 
• Although he never stepped foot in Israel, the Rebbe had a deep love, appreciation, and passion for both Eretz Yisrael (the land of Israel) and Medinat Yisrael (the state of Israel). The amount of political and religious leaders he had deep and emotional ties with, not to mention the amount of times he wrote about the actions of Israeli leadership and the mistake they made show me that he was a man deeply in love with Israel. You also need to read the book to see a few of the moments when the Rebbe predicted something that happened and Israeli military leadership were kicking themselves. His foresight was mind-blowing. 
• The Rebbe very clearly had a vision for Chabad after he died, and that was to look locally, to your local rabbis for guidance and answers. He was creating leaders to lead. He didn't need to name a successor because he believed in the Jewish people to lead themselves. 
• He was a man who loved his wife in a deep and unwavering way that I cannot even begin to fathom. They met daily for a half-hour over tea. That was their moment to connect, reconnect, to be one. Although they never had children (and this is something I wish I knew more about, but it's still not covered in the book -- were there fertility issues? Her sister also had trouble conceiving, but I also know that this is a very, very, very private issue), they were deeply in love. 
• The Rebbe did amazing things for education in America. He truly believed in reaching out to Jews and non-Jews, because he believed that everyone is capable of so much. 
• The Rebbe was horribly frustrated with Chasidim viewing him as the mashiach (messiah). He never condoned it, in fact he spoke against it and the problems it would cause. He was very abrupt and to the point about this. I think it's chaval (not a great translation, but it kind of means "a pity") that he spent the last 10 years of his life battling the mashiachists who tried to peg him as the messiah when it was something he so did not want, condone, or endorse. 

My own personal conclusion after reading this book and experiencing my eyes well up with tears as I spoke to Mr. T about what I was reading have shown me that I so feel for the Rebbe and everything he fought for and fought against in his life. He was a passionate, educated, wise Jewish man who believed in the Jewish people -- religious or not. 

The truth is that had I been alive in the 1960s or 70s and come to Judaism during those eras, chances are good I would have ended up Chabad. Nowadays, with the prevalence of the vision in Chabad as the Rebbe as messiah, I simply can't wrap my head around that. It's not something I'd ever be able to stand by and endorse as part of a collective entity. 

That being said, I understand that not all Chabadniks believe the Rebbe was the messiah, but when there are congregations that give an aliyah to the Rebbe on Shabbat, I just ... it isn't something that's for me. I have, however, written for Chabad.org, worked on many projects with Chabad, and spoken on many panels with my very close Chabad friends. (Is this kind of like saying, "Some of my best friends are Chabad!!! ...?) 

But I view it as dishonoring the Rebbe as opposed to honoring him to perpetuate the mashiach angle. I'd rather stand from the outside and share with the world the beautiful mind and heart and soul of the Rebbe than stand within and perpetuate something he stood so firmly against. 

The Rebbe is a man unlike any the modern world has seen. I compared his unwilling leadership to Moshe, after all. I wish I had been able to meet him, to be a Jew during the period of his life when something so special was happening. When the potential for greatness in the Jewish community was so palpable. 

At this point, all I can do is hope to honor the Rebbe through my own observance, through my own outreach, through my own storytelling. I can only hope he would have been proud of this Jewish woman had he known her. 

Ask Chaviva Anything: Advice Before Making Aliyah

Here's a doozy, but one that's shockingly simple for me to answer at this point in my life. I know my answers probably sound grumpy and jaded, but less than two years in Israel made me more of a realist than I was before.

What are your top 5 pieces of advice for someone considering making aliyah?

1. Save money. Save lots of money. Make sure you have enough money on hand to live for at least a year (that means rent, childcare expenses, grocery expenses, healthcare incidentals, buying a car, insurance, you name it). My biggest mistake in going to Israel as a single woman in her late 20s was that I didn't have a dime saved. I went with a nice income, but that income disappeared almost instantly. Not having anything saved put me into a nice amount of debt, which is no fun. 

2. Buy lots of clothes in the U.S. before you move. Why? Because if there's one thing Israel doesn't have, it's any kind of clothing that will withstand more than a few washes in Israel's harsh water. Also? It's crazy expensive to buy something that will last. I know it seems superficial, but it's a good idea. I don't know many people in Israel that buy their shoes, electronics, or clothing in Israel. 

3. Make sure you understand the impact of your U.S. bank accounts, especially if you're going to be transferring money back and forth. It can cost quite a bit of money to make transfers (e.g. Chase charges $40 for international transfers), and it adds up. If you have a U.S.-based income, have a plan in place for regular transfers. 

4. Decide whether you really want to pay all that money for a lift. Moving stuff to Israel can be crazy expensive, especially when there's a readily available market for used furniture and appliances in Israel with all of the olim (immigrants) moving back to the U.S. and selling their entire property. If you can't live without it, take it with you, but make sure you really can't live without it. 

5. Believe in the mission. If you make aliyah based on a dream or with expectations that life will not change much except that you'll be living in Eretz Yisrael, then you're going to be sorely disappointed and experience a huge shock. Make aliyah because you believe Israel is going to be the best home for you and your family, make aliyah because you believe in the nation and its principles and the understanding that Israel is home for the Jewish people. Don't make aliyah because it's going to solve all of your problems or provide you with a "better" life or fix things. Be realistic, but be passionate. 

Will I be financially prepared when we return to Israel? Probably not. But it's not the reason we're back in the U.S. I'm not here to make my fortune so I can return to Israel sitting pretty by any means. It would be nice, but, like I said, I'm a realist. 

Ready to ask a question? Be nice and ask away!

Ask Chaviva Anything: Moving to the U.S., iBoy, and Mr. T

Because of the barrage of Mr. T, iBoy, U.S. questions, here's a catch-all installment of

Why did you move back to the US?

I thought I addressed this question in a previous post, but in case you missed it: bikur cholim.

How are you liking life back in the US? Are there things you missed here? Are there things you miss now? How is your British/Israeli husband doing with living in the US?

Life back here is interesting. There are aspects of Israel I miss desperately (the Jewish community and feeling of Shabbat), but there are things here that I find super comforting (knowing the language, finding what I need in the store, farmer's markets, the superficial things). As for Mr. T, I think he's baffled by the customer service, kindness, and options available here in the U.S. It's the land of everyTHING, so it's easy to find what you need anywhere at any price. In a way, we're being very spoiled right now.

How does Mr. T feel about being in the US? What is happening with iBoy? Is it hard being so far away from your stepson/Mr. T's son?

Mr. T is having a hard time, and really why wouldn't he? He left his almost 11 year old in the care of his mother to move to the U.S. with his wife and infant son to take care of family things. The truth is, he's viewing it as a lesson for iBoy, to see the lengths to which he would go for family. If we had to leave Israel to be with family in the UK it would be the same story, just a bit closer (a two hour time change rather than a nine hour time change). But we're working with iBoy's mother to make sure that iBoy has plenty of opportunities to spend time with us in the U.S. In fact, he'll be visiting in a few more weeks for two whole weeks! Considering the most we got to see iBoy was a few days a week back in Israel, it will be a blessing to have him around consistently for so long. But remember: iBoy's mother has full custody of him, so bringing him with us wasn't even an option, unfortunately. That choice is up to iBoy now that he's older than 10.

How is your husband handling juggling fatherhood with a son on each side of the world?

Considering he stays home three to four days a week while I go into the office to work, he's doing marvelously. He's an extremely extroverted person, so having a non-speaking infant who is teething around 24/7 hasn't driven him mad -- yet. Ash and Mr. T speak to iBoy on Skype (when his mother's computer is working) almost daily if they can manage it. But time differences, dinner plans, and other things often get in the way and make it difficult for Mr. T to speak with his son, which is incredibly hard on him. But as Ash gets older and more interactive, not to mention when Mr. T is able to work in the U.S., things will become a bit easier on everyone, I think. 

I know you said you do plan to head back to Israel at some point, but honestly, reading your blog over the past few years, the place you've always seemed unambiguously the happiest is in Colorado, while you've expressed a lot of ambivalence about life in Israel. Do you really want to go back to Israel?

It's true that I'm very happy in Colorado. The weather here does something to my emotions and psyche. I feel confident and happy and proud here. When I lived in Colorado in 2005, I was going through a bit of an awkward breakup and I found my confidence and self worth while here. When I came here after my divorce in 2011, I did the same thing. I found my happy place, I realized I was worth so much more than I ever thought I was. Now, being back, I wake up and see the sunshine and mountains and I feel like HaShem is really here. Is this the place everyone should be? Nah. It's just a place that makes sense for me. But that being said, Israel will always be the place we're meant to be. I wasn't always happy there, and I was frustrated with the language, the politics, the state of war, but you get to be Jewish in a unique way there. A way you can't be anywhere else. And that's something that is very important to me. 

On the other hand, what's going on right now in Israel makes me scared. Teenage boys being kidnapped by terrorists makes me scared. That could be my boy, my little Ash, in so many years. It could be iBoy. It could be the sons of friends of mine. That reality is horrifying. 

Yes, the U.S. is riddled with school shootings and kidnappings and horrible things, but here it's one psycho in one act of selfish psychosis. In Israel? It's a group of people with the unwavering desire to kill all Jews and destroy an entire nation. That's so much bigger, so much scarier. 

So, with all of that, I am ambivalent about life in Israel right now. Here I'm closer to my family, closer to comfort, closer to the "easy" life. But is that the kind of life I want to instill in my children and the future generations? I'm not sure. Only time will tell. 

Have questions? Ask away!

Ask Chaviva Anything: Conversion and the First Beth Din Meeting

Ah -- that breath of fresh air! It's time for the first installment in the new and improved ...

This question asks:

"I have my first meeting with the Beis Din this week, and I am super nervous! Any advice?"

That first beis din (also beit din, or rabbinical court) meeting can be a serious nightmare. Or, rather, it can feel like it's going to be a nightmare, and afterwards you might be kicking yourself for every little hesitation or self-questioning moment you experienced. Chances are you'll feel like you've failed, no matter how much you jazzed the rabbis with your knowledge of kashrut (Jewish dietary laws) or brachot (prayers). There's something about the process that is made to knock you down rather than build you up, for some reason. I don't think it's meant to be part of the process, but it just works out that way.

So how do you prepare for that first meeting? One word: Confidence.

If you go into the first meeting with unwavering confidence that you know your stuff, that you're confident in your choice to formally become Jewish, that you're knowledgeable and prepared to take on all of the mitzvoth (commandments) necessary, then it will show. The rabbis are looking for someone who can handle the pressures of both the process and what happens after you convert, which can be traumatizing if you're not prepared (rejection by family for converting, rejection by other Jews who don't think converts are sincere, bullying by other converts trying to protect their own skin by making other converts look bad, and so on).

Practically speaking, it helps to have some of the brachot memorized (especially the ones on food, the shema, and other daily blessings) and to have a few anecdotes about any learning you've already done, books you're reading, and to know your own personal journey to Judaism according to how you've written it down for the beit din. Be sure to also be able to explain any inconsistencies or questionable things like if you're dating a Jew, if you have a parent who is Jewish, if you've visited Israel, if you grew up in a Messianic movement, and so on. Those are the tough questions you're going to want to be prepared for!

Just stay true to yourself, be honest with the rabbis about where you are and how much you know, and also be sure to ask questions! Be curious, be passionate, and be confident.

Have a question? Ask away! You can also read about my first visit to the beth din right here on the blog.

Ask Chaviva (Almost) Anything!

For better or worse, I'm reopening the Q&A portion of the blogging experience. I'm sure there are a lot of questions out there, and I'm prepared to answer most of those questions.

Play Nice and Ask Me Something

Have something to ask? Head on over to the form and get your anonymity on!

Say Hello to the Shmoogedy Boo

Celebrating the Unsung Hero on Father's Day

Have I told you about my dad? He's one of the big reasons we're back in the U.S. (But don't tell him that.)

That's dad on the left making faces. Go figure. 

Born in August 1953, he grew up in the Midwest with an older brother and two parents who he doesn't remember a ton about, at least he doesn't talk much about them. There are small stories here and there that come up, something about hardboiled eggs I remember.

Ethel, my grandma, died of lung cancer on her 39th birthday. My dad was 9. Joseph, my grandfather, died of a heart attack at 47. It was 11 days after my dad's 12th birthday.

Dad grew up with a stepmother and joined the Navy as soon as he could. He often tells me about being stationed in the Mediterranean where he worked on the ship's computer. He likes to tell me about the work his ship did for Israel during the early 1970s, which I think is pretty rad. When he was 23 and my mom was 18, they got hitched and started a family in Kansas City, Missouri.

Between the late 1970s and the mid-1990s we lived in Iowa and then Southern Missouri, my dad was a superstar-rockstar manager for a large building materials company that ended up taking their amazing employees for granted, going bankrupt, and the CEOs walked away with boatloads of money.

But it didn't break my dad. He kept on trucking. He kept focusing on his family, working nights, working overtime, working hard and long hours to keep food on the table.

Then my dad suffered through a quadruple bypass surgery, followed by a diagnosis of Lymphoma. But that didn't break my father either. Nothing has ever broken my dad. I can't get over how much he's been through (it seriously brings tears to my eyes) and how much he's been taken for granted by employers, employees, friends, family, you name it.

He's the kind of guy who lays wisdom on you that you don't always get ("If wishes were fishes, we'd all be fishin'"). He'd bend over backwards to make sure a coworker is doing okay. He'd walk home miles if it meant he wasn't putting someone else out. He'd give up everything for his family's happiness (to a fault).

He's really the ultimate hero. He didn't fight in a major war or jump in front of a moving vehicle to save a puppy or create a life-saving drug. He isn't famous. He isn't making or giving millions to save the rainforest or feed starving children. But he's a hero, of the unsung variety.

Why? Because anyone who suffers the greatest losses and comes out still trying, still living, still loving ... that's a hero. To me, anyway.

So tell me about your dad. Why? Because dads rock. They're amazing and they're undervalued in my opinion. Mr. T is an amazing dad who, much like my own father, would bend over backwards to help anyone anywhere (they do say you marry your father, right?).

Then, if you love your dad and you love Target (ahem, who doesn't?), enter the Power Dad’s Smile Everyday Sweepstakes with over $1,000 in prizes starting today!

To Enter: Share a photo of you and your Dad on Twitter or Instagram using #oralbsweeps between June 2 and June 15.

The Prize: You could win the Father’s Day Power Bundle which includes the Oral-B Black ProfessionalCare 1000 Rechargeable Toothbrush, the Braun Series 7 760 shaver, and a $250 Target Gift Card!

I was selected for this opportunity as a member of Clever Girls Collective and the content and opinions expressed here are all my own.

Becoming Superwoman and Finding My Passion

Asher enjoys Garden of the Gods (and his chicken).

As I balanced Asher on one arm and rested his bottom on the counter while he breastfed, I carefully took the plate with the baked potato out of the microwave. Mr. T was sick, I was working from home and juggling an exhausted, teething 5-month-old, incoming messages and broken websites, and an ailing spouse. I am superwoman. Hear me sigh, yawn, and move along.

Motherhood isn't what I expected. Then again, what did I expect?

Another Shabbat has come and gone and I literally said "Baruch ha'Mavdil," made sure Ash was sleeping soundly, and checked on my computer's backup while running a bath. Mr. T is at shul still, and those precious 10 minutes I just spent soaked in bath-bombed sudsy bliss are about the most relaxing moments I'll experience all week. Just me, bath water, and silence.

I'm in the middle of reading Biz Stone's bio and take on life creating and launching Twitter, one of my most favorite social networking platforms on the planet. An early adopter, I joined the network in 2008. I've been Tweeting for 6.5 years and joined before 99.9% of other current Twitter users. Oddly enough, that was almost four years after I joined Facebook, where I also was an early adopter. The thing about Biz Stone's book is that he and I are complete opposites in many ways, but the way he talks about passion, emotion, and drive for what you do pulls at my heartstrings as it has during every incarnation of the "what am I doing with my life?" internal dialogue I've experienced.

As I balance motherhood, a career, and the desire to do what I'm truly passionate about, I'm really battling internally.

In a perfect world, I've always said I'd be a writer. I've been running Just Call Me Chaviva since April 2006, and before that I spent roughly 8 years on LiveJournal. My story, the narrative that runs through my head on a daily basis, is what I've wanted to write for ages, the joke being that as soon as the book advance shows up I'll be able to put everything else on hold, move into the mountains, and devote myself to composing the work and growing all of my own food (Mr. T's on board, believe me).

I love the work I do, but I've discovered that in just about every job I work I'm taking on more and more of the other stuff that isn't what I'm either good at or passionate about.

Biz Stone talks about how he and Evan (a Nebraskan, mind you) were working on a podcasting startup when they suddenly realized that neither of them (nor anyone on their team) really cared about podcasting. They didn't listen to podcasts. It wasn't their jam. So they found a way to restart and refocus on something they were passionate about. For Biz, that was the social web.

Since I started LiveJournaling back in 1997 or 1998, my focus has always been on storytelling, on reaching out to the universe in the hopes that it would reach back to me. It's where my passion and focus in Judaism come from, the idea that I can reach out to some higher power and a network of Jews around the world -- past and present mind you -- and find some type of answer, commiseration, understanding, acceptance.

From the moment I began writing -- really writing -- I found my way through journaling (technically my first diary dates to a Precious Moments journal circa 1992), Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Flickr, YouTube, and so on. If the platform allows for narrative and storytelling, I'm there. It's my passion.

And that goes for clients, too. The power of personal storytelling is something that I've transitioned into working for brands, and that ... THAT is my passion. Using the social web to create dialogue and build a narrative. To create a story that is meaningful to the consumer and brand-altering for the client. It isn't about making money, it's about building connections, empowering your advocates and evangelists, to create an ecosystem that is larger than your own office and internal structures.

I just have to figure out how to make that what I do every day. To dig through the weeds of the "extra" stuff and focus on my passion.

Maybe someday I'll write a book. But it seems like right now isn't that time. The universe hasn't seen fit to throw some money at my feet to get started, so for now I'll stick to what I'm good at on the small scale. Humans are storytellers. It's always been our jam. It's what we do. It's how we convey emotion, understanding, innovation. It seems so simple, but it's so overlooked.

The only thing I have to do now is to remember to stop and give myself a chance to keep storytelling here on the blog. It's been weeks since I last posted. I opened Blogger so many times to sit and write. To share what's going on. To detail a typical Sunday with an English husband playing for the all-Jewish softball league, drinking tea and wearing a flat cap, listening to the umpire say, "You're going to have to be closer to the base than that." To express the pain of a changed body shape, a child who seems to scream no matter how much homeopathic Orajel and Tylenol we give him, whose gas could easily take down an army, but who is still the most beautiful, amazing, precious gift I could ever have asked for. To explain how strange it is to be back in a place where the community grew and changed without me and how I'm coping with being better accepted and invited out now that I'm married and have a child.

I'm still finding my rhythm. I'm still fleshing out what being superwoman really means. I'm still trying to figure out who I am, where I'm going, and what HaShem's plan for me is.

The Colorado Life

Sitting in a lounge chair watching Maury.

This is the American side of the Asher Yitzhak. :)

There are two things I can say outright now about being back in Colorado. One positive, one negative. Whether one outweighs the other is yet to be seen.

Awesome thing: Customer service here is amazing. I call and things are handled immediately. I need to return something, and it's not at all a problem. Used a couple of nappies in the wrong size? Take 'em back to Target and return them. Money back? No problem. Gift card form? Not an issue. Mr. T was absolutely baffled by the interaction.

Bummer thing: Shabbat is tough because our walk to the synagogue is along one of the busy drags in town, with cars flying by day and night. It doesn't feel like Shabbat. It's not quiet and relaxing and peaceful; it's loud and noisy and stressed.

There's more, of course. I like being able to walk into a store and get exactly what I need and not pay five million shekels for it. Being able to buy a shirt for $5 and knowing that it isn't going to fall apart is a blessing. Being able to buy the right things I need for Ash is brilliant. Finding inexpensive, delicious gluten-free food is wonderful.

Going places and everyone not being Jewish?

It's interesting. It's a weird adjustment. Even in Israel where not everyone is Jewish, you don't really feel like you're living in a non-Jewish country. Here, I get excited when I see another women in a head covering or sheitel (wig) in Target or King Soopers or at the Starbucks. But having people look at my name and say CHA-viva (like in cheese) is interesting and amusing. It's nice in a way. I get to share a little piece of information: "It's Hebrew," I say.

There's a delicate balance when it comes to living outside of the "Jewish state" of Israel. I find it both easy and hard. It's easy in the sense that it's more obvious here that I'm Jewish. I have to try harder. I have to think about things. I can't just buy things without thinking about it. Keeping kosher becomes more conscious than passive. And you get the opportunity to explain Judaism and its quirks to others when people ask you, curiously, what life is like in Israel.

On the other hand, it's hard because you can't just go anywhere and eat, you can't assume someone knows what you mean when you use certain words. Someone sneezes, you have to consider whether saying "l'vrioot" (lee-vree-oot) makes sense or a "bless you" will suffice. You can't go to all of your friends' homes for dinner, either, making building relationships something of a challenge sometimes.

But there we are. More reflections forthcoming, of course. This life is interesting, as it always has been. I'm just glad you're all coming along for the ride.

Teachers Change Lives: Mr. Eaves, Respect, and Curiosity

Being back in Nebraska, I'm feeling pretty nostalgic about just about everything. The food, the places, the experiences. I've even seen in passing a few people I went to college with, which is strange for me, having been away for so long. Or maybe it wasn't even that I've been away for so long but rather that I've been so far away for a few years that it seems like a completely different world that I once belonged to.

In honor of feeling nostalgic, now seems like the right time to tell you about a teacher who inspired me once upon a time.

Despite me loathing the subject he fancied to the extreme, my fifth grade teacher Mr. Eaves took my curiosity to a new and interesting level. The last year I spent at Stapleton Elementary in Joplin, Missouri, was filled with experiments, trips, explorations into the organic world, and, most importantly, the gift of trust and respect from an adult.

In elementary school I was part of a group of seven girls -- the Magnificent Seven they called us. We ran around the school like we ran the place, and the teachers knew that we were super tight knit. As we all ended up in the same fifth grade classroom, Mr. Eaves took advantage of our clique.

Between experiments with wave bottles (soda bottle + oil + colored liquid), tornado machines (two bottles taped together with water, spin it and tornado), and building rockets that we shot off on a non-school day at a field near the local university, Mr. Eaves put together an aviary in the back of the classroom and filled it with zebra finches. Our task, as the Magnificent Seven, was to spend our fifth grade year taking care of the birds.

We fed them, cleaned the cage, made sure their nests were cozy and clean, and at the end of that fifth grade year, Mr. Eaves gave us each a gift: We got to take some of the birds home with us. Me, being sentimental at that age and having the utmost respect for the teacher who made soda bottles interesting, named one of the birds Teaves.

Our final project was to take the empty, barren space between the two legs of our school building and plan a large garden. We created water features, decided which plants would grow best in the shade and which needed complete sunlight. We built in little walking paths and bridges. We created an entire ecosystem based on our teacher's guidance and our own creativity. It wasn't until a year later -- when we were all in middle school -- that the area was transformed. Mr. Eaves invited us all back for the unveiling, and the picture of most of the Magnificent Seven is one of my most precious.

The spark of curiosity that he inspired in me -- to get down and dirty to understand the mysteries and fun in the universe -- sticks with me even today. We loved Mr. Eaves for trusting us enough to raise birds and build rockets. He gave us the kind of respect that a fifth grader needs before launching into Middle School, which was such a gift for me at that time.

And if you know the kind of person I am, you won't be surprised to find out that the Magnificent Seven went to the lengths of purchasing Mr. Eaves a plaque and balloon on the last day of school to show him how much we loved, respected, and appreciated him. Ridiculous, right? 

Although I fell a bit out of love with science later in life after some bad experiences with honors courses and not great teachers, I still have a fascination with hands-on activities and creating things. As someone who reflects on life through the written word in numerous capacities, I have to think on and thank Mr. Eaves for giving me the gift of trust, respect, and most of all, the gift of curiosity. 

Feeling inspired? I'd love to hear about a teacher who inspired YOU! Check out this video of Chris Emdin, a science teacher in the Bronx who (oddly enough) incorporates hip hop into his lessons to help students see science in a different way. 

Also: Consider donating to Teachers Change Lives by clicking on "Donate to a Teacher" on their website. After all, teachers are doing innovative things in the classroom and you can help them do more by donating!


I was selected for this opportunity as a member of Clever Girls Collective and the content and opinions expressed here are all my own.

Moving to America: So Much is Happening

Passover: Asher's first trip to the beach in Ashdod, Israel.

Everything in flux. 

We fly in a few days from Tel Aviv to New York to Omaha. We'll drive on to Lincoln and then after a few days of catching up and seeing how things are with my father we'll be on to Denver.

Rockies, ahoy!

Our earthly belongings are on a barge headed toward the U.S., arriving with luck on May 5. Anyone have $3,500 I can have? The worst that could happen is that we can't pay for the container and our goods will end up on that shipping-container wars show. I'd love for the Israelis to bid and win our seforim (religious books).

The past few weeks have involved friends, neighbors, and complete strangers moving in and out of our house buying and taking things, from the most trivial of bunny rabbit ears to the more expensive closets and appliances. Never fear, my purple KitchenAid is staying in Israel.

I'm coming back for it. 

I've been amazed at the chutzpah of some people in the buying-and-selling process. Asking for discounts on our already half-priced items, plus delivery on the back of Mr. T. Sigh. In the U.S. when I moved and sold everything it went quickly, people came promptly, they took things apart and moved them themselves. It was a completely different experience.

Why is Israel so desperate? 

I keep looking off the balcony at the view we have into the valley and on to Beitar and Tzur Hadassah. I'm going to miss that view. I'm going to miss a lot about Israel while we're away. I don't think I was here long enough to really adopt the Israeli mentality or mannerisms. My Hebrew isn't good because I don't use it much, and I can't yet argue on the phone with the utility company in the way that accomplishes anything. I'm too patient at government offices.

I hate the chutzpah; I'll miss the chutzpah.

If anything, Israel reminds me of the person I am, the unchanging person I am at the core. Simple (my Nebraska roots and an ode to my father), slow, forgiving, patient to a fault. But also how my American sensibilities have created expectations that I can't seem to outgrow, expectations that might take me years once we return to Israel to really change. That I wish will someday change. Filtered water, a dryer, a bureaucracy that makes sense, a conscious of health (Bamba, Bamba, Bamba), kale, inexpensive convenience health foods, shaving cream, razors that don't cost a bajillion dollars, anything that doesn't cost a bajillion dollars. I'm too used to the convenience of stores where I can get high quality products for low prices. That's an expectation that probably will get worse as I go back to America.

If wishes were fishes ... 

It isn't going to be easy. None of it is easy. The reasons we're going to the U.S. aren't easy. But this isn't yeridah (the opposite of aliyah), it isn't running away from anything. If anything, we're running toward something. We're running in the direction of peace, health, happiness.

After all, everything comes from HaShem.

Giveaway: GetKosher, Why Don'tcha?

I was contacted by the creative (and hungry) minds over at GetKosher.com to host a giveaway for their stellar services. Although I don't live in the New York/New Jersey area, I'm familiar with the need for a one-stop shop for kosher food delivery, especially with all of the tasty options available.

Not familiar with the company? Keep reading to learn how you could win a $100 gift card to nab delicious, kosher nosh from GetKosher.com!

The site and concept were built by 22-year-old Morris Sued, a Brooklyn local who founded the company on just $10,000, partly with money he won in a Baruch College startup competition in 2012.

The first of its kind on the web, GetKosher also has a rewards-point system where you can redeem points for gift cards to Amazon, Apple, and tzedakah (charitable organizations).

So far, GetKosher -- which has options for corporate and catering accounts, too -- has served more than 2,100 kosher keepers and sports more than 100 partner restaurants. You can find GetKosher rocking New York options in

• Five Towns
• Midwood
• Williamsburg
• Borough Park
• Queens
• Manhattan
• Livingston
• Orange County
• West Hempstead
• Monsey
• Great Neck

GetKosher also is available in Deal/Lakewood and Teaneck in New Jersey. Maybe they'll show up in Denver sometime soon, too? (Fingers crossed!)

Ready to enter to win $100 gift certificate to GetKosher's delicious kosher options? You've got plenty of time. Questions? Let me know!

a Rafflecopter giveaway
Note: Because I don't live in the region, I'm not benefitting from this giveaway. I am, however, happy to help a kosher-keeping consumer benefit! Giveaway can only be eligible for readers in our serviced areas.

Book Review: 'Tis the Season for Haggadot

Ah Passover! What a time of year, right? You get to spend hours cleaning your house of all that chametz (leavened goods made of barley, wheat, spelt, rye, and oats) and other shmutz that might have accumulated over the past year, while also meal planning the most amazing chametz-free week of food that won't fill you full of potato starch, potatoes, and more starch.

Preparing for the season, I've lamented that our books are all packed up and leaving on a barge for America today. I also don't have all of the haggadot that I used when I was living in the U.S. (because I sold them ... sigh). We don't have many things laying around that offer Pesach-season inspiration, unfortunately, so I've been blessed with the most amazing seasonally inspiring books from Mosaica Press, including Darkness to Destiny: The Haggadah Experience by Rabbi Immanuel Bernstein.

I'll admit right off the bat: The cover is cheesy in the style of so many pieces of Judaica these days, which is off-putting if you don't spend a time reading books of the Feldheim/Artscroll variety. But please, give it a chance!

One friend commented that the haggadah "seems a bit 101," which in truth is the way you want a haggadah to be. Sitting at a Passover seder table is not the place to be knee-deep in midrash, folks. It's small morsels of awesome, inspirational thought that will get you through the seder and allow you the option of participating by providing the other guests with some fun facts, tidbits, and takes on different aspects of the seder "service."

Reading through Darkness to Destiny, I was inspired to pursue a few topics and even wrote about them on About.com. I had zero clue that the four cups of wine were in any way remotely related to the dreams that Joseph interpreted in the Pharaoh narratives. Curious by this morsel shared in the commentaries in the beginning of the haggadah, I ended up writing up a look at the different reasons for the four cups of wine at the Passover seder for About.com. That led me to considering the three matzot and the reason for having three instead of, say, four (as is the theme of the seder with the cups of wine, the sons, and so many other things).

And this, folks, is what you want in a haggadah: Questions that raise more thought-provoking questions. The theme of Passover is, of course, "Why is this night different than all other nights?"

So if you're still considering what haggadot to have at your seder, may I suggest this mix-and-match selection for the diversity of your guests that includes this very easy-to-read take on the classic.

Toes Out of Shoes in Ramat Beit Shemesh

The culprit.

We haven't spent many Shabbatot outside of Neve Daniel since Ash was born, which means my consideration for the diversity of communities and their expectations is a "head in the clouds" kind of situation. When friends invited us to Ramat Beit Shemesh for Shabbat, I'd forgotten that there's just a certain way things are done in those parts. 

Yes, Mr. T packed his suit because colorful shirts and Chuck Taylors just don't fly, but I didn't think twice about packing my open-toed shoes because the weather was toasty and warm and my feet are my traveling air conditioning units. 

So after the gents went to synagogue, Ash and I went for a little walk up and down the road in an (futile) attempt to get him to rest after a few days off schedule thanks to movers coming and packing up our apartment (it takes 6-8 weeks for stuff to transit to the U.S.). 

As we walked near the park, I noticed little girls staring at me funny. Yes, I was wearing a tichel (head scarf) in a very wig and snood heavy area, but it wasn't completely abnormal for Ramat Beit Shemesh. I considered my outfit as we did another round, and despite my long black skirt and simple blue top with a black cardigan over it, one girl made it painfully obvious what was resulting in the funny looks. 

Open-toed shoes. 

Yes, I was exposing my toes. What's more, I was exposing toes without any kind of pantyhose or tights (which, let's be honest, would have masked my naked toes anyway). 

Naked toes! May HaShem strike me down. 

Truth be told, they don't know any better. They're told not to wear open-toed shoes, so seeing someone with them must be like someone walking down the street in a burqa, I guess. They can't help but stare. 

I'd forgotten that there are places like this. They didn't throw rocks at me or say anything rude to me (that I heard anyway). They didn't go to my  hosts and demand they never invite me again. But when we're back over Passover, I'll remember to pack the black shoes and maybe, just maybe, some stockings. 

Note: The most beautiful thing about RBS is the sound of singing, children running around through the streets without a care in the world, families gathering and moving about at a slow and comfortable pace. Sometimes I'd like to take the people from my community and embed them there, mix it up, and see what kind of community I get. I think it might be the perfect community -- for me anyway. 

Going to America

With a heavy, heavy heart and the anticipation of assumptions, we're moving to the U.S. for a few years to be near my family. I'm not going to go into the details, but your thoughts and prayers are always welcome.

We're heading back after Passover, where we'll be stationed in Colorado with very frequent trips back and forth to Nebraska (the drive I've done 1 million times).

Stay tuned for more details. It's all happening very fast. This approach is like a bandaid, folks.

Note: We're coming back to Israel as soon as we possibly can. Most definitely by the time Ash hits school. Never fear. Eretz Yisrael hasn't spit us out for good. 

Did You Know? I'm Rocking About.com

I can't believe I didn't post about this here yet, but big news: I'm the About.com Judaism Expert!

Yes, I'm rocking the Judaism page with new and updated articles, blog posts, and weekly newsletters about all things Judaism. So far, topics have included

• Asara b'Tevet 
• Yom Yerushalayim 
• Ezra the Scribe 
• Jewish Holiday Calendar 
• The Fast of Gedaliah 
• Passover Fun for Kids 
• What is the Talmud? 
• Judaism and the Environment 
• The Jewish Divorce 
• What are the 613 commandments?  
• The Difference: Menorah versus Chanukiyah 
• The Four Mitzvot of Purim 
• Hair Covering in Judaism 
• Who was Rahab? 
• What are the Noahide Laws? 

If you never thought you'd need the About.com Judaism page, think again! Please give my articles a read, comment, share them wherever and whenever you can, and please feel free to send me article ideas that you think are missing from the site.

My greatest success will come from providing you all with fascinating and informative information about the religion of the once-Israelites and now Jews!

Doing Good: The Michael J. Fox Foundation Requests

Note: I was tapped by the Michael J. Fox Foundation to get the word out, and I love helping amazing causes change the face of disease, so please, if you can, spread the word, too. 

Needed: Clinical trial participants for a large-scale study.

Like HEXA in Tay-Sachs and BRCA in breast cancer, research suggests that a gene called LRRK2 is responsible for an estimated 15 percent of Parkinson’s disease cases in people of Eastern European (Ashkenazi) Jewish ancestry. Because of this, the foundation recently launched a clinical study focused on Parkinson’s disease and genetics. 

The study, the Parkinson’s Progression Markers Initiative (PPMI) is seeking individuals who meet either of the following criteria to complete a brief survey:

• People with PD who are of Eastern European (Ashkenazi) Jewish, North African Berber, or Basque ancestry
• People without PD who are related to someone with PD AND who are of Eastern European (Ashkenazi) Jewish, North African Berber, or Basque ancestry

Just click on this survey to see if you can help! 

GIVEAWAY: Listen, It's [Dot] Complicated

"A successful woman is one who can build a firm
foundation with the bricks others have thrown at her."
[modified from an original quote by David Brinkley]

Several months ago the amazing folks at Zuckerberg Media contacted me about reading, reviewing, and offering up a giveaway of Randi Zuckerberg's Dot Complicated: Untangling Our Wired Lives. If you're not sure who Randi is, but you recognize that obviously recognizable last name, yes, she's related to the illustrious Mark of Facebook fame. What you might not know is that Randi was the mastermind behind some of Facebook's most amazing and groundbreaking live streaming initiatives and relationships with big dogs like CNN and ABC.

As the master of her own company and life now, having written this stellar read about her experiences at Facebook and how she got out and launched herself, she's also a published children's book author. Her first masterpiece? Dot., a book for children about putting down the tech and enjoying life. In this children's book, the flutters and noises of technology are found outside, too, whether it's surfing down a hill or listening to the twitter of the birds. It's a beautiful pairing with her Dot Complicated book for adults. I envision myself sitting down to reread Randi's book someday with Ash sitting next to me with Dot. Sort of a his and her's experience, except in this case, it'll be a tech savvy mommy's and a tech savvy baby's experience.

In Dot Complicated, Randi is casual and paints one of the most vivid pictures of a life experience I've read in recent years. As a work of nonfiction, her honesty and candid reflections about being "Mark Zuckerberg's sister" and her breaking point when she realized that she had to get out and do her own thing in a big way. Her narrative is inspiring and I have no doubt in my mind that she's paving the way for future generations of women -- both through her children's book and her book for more adult-like individuals.

I also have to applaud her realistic approach to technology and how it is shaping our lives in positive and negative ways. Early on in the book she says the following:

The famous science-fiction writer Arthur C. Clarke once said, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." He was right. New technology is a kind of magic and today we can do things with ease that were impossible just a few years ago. Like magic, each new innovation has advanced our society and our potential. Of course, the seductive glow of these magical devices can also blind us to some of their downsides and effects." (57)

Her jaunts into her journey took me back to the days of AIM and the melancholy of being a teenager and college study.

Remember the effort you'd make to choose the perfect IM profile picture, or the time you invested in crafting the perfect "away" message? I admit that I spent way too much time selecting vague but meaningful lyrics from the latest song I was obsessed with. Plenty of times I would announce my presence online with "I believe I can fly," "I saw the sign," or "I get knocked down." (71)

Yes, I used to have "Sleep, those little slices of death" (a la Edgar Allen Poe) as one of my away messages. I was the original when it came to super vague and sometimes frightening posts in the "social" sphere.

Randi's take on the merging of the public and private spheres also had me rolling my fist in the air Arsenio Hall style.

"It can't be that we're going to have to adjust to a world where we cannot share anything but our utmost public and sterile information. Sharing the personal stuff with others is an essential aspect of what it means to be human. If our online lives are to be as fulfilling as our offline ones, and if those two lives are to be fully integrated, then as we go forward we need to find a way to bring back personal information online. We must be able to post some pool pics without the whole world finding out, even if one of our friends is feeling a little overenthusiastic with the share button that day. (80)

Preach! Now that's a manifesto. As someone whose life is very public by my own choice, I can't say enough about the truth in Randi's sentiments. I don't believe in separating the two, and neither does Randi. Huzzah!

I will say that one thing that slightly bummed me out, although not in a big way, was her reflections on being a Jewish woman and mother. A quick reference to Chinese food on Christmas a Jewish woman entrepreneur does not make.

That aside, probably the most valuable piece of actionable advice Randi dishes out is that everyday, you have to pick three from the following and that's it. You can't do it all, so pick three and make them work. And don't feel guilty about it either.

• Work
• Sleep
• Family
• Friends
• Fitness

I remember reading this before Ash was born and thinking "YES! What a great approach to life." Have I enacted the "pick three" philosophy? No. But guess what? Starting tomorrow, I'm going to because, let's be honest, I've been trying to pack four of those into every day (sorry, fitness). And maybe, maybe someday we'll all work for a company like FullContact in Denver, Colorado, which pays their employees $7,500 bonus if they don't take their phones with them on vacation. A girl can dream, right? (168)

Oh, and I don't forget: 

"The more successful you are and the more you have to say, the more people will be mean to you on the Internet. The only way forward is to embrace your haters. Don't be afraid of the keyboard cowards. Engage them." (237)

Have I sold you yet on Dot Complicated? If you haven't read the book already and are seriously jonesing for some mind-blowingly awesome writing, storytelling, and inspiration, hold tight! It's time for a giveaway. 

To be entered to win:

• Comment on this post and you'll be entered to win a copy of Dot Complicated!
• Share this blog post to Twitter and/or Facebook for an extra chance to win. You must include in your comment that you've posted on these social sites for the extra chances (i.e., "I'm commenting on your blog post to win this awesome book, and I also shared on Twitter and Facebook.")
• Contest is open to U.S. residents only.

I'll draw a winner at random on Wednesday, March 19 at midnight (EST). 

Back from the U.S. and ...

Photo taken by my mom, Debbie, at the Omaha airport before

we hopped on the first of three legs of air travel back to Israel. 

Oh hello there blog. What? I've been neglecting you? Yes, yes I have. With traveling back and forth to the U.S., work, and raising the fastest growing bundle of cute ever, I haven't been as active here on the blog as I want to be. I've got a bucketload of book reviews (including a few cookbooks of mention), a book giveaway, and tons of pictures and insights about being back in the U.S. to share. It'll take some time, but I'll get it all up. I promise.

The first and quickest thing I have to say?

Flying back into Israel, I always felt a rush of "I'm home!" in the past. Every trip I got the same sensation. This was the first time since 2009 that I saw the coastline and my thoughts turned to, "Is this really home? Is this really where I'm happiest?" I then reminded myself that home is where the heart is, and for me, home is where Ash and Mr. T are. They're here, I'm here, and thus, that's where my happiness can be found (for now anyway).

The U.S. was a time of comfort, a time where I could go to any grocery store and easily find vegetarian, vegan, and gluten-free products worth eating. Where convenience foods were just that, and I didn't have to think about cooking something from absolute scratch in order to be able to eat. It seems like a shallow, superficial thing to care about, but with the diet I'm sporting these days (gluten free as always, but now without many eggs, and without any dairy) it's hard to live in Israel.

But more on that later.

Also? Adventures in breast feeding were fun. That's going to be a post, without a doubt.

Time to go snuggle with the hubsters and little one. We're all sick, so we make for good company. Happy company, that is.

That Woman: We're Heading Stateside

We're seven weeks in to life with Ash, and it's magical.

Magical.

The first few weeks are hard and exciting, then things get rough if and when baby gets colicky, so you try a few things, figure out a plan, and attack. Then baby gets better, happier, and then the cooing and moments-that-sound-like-giggles-but-aren't-exactly start and it's falling in love like the first moment all over again.

I've learned to truly appreciate the Asher Yatzar blessing that Jews recite after going to the bathroom thanking HaShem for the proper functioning of the body. With a colicky baby whose gas and reflux make him a mini Godzilla, you realize the blessing of communication and proper body function. Can you imagine not having the ability to say "it hurts here, please help me" ...? That's a baby's life.

And now, with baby having calmed down a bit, we're off to the United States so he can meet his Grandma Deb and Grandpa Bob, his Uncles John and Joe, his cousins Owynn and Oliver, and his Aunt Jess. And ... maybe, just maybe ... he'll meet another new cousin if she shows up on time.

I'm scared to death of becoming "that woman" on the plane. You know, the one with the screaming child that won't calm down. I don't sleep on planes in any circumstances anyhow, so I don't mind being up and about with Ash while Mr. T catches some Zzzzs, but being "that woman" has always been my greatest fear when it comes to parenthood.

Assuming all goes well and the three legs of the flight go according to plan, we'll be stateside on Tuesday for a few weeks in Nebraska and Colorado. I'm hoping for snow, lots of cold weather, and all of the comforts of being back in familiar surroundings (Target, gluten-free and vegan food out my ears, and the ease and quiet of a life I know well).

I'll admit I'm anxious about going home. The fact that I call it home is enough to get me lashed here in Israel, too.

When you make aliyah to Israel, you are home. Right? But I still refer to Nebraska as home. If home is where the heart is, does it mean my heart is in the U.S.? Does it mean I'm not really committed to life in Israel?

It's stupid that I'm eager to shop at Trader Joe's and pick up the gluten-free food that made life easy and liveable back in the U.S. I'm excited to go to Target where the clothes are inexpensive and fit me. I'm elated to see coworkers I haven't met yet and to spend even half a day working with them in a "normal" work environment for the first time in a year and a half. But at the same time, it isn't stupid. It's just the life I know. The life I've been comfortable with. It's the life I know how to live. Emotionally and financially.

Since Ash was born, I've been scared to death of postpartum depression because of what I've been through in the past. I've been keeping the most obsessive and close tabs on it. Luckily, I haven't been experiencing depression.

But am I happy?

There's something a little askew right now, and I'm worried that going home is going to show me that little bit that I'm missing. That nudge of what I need to feel stable. And then what?

I suppose we'll see what two weeks in the U.S. does for me. Maybe I'll have the reaction of some friends that people in the U.S. are commercially obsessed and life there is miserable. I have an inkling that it will be quite the opposite of reactions.

Either way, I hope Ash doesn't make me "that woman" on the plane. Let's start there.