I'm 31 Today

Yea, verily, today I am 31 years old. I have been on this earth for 31 intensely perplexing, often stressful and emotionally exhausting, years.

I started my birthday with a 9-month-old pretending I was some mighty mountain to be conquered while spouting "Bahhhh" sounds and a notification that my bank account was overdrawn.

Then I got dressed in my birthday outfit (thanks inlaws!) and took off to Comcast (aka Xfinity), where I've been now three times over the past several days because some stranger managed to cancel our cable and internet over Rosh HaShanah. "We really don't know what happened," they continue to tell me.

And then? Then I went into my former place of employment and picked up my things and stuff and said "see ya!" That was both awkward, super awkward, and depressing.

Now we're trying to plan for -- G-d forbid -- the worst as Mr. T's grandmother appears to not be doing very well back in the UK, which means a nightmare of immigration problems as we are still, still, still waiting for his green card, travel documents, and work permit to come through. If we leave the country without getting approval, then the paperwork is canceled and we start again from scratch. Yay!

But hey. There's an ice cream cake in my future, a gift card to Old Navy to be spent, and, who knows, maybe I'll land an amazing job in the next few days or so. Unfortunately KISSmetrics was a bust (killed me, it was the perfect job).

Do I sound kvetchy? I am. Maybe Aimee Mann said it best in "31 Today." Minus the Guiness, of course.

"I thought my life would be different somehow."

Shanah Tovah!

Although we're living in galut (exile, or better yet, the U.S. and not Israel), there is something special about this place during the holidays. Not living in Los Angeles or Chicago or New York or another city with a giant Jewish community means that the chances of running into a Jew, you would think, are slim.

Being in Denver this time of year, as Rosh HaShanah is on our doorstep, greetings and connections have popped up in the most unusual of places.

I stopped into Target this morning to spend a gift card that my in-laws sent me early for my birthday (yipes, turning 31 on the 30th) and heard greetings of "Shanah Tovah!" coming from nowhere in particular (seriously, I looked, I didn't see any Jews, I just heard the voices ... am I nuts?). Walking to the car in the parking lot after my migraine-fueled adventure into yellow cardigan purchasing, I saw a very tall, tanned blonde piling out of a minivan full of men.

As she approached our car, she took one look at our Na Nach sticker, one look at me (tichel wearing) and shouted "Shanah Tovah!" A bit startled, I responded in kind.

A bit later, while Ash and I did our final run out for groceries (seriously, does holiday shopping ever end?) at Trader Joe's (where everything is now pumpkin spiced, including the pumpkin seeds), the girl at the next check counter popped over to help bag our groceries.

Hannah, with a hamsa and star of David around her neck, wished us a "Shanah Tovah!" and proceeded to explain how she was working during the holiday. She did, however, make sure to pick up apples, honey, and a pomegranate. Although it bummed me out that she has to work instead of enjoy the holiday in all its joy and splendor, I understand where she's coming from.

I've always waffled between being Jewish being easier/harder outside of Israel, where being Jewish is a breeze, it's a given, it's carefree. In the U.S. you have to really try hard to find the little Jewish sparks here and there, especially when you don't live in a community like Teaneck, New Jersey.

And when you do find those little connections, it's beautiful and reminds me that the Jewish people are here, there, and everywhere -- in their own way and their own style.

Shanah Tovah everyone!

Box-of-the-Month Club Review: Gwynnie Bee and Bluum

In an attempt to get work done I'm falling down the rabbit hole of the internet as I wait for iOS8 to figure itself out because I'm tired. I'm more tired lately than I have been because although Asher consistently wakes up at 6 a.m. every morning, I can't seem to get in a habit of going to bed early in order to accommodate such an early arising. Then again, we did just move houses and I did just spend the past two weeks sick (cough cough, hack hack), and I can't seem to figure out these mysterious hives that have plagued me for more than two months now.

But yipeee! There are glimmers of hope in the cloud of exhaustion and coffee-fueled mornings in the form of ... subscription box-of-the-month clubs! You may or may not recall that I used to work for a gluten-free box-of-the-month club several years ago, but it looks like these boxes have not lost their steam. The market wants variety, it wants to try before you buy, it wants to examine quality, taste, experience before going all in. 

I'll be honest, it's an amazing world we live in when you can order something for minimal cost, wear it as much as you want, and then buy or return. It's like a revolving closet. When it comes to food boxes, the ability to sample something before buying an industrial-size box at CostCo is brilliant. 

I'm currently subscribing to the first-month-free trial for Gwynnie Bee, which is a plus-size clothing subscription box, and the amazing folks at Bluum, goodies for mommy and baby, sent me a box to try out. 

The Bluum box starts at $20.99 and sends goodies for mommy and baby from pregnancy through preschool. The great thing about this box is that it's customized for your baby's age, which means you won't get any toys or treats that Little Timmy can't use for the next year. There are a bunch of stellar plans (monthly, three months, six months, a year), and there's always free shipping. 

By and large I was happy with the box, although the treat that came in (dried snap peas) was not kosher, so unfortunately we couldn't use/eat those. There were two items in the box geared toward the pacifier crowd (a pacifier carrier to attach to a buggy or bag and a fuzzy worm to attach to a pacifier), which also didn't help us because -- lucky for us -- Ash never took to a pacifier or thumb sucking. The Dr. Seuss bowl was a treat after my husband's own heart, and the book was absolutely adorable. Ash took his first own solo bath last night (with me in the room, of course) and absolutely loved chewing on the bath temperature ducky. I also have to offer up mad props for the really clean, colorful packaging. It's nice to know what your'e getting the moment you see the box in your post!

As for Gwynnie Bee, I couldn't have been more happy to find this box. There are a lot of really stellar clothing subscription boxes, but finding one that caters to the plus-size crowd is next to impossible. Oddly enough, even plus-size thrift stores/consignment shops has become quite the rage here in Denver.

How does it work? You subscribe to Gwynnie Bee in one of three ways: get three items of clothing per month, two per month, or one per month. It's a bit pricey, so the one-month free is a genius idea that will tell you whether it's going to be "worth it" or not for you. You fill up your online closet with selections from their bounty of brands, sizes, and styles, and the clothing curators at Gwynnie Bee will package and send your clothes out depending on your subscription. Then, you can wear the clothing item as much as you want or send it back if it doesn't fit and they'll keep sending clothes out to you with free shipping and free returns. 

Talk about a dream closet, right?!

Please ignore the earrings/head covering in the first photo. 

I would never wear that combo, but for the sake of blog photos ...

Of the eight articles of clothing they've sent my way so far, only one dress has really fit well and looked good and one cardigan is just cozy and beautiful. A third item, a beautiful black-and-white dress has the perfect cut (and pockets!), but I need a smaller size. They've been really great about swapping out clothes quickly when something arrived damaged. But I do wish they'd rethink their packaging. One accidental slicing and you've cut the clothes. 

Will I continue paying the $79/month for a three-garment plan? I'm still not sure. It's a great way to try out a ton of different plus-size clothing brands in one easy go, but even with the discounts on purchasing the clothing prices are pretty steep. Designer plus-size clothing is crazy expensive for reasons I just don't understand. 

Do you have a favorite subscription box? Have you been able to find any food-based boxes that cater to the kosher crowd? 

The Hardest Thing About Being a Working Mom?

It has to be this.

I watched this and was both so happy and so sad at the same time. Happy because my little boy is getting so big at nearly 9 months old and because his dad was around to watch him take his first unguided steps (albeit holding on to something), but sad because I missed this moment in his development and growth.

Being a working mother sucks sometimes. My baby boy is getting so big.

How do you cope?

It's Elul and the King is in the Field

The King is in the field, and I'm in Nebraska. There are, of course, plenty of fields here and on the derech (way) to and from Colorado. This monthly trip has become old hat for us, with our Shabbats spent in Omaha becoming a normal part of our lives. There is so much going on, so many emotions floating about. 

The Ba'al Shem Tov said that from Rosh Chodesh Elul (the first of the month) through Rosh HaShanah, "the King is in the field," prepared to listen, accept, and hear our prayers completely and wholly. 

Jews the world over are called upon to recite Tehillim (Psalm) 27 during this month as a segulah (something that changes your path or luck). Although the true source is unknown, the theory behind this custom is that it can reverse even the most set-in-stone heavenly decrees. 

Within Tehillim 27 is a refrain that has been a potent part of my life since I started this blog, as it was once in the header of this blog years and years ago. 

Hear (listen to) my voice, HaShem, when I call; 

be gracious to me, and answer me (7). 

It's easy to feel like our prayers are disappearing into an ether of unanswerable silence. Whether for a simple night of rest after so many sleepless sleeps with a baby at my side or for guidance, patience, and peace after experiencing the threat of forces trying to destroy my life, my spirit, my marriage —  the month of Elul is a time for all prayers. It is a time for impassioned pleas and tearful attempts at vocalizing the pain that this world brings to the soul. The King is in the field, waiting, just waiting to hear voices of repentance. 

When I light Shabbat candles every week, I have a regiment of things I say. I thank HaShem for so many things and then begin my pleas. Requests for guidance, patience, parnassah, work, and a path to be a good Jew. 

Teach me your way, HaShem (11). 

That's also part of the same Psalm. Every year I suddenly remember that this Psalm is my weekly prayer said by the light of the Shabbat candles. The important thing that I frequently forget, however, is also found here:

HaShem is the stronghold of my life, 

from who should I be afraid (1). 

And this, perhaps, is the most important lesson in the entirety of Psalm 27. I can ask, ask, ask and pray, pray, pray and repent all I want, but if I don't believe and trust that HaShem will protect me and provide me strength and never give me something I can't handle, then all is lost. And it's the first line in the Psalm! But my greatest fault and downfall in life is to forget that I'm not in control, that there is so much bigger and more powerful than I am. That I cannot control everything. That sometimes, I have to relent, repent, and remember that any fear I have is because I've forgotten who is responsible for everything. 

I just need to hear the shofar. Just once, and I hope my soul will remember. Traveling is hard when it comes to this time of year. Perhaps we should have brought our own shofar ... 

How do you remember — even in the hardest, most trying moments — that HaShem is your rock and strength? How do you personalize such an ethereal concept? 

Taking Submissions: Top Judaism Rumors and Conversion Myths

Do you have a pet peeve when it comes to rumors about Judaism? Do the "hole in a sheet" or "Jews have horns" myths drive you absolutely nuts? Share your favorite rumors about Judaism with me in the comments!

Also, if there are myths about conversion to Judaism and Jewish converts, share those, too. I'm working on a few articles for About.com, and I want to pick your brain (it's called crowdsourcing, because you, my readers, are amazing).

Want to check out some of my recent articles? Here you go:

• What's a segulah?
• The Top 5 Most Misunderstood Things About Judaism
• Jews and Shoes (Davening Barefoot)
• Judaism's Views on Suicide

Ready? Set? Submit your pet peeves and kvetch at me!

Still Sitting in the Catbird Seat

Back in January, when Ash was just a wee bean, I wrote about the deliciously awesome Catbird Baby carrier I'd been sent for review. With our dip into babywearing, we were exploring Moby-style wraps, Mei Teis, and Baby Bjorn-style carriers. In case you need a refresher on why "catbird" is the perfect terminology for any schlepped-about baby:

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first recorded usage occurred in a 1942 humorous short story by James Thurber titled "The Catbird Seat," which features a character, Mrs. Barrows, who likes to use the phrase. Another character, Joey Hart, explains that Mrs. Barrows must have picked up the expression from Red Barber, a baseball broadcaster, and that to Barber "sitting in the catbird seat" meant "'sitting pretty,' like a batter with three balls and no strikes on him."

It was Catbird's mei tei that I initially fell in love with when Ash was small, but as time went on and we became more mobile, the pikkolo became (and still is) my go-to carrier.

Here's Ash at four months after our trip
to the U.S. and before our move to
the U.S.He is loving his carrier because
he can see everything and every one!

When we first visited the U.S. back in February before we made the decision to move, we struggled to pack lightly when it came to baby carriers. Mr. T was fond of the moby-style wrap we'd concocted, while I was using a ring sling. While in the U.S., we even picked up an additional ring sling to replace the one I'd been borrowing, but Mr. T stuck to the stretchy wrap that I just couldn't master.

Almost the moment we got back to Israel, I feel like Ash wasn't perceptive to the ring sling, so I needed an alternative. I finally got to give the pikkolo from Catbird a try, and I haven't looked back.

When we made the move to the U.S. in April, it made life a breeze in the airport when we packed the stroller full of our carry-ons. With no space for Ash in the overflowing stroller, he rode in the Catbird seat! It's amazing how comfortable he was in it and how easy it is to get on and adjust when I'm by myself.

The most surprising thing I've found about having the Catbird pikkolo as a consistency is that Ash knows the carrier. If he's kvetching and whining in the car and losing it when we park and I get out, he calms down and gets excited the moment he sees me putting on the carrier. When he was very little, I used to call it his "special Asher chair," and he now knows that it's his special spot to see everything going on and he brightens up and calms down immediately. Talk about a baby making a positive association!

Do you have a favorite carrier? What do you like about it? Have you changed carriers as your child's needs and size have changed? 

Confession Time: The Toughest Part About Being in the U.S.

I have a confession to make: It's hard being back in the U.S. Really hard. Yes, I miss my friends and my adopted family back in Neve Daniel and Jerusalem, and I miss the convenience of observing Judaism with ease and a level of comfort I can't find anywhere else. But this isn't what I'm talking about. 

I'm talking about the temptation. 

I didn't grow up Jewish. We all know this. In fact, I didn't start strictly observing things like modesty and keeping kosher until well into my 20s. That's a lot of my life spent with the conveniences of America: McDonalds, Chick-Fil-A, and other terrible, bad-for-you convenience restaurants and fast-food stops. I mean, I could probably count the number of home-cooked meals I made in college on my two hands. No feet needed here, folks. College was Subway, Wendy's, Taco John's, Taco Bell, D'Leon's ... (no wonder my pregnancy food was Mexican). 

Do you know how hard it is to drive down the street, starving, and not stop into a Mickey D's for some delicious, greasy French fries? 

Having worked at McDonalds for two years in high school, I know that they are pretty strict about their standards of what they cook and where. The fry stations are used strictly for fries. No chicken nuggets or patties or anything. Just. Fries. 

Knowing this, of course, is hard for me. Yes, there are a million problems with picking up French fries from a completely non-kosher establishment, even if there was a giant box around the fry station that other, non-kosher food never entered, but knowing, just knowing that those are dedicated fryers ... AGH! It kills me. 

The temptation, of course, is constantly pushed down by the fact that I'm a kosher-keeping Jew, of course. Being gluten free also helps push the temptation down because, well, let's be honest, there isn't much eating out I can do here or in Israel where I can eat carefree. 

But it's tough. Yes, this is a first-world problem situation, but it's just plain difficult. You have to constantly have snacks with you and plan meals out like a drill sergeant because if you get caught starving and it's dinnertime, Denver gives you few options for a quick bite to eat. 

There's the ever-amazing Brooklyn Pizza, but how much pizza can you eat in one week? There's a delicious ice cream joint High Point Creamery, but too much ice cream makes for tummy woes and despite an Italian-themed favorite, it isn't a meal. We don't go to the local deli because, well, too many stories about food poisoning and the place just doesn't respect itself enough for me to respect it.  And then there's the fact that all of these restaurants are clustered in a specific part of town absolutely nowhere near where I work. 

Oh what I wouldn't give for a nearby restaurant to go out to lunch with my coworkers. To feel like a normal member of a "working lunch" society. 

The amount of times we've been out running errands and stopped someplace to buy a package of lettuce, some tomatoes, and packaged smoked salmon to hodgepodge a bite to eat would blow your mind. We can't pop into an Aroma or local gas station where the food is just plain kosher like in Israel or even in places like Teaneck or NYC. 

Am I kvetching too much? Perhaps. I'm just feeling the pressure. The pressure of being a full-time working mother who lives someplace that is chock full of Jews but doesn't have the dining and cultural infrastructure to meet the demands.

No worries folks. No slippery slope over here (been there, done that). 

I suppose this is part of teshuvah (repentance). I'm being placed in situations and scenarios where it would be easy for me to eat out here or there just getting the "vegan" or "vegetarian" option like I did once upon a time when I was less than strict in my observance of kashrut. 

I just keep telling myself: The tummy grumbles and moments of hunger are worth the healthy choices at home. We'll be back in Israel soon. HaShem is working this out with me. One day at a time. 

A HydroChic Swimsuit Review

A note about this video: Only one actual photo got taken, as the storm blew in and we blew out (of the pool, that is). And with that, on with the show!

 

Have you tried out HydroChic or another modest swimwear collection? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Good news! Use coupon SUMMER14 to get 15% off any non-sale items.

The Sky is Falling, or Why Does it All Hurt So Bad?

"The sky is falling, the sky is falling," said Chaviva. Move over Chicken Little, this mama is struggling.

For two weeks we had Mr. T's son iBoy with us in Denver. It was amazing. Although I spent the bulk of that time guilty that I wasn't actively in the office working because of all of the ups and downs of being back in the U.S., we had an amazing time traversing Colorado. I saved up all the places I wanted to take Mr. T until iBoy was here. We went to the Celestial Seasonings tea factory (alas, no babies allowed, so I got hopped up on tea in the tasting room), Garden of the Gods, to the Flatirons near Boulder, down to the REI flagship store and rented a kayak and went out on the lake in a thunderstorm ... we did tons of things to keep ourselves entertained, to show iBoy how beautiful it is here, and to make sure, above all, he felt like he was our family, that we love him, that we miss him, and that we want what is best for him in life.

It was a hard thing letting him go on Monday, but these things have to happen (legally, of course). Since then, it's been tough to get him on the phone or Skype, which has been hard on us all. Ash got used to him being around, Mr. T got used to having him around and his entire demeanor changed -- after all, wouldn't yours with both of your sons around you? And me? I got used to seeing Ash light up in a new way, to seeing Mr. T so, so happy, and to having the sound of giggling and snoring and the thump of iBoy running around the apartment and begging to go out and play soccer with his dad.

Last Shabbat we spent ages with iBoy and his dad playing soccer, until it started to rain. Ash and I sat and watched, with Ash mesmerized by this bigger version of himself kicking around a ball and falling all over the grass with his dad.

We felt like a complete unit during those two weeks. So it's a bit heartbreaking as we go back to "normal" without iBoy.

On Tuesday, after dropping iBoy in Omaha, we stopped in to check on my dad, who'd taken the week off from work. Mr. T, playing on a Jewish softball league, wanted to pick up my dad's old bag of softball bats that they had out in their storage unit. I don't think my dad had touched those bats since we left Joplin in 1996. In southern Missouri, baseball reigns supreme. T-ball, little league, adult league softball, it consumes the summertime. My dad played on and coached softball teams throughout my childhood, and he loved the sport. His bats were housed in a green, old Navy bag with his name stamped on the shoulder strap. It's not that military surplus stuff, it's the real deal.

Then, on the way out of the unit, my dad started acting weird. Buckled safely into the car, he wasn't answering questions I asked again and again, and then? Then he seized. His entire body clenched into a giant fist. Asher was in the backseat watching Baby Einstein, Mr. T was in the seat next to him, and I was in the driver's seat, my dad next to me, and I held him and panicked.

In an instant I became a child again. I don't think I've called my father "Daddy" in years. All of a sudden it's the only thing I could say, with a giant question mark at the end of every single utterance of the word. He shook, he clenched, it was like I was watching a TV show or movie. It was textbook. I'd seen it before, but never never in person. I knew they were happening, but I'd never experienced it.

I just held him. I held his head when it flung back. I grabbed the storage unit keys from his hand once his body relaxed. We raced to the hospital, not sure if it was the right one, unable to call my mom thanks to T-Mobile having zero service in Lincoln, Nebraska.

He was out of body the entire drive. For 20 minutes he was gone. His head back, my hand holding it up, it was almost like he was sleeping, snoring. I kept on. "Daddy? Daddy? Are you okay? Daddy?"

We got to the hospital and all of a sudden I was in parent mode. My dad slowly became lucid, but didn't know what happened or where we were or why we were there. He was curled into himself, not sure of himself. I coaxed him out of the car with nurses, took him inside. Gave them his information; they knew him, he'd been there before.

They went through the same motions as always. CT scans, EKGs, vitals, etc. He slowly became lucid and realized what was going on. We were all frustrated, especially after several hours when the ER doctor came in and said everything looked fine; they were sending him home. As usual.

I now understand what he is going through, first hand, after seeing it, and after seeing how the ER doesn't seem to have much to say or do about it all. They offer up the usual: three meals a day, cool and calm environment, low-stress activities, plenty of sleep, take your meds.

For months this has been going on. No one seems to really have a good idea of what's causing the seizures or why. So I found an internist who is going to take on his case. And we're going to hope, pray that something gets figured out.

On that note, maybe Mr. T and I will move to Nebraska and set up a B&B or a little shul for passersby to have a nice, quiet Shabbat. We'd be close to dad, rent would be cheaper, we'd have peace of mind.

Ah emotions. Between family and what's happening in Israel, my head is about to explode. The things of the world that do make sense people don't seem to get (you can't negotiate with terrorists) and the things that should make sense (having seizures, a child and divorced parents) just don't.

HaShem? Let us see you.

It's Been So Good!

Check out the family! After an eight hour drive to Nebraska so he can be back with his mom tomorrow, you can guarantee we'll miss iBoy.

The Difference: Christians, Muslims, and Jews

I posted this to Facebook and it was well received, so ...

Something interesting that my dad pointed out to me.

Christians are more than happy to kill other Christians who don't practice the faith the way that they do. (Look at Ireland.) 

Muslims are definitely more than happy to kill other Muslims who don't practice the faith the way they do. (Sunnis vs. Shi'ites, Hamas's religious leanings vs. moderate Muslims, etc.) 

And Jews? Well, when it comes to Jews and other Jews who don't practice or live the way they do, they complain a lot, they treat each other poorly a lot of the time, they tell them they're "not Jewish" or that they're "too Jewish." But you know what they don't do? They don't kill each other en masse.

It just. Doesn't. Happen.

Why?

Jews value life, above all. The life that we live in this world is the most important for Jews. We don't worry about the afterlife, what's coming, what's not coming. We live in the here and now, so we cherish life more than anything.

And that's the difference.

Note: My dad was raised in a Christian household. Not a crazy bible-thumping one, but a moderate one, and he raised us with one rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. That helped guide me to Judaism.)

This is My Narrow Bridge: What's Been Going On

The world is a very narrow bridge, and the main thing is to not be afraid. 

כל העולם כולו גשר צר מאוד, והעיקר לא להתפחד כלל

(Rebbe Nachman of Breslov) 

I've been so very mum the past few weeks here on the blog while so many things in my life tumble around. The utterly disgusting reality of what's happening in Israel paired with our own familial issues with my father being in the hospital, dealing with the small tree's worth of paperwork for Mr. T's immigration paperwork, preparing for iBoy to come visit, and the money being hemorrhaged for everything has my mind in a bit of a flutter, my body exhausted, and the concept of decent sleep off in the faraway distance somewhere.

Mr. T and I speak frequently about the guilt that we feel about being in the U.S. with everything going on in Israel. Part of me feels blessed to have experienced the "raining rockets" lifestyle after making aliyah a few years ago, because I now know what the fear feels like. I know what the desperation feels like. And I know what the "life as normal" necessity feels like. We're happy we're here in the U.S. and safe, but all of our friends -- who are so much our family -- are still there, and it horrifies us minute to minute. The deaths of the three teenage boys that seems to have set this all off has me more afraid than ever of raising a child in Israel. Reality smacked me in the face.

Yes, I know that children are kidnapped and murdered everywhere in the world. But it's different. At least in the U.S. it's different.

Here, a random psycho -- even if it's someone familiar with your family -- could cause you and your children harm. It's a fluke, an imbalance, a direct attack.

In Israel, it's a bunch of random psychos who have it in their mind that all Jews, all Israelis, are worthless and unnecessary. It's the continuation of so many episodes of marginalization, murder, and massacre. It's personal. It's different. Those three teens weren't kidnapped and murdered because of a random psycho. They were kidnapped and murdered because they were Jews. Their existence stood in the way of a world that's Judenrein.

It's hard being here. Having iBoy with us for two weeks very soon will be bittersweet. He'll be safe in our home. He'll be loved and cared for and not at risk. No red alerts, no rockets. But then he'll rejoin his mother and go back to Israel and be in danger again. B'ezrat haShem (thank God) the conflict will be over by then, but if it isn't? We'll continue to be on edge.

My father's health is up and down, left and right, and the brain is proving itself elusive and a formidable, frustrating foe that won't reveal why its doing what it's doing. It's scary. I feel the reality of growing up, getting older, even more than when he was diagnosed with lymphoma or had bypass surgery. I feel older than I should with the fear that my dad is mortal, that he's outlived his own parents by dozens of years, and that not knowing what's going on is scary. Very scary. In the moments you should feel like an adult you're sent back to the scary days of being a child and not knowing or understanding.

Mr. T's immigration paperwork has been sent off at last. I have quickly become a pro at filing the i-130, the i-485, the i-131, the i-765, and the dozens of supporting documents required. I've also become a pro at writing checks for thousands of dollars. Become an American is stupid expensive. It's prohibitive. I now understand why there are so many illegal immigrants.

America is not the melting pot it once was. It's a place where they want to make sure you won't leach off the government. Oddly enough, it's the people born here who seem to do that more than the immigrants. They just want to work. Mr. T is desperate to work. It makes me sad that I know people who can work and won't because they're lazy and ungrateful and my husband is desperate to work and pay taxes but can't.

It's stupid.

But small victories in the past few days over people who talk a big game but ultimately have zero clue what they're doing have shown me that HaShem truly does run the universe. The plan is there. It's big. HaShem is big. And although I fall -- constantly -- HaShem gives me the nudges I need to remember that it's all bigger than me.

All I have to do is remember that.

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.