Oh, and then there was when we left Argo Tea ... and we were walking down the street ... and this guy who was either soliciting funds for some charity or trying to get us to sign something ...

Him: Do you have a minute?
Us: No, sorry.
Him: ... Are you Jewish?
The boy: Uhh ..... no.

As we walk away, the guy says sort of under his breath "Yes you are."

Then I realized a bit later that I have a button with Hebrew on it on the back of my backpack.

Weird. Why'd he ask? We don't know.

A challenge.

I'm sitting in Argo Tea near Michigan Avenue in Chicago. Just by Water Tower place. I'm at a table among tables crowded with people, headphones in, listening to Explosions in the Sky (my Torah music). My Etz Hayim is open to Ezekiel 37:1-14, reading between talking via GChat with Ian.

An older man with bad teeth appears over my shoulder, and with a thick British accent says, "Greek?"

I pull off my headphones and show him the cover, "No, it's Hebrew ... Torah."

He responds very quickly, as if waiting to quiz someone -- anyone -- with, "Ahh, how many Sabbath days in Passover!?"

I, taken aback at his random quizzing because it doesn't appear as a friendly exchange, but rather a challenge of "what do you know there little Hebrew girl?," respond with, "Well, the first two and last two days are treated as holidays." I, being Reform and in the Diaspora, know there are differences in the traditions. But this is the first thing I say, of course.

Wrong! He chides me, says "look it up! look it up!" and points me to Leviticus. There are TWO days, he says. And of course, in tradition, yes, there are. He then retrieves his Christian bible and reads the verses to me. I respond by mumbling the Hebrew translations and he continues to correct me when I say that the harvest was 'raised up' ... in the Christian bible it says it was waived about, I guess.

Then, almost as an insult he says, "You must be Reform, eh? Maybe someday you'll become Orthodox and really know your stuff!" He then talks about Easter and the crucifixion and blah blah blah. A barista approaches, mouthing "Are you okay?" The guy eventually shuts up and walks away.

It was like he was challenging me. Like he could see a sign above my head that says "Pick on me! I'm the Reform girl reading Torah in a tea shop! Please, quiz me!"

But it's bigger than that. He stood above me and I sat. I was below him. He reciting words from his Christian bible proving he knows better than I about the tradition. But I knew. Why didn't I just say "Listen man, this is the Diaspora, we do things differently. Not everything in the bible is word for word nowadays. It isn't the precision that matters, it's the passion." But I didn't. Why? I felt intimidated. Unprepared.

Why?

It's Good Friday. Beware one and all. These used to be the days when the Jews got nervous and skittish. Blood in matzo and all that. Mrph.

What a day. Chunks of meat in my ranch and getting lectured by the Christian on my own holiday. Slap! Slap! Slap!

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Here's the thing: I live with my boyfriend, and it's great. Are we living in sin? Who knows. But there's another roommate. A third roommate. A relative of the boyfriend. A guy who ... well ... sort of has a problem understanding personal objects and space. That is, he eats our food and drinks our drinks. And even when he makes an effort to replace items he has consumed, he sometimes downs it all again without a care in the world. Now, he's a really nice guy, but because of this issue, I've sort of come to my wit's end. Why?

Last weekend the boyfriend and I went to the grocery store, where I procured choice goods that were special for Pesach. Namely, one of the hardest items to procure was salad dressing, seeing as most dressings (if not every single one but the one I happ'd upon) has corn syrup oozing through it's plastic. So I had this special ranch dressing, and I was going to use it on a salad today, when lo and behold, it had been opened last night. There was orange grease all over the cap and bottle (at first, I thought, wings were eaten with this ranch). Then I looked into the bottle ... and there were ... CHUNKS. Of meat. Not chicken though, no ... there were chunks of TAMALE in my Kosher for Passover ranch dressing.

Chunks.
Of.
Tamales.

In the dressing. You know that feeling when a little vomit comes up into your throat? Yah. That happened. Here I am, with my salad, ready to go, and this. Sigh. It was the last straw. I'd made condiments free game, but no more. Oh no more.

This is why I can't do roommates.

This Pesach has been with its weaknesses, I will admit that. And I haven't been perfect. But no bread has been consumed, gall darn't. And that salad was going to be so good. So very good. With leftover chicken from last night. Sigh.

Oh, and I tried to make cottage cheese fritters (sort of like latkes with the cottage cheese), but to no avail. They turned out soggy and not that great. I think next time will require some more sugar for a sweeter taste. I also have to figure out how to make them a wee bit crispier.

Another oh! The meal for breaking Pesach is going to be fish and chips. I'm stoked. Now I just have several days to go. And no salad dressing. Damnit.

The anti-Pesach food.

So my boyfriend is a HEATHEN! Well, not a heathen ... he just isn't observing Passover. So while I nosh on matzo with cream cheese and jelly or charoset ... he's noshing on this. Yes. That's charoset on bread, with cream cheese and a little butter. It's Italian-Jewish fusion, he says. I present to you, Charoset Bruschetta.

Evidently it's really amazing. In a week, you can bet I'll be making some fresh charoset and will be trying this out. I'll admit, it looks delicious. I'm jealous, of course.

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In other news: There is a job prospect on the front. It has nothing to do with Judaism or journalism, and I'm okay with that. It's a stepping stone and a job until grad school. On the positive, though, is that this gig is at the University of Chicago, includes benefits and half-price tuition. Talk about a STELLAR deal. I'd kill for some Hebrew classes right about now. Anyhow, here's to hoping for a job. I love sleeping in, really, but it's getting old. I've been unemployed for three weeks. It's about time I throw myself back into society, don't you think?

Chag Sameach.

I did some cooking. Okay, that's an overstatement. I made charoset and then some matzo pizza with the help of the boyfriend, who made me some delicious mostly-kosher-for-Passover pizza sauce (that is: tomato sauce and paste salt-free, some cherry Manishewtiz and spices). But first, the charoset.
I wish it had turned out a little bit more ... mortar-like. It wasn't as together as I would have liked, but it's delicious. Then came the pizza goodness.

It's merely the sauce, some cheese and your run-of-the-mill matzo.

Seriously, it was delicious. Absolutely, delicious. Basically it tasted like a super thin-crust pizza. I intend on eating it repeatedly throughout the week.

I downed that pizza like a starving child in the Sahara. The rest of the week will consist of some matzo farfel kugel (apple!) and probably some matzo ball soup. All goods that can be found in my kosher-for-Passover cuboard!


I hope everyone else's Passover is muddling about well.

Blessed be.

My last surviving grandfather, John E. Baskette, a survivor of Pearl Harbor and other events of war, passed away today. He was 83 years old.

Baruch dayen ha'emet.

A Seder Recap

Sigh. Chag Sameach friends and foes and bloggers.

So the boy and I headed up to Temple Sholom on Lake Shore for a first-night, community-wide young adult seder. Ian didn't stay because of outerlying factors, but I have some thoughts in general on the evening, because truth be told, the evening was a bust.

1) This was a young adult seder, aimed at people 22 to 40. There were 250 people signed up, and it was held in a gigantic room at the temple with tables seated for seven. It was open seating and ... there was NO MICROPHONE. Now, it started at 7:30 on a Monday. That means most people came straight from work or shortly thereafter. It's the beginning of the week. You don't have a microphone. People were RESTLESS. Talkative. Antsy. The rabbi was talkative, not loud enough, and this caused people to leave before the meal was even served. We hadn't even touched the second cup of wine when dozens got up and left. Why? It was 9:30 and we weren't anywhere close to dinner. Finally, the rabbi speeded it up and the evening ended around 10:30. A three-hour seder with a group of young adults? Most of whom likely were twice-a-year attenders? Ridiculous.

2) The haggadah (The Feast of Freedom edition) was ... well ... wordy. It's a great haggadah, and I've seen longer, but there was no transliteration. There was English and Hebrew, but NO transliteration. This meant about 10 people sang everything with the rabbi and the rest sort of hummed the tune. It isn't like services -- it happens once a year! Because it was a community-wide seder, there were Reform, Conservative, (Orthodox?), Conservadox, Reconstructionist -- you name it. A little help would have been STELLAR. It sucked to not be able to participate, because I could read the Hebrew quick enough. I mean, I can do it ... but not that quick, darn't!
See, there's the English on the left there and the Hebrew on the right ... but nothing else! I will admit that this haggadah WAS sort of nice because it had gleanings and explanations and insights on the margins of both pages to offer tidbits on what was going on. The weird thing, however, was that it sort of ... well ... skipped things. We never ate the egg. Well, our table did, anyhow.

3) Tables were doing their seders willy nilly. I sort of supported this, because it was going along so slowly and everyone was so hungry that it was almost necessary. The problem? Our table wasn't, so we were just hanging out as all the other tables noshed on matzo and charoset. I would have supported two large groups or tables to run their own. The shul I went to last year in Omaha did a great job with the large crowd ... but they had a mic. Then again, there was children there last year.

4) The dinner was not warm by the time we got it, unfortunately. The great thing about it was that there was this great matzo farfel kugel ... man. It tasted like bread pudding, really. Which was sort of a treat, of course. The rest of the food was pretty gross. Luckily, the gefilte fish was DELICIOUS with the horseradish. The charoset was pretty subpar, unfortunately. And we never got through the four cups of wine. Somewhere along the line, a few glasses just didn't appear in the haggadah. Sigh. A bust, really.

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So basically, by 10 p.m. after dinner, there were about 50 people left. I felt really bad for the rabbi (who seemed pretty young himself), but the way things were going, it was inevitable. There was a woman going from table to table around 9 p.m. asking for someone to go tell the rabbi to quit his yabbering. If anything, I felt bad for the rabbi. It made me think ... would I be willing to keep schlepping through it all in hopes of getting to a few people if I were a rabbi? I don't know, really.

I'll end my first-night Pesach seder rant by saying that I did have some great people at my table (a recent film student grad, three med students and a fellow who is a counselor on Birthright trips as well as works for a company that promotes Jewish environmentalism for youths ages 11-13). I got some info from the latter on a great Birthright program and from one of the med students I got an e-mail address. It was nice to meet some other Jews -- hoorah!

I don't know if I'll make it up to Temple Sholom for Passover services tomorrow morning. Maybe I'm a horrible person but something about the bust of an evening sort of makes me want to sleep (although that's what I did pretty much all day, ugh). Tomorrow I will, however, be making charoset. I'm pretty stoked -- considering it's my first time throwing it together.

I hope your seders managed to work out great. I wish I had another to go to tomorrow ... last year's seders were absolutely fantastic. Next year, there will be a seder at home. I want to make it work, and I will.

Shalom and laila tov.

Pesach is coming alive!

Well.

The Pesach goods are bought. That is, the matzo (I accidentally bought egg matzo, only to have to go back and purchase NON-egg matzo, rawr). Among other things.

We've got cream cheese, jelly, goods for charoset, matzo farfel, apples, eggs, matzo ball mix, etc. etc. This will be a glorious Pesach. Filled with ... well, lotsa matzo with cream cheese and jelly and salad. I'm okay with this, of course.

I hadn't realized, however, how hard it was to find goods without things like CORN SYRUP ... ugh. Grocery shopping was, well, more hectic than it's been before. Mostly because I hadn't paid that much attention last year to it all. This year, however, finding salad dressing that would be good for passover, not to mention all other goods ... man. Tough cookies. It made me truly respect Pesach, though. Expect reflection ... hardcore reflection. I did pick up a classic Maxwell House hagaddah at the store at no charge. Oh yes. Some of the translations irritate me, tho.

And in honor of not being able to down corn syrup and rice and things as such ... I downed oodles of sushi and Coke tonight. It was a good way to ring in Pesach, I think.

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I'm stoked for the first-night seder tomorrow night! It's a community-wide young adult seder up at Temple Shalom on Lake Shore Drive (though it did cost a pretty penny for tickets). Ian and I went there for services Friday night in our third adventure in shul shopping. After a synagogue I didn't like and a synagogue he didn't like ... we found one we LOVE. Temple Shalom ... my G-d. It was absolutely wonderful. It was relaxed, but not too relaxed. I daven without anyone looking at me oddly, which is really nice, and the people were really impressive and friendly.

[Sidenote: I've noticed sort of by accident that I daven. It isn't conscience, it happens. Actually, I didn't notice on my own. A man at the second shul-shopping destination asked me if I was visiting from a Conservative synagogue because I was davening. It's subtle, and it's natural. Hrm.]

The seder is there, although it isn't sponsored by the temple. We're definitely in love with the place and intend to go back. The great thing about it, is that it's in a BEAUTIFUL neighborhood up by Wrigleyville, and there's a kosher deli right there on the corner (where we're going to eat Friday since our typical pizza evening is axed ... ).

Basically ... I think I've found a shul I can really, really thrive and grow at. I'm planning on hitting that up for Pesach service Tuesday morning (although truth be told it IS a bit of a trek). Seriously though -- there's a rabbi there who I'm absolutely all about it.

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I have some thoughts on Tzav from last week that I have yet to write about. Plan on reading here and there on it -- especially some thoughts on the dynamic of the haftarah portion with the parshah (conflicting views on the rules of ritual sacrifice). It's some fascinating stuff that played a pretty significant role in the then-future of Judaism and its practices.

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Oh, and I'm sort of cutting it close. But I need to burn my chametz and gift my cereal and other goods to Ian and the other roommate. This must be done stat. Wahoo!

Va-Yikra!

It's almost Shabbat, and this is the first of many Shabbats that I get to observe and cherish. Amen!

This week begins Leviticus and many of what were deemed laws for the Kohanim (priests). Nearly half of the 613 mitzvot are found in this book! The parshah discusses sacrifices and rituals, including offerings for sins, peace, meal and etc. Again, I'm more or less transcribing notes I took while scanning the Torah at my new coffee digs. (The computer died, else I would have typed it up yesterday.)

+ The comments at the beginning of Leviticus stresses the difference between sacrifice in most Near Eastern myths compared to that of the Jews. Sacrifices were common, of course, but the difference is that in most traditions, sacrifices were made to give strength and power to the beings worshiped by others. For the Israelites, though, sacrifices were meant as devotion. There was no conception that G-d was made more powerful by the sacrifices of the Israelites.

+ People often ask me why I don't eat pork or shellfish. Or why I keep other certain mitzvot that might seem archaic or outdated. Etz Chayim sums it up pretty accurately regarding the rituals we find throughout Leviticus, and why we should consider and keep them even today when the meanings might escape us immediately:

"Rituals, including prescribed prayers, tell us what to do and say at times when we cannot rely on our own powers of inspiration to know what to do or say."

+ A question: Where/When/How/Why did animal sacrifice come to be? I'm curious why animal sacrifice became a logical need or practice for people. How it developed as such a wide-spread ritual. I mean, it seems absolutely obscene to modernity ... so how did it develop in the mind? I'm going to have to research animal sacrifice ... for I am curious!

+ Furthermore on ritual and sacrifice and why it should apply even today, Etz Chayim says: "Each generation must find new ways to make G-d present in new situations that the Torah could not have foreseen." It goes this way with just about anything ... we adapt, we grow.

+ Lev. 1:9 -- There's a curious comment on this line about the odor of the sacrifices being pleasant in G-d's sight. Midrash states that "G-d smells the odor ... of the burning flesh of Jewish martyrs ..." (Gen. R 34:9). The comments point out that this is sadly ironic, considering the events of the Holocaust. Again, something I want to look further into ... to see exactly when the Midrash was written.

+ Among the sacrificial rules ... "kol helev l'adonai" or, "all fat is the lord's." This goes along with the command that we are to not consume blood or fat. I find it curious that blood libel myths were so popular considering this very simple biblical command.

+ Lev. 4:1 -- within the purification offering (hattat):

"The purpose of the hattat ... was to acquaint the donor with one's own more generous side, so that instead of seeing oneself as weak and rebellious, a person could say 'sometimes I am weak and rebellious, but that is not the real me. Often I can be generous and obedient.' It was an opportunity to clear one's conscience, not a penalty for having done wrong."

It's related to Yom Kippur, when we atone for our sins. There's also mention of a brief period of confession, though confession has never been a part of Judaism and rather is the hallmark of Catholicism.

+ In reference to Lev. 4:2, Rambam says "It is in the soul that the impulse to do wrong begins." When I read this I was curious if it was an endorsement of inherent evil by the Rambam. There's the great debate of nature versus nurture and of course it includes the discussion of whether we learn to be evil or if it is within us upon conception. Again ... research!

+ One of the instances for sacrifice was in the instance of committing a mitzvot, but doing it in such a way that it is done wrong. In response, Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev thus said that "sometimes it is possible to perform a mitzvah in such an improper manner that it would have been better not to do it at all." I thought this was amusing ... but of course it's true. If you don't know what you're doing, you best step back and figure it out, lest you miscommit the mitzvah!

Close down the mikvah, the converts are coming.

I had to share this. I'm curious what Tikkunger thinks, of course, being from the Great White North, that is. I'm a little disgusted and firmly believe that there's probably no other incentive to closing a mikvah to converts except to promote an agenda.

A strict agenda, that is.

One that does not include the Reform and possibly even Conservative movements. Why? Why not. It's an ages-old problem. A rabbi can say "we're trying to protect the sanctity of the mikvah!" But how does a person who is converting to Judaism dirty up the mikvah? That's what I want to know. It isn't like there's people signing up for the mikvah fancyfree and going in and sploshing around for kicks and giggles.

Get a grip, damnit.

A quick recap of last week's parshah (there were really two of them!):

I didn't get a chance last week to blog on the parshah(s), which was pretty crumby, but things came up and with the GREAT MOVE to Chicago, there was a lot going on. The move ended up going pretty well, despite some initial catastrophes with picking up the car and having to drive through a decent snowstorm. But we made it. On my way to the airport to pick up Ian, I got through last week's parshah pretty quickly. So I'm simply going to transcribe some of my notes that I took, if not for the inquiry of the reader, then for me, myself and I in future adventures in Torah study.

+ Ex. 35:3 -- "you shall kindle no fire." The comments suggest that some sages saw "fire" in both a literal and metaphorical sense, as in one shouldn't harbor anger on the Sabbath. What if that is ALL that phrase meant? And our whole concept of not starting fires and popping on lights is a misinterpretation of a phrase that could be interpreted at face value, but wrong?

+ Ex. 35:31 -- Rashi has an interesting take on skill, ability and knowledge (this, of course, in reference to Bezalel who is tasked with doing this and that and everything else). The comments read:

"Rashi defines 'skill' (hokhmah) as what a person learns from others, 'ability' (t'vunah) as the result of one's own insight and experience and 'knowledge' (da'at) as divine inspiration, ideas that suddenly come to a person from an unknown source."

I suppose I'm fascinatd by this because I'd never thought about the difference in the words, or, rather, the significance of each.

+ "Wisdom of the mind alone, without wisdom of the heart, is worthless." -- Aaaron of Karlin (a Hasidic master, on Ex. 36:1)

+ Ex. 34:2-7: Why is it significant to emphasize the people bringing TOO MUCH? There's several lines ... but why?

+ In the construction of the tabernacle, the word adanim is used multiple times (its meaning is translated as "sockets"). The word derives from a similar source as Adonai. The adanim hold together the upper and lower portions of the ark, just as Adonai holds together the upper (spiritual) and lower (material) worlds together. -- Menahem Naham of Chernobyl

+ What is the significance of blue, purple and crimson? The colors are used in the yarn, but it appears in stained glass and facades of synagogues the world over, not to mention on holy garments and utensils and dishes. I can't seem to find a source who really delves into the meaning of such colors, though. The search continues!

+ Why is there SO MUCH gold that goes into the tabernacle? Why is it that G-d's place need be so extravagant? I'm not one to believe that G-d must be crowned king in the way that human kings are adorned in gold ... it just seems wrong and not representative of the Israelite G-d. Am I nuts to be so irritated at the EXTENSIVE use of gold?

+ What is the significance of the cloud? Why does G-d descend in a cloud?

+ The comments at the end of parshah P'kudei are incredibly profound. I must share the thoughts of the Etz Chayim:

"There are moments (a wedding, the birth of a child, an escape from danger) when G-d erupts into our lives with a special intesnity that transforms us but that is too intense to be lived constantly. Then there are times when G-d is a constant presence in our livies (marriage, parenthood, years of good health) in an equally real but less intense manner. The challenge is to recognize G-d's constant presence in our lives without its becoming so ordinary that we take it for granted."

True it is. How is it that we keep G-d as a constant? How, through the day in and day out, the mundane and ever-changing/never-changing that we maintain a constant hum within ourselves of the divine presence? It is a challenge I'm willing to take on, of course.

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Guaranteed, there will be comments on this week's parshah, as we begin ... the book of Leviticus!

Shalom. Be well!

It'll stop, soon.

My maternal grandfather, John Baskette, a Pearl Harbor survivor, is in the hospital. He can't breathe on his own and evidently has acid in his blood. He had signs of pneumonia and things are not looking particularly good. He lives in Branson, Mo., and is 83 years old, nearly 84. His birthday is April 6. I forgot how old he was until I tracked down his bio he wrote for the Pearl Harbor association. My grandfather was something of a hero, in my mind at least.

Growing up, when we lived in Joplin, Mo., in the late 80s and early 90s, we visited Branson to go to Silver Dollar City and see my grandparents several times a year. I participated in my aunt Renee's wedding in the late 80s, but after that, I didn't see any of my aunts or uncles up until now. There were never birthday cards or greetings from Barry or Doug, let alone Renee or the other two aunts whose names escape me right now. They weren't family. My grandparents were something strange to me, and after I turned 10 or so, they sort of lost interest in us, my family. In recent years, I would send holiday cards and once I sent a father's day card to Grandpa Baskette, which recieved a warm, lengthy letter back from him. Typed on an old-school typewriter on his letterhead. Filling me in on his and grandma's ailments. He always signed, though, in his scribbly, rigid handwriting, "Grandpa Baskette."

My connection to Grandpa Baskette is much larger than that to Grandma Baskette, who seemed to make my mom's life a living hell when she was growing up. Grandpa let me interview him when I was in the 6th grade for a project on veterans for a USO-themed gigantic project for my differentiated program. I dressed in my dad's old navy getup and portrayed my grandfather, telling his story of running across the green as the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. I had photographs of his dozens of honors, including the Purple Heart. His story inspired me, making me fascinated with history.

I wish I knew them better. I wish they'd cared a little more about us. I resent them for the supposed things they put mom through -- it's a domino effect, you know.

But I know that with grandpa passes, I'll lose a little something. And for the first time, I will say kaddish for someone close to me. It won't be the last, of course. There are people who flip and flop about saying kaddish for a nonJewish relative, but in my world, I can't NOT say kaddish. It's strength and hope in a prayer.

All I ask from the Web community, of course, is to keep my family in your prayers. This situation is part of something much, much bigger going on in the sphere of Chaviva. Bigger than any of you likely will know. We'll say it's like standing comfortably inside an eggshell, while the eggshell cracks and breaks around you. You see it, but you can't do anything about it. It's merely cracking and crumbling, and you know that you've done all you can. You have to just stop, watch, and hope it crumbles gracefully to the ground.

Luckily, I'm no longer standing alone.

Web site redesigns!

Okay, so I got giddy when I heard Lexis-Nexis was doing a Web site redesign, but I sort of hate it. I'm a firm believer that when you redesign your Web site, it should look similar in layout as before, but alter in form. At first, even. You have to EASE the viewer into your new design, not completely flip the page upside down and expect people to be all hot and bothered over it.

On that note, Chabad.org did a marvelous redesign. The site is clean, crisp -- and does not stray so far from the old design that it makes your eyes bleed while searching for the parshah of the week.

Anyhow, check it out. It has me all giddy and excited. And if anything, you can brush up on your Passover rules and regulations. In an online group of which I am a member, there was a query of who was already cleaning out the chametz. I, of course, can't do so yet, as I'm moving in a few days. I do, however, have to read up on how to handle chametz in a roommate situation. Last year I just got rid of all of mine, but was actually traveling for a few days and didn't have to worry about it.

Sheyih'yeh yom tov!

A poetry break.

I hope that a move and change of pace and place will allow me to once again pen brilliant things.


Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

—from “Eating Poetry” by Mark Strand

The Internet is GROWING!

Okay, so I ran across a YouTube knockoff yesterday called GodTube, and was sort of like "WTF, mate?" But then today I ran across Yideoz, and am thoroughly amused.

And here's is a spiel on the site:
Yideoz is the online Jewish community for uploading and sharing videos.

Our vision is to bring together the online world-wide Jewish community and provide Jews everywhere with the opportunity to watch, share and schmooze about all kinds of Jewish content videos. Share some scenes from your wild Purim party! Wanna show off your latest stand-up? Has bubbe seen how big the kids have gotten? Do you want to relive that simcha with all of your friends? Would you like to promote your school's/organization's latest video? Send someone a Vcard to wish them Mazal Tov! Tap into this great network to advertise your event, broadcast your shiurim, even create you own video resume.

With Yideoz you can do all that - plus create groups, start discussions, make friends, and more - all in a moderated, safe environment.

Tee hee!

Because I truly love Achewood. And I spent two months reading it from start to present. Click for the full size!

Ki Tissa, just a few brief comments.

Sometimes when reading Torah and collecting the accompanying midrashim and commentary, I wonder how the great thinkers came up with some of the stuff they've derived from the parshah. An example from this week's portion is from Ex. 31:18, when G-d presents Moses with "two tablets of the Pact, stone tablets inscribed with the finger of G-d." The word for stone tablets, even, or aleph-bet-nun, is translated by one sage as av-ben, meaning "father to son." The translation caters to the idea that the commandments are to be passed from father to son and so on.

Now, call me crazy but I would never have gathered that. Then again, I'm not a life-dedicated Torah scholar (yet). The way the sage goes about coming to this conclusion is that bet can either be a b or a v, depending on whether a dagesh is present. The dagesh, of course, being a little dot that appears in letters like tet or pe or kaph. It alters the meaning of the letter, according to the letters around it, as well as the vowel sounds. The dagesh is a mighty little marker. Thus you can have aleph-bet (dagesh) and bet (no dagesh)-nun, if you were only so creative to notice such intricacies of the word.

Man. I hope I can rock that hard in my pursuits someday.

Likewise, backtracking a bit, this parshah begins with a donation of a half-shekel by every individual older than 20 (a common belief is that religion is not suited for children, only adults can understand the depth and magnitude of religion and Torah). The donation is cited as "each shall pay," which in the Hebrew is v'nat'nu, or vav-nun-taph-nun-vav. Holy Moses! A palindrome! And a mighty important one (yet something else I probably wouldn't have gathered all on my own, amazing sages). Some have said that this suggests that charity is a two-way street. The Vilna Gaon says that this reminds us "that one who gives today may have to receive tomorrow." How true!

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I have to admit that right now, my level of distraction is incredibly high. There's too much and too little going on at once, and I'm trying to find some balance. I will work the next seven days straight, the only brief excitement being visiting with and getting a drink with a friend visiting from Nebraska and another who recently moved here.

But between now and then and then and when Ian arrives and when I move to Chicago (March 16), is 9 days of tumult. I find it hard to focus at work, hard to focus at home, hard to focus at my coffee shop. I watch people. Gazing, skimming the thought of staring. It's a cascade, or at least it feels that way.

It always gets worse before it gets better, they say. And today was supposedly when the University of Chicago was sending out acceptance/denial letters for entrance into their graduate program. So here's to hoping.

Otherwise, well, hopefully I can re-center myself.

Tee hee.

Hamantaschen reviews!

"I'm no expert, but these are *the* best hamentashen I've ever had. Thanks!"

"DELICIOUS hamentashen! Thanks, Amanda."

"They're so soft! How DID you do that?"

Unfortunately, I'm not revealing the recipe. Why? Because I like the idea of making something DELICIOUS and keeping it mysterious.

In other news, thanks to Wandering Jew (formerly of the blog by the same name), I had to share this Web site: The Comic Torah

It's PURIM you say?

So it's Purim and I'm really distraught about not being back home to see the spiel at my shul. Seeing the rabbi dressed up as Esther is quite the sight to be seen! So I'm making the holiday the best I can with what I have, which means ... baking hamantaschen! It was a mess in the kitchen, but I got the job done. Here are some photos from the extravaganza ... and seriously ... if you ever get the chance, I want you to eat one of my delicious baked goods. So amazing ... (not to toot my own horn or anything, heh). For those who don't know what Purim's all about ... well, it's sometimes called the "Jewish Mardi Gras" ... but in reality, it's one of (many) holidays where we celebrate the following: They tried to kill us. We survived. Let's eat!


The kitchen was a mess because of THESE babies. Talk about excellent!


And then there was hamantaschen baked!


I couldn't help it. I ate one. Okay, I ate two. The second batch was the best. This one I'm eating? It's from the second batch!

I'm in love!

I think I'm going to buy one of everything off this site: Shabbat to Go

But really, the Shabbat to go kit and the Seder in a Sac are two purchases I'll be making. Man. And the Havdalah kit. Eeee. Wonderful.

This Seder in a Sac comes with two copies of the megillah, too!

The plagues bag is pretty sweet, too ...

Here's the Shabbat travel kit:
And of course, the Havdalah kit. I intend to fully participate in Havdalah, because it has yet to ever be a part of my personal regiment, darn't!I'd like to think I could wait till I get hitched to ask for such glorious items, but I can't. On the upside, I can wait to get the "Wedding Bag" until the big day ends up coming. I'm getting ahead of myself, though. Don't worry, I'm not running off to Vegas. That is, unless they have a hefty supply of Elvis rabbis and Star Trek-themed chuppahs!