Re: Blogging v.2008.

UPDATE: For sometimes and frequent readers, at the advice of someone ... I've altered my commenting so that anyone can comment with any type of account. I don't condone Anonymous posters, simply because I stand behind what I type 100 percent, and commenters should as well. If you don't have something productive to say, then do not bother us with your shmutzik!

Shalom, friends. And be well.

Another buck on something I already knew.

I don't know that "experts" or "reports" need to say it: Israel, Diaspora Growing Apart.

"We must massively inject Diaspora studies into the education system," said Prof. Yehezkel Dror Wednesday in a speech delivered to the Herzliya Conference.

But then: "At the heart of the rift between Israel and Jewish communities abroad lies the notion that the Diaspora youth have negative views of Israel politically, nationally and socially," Dror said.

Dror makes an interesting point. Is Israel isolating itself? Is the Diaspora not interested enough? Are the two lacking enough information about each other? Diaspora Jews are often viewed as not religious enough, not Jewish enough, even by secular Israelis. Likewise, Israeli Jews -- secular and observant -- are viewed as militant, obsessive, living in the dark ages of Judaism. But the rift. The rift is upsetting. I don't know what to say about it, and I feel pretty unequipped considering I haven't been to Israel just yet. I read the books, know the stories, hear about the people, watch the movies. But I don't think I'm truly equipped to assess the situation. I've read "Jew vs. Jew" and I'm pretty, completely -- without a doubt -- aware of the distress and divide between Jews and Jews and Jews. But I'm more aware of how it appears in America.

Israel seems so far away.

Anyhow. My point is that there's a rift, yes, but we don't need experts to tell us this. Do we?

////Watching the last installment of the PBS Jewish Americans series. I caught last week's, missed the first week's, and this week's is okay so far. I swoon for Liev Schreiber (the narrator). We're well into the 1950s, which is a great period for Jews on TV (a subject I've well-researched). Good times, folks. This is America, and we are the Jews.////

Blogging, v.2008.

The one thing I'll never understand, is why I have such an abundance of passersby, and yet no comments on many of my posts. I know it isn't outstanding, but I average at least 30-40 views a day -- and this is beyond the people who simply accidentally end up on my blog by clicking on some picture that happens to be linked to my page. I seem to get a lot of traffic from people researching the Donmeh. I'm not really sure how, considering when you Google search Donmeh my blog is definitely NOT on the first page. Even searching Donmeh Jewish doesn't pull up my blog. So how are people getting here? The great thing is there are viewers from all over the world, though most are in the U.S. I use sitemeter, which tracks locations and such. It's sort of a Big Brother thing, but it also helps me know who my readers are. I just wish they'd comment, so, you know, I'd really *know* who they are.

Unless, of course, my blogs are really that benign? Uninspiring? Uncommentable!?

I'm not looking for blind praise or comments saying "Oh Chavi, I love your posts, I comment all the time!" I know who my regular readers are, of course. I just wish I knew who the non-regular readers and sometimes-readers were. But we all can't get what we want, I suppose!

On the note of blogs, I started another blog. It's a blog about my (hopeful) weightloss journey. The blog can be found over at Fat Miss America. It's fresh, it's as naked as I get on the internet, folks. Exposing my soul, my personal struggles and my hopeful journey toward health. I mean, I'm healthy as is. The doctor told me so; it's just those extra pounds that someday, surely, will come back to haunt me. As Lisa has said, I'm zaftig! And as always, I post every now anda again over at Jewsbychoice.org. My most recent post is a Torah spiel about last week's portion, which happened to include the parting of the Sea of Reeds, among other things.

As for the blogs I'm attempting to regularly read, well, you can find those over there to the right of this blog. Click around. Check some people out. Take a gander. Enjoy. Most of them are friends from college, my college newspaper, or fellow Jews I've happ'd upon in my happy travels on the Web.

And finally, today is ט״ו בשבט -- Tu B'Shevat (which actually means the 15th of the month of Shevat). You'll note that Shevat can be spelled a dozen different ways, but you get the idea. The day is a minor holiday in the Jewish calendar, and doesn't involve any fasting or particularly special services or observances. It's considered to be the "Jewish Arbor Day" of sorts and is one of the many new years in our calendar, and is really the "new year of trees." There is no specific mention of the holiday in the Torah, though it does appear in the Mishnah. According to Judaism 101, there is a bit of disagreement about the actual date of the the new year for trees, with Beit Shammai saying the proper day was the first of Shevat and Beit Hillel said the proper day was the 15th of Shevat. Of course, with most things, we lean on Hillel for the final word on the proper day of observance. Common traditions for the day are to eat fruits and nuts of the land of Israel, and sometimes even to plant a tree (hence the Jewish Arbor Day bit). Likewise, the Wikipedia article on the holiday has some interesting details about the customs.

So go eat some dried fruits or nuts and take notice of the beauty of nature around us -- even if that beauty is covered in snow.

Shalom, y'all!

The Shoah and Chavi.

After finally getting Netflix to actually stream on my computer, I got busy watching movies. One of the first I picked up was "Hiding and Seeking," a film about a father who takes his two grown Orthodox sons to Poland to meet the family that hid their grandfather during the Shoah. The father is worried that his sons focus too much on ignoring and pushing away the "outside world." The movie opens with a powerful playback of dialog from what I assume must be a famous Orthodox rabbi spouting off the necessity to cast out the goyim (which, in truth, means "nation" in Hebrew, but has come to mean Gentiles). The rabbi on the tape has some unpleasant things to say about goyim, and thus begins the adventure of the father seeking out what his sons think about the outside world.

It wasn't exactly what I expected it to be, but it was truly breathtaking in its honesty. There is no special production or anything involved, but rather the clips are choppy and the footage is shaky. It is, in truth, a true journey into the acts of righteous Gentiles and the survivors and their families. The movie has moments that caught me completely off guard, leaving me wondering whether righteous Gentiles -- in some cases -- are truly that, or whether motives go beyond simply "doing the right thing." The movie ends with a sobering quote from one of the Orthodox sons, that sadly in some ways rings true.

The thing about this movie is that it shows how fleeting these memories are. Shoah survivors are becoming fewer and fewer in number. I remember when my grandfather died last year I thought to myself, so few Pearl Harbor survivors remain ... what will become of their memory? The movie goes to great lengths to provide the idea that the efforts are meant to keep a memory alive in the generations of survivors. Grandchildren and children are meant to hold the memory, tell the stories, and help pass along the message of such horrid times.

In my efforts to connect with the Shoah, though, this movie is yet another reminder that the direct link is not there. I have no family, no connection, no history with the Shoah. It brings me to my knees and makes me weep, without fail, every time. Its stories and images are emblazoned on my mind in ways that I cannot describe, in ways that even my own personal tragedies cannot comprehend. The collective memory is something that I am now a part of preserving, and movies like this make me desperate to understand and explore the stories that are available. I spent a great deal of time avoiding the Shoah, simply because it is a subject that is so large, so vast, that one could spend an entire lifetime grasping for, and yet never truly understand. The social, emotional, cultural and spiritual implications of such a catastrophe are so despair-inducing, it's difficult to spend more than moments focusing on at once. Where was G-d? Where were the miracles? Where was G-d?

I find it deeply saddening that something so close feels so far away. As each survivor passes away, I worry about that memory. I worry about the cries of "Never Again," even as genocides around the world persist. I find it so hard to connect, to truly connect, that I sometimes wonder if my tears are truly enough. I also hope -- desperately, with all of my heart and mind -- that in my lifetime and in my children's lifetime and in my children's children's lifetime and so on, that such horror will never again occur. There need not be martyrs.

But in a way, I know the feeling of never having known someone. The mystery that surrounds their loss and the despair that is felt when you have no memories, not even memories from your family. With this, I will mark the yahrzeit of my grandmother -- my father's mother. She died 46 years ago of cancer (on Jan. 20 or 15 of Sh'vat, which also happens to be Tu B'Sh'vat, the minor holiday for the new year for trees). My father was only nine years old, and I, like he, would never know his mother. What kind of woman she was or what kind of woman she would be. Whether she would have more children, whether she would cradle her grandbabies in her arms while singing lullabies. Whether she had stories about her parents and their parents. Stories of a lineage long and true. Unique in all of it's manners and details.

I understand what it means to have an empty, curious spot in my lineage. A puff of smoke where a name and photos should be. But I also know that this is not the same, and each day I search the six million for a way to connect. On any other day I have a million and one reasons and ways in which I connect to Judaism and the Jewish people and the collective memory. But the Shoah is one way in which I will spend moments, hours, weeks, months and perhaps the whole of my lifetime, trying to connect to. There are six million stories, and I am but one person, but I have known emptiness and the ghost of a branch on my family's wide-reaching expanse of a tree.

Big arse books!

Firstly, G-d bless Opera Mini for allowing me to easily blog from the road on my BlackBerry. Secondly, I just wanted to say that while I am enjoying "Constantines Sword" immensely, I find that it is a pain in my tuches to read - logistically, that is. Why, you ask? The book, which altogether tops off at 756 pages is difficult to hold or sit properly, not to mention read on public transit. I wish this gargantuan text came in two volumes for easy consumption.

But back to the book . . .

Chicago Winters.

Despite being sick, the fact that I more or less haven't left my apartment in going on three days now is giving me serious anxiety and cabin fever. I live in a studio, and there isn't far to go. Television can only last you so long and the books I'm attempting to read, well, I just can't focus on them. So, despite the fact that my browser tells me it's 3 degrees outside, I'm going to go out. It's dangerous and ridiculous and I should stay in, I know, but I just NEED to get out. So I'm going to bundle up like nobody's business and trek to the tea shop and do some reading. Everything I do absolutely winds me (including taking a shower, imagine that), but I just need out. It's times like this that I wish I A) had cable or B) had an apartment with multiple rooms or C) had a La-Z-Boy. But I don't. So, I leave. I brave the cold, and hope I don't die or get frostbite. It's times like this that I also wish I A) had a head for hats or B) had long hair. Shabbat Shalom, friends.

Mucus Production, Level 5, Third Corridor.

I'm sick. Yes, I wasn't feeling this crappy yesterday. My throat had progressively started to get scratchier and more sore. But today, today I wake up throat closed up, breathing difficult, throat aching, ears clogged, nose congested and draining at the same time. I rolled over to look at the clock, which read 6:38 a.m. and my body screamed at me in all ranges of achy. I rolled over, threw back the blankets, and groaned. I got up, walked over to the table where my box of tissues resided, and I almost burst into tears. I swear, every time I really need a tissue, I have just run out. I ended up e-mailing in that I was staying home. Eating a banana. Crawling into bed. And going comatose. Over the past two to three weeks everyone at work has been sick. I suppose it was expected.

Mom e-mailed, told me to stay in bed (where I presently am) and to drink lots of OJ. There are are least three different places within a block of my apartment where I could get OJ, including a Jewel and 7-11. But I haven't even been able to bring myself to turn on the light, let alone put on shoes and leave my apartment. I made my soup in the dark. Toasted my toast in the dark. Buttered my toast in the dark. Changed clothes in the dark. And now I'm sitting in the dark.

I think I might go back to sleep.

Kaplan.

Why on G-d's green earth have I not read Mordecai Kaplan's "Judaism as a Civilization" ...?

Note to self: Read the book. Read it soon.

The Surname that Snuck In.

Those of you who know me well, probably don't know this, but I sort of have this obsessive inclination toward genealogy. I've always been interested in my family lineage, there is no hiding that. My father's parents died when he was just a child, and I used to ask my father questions about his family. Questions he rarely had answers to. My uncle did researching on that side of the family -- as a Mormon, it was uniquely his duty. My mother's side was less interesting in my mind for some reason and I never bothered to ask questions. I just assumed that it would come to me; anything is possible in the Internet age, right? But grandpa died last year, and I started to regret the distance that existed between my family members.

I started compiling a family tree on Ancestry.com. I managed through a variety of venues to begin mapping my family, with some of the details being certifiable and others being hard to confirm. I put away the family tree, having found nothing of true interest in my mind aside from the typical family begins in Europe, travels to U.S., becomes American tale. Then, for some reason, a few nights ago I picked back up the family tree. I'd hit blocks on my mom's side of the family when it came to her father. I'd traced her mother's side back to some Quakers in New York, well documented on a variety of websites devoted to Quaker history. But her father's side had me dumbstruck. On a whim, I googled one of the names I had. And there it was -- bingo!

I managed to trace her father's side all the way back to France in the 1600s to a French Secretary of State, and his neice -- a great, great, great something or other grandmother to me -- named Philadelphia DuBois, who married a Huguenot and then moved to the U.S., becoming one of the big Colonial families out in Virginia. They met up with the Claibornes and there were plantations and military service and influence. A relative of mine was quite close with Andrew Jackson as it turns out. It was fascinating. But that was the paternal side. I'd hit a block on the maternal side of my grandfather and could not find anything about this woman named Ella Weilbacher. I knew it was exceedingly German, and that was it.

So my mom contacted my Aunt, who had her daughter look in the family bible. There it was. A father's name and the mother's name -- Mary Bergman. Bergman? Yes, that's a Jewish surname. It's German-Jewish, but Jewish none the less. Jews, Jews galore. I started frantically trying to search for some relations for a Mary C. Weilbacher, nee Bergman. But could find nothing.

Now, I don't want to sound insane here. I didn't start searching simply to find a Jewish relative, but every time I sat down and found a name that was remotely "Jewish" or "Hebrew," I got excited. This is why when I discovered all the Abrahams and other Biblical names in my family, I got excited. Then I discovered they were Quakers. Go figure! But this surname, it might be my connection. My aunt is supposed to take out the bible again tonight and do some transcribing for me, so I'm hoping she can find out Mary Bergman's parents' names. Amen.

I don't NEED the connection. I know this. You know this. We know this. But still, wouldn't that be absolutely funny?

Anyhow, back to watching Jewish Americans on PBS, which is pretty stellar. I love Mandy Patinkin, and he's ALL OVER this special.

Shalom, friends, and be well.

Shabblogging!

Oh memory.

He was on the bus last night.

It was a short ride, but it was raining, and I didn't want to trudge through it. I jumped on, flailing my wet umbrella about and zipped to the back of the bus, poised at the back door ready to jump off in several stops. Then I stopped. There were only three or four people on the bus, and when I walked past him I'd caught a glimpse but nothing strong enough to really recognize him. My initial plan to exit out the back door like a good bus patron was overridden by the need to look at him, this man hunched over in his little old man hat, asleep on the bus. I walked past him as the bus was coming to a stop. I looked back. It was him. My heart sunk a little. I sort of asked myself "Is this some kind of mean trick?" And then got off the bus, staring at the man as the bus drove away. He didn't even notice me, and if he had, what would he have said? I'm not sure. I'm not sure I would have even wanted to talk to him. But he is emblazoned on my mind. And it made my heart sink, just a few inches.

On another note, if you're around tonight, be sure to tune into PBS for the three-night, six-hour series "The Jewish Americans." Unfortunately, the Los Angeles Times didn't give it such a hot review. But I have hopes, at least, I hope I make it home to watch!

Dieting. Weight weight wait a few months, and you'll see!

Well, I took the plunge. I signed up for Weight Watchers online. I couldn't go the full mile and do the in-person thing. Though I'm not sure if the online includes going to meetings anyhow. I should look into that. So far, I've still got six points left to waste today, and I plan on using this later on a light dessert before bed. I was shocked to find out how many calories are cut out of a Jimmy John's sandwich when you cut out the mayonnaise. Are you serious? Like, freaking amazing. It removed ALL the fat. Just ridiculous. No more Mayo for Chavi!

I often think that maybe if I were to keep completely, full, strictly kosher, then maybe it would be easier to eat healthy. My logic comes from the idea that there would only be a certain amount of items that one could really buy and eat. It would mean no eating out (unless it was vegetarian, I suppose, but even then it would be a little sketchy), which would mean losing most fried foods and bad things. I mean, it's still possible to eat crappily at home, but it's just harder.

But then I step back and think: Chavi, come on, you live in CHICAGO. Do you know how hard it is to eat well in a city like this? I mean this in the manner that it's difficult to not want to eat at a nice, Chicago restaurant at least once a week. For that once-a-week splurge. I mean, it's doable with Weight Watchers if I really try and keep track. But it's sort of like, do I really want to risk it?

Anyhow, I'm hoping this really helps me put my foot to the grindstone. I don't stick with things -- medicine, diets, exercise. I get bored, I get distracted. But this, this I am going to devote myself to. Why? Because I'm PAYING for it, that's why. Free stuff is easy to brush off. But I'm sort of stingy with the cash, so this means really getting my money's worth, darn't. And maybe I'll pick up Chava Goldman's "How to Succeed on Any Diet: A Jewish and Friendly Guide to Exercise and Dieting."

Here we go a shul-ing, a Conservative shul-ing.

I started 2008 out right, at least I think I did. Despite a horribly, gut-wrenching stomach ache on Friday evening, I went to shul. That is, I went to the Conservative shul that's just a little nearer to me than the Reform one I was going to up until now. I guess I can't say I'm giving up on the Reform synagogue, but it just wasn't cutting it. Emptiness is the word I would use to describe the services and the general atmosphere. And maybe the fact that I went to this Conservative shul on a young adults night is giving me some kind of euphoric view of the Conservative shul in a nutshell, but I'll take that. And I'll run with it.

I thought I was late, and that's okay in the Jewish circle it seems. I remember going to Hille meetings and being the first one there. Then folks would show up 5 minutes late -- Jewish time -- and then others would come 10/15 minutes late -- Israeli time. But it turned out I had the service time wrong and was just on time. I'm not sure what the makeup of the shul is like, but I get the impression that there's a big congregational hall and then a few little rooms for smaller kabbalat Shabbat services and for special programs like the one I was at. The place was packed, though. I mean, they had to bring in extra chairs and the room had to have been filled with 60+ people. I looked around, not knowing anyone, and actually felt at ease, like I was home. All the men wore kippot and everyone was singing. It actually felt participatory, but not in that forced way. Not like these were almost-b'nai mitzvahs trying to appease their parents before falling off the wagon.

The service began and ... I'll admit it: I'm pretty much a virgin when it comes to the Conservative service. I remember the first time I'd gone back in Lincoln and being utterly lost and confused about when I was supposed to speak and when I wasn't. The second time I'd gone to the Conservative shul in Lincoln, I was too in awe of the fact that my 8th grade teacher was there to discuss the Holocaust to pay attention to the service. So I followed along best I could, and about one-quarter of the way through the service I was absolutely on. It's interesting to me how the new Reform prayerbook resembles the Conservative one -- with gleanings, Hebrew on one side and English on the other, translations here and there. It's a way of making it personal, with the community.

It's strange for me not to stand up for the kaddish, though, and I don't know that I would ever feel fully comfortable sitting through the kaddish while those in mourning stand and recite the full prayer. The thing is, ever since hearing a Reform rabbi's perspective on the subject, I've been unable to understand why the community does not stand as a whole. The rabbi likened it to the Red Woods -- they could not stand, in their hulking, mighty beauty, without the support of the roots of those around them. This, he said, is the same as the community holding up those mourners. I think it's a beautiful image, and it will always sit with me when I hear the kaddish.

The rabbi's sermon was engaging. But not just engaging. I mean, it's easy to engage the audience; the difficult part is keeping them tuned in. He spoke about the four promises, which led to the four cups at the seder, which led to him telling us about all of the interesting ways that secular traditions work their way into our religious traditions. He emphasized that it is not where these things come from them, but the way we see them in our tradition and what they come to mean. It's interesting, because I read the Torah portion last week and the four promises were, of course, super important, but I didn't dwell on them. I passed them over like anything else. At the same time, it's minorly hard to read a lot of the Exodus knowing that it'll be rekindled for Pesach in several months :D

The night ended with people piling into a local apartment complex's party room for board games, food and drinks. It was just chill, relaxing, and after a nice Jewish guy took me under his wing and introduced me to a few people, I felt like I'd found a nice little Jewish community I could potentially be a part of.

I'm excited to go back for a normal service, just to see whether it's as lively, engaging and friendly. I'm not sure how much of the Young Adult crowd just comes for those specialized services and how many come consistently, but here's hoping. I guess the crux of the reason for me to go back was that even though it was a Young Adult service, I didn't feel like the service was less intelligent or engaging than it would have been for a normal Shabbat service. Sometimes Young Adult stuff is quick, short, moronic and set up so that you can get in and out and shmooze with some hot Jewish folk. I mean, we all know that people go to Young Adult services to survey the produce, right? But for me that's only half of it. I like a little substance with my prowling, darn't!

So I have some reading, researching and investigating to do. I want to know what that great dividing line between Reform and Conservative is. And while we're at it, I'd like to toss Reconstructionist in there. Perhaps I'll work my way up to Orthodox at some point. Sometimes the lines are blurred and to me the only difference sometimes appears in the clientele or simply what building people go to. I know that there is a lot more to it, but I will be completely honest right now and say that I converted Reform not just because I identified with the movement at the time, but because it was the convenient choice. The Conservative shul back home was unwelcoming and bleak and unengaging, and I'm not the only person who would tell you that. I'm sure it's changed now, as it's cycled through a rabbi or two. But my experience on Friday was nothing like that I experienced those years ago. And I know it isn't just a movement, but it's also the fact that the community is different. The city is different. The people are different. There's a lot at play, I get that.

But I haven't felt that happy and at ease and engaged in my Judaism in quite some time. Here's to you, Conservative shul. May you continue to keep me on my toes.

Books and scales and things and stuff. Sushi!

I got the coolest book on the planet (okay, not really, but it's that initial new-book reaction) in the mail today. It took forever to get here and after lots of complaining and a reshipment, it made it here from Edward R. Hamilton Booksellers. The book? "Women in Scripture: A Dictionary of Named and Unnamed Women in the Hebrew Bible, The Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical Books, and the New Testament." Now, if you're not familiar, this place has books that are fairly fresh and are super, super cheap. It's like a book warehouse. This book arrived in mint condition for 10 bucks. The other book I'd ordered -- The Essential Talmud -- failed to arrive and I was refunded the $3.95 it was supposed to put me back. (I'm going to have to pick up "Essential Talmud" anyhow, because it looks like a stellar addition to my collection.) The "Women in Scripture" should be a helpful resource for those women who I spot in my study but know little to nothing about and where the commentary is nil. Anyhow, the New Testament information might not be as useful for what I'll be using it for, but wow! What a buy, eh? I also have "Constatine's Sword" in my corner, and I actually need to renew it from the library. It's quite a read, and I wish it weren't so clunky because I'd love to read it on the El, but it's awfully difficult. If only I could break it into sections! I am, however, going to hit the library before it closes to pick up Art Spiegelman's 9/11 book, "In the Shadow of No Towers" as well as Marjane Sartrapi's "Persepolis: The Story of Childhood," since it comes out here in Chicago in movie form fairly soon. Plus, I find graphic novels are pretty quick to get through. I really should spend more time reading them!

I also picked up a scale today. Yes, everyone does this on January 1 and 2, right? Well, I'm going to try to stick to the healthy eating and working out and hopefully can lose about 50 pounds this year. Here's hoping, and here's hoping G-d gives me the strength to actually stick with it for once in my short, yet fascinating life.

So that's that. Lots of books and healthy things in the future for Chaviva, v.2008.

Hear ye hear ye, 2008.

It's now 2008 where I am. Half the world has been here already, and that's okay. I can hear shouting and cheering from my little studio apartment here in Chicago, where I chose to spend the New Year watching television, crocheting, and soaking in the path up until about 5 minutes ago. So we all get a little reflective post, right? Well, I rang in the year not watching the ball drop but listening to Hellogoodbye, which is sort of appropriate, wouldn't you say?

2007 wasn't a bad year for me, really. In fact, it was a really great year, because I figured out a lot about myself and who I want to be -- and perhaps more importantly, who I do not want to be. I made some serious life and career decisions, not to mention moving half-way across the country from Washington to Chicago. I got involved in a stellar project that is sparking personal growth (Jewsbychoice.org) and became more dedicated to this blog, my project begun nearly two years ago. I've grown Jewishly, grown spiritually, grown emotionally and definitely grown mentally. I'm still a nitpicky editor who loathes the fact that this paragraph (and that first sentence in the paragraph) began with a number and not words. I still remove the commas in sentences where the fragment after "and" does not make a complete sentence. I'm still me, and that's what's good about the new year. And G-d help me, I still use the serial comma.

Some things will never change.

So my hopes for 2008 are that it will be a year where I really get back to me, where I keep working on becoming who I was meant to be. I'm not going to stop or settle or change my mind this year, I'm going to get back to school and start on the path that will lead me to self-fulfillment in so very many ways.

Oh, and as for that banner up there, I just wanted to remind everyone that Google will own 2008. Be prepared!

So to you friends (and the occasional foe), be well, and may your 2008 (and the rest of 5768) be a blessing filled with light, reflection, and peace.

Shalom!

I couldn't help myself.

Okay, so sometimes when I find a musician I absolutely fall in love with, I don't tell anyone. I sit idle and enjoy them secretly like really good cookies or a tub of ice cream, you know? I just want to enjoy and indulge myself before they hit the big time and then everyone's like "OMG I LOVE THEM" and that special feeling goes away. Because sure enough, the music industry is like that. Once everyone knows about them, bam, they're all corporate and over produced and it's just depressing (*cough* Rilo Kiley *cough*) and you're forced to listen to the old tunes with a feeling of nostalgia.

So here she is. Her name is Adele, and she's from South London and her voice is ... absolutely tantalizing. It's so unique (some say she sounds like Amy Winehouse, but I think Adele's voice is softer and more pure), and I've been listening to her few available songs on repeat tonight. They're incredibly empowering, flowing, beautiful. Just beautiful. So please, give her a listen. Check out her MySpace page and her songs/interview over on the BBC, and when her album comes out, best buy it, or I'll be sure to give you the one-two!

Calling Chaviva, Calling ... Chaviva!

Okay, a few things.

For starters, I went out last night for the first time in a long time (save the dinner with coworkers recently, which was nice, but last night was definitely a different beast) to a bar, with a bunch of people (we're talking 20-30) who I did not know. Yes, complete strangers. I headed off to Goose Island to meet up with a bunch of people who I had "met" through an online community of people who like to review things and spout off about them, too. I spent about 4 or 5 hours out and met some absolutely amazing people from just about every corner of this little big city I call home. People in their 20s, people in their 50s. Seriously, probably the most happy night I've had in a long time, one where I felt alive, social, and like who I used to be, a long time ago, when I was more hopeful and positive about where I was going. There were also a handful of Jews there, so it was nice to meet some of the fellow tribesmen/woman. But the coolest thing about the night? Well, on this online community, I'm known as "Chaviva E." simply because that's how the site rolls. I originally signed on as "Amanda E.", but there was this obnoxious, hated gal on there who also was an Amanda. So I opted to change my name. As such, everyone last night called me by my Hebrew name, my name that I truly connect with, and it was like coming home. Being in a social situation where people know me by my "Jewish name" is truly exceptional. The funny thing, though, is that everyone called me "Cha-viva" ... as in, Cha cha, cha cha cha. Salsa dancing style. I hated correcting people, but it felt natural, and it sort of became a joke after a while. There were some very interesting pronunciations, though, as well. But the Jews got it right the first time, and it felt good. Overall, there were some amazing conversations, friendships made, kindly flirtations, and genuine joviality.

Secondly, I caved. I bought a Blackberry Pearl. I know, I know. What do I need with it? Well, the thing is, my job sort of calls for it (not necessarily, but, it's hard to explain). And I'm addicted to the Internet, so why not? I'll give it a go for a few weeks and if it doesn't do me well, then I'll pack it back down to a normal phone and normal service. My number is still the same, but I'm now on T-Mobile. A-freaking-men.

So that's that. I hope everyone had a thoughtful Shabbat. Despite my efforts to make it to shul last night, stepping in a gigantic pile of mud/snow/slush caused me to head straight home. Thus, I am starting 2008 by attending my first Shabbat of the year at the Conservative synagogue. It's a big step, but, I have a really good feeling about it. We'll see where that takes me, but I've heard some good things about the congregation there.

Laila tov, friends, and may you and yours be well as we near 2008.

Two things. That caught my eye.

Happy Thursday, and a few things. I've had a lot, we're talking OODLES of free time at work today. I managed to do up my dad's resume, compile a list of my boss's events for 2008, open bucketloads of mail, and many other important things. But among that, I've had lots of web time. I did the hop from one blog to the other to news sites thing and found a couple things worth mentioning. So here we are for the day.

+ Israel is absolutely near a final agreement to get Gilad Shalit, the Israeli soldier who has been held captive for more than a year by Palestinian militants, back into Israel. The catch? Well, they have to release 100 prisoners, some who are terrorists associated with Hamas, upon Shalit's being handed over to Egyptian security personnel ... not to mention the other 100 prisoners Israeli has to release after Shalit makes it back to Israel. That's 200 dangerous people who want Israel blown off the face of the planet, mind you. Now, I'd all but forgotten about Shalit, and I feel really bad about saying that, but it's one of those things that was horrible for the first six months and then became this ridiculous stand-off where you knew they weren't going to kill him. They'd hold him for a hundred years if they could, trying to get their dangerous criminals released. Also, this seems like the kind of thing that will happen, with frequency, for as long as there is no peace or at least an understanding between Israelis/Palestinians.

+ There was a little write-up over on Jewschool from Christmas Day about a conference ABOUT Reform Judaism. Recently, the Union for Reform Judaism threw a big bash out in San Diego and from what I hear, it went swimmingly. The writer on Jewschool, though, makes a point to express that this conference (held in Israel) was not hosted by the URJ, but rather by the Van Leer Institute. The slide posted along with that post has a professor at Brandeis asking one of her students why he/she is going on to rabbinical school to be a Reform rabbi. The answer is not only shocking, but deeply disturbing.

Well, I want to keep on learning more about Judaism. I want to study Jewish texts all the time, till I learn as much as I can. I want to explore Jewish rituals, to lead a committed Jewish life. I'm a committed Reform Jew, and I want study to be central to my life, but I sure don't want to be a rabbi. That's just the only way I can continue to study and stay in the Reform movement.

Say what? There are people going to rabbinical school who just want to be Reform Jews but think -- for some reason -- that they can't do so without hitting up rabbinical school? The professor said this response is the sentiment of many of her students, too. The only thing shocking than this response is the comments that follow the posting. It would appear that this is a common thing -- people going to rabbinical school to merely study Judaism, but with no intentions of becoming rabbis. Why do these people not pursue Master's or PhD's in Judaic studies? It just seems ... illogical to me. Or is this, perhaps, the sign that there is not enough Jewish education available for adults? Almost every shul I've gone to has had active Jewish Adult Education classes, but few people ever attended them, and most of those who did happened to be older, in their 50s and 60s. So what is the 20-something Jew to do to keep up on Jewish living?

Not go to rabbinical school for kicks and giggles, that's what.

I give you, the fish.

Here's the fish (the photo is cloudy for some reason). For some reason he is lingering at the bottom of the tank. I checked the water temperature, and it's solid, so I'm not sure what's going on, but I wanted a happy active fish, and this fish is not happy active. Part of me wonders if the filter's stream is too powerful, though I even have it on low. At least he's not dead yet!

Oh, and his name? Well, no one guessed it ... but several frequent readers didn't even offer up a guess! But oh well. I tell you now, that my little fishy's name is RASHI! This, of course, is in honor of the great sage Rabbi Isaac ben Salomon, a medieval scholar who I'm absolutely fascinated with. And that's that! Here be the fishy.


Also, I want to say thank you to everyone who has posted on my last entry. I haven't had the oomph to answer any of the queries or thoughts yet, but again I thank you for the sincerity and take on the situation.

Shalom!

Please read all instructions carefully.

Listen: I read all the books. I made sure to read and reread all of the chapters and digressions into the plight of not converting Super-Mega-Ultra-Orthodox. I checked the little box that said "You realize that a lot of Jews won't think you're Jewish, right?" I joked with my Reform rabbi and my Reform friends and even made sure to read all of my mom's nonchalant e-mails about how "You know, you'll never REALLY be Jewish, right? Just look at what's his face, you know, Sammy Davis Jr.!" But a lot of the time, it doesn't matter. About, oh, I'd say, maybe 36 percent I guess. But then there's wanting to marry the perfect Jewish mate (did he have to go through this? or was he lucky enough to be born into?), or have kids, or go to Israel, or interact with other, well, Jews. And most of the time, I don't really think about who thinks I am or am not a Jew. It's irrelevant, because I know that I am a Jew. Yes, I went through the process, I dipped, I was presented, I had the bet din, I did the whole shibang. But I did it Reform, and to a lot of Jews, that isn't good enough. It isn't enough because those three Reform rabbis aren't *really* rabbis and the ceremony wasn't *really* halakhic, and my process definitely wasn't *really* halakhic.

And then this guy today had me back to that square one point, where all Jews by Choice end up at least every now and again, when something happens or someone says something. That point where you think, "If I was meant to be a Jew, then why the heck wasn't I born that way?" It's not a statement of denial of the present person, but rather a struggle to figure out why it's so much easier for everyone else, why the trials and tribulations for me? And as I write this, I recognize that it's quintessentially Jewish to run into these hurdles, these questions, these insecurities -- but for these things to be brought on by another Jew? Albeit, a Jew who thinks ("knows") he or she is a *real* Jew?

Listen. I volunteered today at the local Jewish museum. It's Christmas, and for Jews that means we need something to do that doesn't remind us that, ya, the rest of the world is ignoring their credit card debt while opening shiny new toys and noshing on ham. So I volunteered to hang out for three hours and make sure little kids didn't shmear their chocolaty fingers all over the new exhibit on the top floor of the brand spanking new building. The day was going along absolutely perfectly. I was so stoked to see Orthodox and Reform and the random passersby join together for some Kosher baked goodies and a giant inflatable caterpillar. It was this Jewish utopia where all Jews are created equal. I even ran into a coworker who is as excited about Judaic studies as I am (she's the Orthodox gal I work with). I was on top of the world, I was hanging out in the upper echelon of Jew excitement and happiness, and it seemed like it was only getting better when this stout elderly man in a newsboy cap started talking to me.

His name was Wolf. He was carrying a bag of something and had his pants pulled up in that old man way where they sit far above the waistline, which disappeared years ago. His little cap made him look like an overgrown child and when he asked me where all the food was, I thought, this is someone's grandfather! someone's father! and here he is asking me where to get a nosh. I explained that the treats had been gone long ago, swept up by hungry munchkins. I then told him he could go down to the cafe for some food if he was interested. We walked for a little bit and he struck up a conversation with me, poking fun as to why I hadn't managed to save him a brownie. After nearly two hours of silence and wandering around, I was excited to be talking to this little old Jewish man.

Then came the questions.

Is the cafe kosher? he asked. Yes, I answered. Do you keep kosher? he asked. I grinned, knowing where it was going. I made a motion with my hand to sort of say "so so" and said, To some extent, yes. He responded with, You're a good Jewish girl, no? You should keep kosher! I laughed a little and explained that I was working toward it, feeling almost guilty that I didn't, in fact, keep fully kosher. Old people have this way of making you feel guilty, and this guy, without even trying, was laying it on thick. What's your name? he asked. Amanda, I replied. What's your last name? he asked. I hesitated. This is that point where that whole "What's in a name?" thing comes out. Um ... Edwards, I replied. The look on his face made me anxious and nervous, so I blurted out, Not very Jewish, eh? He got a very stern look on his face. You are Jewish, yes? he asked. I quickly responded, (realizing that if I was volunteering there on Christmas I had to be Jewish, right?) Oh yes, of course I'm Jewish. He cocked his head a little, still looking fairly serious, children were buzzing around us, strollers and people muddling about the lower gallery. So what are you then? he asked. A convert? I got excited suddenly, with this jolt of convert pride flew up out of me, forcing me to respond, Yes, I am a convert ... by my own accord, too. He then started asking me why I converted and what led me to where I was and I gave him the brief version of how I ended up where I did. I explained Nebraska wasn't filled with Jews and that I'd spent about three years on the process.

So what are your parents? he asked. Christians? Jews? What? I never know how to answer that question, because they're more or less agnostic, I guess, but they believe in Jesus, so they're sort of Christians, but completely non-practicing. I explained this to him and he said, So are you sure they're not Jews? Are they definitely Christians? I didn't get what he was implying, though now that I think about it perhaps he wanted to know if there was any Jewish lineage in my past. I responded, Nope, they're Christians all right. I'm the only Jew -- so far as I know -- in my family tree.

Just then a lady he knew walked by, and I felt absolutely relieved. He went back into jovial-old-man mode and started showing pictures from his recent trip to Israel. He had pictures of him playing the violin for the rebbe (or at least this is what he said, I'm not sure about the status of the rebbe, so I could have been misunderstanding) in Israel. He was so proud of the pictures, and kept saying, Now those! Those are some serious Jews! Eventually the woman walked away and the old man named Wolf picked back up his questioning. This is when the situation got truly uncomfortable, and at the end, I was left feeling emotionally drained and as if I'd let down the world. As if I wasn't good enough. As if I'd failed on my mission to become who I was meant to be (Lech L'kha).

So you converted? he said again. Yes, I replied, in April 2006. How did you convert? he asked. I stopped, dead in my tracks. It's times like this that I wish I could create lies on the spot, but I've never been good at that. I can't make up fake telephone numbers or random facts or anything. I'm just no good at lying, but I regret the truth so much because of how it made me feel, because of how it turned this nice little old man into the ultimate naysayer about who I really am. Well, I said with a slight tone of disappointment, I converted through the Reform movement.

He just stared at me. With these piercing eyes, like all of a sudden I was a stranger, I wasn't worth joking with and I wasn't really his kin, his anything. I laughed uncomfortably.

But, I said, you know, I have considered going through more serious (yes, I said serious, because I knew that was the right word for this man) conversion. I think about getting married or having kids, I said, and I wouldn't want them to be ... (I trailed off.). Then he finally spoke up. You know, he said, do you want to marry yourself a nice Jewish boy? I replied, Of course, of course. Then, he said, you know you're going to have to convert Orthodox, it's the only way, really. At this point I just listened. He started talking in this flurry of urgency that when I think about it almost sounds more like he was saying "You idiot, what were you thinking!? You have to be more serious! You have to go the whole nine yards! What a waste of time and flesh!"

But then came the real kicker.

You know, he said, I don't want to sound like I'm judging you, because I'm not, but you know, and I'm being serious here, that you're not really Jewish, right? You're not really Jewish Jewish. I felt like I was going to vomit.

It was those words "You're not really Jewish Jewish" that echoed in my head from the point he walked away until just now. And those words will continue to echo from this point forward. Before, I'd read those words, from my mother and friends and people who didn't really believe what I was doing. But I'd just read them. On paper or the erasable tablet of the Internet. No one had ever said them to my face in a way that was so cutting, so vile, so personal ... and even now, as I write this, those words and this story -- what should have been a pleasant story -- brings me to tears.

Our conversation deteriorated after that. He repeated the "I'm not judging you" line, and continuously encouraged me again and again to convert Orthodox. He wanted me to understand the "reality" of it. He then started talking about wanting to hit up Lake Geneva and then wished me a good day and walked away. I was absolutely devastated.

From that point on, I started noticing things. All the men with their yarmulkes and the Orthodox women with their caps and long skirts and the tzitzit and sidelocks and the quintessential "Jewish" nose. I went to the bathroom to escape it. I suddenly felt like I was on the outside looking in. I was outside the window, looking through the glass at this world that I so want to belong to, that at my very core I know I am a part of, yet at that moment I was so far away from it. I looked into the mirror, and thought to myself, At least you were born with hair as dark as night and skin as white as the snow. At least you look Eastern European, Amanda. At least you have something going for you.

I get that being Jewish isn't about looks or about perceptions. And 98 percent of the time I really get it. But this time, just this time, I stopped feeling Jewish and started feeling like someone who is trying so hard to be something that she wasn't born as. I looked at the kids and the teenagers and was reminded that I'll never go to Hebrew school or have the traditional bat mitzvah. I will never grow up learning the aleph-bet or see my little brother be circumcised in the tradition of our people that has survived thousands of years. I will never. And every time these thoughts crept back in, I reminded myself that when they came for the Jews, they didn't come for the Orthodox, they came for ALL Jews -- secular, converted, religious. They came for them all. And I hate that this is what it comes to, sometimes, when I'm reminded that I am not Jewish enough for the rest of the world.

I'm struggling right now to feel positive about where I am, and it's because of an old man named Wolf who just wanted a nosh, but the words from this old-school Jew who plays the violin and keeps kosher was enough to really tip me over and spin me around. I don't think my reaction to a similar conversation with a Jew my own age would have incited such panic and stress and emotion in me, but when an elderly Jew who has managed to retain the tradition his entirely life calls me out and questions my Jewish authority, I just feel the need to feel accepted. Maybe it's because I never connected with my own grandparents, or maybe it's because I admire the Jews of generations past who had to grow up with such different lifestyles than me, when assimilation and acculturation were so pressured upon new Jews in America. Now, I know I can't know where this Wolf comes from or how long he's lived here, but I do know that when he was a kid his family used to go to Lake Geneva. He had the slight hint of an accent, so maybe his parents were from the old country or maybe even he was born in the old country. Either way, I'm projecting this imagine of the traditional Jew who, despite all odds, managed to hold on to his tradition, his culture, his people-hood. And what am I to this old man?

A nothing. Schmutz. Someone who is trying, but hasn't tried hard enough, and who isn't Jewish Jewish. If you get my drift.

I'm not sure where to go from here. I have this mental image of what I want my life to be like, how observant I want to be, how observant I want my future husband to be, how I want to raise my children to be proud and involved in their Jewishness. And I know -- at this point I am completely conscious of this -- that my present state just isn't going to make those things happen. And then here comes Wolf, reminding me that I'm definitely not able to make those things happen, being Reform and all.

Listen. I'm happy with who I am, believe you me. I'm happy with my conversion, and it was right for me when it happened. I was my newly ordained rabbi's first convert, and for him and me that's something memorable. My conversion had a goof in it and caused me to dip in the mikvah twice. My rabbi took me for sushi afterwards and we talked about how I should enter the rabbinate (his idea, not mine). My conversion, the night of, that is, was the night of the final banquet for my college newspaper, and a few of my friends skipped the formal part to come watch my conversion ceremony at the temple. I then went to the party and got drunk, on what else, Manischewitz. The thing is, my conversion has a story, and there was a lot leading up to it that is emblazoned on my brain, and I wouldn't change any of it for the world. In 2006 when I converted, I truly became Chaviva bat Avraham v'Sarah.

But times like these, times like these I wonder if I shouldn't go further. If that Orthodox kid who I met at Starbucks in D.C. in summer 2006 -- ho said "So why are you Reform again?" when I explained my status, my beliefs, my observance -- had a point. I think, if anything, his point was more significant and dare I say it, thoughtful, than old man Wolf's thoughts on my situation. At any rate, if I convert more "seriously," it won't be because of Wolf or the Orthodox kid. It will be on my own terms, in my own time, and in my own efforts. And that will never change.

I just wish Wolf, and his posse of holier-than-thou Jews, would let me be, would let my mind be at ease, would allow me to be who I am, Jewish as I am. I get that I'm not Jewish enough for a lot of you, but I'm Jewish enough for me. I checked the little box, remember?