A brief interlude for a kvetch

Listen, have your opinions about Israel and Hamas and the "Zionist conspiracy" or whatever, but don't spam my photos on Flickr with your pro-Hamas, down-with-Israel "Nazi Zionist" crap propoganda, mmk? Thanks.

It's amazing how ugly the world is getting, isn't it? Synagogues set ablaze, warning sirens in Jerusalem, people who you maybe thought were friends spewing anti-Jewish and anti-Israel sentiments in your face. I'm not trying to be extreme, but it echoes of another time. It reminds me of a poem I wrote, and the line that history repeats, repeats, repeats. Maybe I'll post it here sometime. It's one of my slam poems, about being Jewish, about the world we live in, and how we have a tendency to recycle our emotions. They don't get worse or better, they don't get different, they just get reused.

Anyhow, here's the screenshot of the guy who decided to spam comment my photos with a bunch of "free Palestine" crap. Too bad the guy doesn't know his history.

A Painter, I Am Not.

At present, I am attempting to paint Tuvia's bathroom. Not his main one, or his guest one, but the half-bath that's near the kitchen that, well, I guess would be considered a small powder room in a way.

We went to Home Depot last night, my mind set on what type of color I was looking for -- something between latte and mocha, but more on the mocha end of things. We bought paint, primer, some brushes, some roller brushes, a handy-dandy extender thing since I'm so short, and some other paint goods. I felt prepared. Surely, surely I had everything!

But I haven't painted in years. I used to help my mom paint the walls in our house, but they were white and the walls were white before them and it wasn't a perfect science. And me? I'm a perfectionist.

So I got up this morning, ripped some things out of the wall, removed nails, threw up some Spackle to cover the errors, let it dry (from pink to white, how handy!), sanded, vacuumed it all up (and almost sucked up a trash bag in the process), then put up the primer and now? Now I'm covered in paint spots, the house smells like weird painty fumes, and I am frustrated. Did I mention I've watched more than a dozen "how to" videos online since 10 a.m.?

Being a perfectionist, I want the most perfect paint job. I want it all to be seamless. I suppose I should have hired @MichelChagall to make sure I had everything I needed, or better yet, I should have flown him out to work his paint magic voodoo craft. Because right now? It's not looking so hot, I don't think. I mean, the paint isn't even up yet and I'm feeling all "blah" about it.

But, I suppose, we'll see how it goes. The theme I'm aiming for is "coffee shop." There is a poster, some paintings, some candles, shelves, and other things that I'll be decorating the room with. It's small, and I don't want to overdo it, but I want it to say "Chavi" so, you know, I have a little space that's somehow me.

Bonfire + Vigil candles

Bonfire + Vigil candles
Originally uploaded by kvetchingeditor

On the night of December 22, we light tealights in a vigil for Gilad Shalit, the Israeli soldier who is *still* being held captive. Without a prompt, I placed a tealight near the big bowl of bonfire, and others followed soon, creating a most astounding set of flames, lighting up the night near our Bedouin Tent.

Israel Photos!

My Israel photos are slowly -- but surely -- going up onto my Flickr.com page. You can check them out by clicking on the link below.

http://flickr.com/photos/kvetchingeditor/sets/72157612375294103/

School starts soon, and I am so unprepared.

I'm back, part two. (That's me in the Omaha airport on Thursday, nursing a 2-hour delay with $3.99 unlimited day's web access.)

After returning from Israel, I headed home to Nebraska to get some time in with my family -- specifically to see how my father was doing after his first round of chemo at the end of December. The trip out wasn't too bad, we flew out of Newark in the wee hours of the morning on Monday and got to Nebraska with time to do some outlet shopping at some sad, sad outlet malls between Omaha and Lincoln. Our first stop? Runza. The world's greatest fast-food joint. Tuvia loved the place so much, every time we talked about getting another bite to eat, he'd joke about going back to Runza. We spent the next few days driving around town, me showing Tuvia my old haunts (especially the Coffee House, where we went three of the four days we were there), my high school, my favorite places, and cheesy places like the mall to buy me a nice formal dress for an upcoming awards ceremony that was canceled due to the inclement weather last night (but it was beautiful -- well, the weather, that is; I guess the dress is okay, hah). We ate at all my favorite places -- Runza, Bison Witches, Lazlos -- and a few places that I wasn't so fond of. We went book shopping and I discovered that my favorite bookshop -- The Antiquarium -- that used to be down in the Old Market in Omaha is no longer there, trading space for someplace out of town. The old places are turning into new places with condos and lofts popping up all over downtown Omaha and in the Haymarket in Lincoln.

But the most important part of the trip was probably the time spent at home, just sitting with my family. Tuvia managed to spend a good hour stumping my mom, little brother, the little brother's girlfriend, and me with a game called "Petals Around the Rose." I could have killed him, that game is so ridiculous. I got to look at old photos of my mom and dad, and many of my mom when she was just a child. My grandmother, in an effort to clean out the house after my grandfather passed last year, has come up with some real gems. My favorites are probably the ones of the car my mother wrecked -- there are so many of that poor front bumper. But the photos of mom and dad opening gifts, dad in his plaid shirts and overalls (a style he managed well into the early 2000s) are some of the most prized I saw.

Last Tuesday, we took my dad to his doctor's appointments, eventually shuffling him to a hospital across the way for some extra looks into what was making him feel so crappy. We spent nearly four hours with my dad that day. I followed him into the doctor's office, helped ask questions, and took about four pages of notes to share with my mom on his medicines, how he was feeling, his shocking weight loss, and other notable things. He kept apologizing for taking up our time, and I kept reminding him "We're in Lincoln, Nebraska, there isn't that much for us to do, it's okay!" In some way, I have to believe that me being there helped calm him, in some way maybe.

It was more emotionally exhausting than I had planned for, and it didn't really hit me how drained I was until Tuvia and I got back to our little Motel 6 room each night. I just wanted to sleep it all off, prepare myself for another day, and go. Even now, as I sit comfortably in Connecticut staring out the window after a night's snow leftovers, I feel a little tired. I talk to my mom who tells me when dad is having his up days and down days. Some days he's down for some Subway, other days he just feels sick. It's the chemo.

So that was the past week for me. Trying to smile and stay lifted. Excited to see my little brother, who has managed to grow a nice little "emo" 'do on his head (men in my family are blessed with thick heads of hair), which his girlfriend seems to really like. He's a smart kid, a really smart kid, and he always makes me smile, no matter how crappy I feel. I miss him -- a lot. Luckily, having Tuvia there was a great lift. He's kind of a personified smile. He is always optimistic, uplifted, and manages to keep me afloat. I think it was a good thing for my parents to meet him when they did -- he allowed laughter, smiles, and fun to enter the house for a few days.

At any rate, a sobering post, I know. I have more Israel to talk about, of course, and I'll probably write next on my Bat Mitzvah ceremony, which was a major trip. I think, if anything, the photos will do the talking for me, though. The look on my face? Priceless and cheesy!

NOTE!

Some of you might have noticed my MIA (missing in action) status. This is because I'm back in Nebraska visiting my family. But never fear, I'll be back soon!

A Shabbos here, a Shabbos there -- Shavua Tov!

For the first time, I made bread. But it wasn't just any bread, it was challah. It was made in haste, without really measuring anything, but with love and necessity as Shabbos approached Friday. And it was seriously the (second) best challah I've ever had. I can't lie, Chabad rebbetzins make the best challah out there. But next time? I'll make it on Thursday, for it was really pushing it. Also, I fully intend on making a half batch, maybe even a third -- this much bread is enough to feed a few families. I give you, the beautiful loaf (unfortunately you won't get to see the ugly loaf, for it was truly ugly).

It was my first Shabbat back in the U.S. after two spent in Israel -- one in Jerusalem, one in Tel Aviv. Shabbat in Jerusalem was flanked by trips to the Western Wall, haKotel haMaaravi. We visited the wall, where men and women were bringing in Shabbat in droves, dressed in their best, davening and weeping at the wall. I searched far and wide on the shelves that line a small wall near the Western Wall for a siddur that might be my speed, but the only Artscroll I could find was a weekday. As I perused the shelves, a woman with a head covering, long skirt, and modest top walked up to me and questioned something in Hebrew. I responded that I didn't understand and she, in English, asked where I was from. We exchanged pleasantries about her being from Canada and me being from the U.S. and then she asked me which siddur she should use. Me!? She asked me? I guess I looked like a pro, but unfortunately I couldn't offer much help. I was frustrated that I hadn't taken my siddur with me, not to mention that I'd left my chumash at the hotel so I couldn't say tehillim for my dad. So I took my place at the wall, and tried to say Misheberach, but the words? They didn't come. I tried time and time again to focus on the words, to daven, but they wouldn't come. My thoughts were jumbled. I shoved two notes into the wall, placed my hand upon the old, cold stone, brought my forehead to rest on the back of my hand, and wept. I did as the women did and walked backwards away from the wall, crying, wondering how I'd become that person -- that emotional, devout, religious, hopeful and optimistic person who could be so moved by a wall! It's just a wall! A gigantic remnant at which generations of Jews have prayed. A place of solace and common ground, a meeting place for prayer, a wall that, if perhaps a few stones taller might reach the feet of G-d. Then? I gathered back with the group, and we walked about 3 miles, though it seemed like a lot longer (it took us more than an hour) back to our hotel.

(Note: That photo was taken on Saturday, after havdalah, post-Shabbat!)

Shabbat day was interesting -- both in Jerusalem and in Tel Aviv -- in that people asked me a lot of questions  about why I was doing what I was doing. Oftentimes I was stopped by Hasidic Jews at the Shabbos elevator saying, "You know this is the Shabbos elevator, right?" So I was probably confusing to the eye -- wearing pants, modest top, hair covered (because hair dryers are so not Shabbos friendly). One of my roommates in Jerusalem offered to blow dry my hair, but after I explained why it wasn't in the spirit of Shabbat, she loaned me a cute hat instead. I relied on others to let me into our hotel rooms, for others to push hotel elevator buttons when the Shabbos elevator was packed (we were essentially on the 8th floor in Jerusalem, but lucked out on floor No. 1 in Tel Aviv), and answered questions about why I did these things and why I don't think they're outdated and useless mitzvot. In Jerusalem, everything was shut down -- cars were few on the street, workers were few in number at the hotel, and Jews mulled about the lobby reading Torah and napping in easy chairs. In Tel Aviv, businesses were open and cars abounded, filling the streets as if it were any other day of the week. As you can imagine, I preferred Shabbos in Jerusalem over Tel Aviv. I napped on Shabbat, but I missed Tuvia and our Shabbats filled with boardgames, reading, and rest. It definitely wasn't the same, and I felt pretty isolated amid a group of people who -- although I love them to pieces -- complained quite a bit about how we couldn't go out and about on Shabbat. If only I had had boardgames there ... maybe I could have swayed a few to the absolute bliss of a restful Shabbat (and I say this half-jesting).

The meals? They were okay, and the kiddush and haMotzi were much appreciated. As a result, and thanks to one of our group leaders and a loyal former-IDF soldier-turned-security guard, I finally learned why it is that we dip our challah in salt on Shabbat. You see, salt never spoils or decays, thus it represents the eternal covenant we have with G-d. Brilliant!

As time goes on, I know I'll remember more about Shabbat, and as such I'll share bits and pieces as they come to me. Like the beautiful havdalah ceremony we had in Jerusalem thanks to a ba'al teshuvah by the name of Rabbi Mottel (the hippest rabbi this side of Eden), the singing and burning of the havdalah candle, explaining why I cover my hair, having my roommates at both hotel experiences be kind enough to let me in and out of the room and keep certain lights on, and more. I spent a lot of time this Shabbat feeling kind of empty, but that's for another post. I am glad to be back, though, and I'm glad I got to spend some time playing games, resting, and I look forward to using the brand new Kosher Lamp that Tuvia's mum picked us up for Chanukah.

With that? Shavua tov everyone :)

5769 + 2009

Live from the desert of Judea, I give you the most awesome Birthright group ever, including the bus driver -- Mashiach -- in the front there. It is with this photo that I say HAPPY NEW YEAR as 5769 is now joined by 2009.

I demand a year of peace, progress, and peaceful progress. Shanah tovah!

L'chaim!

Because I definitely neglected to post my Jerusalem-purchased kiddush cup before ... here she is!

What can you do in 15 seconds?

It's all too real, no? (Yes, Aish is still on my shit list, but this video is too appropriate NOT to post.) Thanks to Leah Jones for this.

More Wine, Please?

Disclaimer: These posts will be in, well, no particular order. Please forgive me?

On December 23, in the midst of an irritating rain storm, we stopped by the Rimon pomegranate winery in the heart of the Galilee Mountains. This place is the hippest, most random little winery I've ever seen -- the look is very clean, crisp art deco with the most beautiful light fixtures I have ever seen. Someday -- I repeat, someday -- I will find these light fixtures and most definitely put them in my house. It's thanks to this winery that I am now obsessed with pomegranates. The unique thing about these wines is that they aren't just flavored with pomegranate. Oh no, they're made from 100 percent pomegranates!

We weren't there very long, but we were there long enough to try their wines, of which I took to the dessert and port (pictured there). For some reason, the Port was a lot sweeter than the dessert, so I picked up a bottle for the express purpose of my first kiddush home with Tuvia. You see, the first chance we'd had to shop -- out on Ben Yehuda in Jerusalem -- I picked up (after some haggling) the most beautiful kiddush cup, so I needed some Israeli wine to go with it. So I purchased the wine, some delicious chocolate, and a jar of Israeli-made honey.

Here are some photos for your viewing pleasure. I'll let you know how the wine goes over with Tuvia on Shabbos.

Cheers!

I'm baaaaaaackkk!!!

We arrived at Ben Gurion, schluffed through security, I managed to talk the woman at the counter out of charging me for a bag that somehow acquired 11 pounds on the trip, shopped at duty free, and sat down at our gate. I needed a window seat. I walked up to the Continental desk, requested a change, it was processed, and I was set for a row in the 40s on the window. I sat down, chatted with my new friends, and then it was time to board the three-cabin behemoth of a plane. I realized, after taking my seat, that I was rows and rows away from my new friends, placed in the midst of one of the other Birthright groups, for the nearly 12-hour ride home. I took out my journal (that Tuvia's stepmom got me) and began to attempt to write more notes about the trip and the Shabbat adventures I hadn't recorded. Then? The plane took to the runway and lifted into the clear, blue Israeli sky. And I?

I started to cry. Alligator tears. Uncontrollable drops that confused me. I watched as Israel disappeared behind me as we went up, up, up. I peered out my little window, watching as we went away, moving away from Israel -- like the women who walk backwards as they leave the Western Wall, like leaving a loved one, it's hard to just turn around and leave. I watched until my neck hurt from looking backwards and until I couldn't see the coast any longer amid the thinning clouds. And even when I couldn't see Israel anymore, I kept crying.

I can't really explain the emotion, but I feel like I've left something very special behind. Like a piece of me was buried in the desert, dropped while riding camels or sleeping in the Bedouin tent or watching the sun rise slowly and then quickly over the Judean desert. Something was left there, and maybe it's why my stomach feels so empty today.

When we first went on the trip, the trip madrachim told us that they didn't want to be so bold as to call us Israelis, but that they hoped that by the end of the trip, we would be proud and eager to call ourselves as such. I can honestly say, with a full heart and a steady mind that I am an Israeli. Albeit, more of the Jerusalem or Kibbutzim Israeli than a Tel Aviv Israeli (to be honest, T.A. just didn't jibe with me).

I have so many stories to tell. I have people to talk about. Forty and more new friends I made with varying degrees of Jewishness that is as beautiful as the varying terrain across Israel. I have stories to tell about people who touched me and people I touched, stories that are amusing ("welcome to pimp my camel!") and stories of tragedy (visiting the border with Lebanon and Syria and Gaza and the Save a Child's Heart program) that always, ALWAYS manage to defeat the odds in the pursuit of life and happiness.

It will take me weeks. It might take months. But eventually I hope I can really explain what Israel has done to me. Watching, while we were still in Israel, as missiles and bombs flew out of Gaza onto homes and hopes, I was devastated. I knew IDF soldiers who, after our departure, were likely heading there, into Gaza, in order to protect Israel and the Jewish people. One of the soldiers? His family's home was destroyed in the attacks. Listening to the stories and hearing how people live day-by-day and how they just want to do that -- live -- has given me a newfound respect for the Israel Defense Forces, the soldiers who are there fighting for ME, and the entire country and its hopes and efforts. So, being here, in the U.S., the place that the customs man called "home" when welcoming me back, is difficult. Incredibly difficult. Because I now know what is on the other side, and I know what I have left behind.

At any rate, I have lots of unpacking to do, a stomach to make better, more sleep to get, and pictures -- of which there are hundreds -- to look through. Until then?

Am Yisrael Chai!

Bon voyage!

Okay. I'm about 95 percent positive I'm going to leave my computer with Tuvia and not take it with me to Israel. I was gifted a notebook for journaling, and I think most assuredly that this is a sign (since I have another, as well) that I should be WRITING, not TYPING, my Israel experience. It'll be therapy for me -- someone so plugged in 24/7. But, you know, if there happens to be a computer there for my use? I'll whittle away at my likely ever-growing inbox, never fear. 

Catch you all on the other side of the trip! L'hitraot!

Shabbos and ... I'm heading to Israel now!

Well, in 24 hours I'll be sitting at the airport with dozens of other Birthright attendees, waiting patiently for our 3 something flight. Thus, I should be packing right now, but I'm blogging. Why? Because I'm a wholly devoted blogger, you know.

Over the past month, plus a little, the significant other and I have been keeping Shabbos -- both here in Connecticut and when we've stayed in the Poconos. There have been a few exceptions to the rule that I'll explain, but for the most part, we've gone all out -- cooked dinner a night or two early, warmed up in the preheated oven on Shabbos; turned off all unused lights pre-Shabbat (and taped the light switches up to keep us from turning lights off accidentally); purchased canteens to keep water hot throughout the holiday; and all other Shabbat-friendly things. The exceptions to the rule have been few, but they involve going to shul and coming back. Usually when we come back the house is all ready to go -- the SO having set everything before work in the morning. The debate continues over going to synagogue, and I know the rabbis have ruled that it is better to not go to shul than to operate a motor vehicle on the sabbath, but we live nowhere near a synagogue, as they're all in West Hartford for the most part. Barring picking up and moving, the only option right now is either no shul or driving to shul pre-Sabbath and making our best happen after synagogue.

This past week we did probably the ultimate no no -- we hit up an Orthodox shul, only to drive home afterward since we were miles and miles and miles from home. But I'd wanted to go to the synagogue for some time and there was no way *to* go without driving. Everyone was very welcoming, and although the women's section included just me and two other women, the melodies were familiar and the service was more what I had become oriented to living back in Chicago. I felt at home, and on a Shabbos like that -- right after my father's diagnosis -- I need that mechitzah and the separation and the time to pray within myself. Add to this that they didn't have the Artscroll transliterated, and, well, I was incredibly focused on the words. It was a truly excellent experience and just what I'd needed. The only dilemma now is figuring out how to make that kind of experience happen when I live so, so, so far away.

The semester ended so abruptly, and so busily, that I've been feeling quite overwhelmed and I'm feeling a bit out of sorts emotionally and Jewishly. Thus, I guess it's probably a stellar time for me to head to Eretz Yisrael, to get a dose of the homeland, to stand and walk on ages-old streets and daven with the best of them, in the places our ancestors breathed and ate and read and drank. I'm not sure what to think at this point, as I'm filled with a mixture of excitement and -- not fear -- but apprehension. I'm not sure why apprehension, but it's the best word I can come up with at this point. I'll have a friend on the trip, and I'll know plenty of others in Israel at the time, but there's still a bit of nervousness. It is, after all, my first trip out of the U.S. -- EVER.

Anyhow, enough about the trip. Hopefully I'll be doing a bit of blogging from the road because the hotels we're staying at (when we're not out in the Bedouin tents) have free WiFi. But there will be pictures (I have 12 GB worth of storage space, I hope it's enough!), and stories (a paper journal is armed for these things) and plenty of goodies for friends and bloggers alike.

So, stay tuned. I'll be around, but if you don't see much of me in the next 10 days, well, you know I'm probably scaling Masada or davening at the Western Wall or purchasing goodies with shekels or something. I'll have all of you on my mind, though, the entire time I'm away. After the drama earlier this year with Birthright, I'm so happy I'm finally on my way.

If there's anything YOU'd like while I'm in Israel, shoot me a comment or email STAT! I'll be out of communication starting around 3 p.m. tomorrow -- when our plane leaves -- until Thursday night at the earliest.

Haveil Havalim and a Viral Video!

I know, I know -- I'm late to the party. The carnival party, that is! This week's edition of Haveil Havelim, everyone's favorite Jewish blog fete, is out and proud. That is, it's up and over on Jack's blog , which, might I add, is sporting a new handle: "Life is a tale told by an idiot: Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." Hopefully, sometime in the not-so-distant future I'll be hosting the carnival, so stay tuned for details!

I have plenty to say, but it's late and I have much to do and laundry to start, because, well, in three nights I'm going to be floating over an ocean somewhere, hopefully asleep (I neglected to visit the clinic to get an in-flight drug, unfortunately). So in the meantime (that is, until tomorrow afternoon), I leave you with this awesome pre-Chanukah Chanukah delight. Be sure to look out for one of my favorite bloggers, the always eloquent Esther K (she's in front of the HOLLYWOOD sign!).

Chavi is BACK!

Brace yourselves, folks. Chavi is BACK in business. The first semester of my graduate career is officially over, and I'm praying for all As on my first, official, graduate school report card. But in truth, I'm done thinking about academics for the next month, I think. We all know this is a lie, as the moment I have a free second, I'm going to be starting in on "The Essential Talmud " by Adin Steinsaltz in preparation for my Talmud course next semester.

This week, though, has been one of highs and lows. Ups and downs. Emotional extremes.

The highs? The significant other (known henceforth as Tuvia) gave me some early Chanukah gifts -- a much-needed toaster oven, a much-needed HP printer/scanner/copier, and most beautifully, a glittering, shiny Star of David necklace. I started packing for my Birthright trip, with the knowledge that this time next week I'll be basking in the sun of Israel, davening in the land of my ancestors, exploring the land.

The lows? I realized that my knowledge of New Testament studies is nil. I found myself frustrated studying for my Bible exam because of my inability to comprehend the unresolved (academically and theologically) issue of Jesus as G-d (Jesus can suffer, G-d can't, but Jesus is still G-d -- note: not the SON of G-d, just G-d, a common misunderstanding of our Christian brethren).

The lowest of the lows? I found out, around 5 p.m. yesterday while stressing about my Bible exam, that my father has lymphoma. They don't know just yet whether it's Hodgkins or non-Hodgkins. They don't know what stage it's in. They, of course, being my parents. Until they meet with the oncologist, we don't really know anything.

My brain was frazzled this morning. I couldn't get my toaster to work. I spent 10 minutes trying to fix it. I realized later, after throwing my bagel frustratedly into the trash, that I'd unplugged the power strip with the toaster and microwave instead of the refrigerator plug, which had been my original intention. I got all the way to class and then realized I'd left my term paper (which I needed to hand in) back in my room and had to schlep back to get it before the test. This morning was a head explosion, can't focus, struggling to breathe kind of morning.

The best way for me to describe my current emotional state is stunned. Not upset or sad or depressed, just stunned. I don't know if that makes sense, but it makes me feel bad that I'm not bawling my eyes out every five seconds. Although, when I informed my professor of the news, I nearly started crying, which would have been a travesty, as it was moments before I started the exam. The thing is, when I was little, I freaked out about death. I spent some amount of time crying at night, unable to sleep, devastated at the idea of death and everything just stopping. And then I had a realization and I realized that it was so insignificant -- life was important, this life, this existence. Ever since then, I've been unable to get really depressed about death. I haven't been able to overwhelm myself with loss. My grandfather died in April, and I was stunned more than upset. My great uncle died maybe 12 years ago, and I wrote a poem about how happy his memory was for me (he used to always steal my nose). And now? I'm just stunned. Empty, stunned shock. Maybe I don't know what to think.

But the important thing is? I'm back. After Shabbos, I'll be writing about, well, Shabbos. I've been doing the Shomer Shabbos thing, and tonight Tuvia and I are heading to to a modern Orthodox shul. We'll see how it goes. But tonight, I'll be thinking of my father. And if it isn't too much to ask, I would hope y'all could donate some of your prayers tonight to my father. He has no Hebrew name, he's not Jewish, but he is my father.

I'm back, baby. I'm back!

Haveil Havalim #194!

I'm still alive, still suffering through papers and studying for finals. In the meantime, the new edition of Haveil Havalim is up. It's #194, and it's being hosted over at Shiloh Musings, and wow is it a GIGANTIC list of links. It might take you days to weed through the Jewish goodness!

Enjoy!

Hilarious Video ... STAR STUDDED ...

Hat Tip to Jack for this Prop 8 Musical -- Jack Black, Margaret Cho ... DOOGIE HOWSER ... wow.

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

Check out my good friend Esther K on G-dcast!

More Torah cartoons at www.g-dcast.com

Taking a Mini-Break ... sort of.

It's a new month, and 2009 is nearly upon us. Thank G-d it's already 5769 and I don't really have to think about a new year! But I wanted to pop in to let everyone know that for the next week, perhaps two, I will be really MIA. I have a lot of things I want to write about -- keeping Shabbos over the past month with a significant other, hot water pots, already-on ovens, separating meat and dairy and the interesting conundrums it has presented, getting to shul, and more. But I have two term papers (one of which is presently 20 pages and the other of which is about 15 and growing) to work on and a few finals to focus my attentions toward. As such, I just can't be present on my blog in the way I'd like to be. So there will be short snippets of news stories and what have you, but nothing really that fascinating, and for this? I ask for your patience until I return fully and for your continued support! This blog is my world, and having so many readers means so much to me. I'll be back for about a week after my finals, and then, on December 17, I trek off to Israel for a life-altering experience on Birthright. I won't be live blogging, most likely, but I will be alive and well. If I can figure out how to text a post, I'll be sure to do it!

On a similar note, another reason I'm stepping away is because my energy level is at a bottom right now. I feel like the Freddy, the dog in this photo. I just want to sleep! As you all know, I was dealing with strep throat about three weeks ago. I took a 10-day dose of penicillin, and I was better for about four or five days, after which I started getting some similar symptoms. I couldn't swallow anything, not even water, without excruciating pain. I was exhausted, my glands were the size of baseballs, and there was a pressure in my head, nose, ears, and neck that I cannot even begin to put into words! Luckily, things only got really bad after Thanksgiving, so I was able to enjoy some time with the S.O.'s family. But on Friday morning, we had to drive about 45 minutes to the nearest urgent care/hospital in the middle-of-nowhere, Pennsylvania, so I could be diagnosed. The doctor immediately surmised it was mono (although he mentioned that since it had been 2.5 weeks, I likely was outside the window for showing positive for mono), took a swab test for strep (which I'm still waiting on) and sent me off to the hospital for blood tests. Later Friday, he called to tell me that he couldn't tell for sure whether it was NOT mono, but he did know that I had developed a bacterial infection. I was sent to the pharmacy just after the start of Shabbat (which bummed me out, but was necessary) for a prescription that was penicillin + more antibiotics to help fight the infection.

Needless to say, I'm feeling a lot better than I was Thursday night and Friday during the day, but I'm not even at 60 percent right now. I'm fatigued, my glands are still swollen, and my skin is more ghostly than normal! One friend quipped that I even looked like I had mono. Ach! So I'm going to be sleeping a lot, working on papers, and messing around with Hebrew while trying to get better.

And maybe ... just maybe ... I'll get around to reading the nearly 300 blog posts I'm behind on. You bloggers have been busy over the past six days. It's frustrating to be so behind. If you have a blog post that you think I should most certainly spend some time on -- email me or put the link in the comments below.

Until I return with stories of Shabbos and crazy racists in the Poconos ... be well!