OyChicago blog

Joc Pederson

A lot of the big free-agent splashes have been made already, dominating baseball headlines, but here are the Jewish story lines to follow this baseball offseason.

Be Like Ike

After a mediocre year with the Oakland Athletics and their never-ending ability to retool, Ike Davis finds himself out of Oakland. The power-hitting first baseman hit only three home runs last season. Someone may take a flyer on him in hopes he can regain his 32-HR strength from back in 2012.

Start with Breslow

Craig Breslow has been one of baseball's most reliable pitchers in middle relief. But he is seeking a job as a starting pitcher. He's done in Boston (though we have said that before) and looking to reinvent his career.

More than Three Starts

Jon Moscot of the Reds was off to a 1-1 record in his first tgree starts, but then he blew out his shoulder. Moscot was the newest Jewish pitcher in the league and we hope he can get back to where he was before the injury. He made an appearance at the Reds Winter Festival and looks ready to get back to work.

Who's Next?

We are always looking at who has the potential to be the next Jewish major leaguer. Both Jeremy Bleich (Indians) and Richard Bleier (Nationals) have come close. We will watch to see what happens, but my money is on Maxx Tissenbaum, who was recently traded to the Marlins, and Zach Weiss, who was rumored for a September 2015 call-up with the Reds. Others to keep an eye on are Max Fried (Braves) and Alex Bregman (Astros), both first-round selections.

Second Chances

Cody Decker finally found his way to the Bigs and is now in Kansas City. Nate Freiman didn't appear in the Bigs after a decent amount of success in 2014. Josh Zeid spent the whole season in the Minors too. Will these three help boost the JMLB numbers … and their respective teams?

Ausmus on the Hot Seat

Some would call Brad Ausmus lucky to still have his job. The Tigers grossly underachieved last season and the Ausmus rumors were everywhere. But he is back, we are happy, and hopefully he can prove to Detroit just how great of a manager he can be.

Braun's Back

There were, and continue to be, trade rumors surrounding Ryan Braun. He serves as Milwaukee's best asset. But after off-season back surgery, he first needs to get healthy.

Gabe Kapler and the Dodgers

Gabe Kapler was rumored to be in line for the Dodgers managerial position, which ultimately went to Dave Roberts. But Kapler remains with the team and is waiting for his shot. If Roberts slips up, Kapler could be next in line.

Jerry Narron and Israel

Israel was announced for the qualifiers for the 2017 World Baseball Classic. While we wait to hear who will make up the roster, we do know Brewers bench coach and former MLB Manager Jerry Narron (not Jewish) will be on the staff. A big believer in Israel, Narron is excited to be a part of the team.

Joc Pederson

Joc Pederson owned the first half of the 2015 season and was named to the All-Star game. He was all but anointed National League Rookie of the Year until a less-than-pretty second half of the season. Jewish baseball fans everywhere are locked into Joc's story. He is young, talented and wearing Dodger blue.

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except me, who took every possible moment to tell everyone how long it was until Christmas. For example, "It's two hours until Christmas!" or "It's 100 minutes until Christmas!" That's because after 28 years on Earth, this year was my first legitimate Christmas, i.e. actually participating in Christmas activities for the sake of Christmas, not the normal Christmas piggybacking I did with watching A Christmas Story on TV for 24 hours straight. (Side note: Jews shouldn't really be piggybacking on anything. It's not kosher). 

Usually on Christmas I participate in the stereotypical movie and Italian food. What? Not Italian food? Get out of town! So I've been doing it wrong for 28 years!? Oh well, moving on.

To mark this first ever day where X-Mas truly marked the spot, I celebrated with my girlfriend's family.

As we all know, Christmas has always been an important holiday to me. But this being the first time I ever celebrated Christmas proper, the level of anticipation was heightened considerably with a buildup of practically three decades. So while Jewish Free Day was not in full effect this year, I couldn't have been more excited to see what it was like from the other side of the Christmas tree.

As the clock approached midnight, the need for sleep was at hand, but this was no easy feat. This was like the night before going to Disneyworld. Sleep would be difficult. I tried counting sheep (we were in rural Indiana so it was easy) but I forgot how excited I get when sheep counting. I instead counted pigs. That was boaring and put me right to sleep.

The moment the sun came up I was yelling, screaming, jumping up and down on the bed, bellowing, "It's Christmas! It's Christmas!" for all to hear, whether they liked it or not. I opened the window and it was -- kinda rainy and gross, but it was Christmas rainy and gross! So it didn't matter!

I ran downstairs in my all excitement! Then I ran back upstairs since I forgot to put on some pants in all my excitement. With the extra moment of pants assimilation in progress, I decided form that point forward I was going to make everything Christmas themed that day. 

"Adam, it's time for breakfast."
"Christmas breakfast!?"
"Adam, it's time for presents."
"Christmas presents!?"
"Adam, calm down"
"Christmas calm down!?"

Since I have only previously celebrated Chanukah, getting all my presents at the same time on the same day instead of one by one over eight nights was amazing. It felt like Netflix for presents. Everything was available at once. And I'm glad to say, Santa did come in the middle of night -- but in secret form. You know, Secret Santa. Heh heh.

So while I didn't get to see the big guy in the red suit firsthand, which was slightly disappointing only because I wanted a Coke, I still profusely enjoyed the chance to participate in actual Secret Santa. (Although I'm still trying to get everyone on board with "Completely Obvious Santa" -- that's when you pick a name and then yell, "Hey! I'm your Santa!")

After opening all the presents, the rest of the day was dedicated to playing with all of our new toys (as an adult, there's nothing more fun than a new humidifier) and chilling. After all, we did the Netflix equivalent with the presents.

Chanukah never gave me the day off of work, but Christmas does just that, so I might as well take advantage of it. I mean, Christmas has eggnog when Chanukah doesn't have any nog! Honestly, the Jews are severely lacking in nog and need to step up their nog game.

I am excited for the future Christmas shenanigans I will no doubt be able to take part in, in years to come. Perhaps I'll throw some Chanukah flair into Christmas Day with a rousing game of dreidel, or a riveting rendition of "I Have a Little Dreidel." Basically, my ace in the hole is dreidel.

So what did I take away from this, my first ever X-Mas? Well I got a couple DVDs, some new slippers, candy and -- that's not what you meant? You meant "what did I gain from this experience?" I see. You want some genuine Adam stuff to finish off this Oy-tastic year. Well, what I liked most about my first Christmas is the idea of taking the time to relax and enjoy the company of family and friends. Life is hectic; sometimes insanely so. I honestly lose sleep sometimes so I can do the trivial or fun things I enjoy in life, like write this. I don't often get the opportunity to just do nothing without feeling guilt for neglecting something else. Christmas allows, of all things, for me to have that guiltless feeling in whatever it is I do that day. Even if it's just playing games, watching movies or spending time with loved ones.

It's very similar to why I like Rosh Hashanah -- the family element, the excuse to get together for positive reasons. While Chanukah can certainly have that, it doesn't always feel the same as the higher profile Jewish holidays. But having Christmas available in my life (thanks Winter a.k.a. my girlfriend) gives me more reason than ever to say that it is an important holiday to me.

Christmas is a new and exciting opportunity to experience what I love about the holidays the most. Not the presents, not even necessarily the traditions, but the idea of togetherness -- being able to share those presents and traditions. And also maybe the food. Plus, now I can make watching A Christmas Story on TV for 24 hours straight a true Christmas tradition instead of the ironically Jewish tactic of piggybacking. So I pretty much win Christmas.

The reality of what's been going on in Chicago has sunk in deep lately. People being murdered and beaten in the streets, dragged, handcuffed and TASER-ed -- it's unbelievable. Regardless of what your family looks like gathered around the dinner table, everyone needs to be talking about this.

Maybe they don't look like you. They don't look like me. The tragic statistics splashed day after day, the headlines, the graphic pictures and videos -- they are about black people suffering. And while my heart breaks, I recognize I have been granted a distance because I'm not black.

As a white person living where I live, I could pretend what's happening simply isn't happening. The sidewalks of my neighborhood look nothing like the streets of Chicago. Theoretically, I could just close my eyes to the whole disturbing mess. Except -- except for the conscience I was raised with would never allow me to turn a blind eye to the injustice and suffering of others.

My parents will admit they completely missed the boat in terms of raising me with a formal Jewish education, but they always said and continue to say, "We raised you with Jewish values. That's how you know you're truly Jewish." So here I am, with my Jewish conscience at its breaking point.

As Jews, our history knows the consequences of turned backs. The "not me, not mine" complacency allows for injustice and murder and everything in between. We can't just shake our heads and say, "What a travesty of justice! What a shame!" and think that changes anything. Well, I suppose we can. And this is where a fear begins to consume me. If "it" doesn't touch us, if the metallic taste of blood isn't in our mouths, are we forgetting?

As Jews, there is a thread between us and any people who are grouped in the pejorative and categorically denied, demoralized and disempowered. "Those" people are "us."

The difference is we can hide our "otherness" if we choose by tucking our Jewish symbols under our shirts. We can avoid being identified as Jews by putting our Jewishness on a hanger or by omitting our last names. We can walk down the street as if we are in the majority. Nobody need notice us if we don't want them to. We can hide. And hiding is seductive when things feel scary.

And things feel very scary right now, but we cannot hide in fear. We must be seen. We must join in the collective voices that demand justice. Because as Jews, we cannot ever, ever forget.

B' Shalom,

Annice

It doesn't often happen that a team will fire a head coach with a .647 winning percentage and NBA Coach of the Year honors, but after five seasons and five straight playoff appearances cut short, the Bulls parted ways with Tom Thibodeau this off season and replaced him with first-year head coach Fred Hoiberg.

Despite grinding their way to the top of the Eastern Conference year after year under Thibs, many felt he pushed the players too hard, playing through injuries and logging 40-plus minutes in sometimes meaningless regular season games. His high standards and relentless style had worn on everyone, even the players who bought in completely.

Hoiberg was supposed to be the "anti-Thibs," and so far this season, the players agree. This was intended to be a good thing, but so far the results have not been there. Hoiberg was brought in to move toward an offense-focused game plan in a changing league modeled after high-volume scoring teams like the Golden State Warriors, but the Bulls rank near the bottom of the league in offensive efficiency (only the Nets, Lakers and 76ers are worse) as well as effective field goal percentage (tied with the 76ers, only the Grizzlies and Lakers are worse).

The relationship between Hoiberg and the players has also been edgy since the beginning, starting with moving Joakim Noah out of the starting line up in favor of Nikola Mirotic. Noah reportedly was very comfortable with this change and even approached Hoiberg about it because he was more comfortable playing with Taj Gibson anyway. This did not come as much of a surprise seeing as Noah has been a team-first pro since coming into the NBA, but it was later revealed that the move was not Noah's idea and he was just going along and looking on the bright side.

The most recent spat came last weekend in the form of a much more aggressive calling-out by team leader Jimmy Butler. Butler said that Hoiberg was not pushing the team hard enough or holding his players accountable. Although he later said he was not throwing his coach under the bus and that it was on everyone to push harder -- nobody was fooled.

This was a roster built for Thibodeau's style of play, with his work ethic embedded in the players' DNA. If Hoiberg's style was creating positive results maybe things would be different, but they are not.

Mirotic and Doug McDermott, who were placed in the starting lineup to lead the offensive attack, have struggled and have since been replaced by Gibson and Tony Snell -- stronger defensive players. The change in style along with a setback to Mike Dunleavy and Derrick Rose's double vision have led to a rare occurrence -- a team that returned 90 percent of its roster from last season is struggling to find chemistry.

Changes need to be made if the Bulls want to salvage this season. Noah is on contract a year. Pau Gasol is too and Rose's enormous contract has one more year after this one. Butler appears to be the only untouchable player on the roster, though if this rift continues, it may come down to him or Hoiberg.

The Bulls will never tank, it just isn't like them, but they don't appear to be going anywhere this season. It'll be interesting to see how active they are at the trade deadline considering they're already threatening the luxury tax threshold.

Hoiberg may turn out to be the right coach, but he is not the right coach for these players. If Hoiberg and Butler, who were both just signed to five-year contracts, aren't able to find common ground, this could end up being a bigger mess than anything that happened under Thibs, because even when things were at their most chaotic, the Bulls were still winning.

The biggest difference I have seen so far is that this Bulls team just doesn't seem to enjoy playing together. Even when the Bulls have been undermanned in the past, they were always fun to watch. But this Bulls team lacks identity and cohesiveness on both ends of the court.

Now is the time to sell high on some of their players like Noah, Gibson and even Rose. Lightening up their overloaded frontcourt will give more opportunities to rookie Bobby Portis and give them a chance to see if they actually do have players to build around in Mirotic and McDermott.

As of today, the Bulls sit in the No. 7 seed of a much-improved Eastern Conference. They have lost three straight games and 6 of their last 10, and finish out 2015 with a very difficult schedule including Oklahoma City, Dallas, Toronto and Indiana.

The Bulls' front office needs Hoiberg to turn things around. He is the sixth head coach in the last 10 years, not a great record for a general manager to have. If improvements aren't made across the board, we could see changes made at the top, and another potential period of misery like the one we saw in the early 2000s.

The Bulls are on the verge of a new era, and the next few months will determine what kind of era that is going to be.

"Tech" and "startup" are popular buzzwords. Use them together, and you've got "synergy," the crowned king of buzzwords. These words are like fuel to a flaming conversation, blazing with interest and hype.

Just 15-20 years ago, tech startups were rare gems, and few were lucky enough to jump on the bandwagon. Think Google, Amazon and the fashionably late -- yet my personal favorites -- Facebook and Instagram.

Like a rom-com, it's a roller-coaster of (market) sentiment full of the highest of highs and lowest of lows. Not all tech contenders could weather the deadly storms, the dot-com bubble and housing bubble (who knew bubbles were so dangerous?), and yet the chosen few prevailed. And after all these years, we stay enamored as ever with the idea of startups and even more enchanted with "tech startups."

So is it even fathomable to think that tech startups may be losing their charm? If so, why are these lovable underdogs becoming less lovable? Here are a few reasons I'm noticing:

Quantity over quality

The space feels saturated, claustrophobic even. Like Starbucks in the early 2000s, startups are popping up on every corner, each one sounding more promising than the last with a killer mission statement to boot.

But the market is free -- and so is the consumer -- to determine their fates. It's not all glamorous and there's a good reason actuaries have jobs. Numbers/stats/math don't lie: 92, I repeat, 92 percent of startups fail in the first three years.

And still, like the Gold Rush, hundreds of thousands flock to them. I'm beginning to wonder who doesn't work at a startup? Such a job is losing its exclusivity, and this deters some talent from joining the club. VIP status just doesn't feel the same anymore.

Perks aren't so "sexy" anymore

You've got concierge service, free meals, free dry-cleaning, free phone and laptop, free housing, free booze, and even free puppies. So what? So does everybody else. Tech perks are losing appeal because they are no longer perks -- they're expectations. Provide them or forget about world-class talent.

Talented people like to be taken care of, and companies feel pressure to up the ante on the swag they provide or need to create insane buzz around their business. To remain successful incubators for all this raw talent, it'll cost a pretty penny. It's not clear whether this is fortunate or unfortunate, but the bar sits high and pretty, which probably benefits us all in some way.

Today a start-up, tomorrow a giant

When you've got a great idea (and I mean a really great idea), the right tools (*cough*, capital, *cough*), and most importantly the right people (and lots and lots of luck), there's a sliver of hope a startup might materialize. But a startup is only as successful as the brevity of its startup status.

Look at it from any angle, but the fact remains that a startup is a true success when it is no longer considered a startup. Keeping that in mind, the fundamental goal of any tech startup is exponential growth (and revenue). To continue moving full-steam ahead, you lose room for the start-up culture, flexibility and appeal.

It's a hefty trade-off, but one that founders and VCs are game to make because for them, that means money. For you, the employee, that means fate at the hands of new management or possibly shareholders. The startup phase is a glamorous run, but it's short-lived.

Despite these three charm-busters, past and current tech startups are pretty much killing it right now (Tumblr, Spotify, Instagram, Snapchat etc.). In fact, they're young, and more popular and attractive than ever.

There's a lot to consider before joining a startup, but they're quite literally shaping our modern world. Tech startups are always on the leading edge of problem solving and innovation. Many people still consider being a part of one a privilege and honor; and if you find the right one, the sky's no longer the limit.

There is a period in every geek, nerd or dork's life when he or she has to grow up. You still remain a geek, nerd or dork, of course, but growing up sort of happens. Things like meeting a special someone, for example, sort of happen. And unless you meet on the floor of a comic convention admiring each other's cosplay outfits, the odds you will have to share whatever it is you geek, nerd or dork out over with that person. It's a big moment in a relationship, because part of you knows inside that if they can't accept or learn to love whatever your geeky, nerdy or dorky obsession is, how can they possibly be the right one for you?

For a lot of men (or perhaps one should say "boys" in this instance), that obsession is Star Wars. Okay, maybe it's not an obsession for everyone, but at one point in almost (most) every boy's life, he becomes crazy about Star Wars. You might be inactive in your Star Wars fandom for a time, but that will never change how you feel about these movies, or how quickly you will defend them.

My obsession with Star Wars catapulted when I was about 10, a couple years before Episode I came out. I began reading Star Wars books, blew my allowance on Star Wars toys and even tried to orchestrate a Star Wars theatrical play with my classmates during recess in the fourth grade.

My love of Star Wars carried on naturally through the release of Episode III my senior year of high school, when I worked at the LEGO Store at the mall and sold countless Star Wars LEGO sets (and bought a few for myself, admittedly). I'm not as active in my love of the franchise anymore, but that has no bearing on my absolute love for the films, excitement for the new ones, and my total fan allegiance -- and I suspect many others feel the same way.

So if someone we know hasn't seen these movies, it's troubling -- deeply troubling. And if that someone is someone we might consider spending the rest of our lives with, that someone just has to like Star Wars, or at least understand it and not dismiss or belittle it and its contributions to humanity's collective imagination.

An on-the-nose depiction of this sentiment appeared in the Season 4 premiere of How I Met Your Mother, in which the main character, Ted, learns that his then-fiancé has never seen Star Wars. He says she has to watch it, and determines that if she doesn't like it, there's no way he can marry her. She endures the first film and doesn't like it, but she lies to Ted and tells his friend Marshall that she's prepared to pretend she likes it for the rest of her life. It's supposed to be sweet that she's willing to do this for Ted, but then they don't end up together.

The thought never occurred to me that I should probe into whether or not Mollie had seen Star Wars, (I plan to marry her regardless, though it would be nice if she at least supported my Star Wars fandom), but then a couple of years ago, well before our engagement, she volunteered this confession, then suggested we watch all the movies together.

Wait, what?

Watch. All. The. Star Wars. Movies? Together?

And she meant all six of them. She didn't even want to be spared of the prequel trilogy.

After a failed attempt (we watched just two right after she suggested the idea but then stopped), we got back on track to watch all six in advance of The Force Awakens coming out this week, like many of you are probably also doing right now.

When we told our friends and family that we were watching all the movies together, they all had one perfectly understandable question for us: What order will you watch them in?

In my mind, there was only one film that we would be starting with -- Episode IV: A New Hope. You have to experience it where it all began to understand the phenomenon. After discussion with my then-roommate -- my closest Star Wars brother in arms -- the kid I sat and built LEGO X-Wings and TIE Fighters with in his basement 16 years ago and who will be with me Thursday night for The Force Awakens -- suggested an order that he read about online: IV, V, I*, II, III, VI. ( Episode I is optional). If you know the films, you know this order is truly inspired.

Before we started watching, I had to find out what Mollie knew already. She was familiar with character names like Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia, as well as Darth Vader. Also, Obi-Wan Kenobi was an alien. When I explained that he wasn't, I asked her to describe him. She called him a little guy who is like "the Dobby (from Harry Potter) of Star Wars."

Master Yoda has never heard a more debasing comparison.

I also had to take a moment to silently curse pop culture when she told me that she knew Darth Vader's "secret." The line "I am your father" had become such a canonized movie quote, thereby ruining one of the greatest twists in movie history for those who barely know anything about Star Wars -- and don't speak German ("vader" means "father"). There was another twist she didn't know about, but had it ruined by the surge in Star Wars posts on Facebook just before she was set to discover it. I was devastated; the payoff would've been huge given the order we were watching the movies in.

All that aside, I was intrigued at what she would be drawn to, what her takeaways would be, what her perceptions of the characters and other elements of the story would be, and how well the film would hold up over 35 years to someone who has seen similar things that are more visually impressive, someone who no longer has a completely unblemished child-like sense of wonder.

So I took her on as my padowan learner to begin our journey to a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. As of this writing, we still have Return of the Jedi left, but here are the big takeaways from the experience thus far:

Be patient with someone who has never seen Star Wars

Like, really patient. Mollie has no idea how children are able to follow these story lines. The prequels especially are full of political intrigue and power moves. If you start to ask yourself why stuff is happening in these movies, you will end up confused. The action/interesting parts of Star Wars often overshadow or distract from the details.

Plot aside, there are also 500 kinds of aliens, planets and spaceships in this franchise. Mollie could not tell the good guys from the bad half the time, which becomes even harder to do in Episodes II and III. I took for granted that I had spent my whole childhood learning what things names were through books, toys and whatever else. Not once in the movie (I'm pretty sure) is an AT-AT, for example, called an AT-AT. They're called Imperial walkers. How did I learn that?? Unless you engulf yourself in the mythology of the Star Wars universe, you will be confused, so you need to be patient with someone who has no concept of these things.

Star Wars has a lot of religious and philosophical ideas

As a social worker, Mollie pointed out throughout the films moments that Jedi wisdom sounded awfully similar to concepts in social work, but she also noticed that the Force is an analogy for God, or a divine presence. Her keenest observation was that in the same way the Force can be used for good or evil, so can divine belief, such as what we see today with religious extremism.

It's easy to criticize the Star Wars films for thematic simplicity, and take credit away from George Lucas' genius for choosing to focus on basic platitudes of good and evil rather than moral complexity. But there's universality in these ideas, and what makes Star Wars have such broad appeal is this focus on fundamentals.

Darth Vader is the main character of the entire Star Wars saga

If you've never thought of this before, then watch the films either in episode order or the IV, V, I, II, III, VI order we chose. Obviously the prequels are all about how Anakin Skywalker becomes Darth Vader, but when you weave them with the original films, you see that the whole series is about him all along. In fact, Mollie wishes we could watch IV and V again now that we've seen all the prequels and she knows the man behind the Darth Vader helmet, and I would agree. It's illuminating, frankly, and it makes me all the more interested in the direction of Episode VII and the films to come in terms of how they will fit with the overall saga's arc and themes

R2-D2 and C3PO are the heart and soul of Star Wars

The misadventures of everyone's favorite astro and protocol droids often distract from the exciting parts of Star Wars, but they represent everything that's lovable about these movies. (Chewbacca too, I should say.) Without them, Star Wars would be kind of hollow, maybe even arrogant. I could tell Mollie was keeping tabs on them, and enjoyed the many ways they pop in and out of the six movies, even if sometimes out of nowhere.

There are a lot of bad components in Star Wars , but …

I love the movies and I will defend even Episode I, but you notice a lot of bad storytelling choices in all six films, even if you are new to the series like Mollie (unless you're a kid). Romance, character development, dialogue, transitions -- George Lucas is not a brilliant filmmaker he's just an incredibly imaginative one who knows how to inspire his audience and that sticking to the fundamentals of storytelling and universal ideas is how you create a pop-culture phenomenon.

It's true what they say about our kids: we learn more from them than we will ever teach them. Every day that I spend with my 18-month-old son is not only a lesson on how I can be a better parent, but how I can just be a better person. Here are just a few things that I have learned from watching, parenting, and loving our little toddler, Johnny.

1. You don't need to know the words to sing along.

At 18 months, Johnny's vocabulary is expanding every day. He isn't exactly expressive enough to be reciting Shakespeare, but he has reached a stage of development in which he still wants to engage in the rhythm of conversation.

We have caught him many times pointing at objects going "DUHH, OOO, Nee" as if he is counting without knowing the words for numbers or fully grasping the concepts behind numbers. On other occasions he will babble along to music that is either played on the radio in the car or that we are singing to him. Again, he doesn't know the words, but he knows that that only way to learn the language is to fail at it until he gets it right.

Too often in my adult life I have hesitated because I didn't feel fully prepared. I have held back because I didn't think I knew all of what was required of me. I have chosen not to start because I didn't know if I could do it perfectly. Johnny has reminded me that it's okay to get it wrong the first few times in order to practice. With practice I can make perfect, if I only dare to start practicing.

2. Most stress goes away with a hug and a kiss

Adults and kids both get riled up about the littlest things. Just the other day, we witnessed a complete meltdown because we didn't want Johnny using his fork to stir the milk in his cup. He was literally crying over spilt milk! … Or I guess the fact that we stopped him from spilling the milk.

In the midst of this, my wife picks him up, holds him in her arms, and kisses the top of his head. The tears stopped flowing and he let out a big sigh. I brought him a bottle of milk, which he took, and the tantrum was over.

Kids trip, fall and scream all of the time. Being a toddler is frustrating because as cognitive abilities grow, the words and physical abilities to express them do not always develop at the same rate. Being a young person in this world is like being the new person at work. Everything takes longer, you don't fully understand the language and culture at the office and you can't figure out where they hide all the supplies you need to do your job.

At the end of some of our very stressful days, maybe in lieu of a freak-out, perhaps it would be better to find someone who can hold us, or provide us with affection.

3. What makes us most happy is when we are all together with those we love most

We were in Italy, for a week, which meant a week away from Johnny, who stayed with his grandparents. As he was playing with his toys on our first morning back home, he came over to me, pulled my leg and dragged me over to join him. He moved a pillow in just the right place for me to sit next to him. Standing up after only a moment, he rushed back to my wife and grabbed her arm to come as well. She joined us by the pillow and we all sat there together on the floor.

Johnny started laughing, giggling uncontrollably as if he had just received some life-changing news. He was ecstatic just to be sitting with the people he loved most -- Mom and Dad. That was the moment in his day that brought him the most joy after being apart from us for a whole week.

I find myself searching for so many ways to entertain us and make our moments seem more special. I buy things, I take us places and I schedule activities. It's hard not to get caught up in all the things at my disposal that I might consume or do. Johnny reminds me that if I really just want to be happy, I have everything -- or everyone -- right there. I just need to make the time to sit down with them.

4. Whenever you hear music, just dance!

For Johnny, where there is music there is dancing. Last weekend, a new Chanukah compilation was an opportunity to grab a giant stuffed bear and trot around the living room. Even a phone ringing or alarm buzzing has enough of a beat for Johnny to start moving. Music brings such joy and helps him find new ways to wiggle his tiny body. The more he dances, the more he smiles and shrieks with delight.

At first I used to wonder how he had such great rhythm. Clearly, he couldn't have gotten it from either of his parents. (True story: we actually both hurt ourselves taking a beginners salsa lesson because we were so out of sync with the music.) But then, when I really thought about it, I wondered if we just lost that rhythm somewhere along the way, because unlike Johnny, we got scared about how we looked or what people might think. With that realization, I found myself eager to join my little one in his dancing escapades and found out what was making him so happy.

5. Run, don't walk through life.

We always like to tell people that Johnny never learned to walk; he learned to run first and figured out how to slow down later. A lot of kids love nothing more than to find a big open field, a long sidewalk or huge playground with space to just ratchet those little legs up to top speed. It's exhausting to keep up with and also inspiring to know how fearlessly fast this little one wants to go.

My life moves fast. Every moment is truly gone before I have a chance to know it even existed. I can either choose to work against nature and fight to slow it down or jump on the rollercoaster and move at the speed of life. With that notion, I am most grateful I have my baby boy in front of me, leading the charge.

I happen to love Thanksgiving -- a lot; the family, the loud laughter and the food. Ohhh the food!

When I do a holiday party there are a lot of people at my house. The tables are breaking at the rims with food and liquor and the house aches to break at the seams with all the laughter and chatter. It is always a good time and everyone always leaves with full bellies and big smiles.

This year my cousin and I had decided to combine our Thanksgivings into one. They have a beautiful house that actually has a gigantic basement complete with a fancy bar and a second kitchen. So cooking up a storm in that house was awesome.

When we started talking about the menu for the 20-some people attending the Thanksgiving feast this year it hit me … what am I going to eat? No really? I mean, so many side dishes for Thanksgiving either are full of dairy or are laden with meat products. And my mashed potatoes; I literally LOVE mashed potatoes, creamy and delicious in all their glory. I could eat an entire bowl (and have).

And let me tell you … I love my family but if I even started telling them, particularly the men, that they are eating vegan they would sit me down and explain what a freak I am and how I am depriving my body of protein and how I need to be institutionalized. (Funny story: I was informed by someone that the Russian radio had a debate about vegan vs omnivore eating and that the World Health Organization said that vegans are clinically insane. Don't these people have cancer and diabetes to worry about?)

Anyhow … my goal for this year was to create ridiculously delicious food that just so happens to be vegan or at the very least vegetarian. And then at the end I will scream out "SURPRISE, you have been punked! This is VEGAN!!!" Or not … because then I really would be a lunatic.

Anyhow … these mashed sweet potatoes were born one night when I found four large sweet potatoes in my pantry looking sad and lonely. It happened to be the same night that I was making my Panera copycat vegan butternut squash soup and I was inspired by the magic ingredient in the soup that makes it so unbelievably creamy: coconut milk.

Chef note: When I talk about coconut milk I am talking about the stuff in a can, not in the cartons next to the milk. That stuff is thinned out and watered down and while it is good as a drink, it is not for cooking or to add creaminess to dishes.

After the potatoes were boiled, I drained them really well.

Chef note: No one wants soggy mashed potatoes. Water and cream do not mix. Drain them really well in a colander so they are nice and dry.

I added a bit of vegan butter once the potatoes were cooked and some coconut milk as well as a secret ingredient I use in my Crazy Creamy Mashed Potatoes -- sour cream (except this time I used vegan sour cream). I added a very good pinch of salt and pepper and some fresh thyme. Then I whizzed it up in my mixer. I think this was imperative as it really got the taters nice and creamy.

Chef note: Check out my super special make-ahead tip in the notes of the recipe.

The result? It was FANTASTIC. Hubs loved it. And he was in disbelief how creamy and delish they were without all that cream and butter.

Although Thanksgiving is long gone, there's still plenty of time to take advantage of these taters in your winter menu.

Vegan Creamy Mashed Sweet Potatoes

From girlandthekitchen.com

Ingredients

4 large sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into half moon shapes
3 tbsp vegan sour cream
3 tbsp vegan butter such as Earth Balance
4 tbsp coconut milk plus extra to garnish * (Note 1)
2 thyme stems, with the leaves removed, plus extra for garnish* (Note 2)
salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

1. Rinse the potatoes well as they tend to hold onto some of the dirt even after they are peeled.

2. Add to a large pot and fill completely with water. Bring to a boil, lower to a simmer and cook until knife tender -- when a knife goes into the potatoes smoothly.

3. Drain in a colander. This step is crucial because you want to get as much water out of the potatoes as possible.

4. Now add BACK into the pot that the potatoes were in. The pot will now be dry because the residual heat will have dried it up. If not, then just wipe the access water out with a paper towel before adding in the potatoes.*

5. Add the remaining ingredients into the pot with the potatoes. Now add this point you can either use a hand mixer, a stand mixer or a plain masher to get everything smoothed out.

6. Taste for salt and pepper and season accordingly.

7. Before serving, swirl in some coconut milk on the very top and sprinkle with thyme.

Notes

1. Use the coconut milk from the can NOT the cartons. Stir up the liquid and the solids in the can so that it is completely combined. This will give you the perfect texture.

2. Removing thyme leaves is super simple! With one hand hold the top of the stem and with the other hand just slide your hand down the stem to remove the little leaves and voila, de-stemmed!

3. Personally I get the creamiest outcome when I use my stand mixer with the whip attachment. However, hand mixers work just as well. And when you are in a pinch for time, the hand masher will do just fine.

4. Make ahead tip: You can cut up your potatoes and store them in your pot of water up to 2 days ahead of time. Then once your potatoes are cooked. Drain them and keep them in your pot. Right before your guests come, heat up the remaining ingredients until they are melted through and add to the potatoes. You will have perfect creamy potatoes that are gorgeously warmed through!

Dear Reader,

If you should ever have to give me a gift for any reason -- be it this week's holiday of Chanukah, my birthday, perhaps an anniversary, or maybe even a very futuristic Mothers Day -- I hereby henceforth declare my written permission for you to purchase for me a gift card.

Here's the part where you gasp. "A gift card?! What an impersonal gift!"

But I'll repeat: You have been granted my official permission (is anyone out there a notary?) to get me a gift card and call it a day. And yes, believe it or not, this can even apply to husbands and mothers.

When it comes to gifts, I can see how I may be difficult to shop for. I'm usually at least a season behind the rest of the fashion world, I'm pretty particular about jewelry (I like silver but I'm not a huge fan of gold), and I like dollars but I don't like any scents (get it?). For whatever reason you're buying me a gift, I am so grateful, and the last thing I would want to do would be to stress you out.

A gift card to one of my favorite stores (Or really any store! I can find something anywhere!) is a nice way to put your gift to good use. As my personal shopping budget comes up a bit shy of the million-dollar mark, these gift cards come in handy to update my closet with more recent fashion or the latest gadget.

I do understand, though, the need for wanting to make a gift more "personal." A gift card may be construed as cold or lacking in creativity. But if you're feeling a case of "gift card giving blah," here are a few ways to make a gift card gift shine a bit more like you.

Be creative in your choice of gift card store. Maybe you've heard that I like scarves (it's true!) and you have a favorite scarf store. I'd love to try a new store, and a gift card is a wonderful incentive.

Pair the gift card with a related gift. My mom used to get people gift cards to Blockbuster (RIP) along with a couple packs of popcorn, and I thought it was the cutest thing. What about a gift card to Old Navy on top of a fun pair of mittens? Or a gift card to a sports store with a nice water bottle?

Wrap the gift card in a big box. It's fun to unwrap a piano-sized box shrouded in paper reminiscent of the Fourth of July. It's even more fun to find a little box inside of a big box. Make me work for the gift card. Heck, send me on a scavenger hunt around the neighborhood to make me find the gift card.

Write me a poem. You can include a thoughtful, creative card with your gift! Make a collage of pictures and memories of us. Scrape up your sonnet-writing skills or write about how I'm L ively, I nteresting, and A ctive. Your creativity in the card is worth more than the gift.

So, use this guide to the gift card when thinking about what to get me or other people. Happy Chanukah, happy birthday, happy anniversary, happy Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, and happy Monday!

Every year, friends and family gather to celebrate the miracle of an event that happened in ancient times. After the Maccabian revolt, there was only enough oil in the temple to last one day. Miraculously, it lasted eight. All around the world, Jews gather to celebrate the holiday for eight days. We also gather to eat, for what would a Jewish holiday be without food?

The holiday commemorates the oil lasting for eight days and to honor that, we Jews celebrate by eating amazing, crispy, crunchy, delicious foods fried in oil. We certainly know how to party!

Latkes (potato pancakes) and sufganiyot (jelly donuts) are central players in many celebrations. I love latkes and oh, how I love me some donuts! But making latkes  for a party also means making a main dish and then a main dish leads to sides (latkes are the starch; I mean a veggie side) and then there is a salad and then maybe an appetizer etc… you can see where this is going. Before you know it, you are cooking for days and that is only for one of eight festive nights!

But, what if there was a dish that was all inclusive? What if your dish could be the main, the side, the everything? I am thinking about a delicious platter of crunchy, and satisfying Fried Fish and Chips. I simply crave fish and chips. They are the answer to my holiday quest for Jewish comfort fried food.

It is not random that I am planning my fried fest to include savory fish and chips. Fried fish is actually Jewish in origin. Marrano Jews dipped their fish in egg and bread crumbs and fried it. The "chip" part of the dish came later. The first fish and chip shop was founded by an Ashkenazi Jew in 1860 and the rest is history.

This year for Chanukah, I am celebrating a true Jewish food and by munching and crunching my way through Fish and Chips.

Fish and Chips

For the batter:
1½ cups all-purpose flour
½ cup rice flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
Dash of Old Bay seasoning
1 bottle dark brown beer

1½ pounds cod, tilapia, or other firm fleshed lean fish, cut into 2 inch pieces
4 large russet potatoes
Cornstarch for dredging
4 cups canola oil

Directions

Preheat oven 200 degrees

1. Place ice and water in a large bowl. Fit a mixing bowl into the ice water (this step will yield a light and delicate batter).

2. Whisk all the ingredients for the batter together over the ice. The batter can be made one hour ahead of frying and should be kept on ice. 

3. Pat dry the fish and set aside.

4. Slice the potatoes, skin on, into wedges about 1 inch thick and place in cold water.

5. Heat the oil in a large heavy-duty saucepan to 320 degrees.

6. Dry the potatoes completely and fry them in batches until they are opaque and limp. Transfer the par-cooked potatoes to a sheet pan lined with paper towels or a brown paper bag (helps to sop up the oil).

7. Increase the heat until the oil reaches 360 and add the potatoes. Fry the potatoes until they are golden brown and crispy. Transfer to a lined pan. Keep the potatoes warm in the oven.

8. Dredge the fish in the cornstarch and then into the batter. Fry the fish in batches until golden brown and crispy. Transfer the fish to a lined platter and keep warm in the oven.

Lemon-Garlic Aioli

½ cup mayonnaise (preferably homemade)
2 garlic cloves, grated on a microplane
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 tablespoon olive oil
Zest of 1 lemon
½ teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper
3 tablespoons finely chopped Italian parsley
Dash of hot sauce
1 tablespoon prepared horseradish

Directions

Whisk all of the ingredients together.

Vanilla Bean Zeppole

What is the holiday without a dessert? Here is a simple and delicious, lighter-than-air donut-called a zeppole. Chag Chanukah sameach! Happy Chanukah!

1 vanilla bean, scraped
½ cup sugar, plus
3 tablespoons
2 tablespoons ground cinnamon
1 stick butter
¼ teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup water
1 cup all-purpose flour
4 eggs

Directions

1. Cut open the vanilla bean lengthwise. Using the back of a knife, scrape along the inside of the vanilla bean to collect the seeds. Scrape vanilla bean seeds into a small bowl. Add the ½ cup sugar and cinnamon and stir to combine. Set aside.

2. In a medium saucepan combine the butter, salt, 3 tablespoons of sugar, and water over medium heat. Bring to a boil. Take pan off the heat and stir in the flour. Return pan to the heat and stir continuously until mixture forms a ball, about 3 to 5 minutes.

3. Transfer the flour mixture to a medium bowl or the work bowl of a stand mixer. Using a mixer, add eggs, one at a time, incorporating each egg completely before adding the next. Beat until smooth. If not frying immediately, cover with plastic wrap and reserve in the refrigerator for up to 1 day.

4. Pour enough oil into a large frying pan to reach a depth of 2 inches. Heat the oil over medium heat until a deep fry thermometer registers 375 degrees Fahrenheit.

5. Using a small ice cream scoop or two small spoons, carefully drop about a tablespoon of the dough into the hot olive oil, frying in batches. Turn the zeppole once or twice, cooking until golden and puffed up, about five minutes. Drain on paper towels. Toss with cinnamon and sugar. Arrange on a platter and serve immediately.

There is an interesting account written by Clearchus, a student of Aristotle, telling of when Aristotle was confronted by a Jewish sage. The sage (unnamed) had come to test Aristotle's renowned knowledge and insights. However, according to Clearchus, Aristotle was the one who left impressed by the sage's knowledge and insights.

When we hear the names, "Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates," we feel admiration and wonder at those great wise men. When we hear the names, "Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob," it doesn't seem to have the same effect. Perhaps that's because we don't realize what they have contributed.

So, for this Chanukah, in honor of the eight nights of light, here are eight great leaders of the Jewish people with one contribution each (though they have given plenty more) to the world as we know it. And as the "Relationships Rabbi," I'm going to take a view on these contributions from a relationships perspective.

1. Joseph

As a young man of only 17 years, Joseph was abandoned by his brethren and painfully sold to slavery. He found himself emotionally and physically destitute, eventually sold to a wealthy Egyptian man, Potiphar. Potiphar's beautiful wife takes a liking to Joseph and consistently attempts to seduce him. He was alone, forsaken by his family, in a foreign country, living as a slave. He had every excuse in the book to give up on his integrity. And yet he refused. This commitment to morality, especially marital morality, has been, and unfortunately still is, a lesson for civilization to continue to learn from.

2. Aaron

Known throughout Jewish literature as, "The Seeker of Peace," Aaron was a very holy man. One of his first "cameos" in the Bible is when he heard his younger brother, Moses, was going to become the leader of the nation. Their father, Amram, had also been the leader of the nation. It would make the most sense that Aaron, a man of great scholarship and wisdom who is also the oldest in the family, would follow in that role. However, his brother was Divinely declared as the leader. What was his reaction? Indignation? Remorse? Frustration? It is beautifully and succinctly stated, "His heart rejoiced." The joy for others and their accomplishments to trump our expectations for ourselves is a profound lesson in relationships.

3. Rebecca

As a stranger came to town with his long entourage of servants and camels, he went to the well to fill up on water after a long journey. Not knowing who he was or what he was there for, Rebecca offered him, his servants and his camels water. (And camels drink a lot of water!) The great lesson of honoring and taking care of others is beautifully exemplified by our matriarch.

4. King David

Arguably the greatest leader of all times, King David was a powerhouse -- a genius beyond comprehension and mastermind at war, poetry, scholarship and governing. Yet he was never apprehensive to admit to making a mistake. We learn the essence of admitting to our mistakes, learning from them and repenting to change for the future from our great beloved leader, King David.

5. Moses

As the receptor of the Divine word to be brought to the entire nation of the Jewish people and eventually to the world, there doesn't seem to be a more honorable and esteemed position ever to exist. And yet the Bible's one description of Moses' character is simply, "the most humble of all men." His recognition of the greatness of every human being and their Divine soul was why he was charged with the great task of bearing the Divine word to the world. And his great accomplishment of character development is perhaps one of the greatest lessons that he taught us.

6. Rachel

After meeting the love of her life, her sister was snuck under the chuppah instead. Did she cry out? Did she tell her beloved fiancé that she will seemingly never be able to bond with him? No. Out of deep empathy to her sister's shame, she did not speak up. To reach such a profound level of empathy even in the midst of our own emotional pain is something we dream of. Our matriarch embodied it, lived it and taught it to us.

7. Joshua

He assumed leadership of the Jewish people after Moses. What were his great qualifications? We know he was close to Moses and learned from him regularly. We also know he was Divinely declared for the position. However, what is interesting to note, is the description of his merit to this position. Jewish literature relates that he would clean up after everyone in the study halls. He made sure everything was taken care of behind the scenes. No one was watching. He saw the need for the community to have this taken care of, and so he took it upon himself to do that. He exemplifies the concept of looking at the community and seeking what needs to get done, with no self-aggrandizement or gratification taken into account.

8. Matityahu

And for the final relationship insight, we'll talk about the Maccabees. Imagine a world without marital allegiance, empathy, altruistic communal concerns, a willingness and desire to amend mistakes, kindness to strangers ... The Maccabees knew the great wisdom of those listed above and much more was at stake when the Greeks attempted to Hellenize the Jewish people. They recognized that there is wisdom and meaning beyond what is scientifically quantifiable. Their victory proved it, as a few farmers defeated the world's greatest army. They were willing to fight and die for the sake of a spiritual existence that goes beyond the physical reality.

Jewish people, stand proud! You have contributed and continue to tribute great light unto the world! Happy Chanukah!

While cleaning out the closet of my childhood home over the fall holidays, I dug up a tattered cookbook made from construction paper and crayon. The recipes, created by my fellow Jewish preschool classmates and me back in the 1980s, weren't exactly of Julia Child's "Beef Bourguignon" caliber.

No, this collection read more like a humor book than a cookbook. One recipe was for popcorn calling for extra "drops of apple juice." The ingredients for the spaghetti and meatballs specified exactly "90 noodles."

And my recipe for "corned beef sandwiches" took the cake. It read: "She (I'm assuming my mom was the "she") buys corned beef at the store. Then she takes it off the wax paper. Then she puts it on a plate. She gives us bread too."

My contribution to the book was an odd selection because my mother is a wonderful home cook and baker, but for some reason her simple deli sandwich prep was the meal that stuck out in my preschool mind, the one I thought merited saving for posterity.

Each child wrote his or her cooking instructions in the third person -- usually referencing a mother or an occasional dad or grandma preparing each step of the recipe.

There's something so Jewish about that amateur cookbook. The compilation sparked for us children, barely out of the womb, our introduction to thinking and talking about food -- and really does it get more Jewish than that?

Whether its roast chicken on Shabbat, blintzes and kugel for Yom Kippur break-fast, or, heck, Chinese food on Christmas, food is a core value for us -- along with Torah, family, and acts of loving kindness. As the old joke goes, when our people aren't currently eating, we're usually planning for our next meal.

The cookbook is a Jewish artifact in another way too. The recipes were passed down to us from our families-our parents and grandparents and those that came before them. From one generation to another -- l'dor v'dor -- these recipes link our family tree from past to present to future. It's the power of Jewish continuity -- in culinary form.

My great-grandmother taught my grandma the recipes back in a tiny shtetl in Belarus, and my grandma, in turn, recorded the recipes either in her mind or on paper, and then taught them to my mother in America. My mother, then, passed them down to my sister and me when we were growing up.

As in so many other homes, my mom would employ her children as pint-sized sous chefs in the kitchen. We little ones always got the fun jobs, mixing ingredients with a big spoon, dipping our noses into the vanilla to smell the sweet, singular scent, and rolling out the dough for sugar cookies in the shape of dreidels, Haman hats, and shofars. Today, my nephews are the sous chefs, and maybe someday, I'll instruct my own children in how to prepare those same recipes, where we'll read the directions together on the next iteration of the iPad.

Now that I'm all grown up, my mom is still transmitting her culinary knowledge to me. I'll often call her up for guidance on recipes. From the aisles of a Jewel or Hungarian, I'll ask her random questions: Can I substitute broth for stock? Can Greek yogurt be used in place of sour cream? When do I add paprika? I swear half the time I know the answers -- or at least Google or Siri do -- but it's just comforting and familiar to hear her on the other end of the line.

There's a paradox in chatting on a 21st century smartphone, while keeping alive these old family recipes -- and, with them, keeping alive a special piece of my grandparents and great-grandparents. We're honoring the legacy and wisdom of our loved ones who came before us -- pulling parts of our Jewish families out of the past and into the present day.

On that same weekend last fall when I discovered that silly little cookbook, my mother, sister, and I prepared Shabbat dinner for the rest of our family. And just like when we were growing up -- only this time around my sister and I are taller than my mom and there's more wine involved -- we treasure these recent moments too.

That evening, we made chilled cherry soup, London broil, potatoes, challah, and brownies. As we whisked, seasoned, chopped, muddled, and sipped, we gabbed about everything -- work, the presidential race, Kabbalah, family resemblance, relationships, and more.

The cooking set the backdrop for our bonding. Those old recipes -- in our home and millions of other Jewish homes around the world -- have seen it all. They've traveled a long way in miles and years -- by train, boat, and plane -- often one of the few treasures to survive pogroms and war.

The recipes, for kugel, mandel bread, charoset, and more, serve as a constant in our volatile Jewish history -- a witness at our Shabbat and holiday tables to our conversations, songs, tears, and laughter, a witness to our Jewish story.

Every Chanukah we are reminded of the phrase "nes gadol hayah sham" -- "a great miracle happened there," and we celebrate the various miracles of Chanukah. But as I'm writing this from my new apartment in New York City, I'm thankful for a different type of miracle, and the "there" in this case is a little more complicated.

I called Chicago home for a long time, but after two of the most stressful months of my career, I miraculously made the move to the Big Apple; to a neighborhood I've been wanting to live for more than a year and a half.

On a cold Friday night in February 2014, I went to a Modern Orthodox synagogue called Ohab Zedek on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, a shul known as the go-to place for young professionals on Friday nights. As I waited for Kabbalat Shabbat services to begin, at least 300 20-somethings filled the shul, and after services, 95th Street became the scene of an impromptu singles' event.

Finally, I understood why my college friends -- and a number of articles -- kept referring to the Upper West Side was "a scene." I'd never seen anything close to this in Chicago, and all I knew was that I wanted to be a part of it.

It's safe to call New York the Jewish capital of America, and I've heard there are more observant, single 20- and 30-somethings there than there are in the rest of the country combined. Chances are if you talk to a young Modern Orthodox Jew living in the city from out of state, they'll tell you that these numbers are the number one reason they're living here.

It also goes without saying that keeping kosher and finding a synagogue that matches your belief system is infinitely easier here than anywhere else. Looking for some kosher meat late on a Saturday night? No chance if you live in Lakeview. Milt's (the only option) closes well before midnight. On the Upper West Side, a burger or shawarma is a stone's throw away -- even at 3 a.m.

But when I came back to Chicago after that eye-opening trip, I suddenly found my heart in two places. On one hand, I enjoyed the life I've made for myself in the Lakeview community. And the idea of paying double in rent for half the space was certainly a hard pill to swallow.

So for nearly a year and a half, I flirted with the idea of moving and visited nearly a half-dozen times, but never actually made the move and constantly made excuses for why I couldn't. I had a cool job working for a hot bourbon brand, a spacious apartment and, most recently, a summer romance I thought could last. Moving was a nice idea to fantasize over, I convinced myself, but a far cry from reality -- or so I thought.

In August, everything went downhill. That summer romance suddenly ended; what I thought was a dream job started becoming less and less of a fit and I could tell it was mutual. By October, I was let go. Feeling like I had been punched in the gut but like nothing was holding me back, I finally made the decision. Despite my lack of connections, the seemingly impossible logistics of moving in the winter and five months left on my Chicago lease, I decided it was time to go for it and move to New York.

I'm not sure if divine miracles happen anymore, but what followed certainly felt like one. Two weeks after I made my decision, I headed to New York with five interviews and a big dream to live. By the time I came back to Chicago, I had an offer that I ended up taking.

But that was only the first miracle I needed. Next, I had to find an apartment for Dec. 1, which is the worst possible time to find roommates, and that was on top of finding someone to sublet my Chicago room for five months. To add to the degree of difficulty, I needed to find someone who keeps kosher -- something you can't easily find through airbnb or craigslist.

But in the 11th hour, everything fell into place. I found an apartment just a half a block from the ideal train to get me to work, found a third roommate and someone to take over my sublease at close to full price all in the span of three weeks.

As we light the menorah in celebration of Chanukah, the message of believing in miracles even during times of immense adversity still ring true today. When I light the candles this year from my new apartment in New York, I'll be reminded of how one of my biggest disappointments led to the start of a new opportunity in a place where I've wanted to be for so long.

May this year's Chanukah lights inspire us to be extra ambitious and strive for the seemingly impossible. No matter how big the challenge, may this be the year we are fortunate to receive miracles beyond our wildest dreams.

From New York to Chicago and beyond, chag sameach.

Dustin Fleischer, a.k.a. "The White Tiger" is a welterweight professional boxer and the grandson of a Holocaust survivor. Since his professional debut at Madison Square Garden back in January, Fleischer has gone undefeated in five matches.

1. Tell us a little bit about yourself.

I would consider myself a regular guy. Boxing is my passion and my job. I am blessed to have the opportunity to have a job that is my biggest passion. Outside the ring, I am a big animal-lover. I live in a beach town so I hang out at the beach all summer. Other than that, I enjoy hanging out with friends.

2. What got you into boxing?

I started doing martial arts when I was five years old as a response to being bullied in school. The art of fighting came naturally to me. The requirements to be successful, such as discipline, focus and confidence, were what grabbed hold of my attention at that young age. My father was a boxer and took me to the gym with him. I remember watching him spar that day, and I wanted to get in the ring immediately after. I stayed with martial arts until I was about nine years old. Then, I got into boxing. However, I stay under the guidance of my sensei John Gaddy today.

3. What are your boxing goals?

I want to be the first world champion related to a Holocaust survivor. I want to be a fighter that people talk about long after I retire from the sport. When I was a kid, my father and I would watch fighters like Ricky Hatton, Yuri Foreman and Oscar De La Hoya. We would learn from each different style that they had. I would like to be a fighter that possesses both greatness and a unique style, which each of those fighters had. I would like to see a father -- who's also a trainer -- sit with his son -- who's also a fighter. Lastly, I want to learn from myself.

4. What does being the grandson of a Holocaust survivor mean to you?

It gives me a sense of confidence and strength that I can't imagine any other fighter has. It is an edge that I possess over competition that I feel does not. The odds my grandfather overcame to survive concentration camps and become part of the Jewish resistance group makes me determined to achieve my dream of becoming a World Champion.

5. What was your Madison Square Garden experience like?

It was unreal. It was my first professional bout, and I was on one of the biggest stages in the world. I never approach a fight scared, but I always have some nervousness. However, the nerves make me better because they give me extra energy, agility and sharpness, physically and mentally. It is hard to put into words the feeling you get after the sacrifice of countless hours of training, dieting, soreness and sparring, along with a second round KO on the stage of MSG, pays off. There is no better feeling I have experienced in my lifetime when I heard stars like Rihanna, Jake Gyllenhaal and CC Sabathia cheer my name.

6. What was the coolest thing about MSG?

I felt like I was a star that night. Before I walked out to the ring, MSG was playing a video of me training and getting interviewed. I found out it aired across the country on Fox Sports. I felt blessed because most fighters do not get that exposure for their professional debut.

7. What's next for the White Tiger?

In the beginning stages of my boxing career, we did not make a lot of money, compared to a professional baseball player or football player. It is important for me to stay busy and fight about every 45 days, give or take. I would like to fight again soon. I stay busy by updating my social media sites, which include "The White Tiger Dustin Fleischer" fan page on Facebook, my Instagram account, and my Twitter account @dustinfleischer. I keep them updated in hopes of attracting sponsorship to help pay the expenses associated with training and completing my quest to become a part of Jewish history.

8. Best pizza in New York?

I am not that familiar with pizza in New York because I usually am dieting. However, if a pizza place was willing to arrange some kind of sponsorship on my behalf, then they are without a doubt the best pizza place in the world! Honestly, my favorite cheat meal is matzo ball soup. I get this from a diner around the corner from my house on the Jersey Shore. Also, I love the secret carrot cake recipe my mother makes for me after each bout.

Alex, a Holocaust survivor living in Israel.

Where I live, in South Tel Aviv, crumbling facades and rundown buildings are just as numerous as the chic bars and modern storefronts that one typically associates with the city.

Appearance-wise, it makes sense that Birthright Israel, a program designed to entice young Jews to come to Israel, would skip my neighborhood. South Tel Aviv is poor. Daily life is more of a visible struggle here. There are more beggars on the street, more prematurely weathered hands digging through the trash to find their next meal. There are people in need here -- Jews in need -- and it's not a pretty or an easy thing to see, but it's something we need to see.

After my Birthright experience, I knew there was another side to Israel that I needed to experience in order to truly love and understand Israel, a country that had come to mean so much to me. So, four years after I first set foot on Israeli soil, I'm back as a Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Jaffa participant, working to aid and embrace "The White City" in whatever way I can.

Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Jaffa is both and educational and an experiential program. Participants divide their time between studying Hebrew, Jewish texts, art and history (among other subjects) at Bina -- one of the only secular yeshivas in Israel -- and volunteering/interning for social action and coexistence programs in Tel Aviv-Jaffa. Such programs include (but are not limited to) afterschool tutoring programs for at-risk youth, volunteering at safe houses for LGBT teens and leading integrated acting classes for Jewish, Muslim, Druze and African teens. It's exhausting work, but each night, my remarkable peers return home smiling with the knowledge that they made a difference for someone that day.

The work I do is a little less hands-on day-to-day. I work as an intern at Latet Israeli Humanitarian Aid, which provides aid to Holocaust survivors and families in need across Israel. I work in Latet's Development and Community Relations Office where, with two of my fellow interns, I work on English grants, marketing materials, and international outreach. Most days, our work at the Latet office is meaningful but not terribly glamorous. However, last month, I had the extraordinary treat of visiting one of the Holocaust survivors who benefits from Latet's services.

Alex is a wiry gentleman in his 80s with faded Russian military tattoos on his hands and the gruff voice of a man who has smoked two packs of cigarettes a day for several decades. Most of the food on his kitchen shelves is canned or boxed, having come from Latet's supplementary food packages and yearly food drives. His living room also doubles as a bedroom in order to make space for the cobbler shop that Alex runs out of his apartment.

On the day of my visit, Latet was installing kitchen shelves, a new armoire and safety railings in Alex's home -- a service Latet offers to Holocaust survivors who need extra aid and spend a lot of time alone. I was there to photograph the renovations, but all I could see through my camera lens was Alex and the quiet pleasure that filled his eyes each time a new piece was installed. As soon as the kitchen shelf went in, Alex began piling it with food; when the new armoire was finished, he immediately pulled clothes off the chair that had acted as his dresser and began purposefully placing them inside; when the shower railings were finished, he practiced getting in and out, clearly grateful not to have to use an old plastic strap to steady himself anymore.

It took several hours to build and install all of the additions to Alex's home, but to me, the entire experience seemed to pass in a matter of minutes. As the handymen hammered and nailed away in the background, Alex gathered us on the couch of his living room/bedroom and told us the story of his life. And while I only understood a fraction of Alex's accented Hebrew, I felt a strong connection to him by the end of the afternoon; I didn't need language to understand his soul.

I left that day with a renewed vigor for my work at Latet, having seen with my own eyes the good that hours of work behind a winking computer screen can do. My efforts not only meant something, they brought about positive change that I got to see with my very own eyes.

Working at Latet and meeting people like Alex are experiences that have reshaped (and continue to reshape) my vision of Israel. Before Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Jaffa, I thought I knew Israel. But I see now that my knowledge of Israel was limited to the famous places that one finds on a postcard like the Old City and the Dead Sea. Now, after two and a half months of working and living with the people of South Tel Aviv, I have richer experiences to write home about.

I can't believe my good fortune to be a part of this amazing program and the profundity of the experiences I'm having. I have never felt so close to Israel and the Jewish people as I feel right now.

Food and eating has and always will be special and unifying to my family. There is no doubt about it -- the kitchen is by far the most important room in my parents' home. They are forever hosting and it doesn't matter if you stop by for a few minutes or a few hours, you won't be allowed to leave until you've had a beverage and some homemade goodness.

My dad loves cooking and lately he's been on a French roll (pun intended), and it's little wonder why. The French do it right. France exudes beauty in all things: in life, love and especially food. Eating is not merely to sate your appetite, it is recreational -- it is art.

And let me tell you, this dish is beautiful! There are so many colors, flavors, and it just warms your heart and stomach. It's the mother of all cooked veggie dishes, a French traditional delight -- ratatouille!

I'll be honest, when my dad first told me about this dish, the first thing that popped into my head was the beloved Disney movie. It stars the lovable rat Remy, who has hopes and dreams of one day becoming a serious chef. (It's a great movie that I totally recommend.)

But as adorably cute as the movie is, let's unveil the real star here in all its glory. This ratatouille is a hearty creation including, but not limited to, tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant and onions. Often times it's baked and served with cheese too. The key here is to make it your own, and make it our own we did.

I loved making this dish for a few reasons:

1. It's freaking cold outside, so I've gone from light and easy to hot and heavy ... food, people, we're talking about food.

2. This dish is super healthy. There's nothing but veggies and olive oil here. So indulge as much as your heart desires and leave your guilt freezing its ass off in the cold because there's no room for it here.

3. No, like really, it's super healthy. We're talking vegan, gluten-free, dairy-free and egg-free. The whole nine yards.

4. It's filling. For real, a couple servings, and I'm good to go for hours (and so is my dad, who is a man that loves to eat and casually stands at 6 ft. 2 in.).

5. This dish is art. It's beautiful, it's vibrant; it's a colorful collage. I truly believe that the more colors you eat, the more colorful your life. When I eat this, I not only feel nourishment, but I physically see it.

6. Lastly, but most importantly, this was quality time well spent with my dad. I love cooking with him because when we share our ideas, we come up with some pretty incredible dishes (just my opinion, of course).

Ingredients

Sauce

2 large onions chopped
1 orange pepper chopped
3 handfuls of mushrooms chopped
8 garlic cloves
1 jalapeño pepper chopped
1 large tomato chopped
half a teaspoon of black pepper
1 teaspoon of oregano
2-3 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil

Main Dish

1 eggplant sliced
2 zucchinis sliced
3 medium tomatoes sliced

Making the sauce

1. Put 2-3 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil into a wok or pan over high heat. Let the wok heat up for 30 seconds, and throw in the chopped onions. Stir occasionally until onions become translucent. They will give off a lot of liquid, which is exactly what we want to create a nice sauce base.

2. Now it's time to throw in the garlic/jalapeño and mix that in.

3. Repeat step 2 one-by-one for the tomatoes, orange pepper, and mushrooms. Stir as you go and watch all the beautiful colors melt and blend together.

4. Season with black pepper and oregano. Let the liquefying mixture simmer for 5 minutes and the sauce is done!

Time for the Main Dish

1. Take out a baking dish. We used a glass one but it really doesn't matter what kind you use as long as it has depth so that we can layer our veggies :). Then pour out a nice layer of sauce.

2. Now the fun part, we will use our sliced eggplant, zucchini, and tomatoes and start layering these veggies one on top of another (and watch art come to life).

3. Once all veggies are layered twice, pour the 2 ^nd half of the sauce on top, dousing the top layer of veggies entirely.

4. Preheat oven to 350 degrees and allow the dish to bake for an hour.

5. In the meantime, set the table & call the family, because they will not want to miss this glorious dish!

6. Indulge friends!

I'd like to thank my dad for this incredibly simple and healthy recipe. It's really perfect for the whole family and it's sure to make your winter more colorful.

This past week, thousands of University of Missouri alumni, including myself, and especially those of us who write (and there's no shortage of us), have been trying to find the words for what has transpired. How do you respond when the nation's eyes turn to your alma mater -- a place you once called home -- because many of its students don't feel at home there? 

I had been largely unaware of what was happening at Mizzou this semester. Thanks to outstanding media coverage (I expect nothing less from Mizzou) including an interactive timeline from the student newspaper, The Maneater, I was able to catch up.

My initial reaction was how powerful to see free speech rally a group of students to put an end to complacency and indifference toward racism. Not an incident of racially-motivated violence, not some heinous act of hate and intimidation, but the Missouri Students Association president writing about a firsthand experience of verbal racism on campus -- and posting it on Facebook.

I thought Mizzou cannot be the only campus where this is happening, and in a way it made me proud that my campus was giving voice to a larger systemic problem across the country. But it still felt terrible to know that the nation was looking at my school as a place where racism is alive and unchecked and that it needed to come down to the football team boycotting team activities and members of university leadership resigning.

When I read that MU System President Tim Wolfe and Chancellor R. Bowen Loftin had resigned, however, I knew that while necessary, it was not enough. These men are not bigots or racists, and removing them does not change the culture at Mizzou around race. It will not stop people from shouting slurs at black students. MU leadership does need to be more responsive to the needs of all student groups and actively foster an inclusive and respectful environment, but real change is up to the students.

Thinking back on my four years at Mizzou, my freshman year was actually the first time that any sort of racial diversity existed in my life. My roommate was black, and I was friendly with a number of other black students in my dorm, as well as students of other races and backgrounds. It was also the first (and turns out only) time I was "the Jewish kid."

Overall, I felt comfortable and accepted in my dorm and on campus, but I discovered this week that some of the friends I made 10 years ago who are black didn't feel that way -- their Facebook responses reflected on experiencing racism and racial tension during their time at Mizzou.

It was sad to read that, and it begged the question: could I have done something to make their experience better, to make my campus more accepting?

After my freshman year I didn't meet or interact with students of other races. I found a place for myself at Alpha Epsilon Pi, sticking with my Jewish roots, and as part of MU's disproportionately white Greek system, diversity largely faded from my campus experience. I played in my corner of the sandbox and was content there.

I can think of two exceptions. That's it.

During my freshman year, one of my older fraternity brothers invited a few of us to come see the step show. I had no idea what that was. He told us that it was the coolest thing that he'd ever seen at Mizzou and it was free -- we were sold.

Our main auditorium on campus was packed with black students. Each of the black fraternities came out on stage and did a step routine while people shouted and cheered on their friends in the middle of the dancing. In between performances, music blasted from the house speakers and the whole crowd got up and started dancing in the aisles. I'd never seen anything like it: the talent, the spirit, the energy -- it was electric. I had seen a whole part of black collegiate culture that I otherwise would've never known existed.

The second happened a couple years later. Our fraternity organized a highway cleanup with a black fraternity. We didn't all become best friends because of one community service project, but we recognized the importance of bringing two minority groups on campus together and building that campus community connection.

After all the news this week, I'm more proud of those experiences than ever. I am proud of my fraternity and our effort to bring down barriers -- real or perceived -- between cultures. But two experiences? Two efforts? I wish we had done more.

When 18-year-olds go off to college and learn how to live and behave as independent adults, they bring their experiences with them -- and that includes their biases and their prejudices. It is such a fragile transition and any moment can impact how they will see the world forever. That's why what's happening at Mizzou today is such a big deal. Fostering diversity and creating a safe environment on campus is not just a "nice idea," it's a necessity. All students on all campuses deserve to feel they belong and all students should learn, at this stage in their lives, how to be open, accepting and respectful to all people and ideas.

So if there's anything I can add to this national dialogue it's this: When your school isn't doing a good enough job, you have more options than to just protest the leadership. You can create something positive. Seek out a new cultural experience for whatever student organizations you belong to. Attend a different religious service. The times when I did these things, or when a friend came to check out something Jewish I was part of, I remember them. I remember them as much as I remember the fun I had going out to the bars, and I treasure them more. Find your place on campus, but then explore other places.

Colleges and universities need to be places of cultural exploration, where all people can learn from and with one another. That can't happen if some students don't feel welcome, or safe. It's worth protesting over and it's worth fighting for.

Carly and her brothers

My eldest brother recently got married to a beautiful woman whom I'm now fortunate to call my sister-in-law. The Drake Hotel in Chicago was the perfect romantic backdrop for the magical evening celebrated with close friends and family, scrumptious food, delicious drinks and a groovy band.

But, what made this wedding unlike any I've attended is that both a priest and rabbi officiated the wedding ceremony.

My brother, coming from a Jewish household, and his wife, coming from a Catholic one, both wanted to honor and respect their loved ones and came to the decision to have their marriage encompass both faiths. Naturally, I was curious how this would work. I know plenty of people who have married someone of a different faith, but the couples opted for Jewish ceremonies. An interfaith wedding in the truest sense, was new to me -- and the many guests.

But the ceremony was truly exceptional. It began with the wedding party, groom and bride walking through the beautiful Grand Ballroom to the sounds of a band playing contemporary love songs. The elegant floral arrangements of pink and white flowers that aligned the aisle blended exquisitely with the room's golden pillars and turquoise marble walls.

Tears, smiles, and laughter filled the room while Rabbi Ari Moffic and Father Bernie Pietrzak stood under the chuppah (wedding canopy), each taking their turn explaining the wedding customs of Judaism and Catholicism and then leading the guests in prayer.

I also had the privilege of honoring my brother's and his wife's religions during their wedding ceremony. Along with one of my brother's oldest friends, I had the pleasure of signing their ketubah, or wedding contract, as witnesses. Then, during the ceremony, I read a section from the Book of Sirach, a section of the Catholic Bible, that explains the joys a wife can bring to her husband and home.

After the vows were said and kisses exchanged, the beautiful interfaith ceremony came to an end. During cocktail hour, I had numerous people of different faiths exclaim the warmth they felt during the ceremony. I couldn't have agreed more.

What struck me most about their wedding ceremony is that it blended two religions and symbolized how they now coexist in a union. Now their marriage will have a strong foundation of welcome-ness and respect for the differences that makes us all unique and loved.

In just a few days I'm going to be 40. FORTY. How did that happen? 

Whoever said that time flies, wasn't joking around. It feels like I was in high school about half an hour ago and suddenly here I am at an age that sounded light years away.

I have been anxious about 40 since the minute I turned 39 and over the last year I have been through all of the stages of grief. I was depressed, mad, in denial and more than once I have shaken my fists at the sky while begging for time to stop. There were even times where all of that happened at once. I must admit that I have been a mess, but now that the big FOUR-OHH is knocking on my door I think I'm ready.

My most favorite thing about being Jewish is how it calls us to be awake, present and in the NOW. All of life's stages are celebrated, even the ones we aren't excited to see. We are called upon to recognize every new experience as a gift, and are challenged to be full of gratitude. We even have a prayer to keep us mindful and thankful.

The Shehecheyanu is a beautiful prayer, I've been thinking about it a lot lately. If the attitude of gratitude has a king, the Shehecheyanu is it. When I'm feeling uncertain and afraid, which honestly is exactly how I'm feeling right now, I like to say it a few times to myself. It reminds me to say thank you.

It's wild that I'm about to be 40. It's also a miracle. I'm lucky. Forty doesn't have to mean anything, right? I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm certainly not planning to slow down, and I feel more centered, focused and sure than I ever have. I may have even reached the point where I love myself -- a lot. I can't wait to see what's next, and I'm thrilled to have finally reached the age where I can throw open my window and yell, "Hey, kids! Get off of my lawn!" 

I think it's going to be OK.

Blessed are You, Our God, Ruler of the Universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this moment.

As I reflect on my TALMA experience, I feel as if an overwhelming amount of change and growth has taken place. There are the superficial, surface changes like living in a different country for a month, getting slightly tanner, gaining new friends and eating large amounts of hummus and pita for four consecutive weeks, but really, it goes beyond that.

There has been such a shift in my perspective. The lenses through which I view both education and "real life" are exponentially different than they were at the end of June.

The TALMA program brings instructional leaders from around the world to teach English to students in low-income communities on the Israeli periphery through an immersion-centered learning environment. And as anyone would guess, Israeli culture inside (and outside) the classroom is quite different.

There are a unique set of challenges accompanied by many successes. It was not, for example, uncommon for my small class of nine students to have multiple screaming matches (with my co-teacher and I as well as each other), kicking wars and crying fits. The door was slammed multiple times per day and silence was quite the rarity -- even when one of us was talking. Describe this situation to me before all this happened and I would have been extremely scared. I would have shaken my head in disbelief, smiling a doubtful smile.

But this is the reality. The students are genuinely sweet. They are real and authentic. They are loud, outspoken, and stand up for what they believe in. Their energy and behavior are like nothing I've ever experienced in a classroom. And you know what's strange? I absolutely loved all of this.

I lived for each day inside the classroom. I lived for each challenging moment in which I had no idea what I was supposed to do; for the times that it was absolutely essential that I rely on my patient co-teacher for his ability to speak their language; for the times that I thought to myself about how behaviors like this were not common in our schools; for the moments when I felt completely powerless and didn't know what to do.

The beauty is that each time I found myself in a difficult situation, I did something. I am, in fact, not powerless. I was forced to expand my knowledge, reach for tools I've never used, and rely on help from others to turn a challenging situation into a unique learning experience.

The first day, I was panicking about something. Sahar (my co-teacher, who has become like family) looked at me and said, "It's no problem." When I asked him how he could be so calm, he gave me the best advice I've heard in quite a while: "A problem is something big, like losing a child. Israel has bigger problems than the computer not turning on."

I took a step back and thought about every time I'm stressed about something at my job at home, or panicked about something in my real life. He's right. What seems like a problem actually isn't. It will be okay. Life is going to continue. The students spoke more and more English, and each day ended with a smile.

I'm not sure that describing the change in my perspective as just a shift is accurate, exactly. When I came into this program, I felt extremely nervous (shocker, right?). I did not trust that my teaching experience and education would be enough. While I have learned valuable lessons in best practices for teaching English learners each day, I've also learned that it is absolutely essential to believe in what I bring into the classroom. Each TALMA teacher (Israeli and American) has such a unique skill set that allows him or her to be successful. The proof is in the conversations I've had with others, pictures shared on Facebook and just the overall confidence in the group.

With that being said, one of the most important lessons I've learned is that it is 100 percent okay (and necessary) to ask for help and rely on others. I admit that I haven't always been the best at this both in the school setting and real life. But being in a loud classroom with children yelling a foreign language and looking at you with pure confusion on their sweet faces really is eye-opening. It is a "rip the Band-aid off" learning situation that makes you feel absolutely powerless in a humbling way.

Although I've known it all along, I now believe and live the idea that we cannot do all things alone. Each moment I relied on my amazing co-teacher and principal, students, friends and TALMA administrators. While that may have left me feeling inadequate in the past, I now feel fulfilled.

There has also been such a growth in my instructional strategies, especially with teaching English learners. I've realized the importance of movement breaks, games, gestures, pointing and relevant vocabulary. But the growth has come in my educational philosophy. I've always strived to incorporate authentic learning activities into the curriculum, but that abstract term is now more concrete. These activities do not only have to be learning vocabulary, spelling words or reading.

The times in which I've seen the biggest change in my students is when we've done an activity to build their confidence; the moments when we play at recess and converse in English; and when they get to teach me Hebrew. In the past, authentic still meant directly related to the learning goals, being able to be measured by standards. Now I have seen the value of self-confidence and the socio-emotional aspect. It is such a powerful thing to be able to make a strong connection with children who understand very little of the language you speak.

Life is challenging, that's for sure, but by relying on others, taking each moment for what it is, leaving the past behind, smiling and believing in ourselves and in others -- we'll all make it through.

TALMA, a program sponsored by the Israeli Government, the Schusterman Family Foundation & the Steinhardt Foundation, seeks to enlist more than one hundred instructional leaders from around the world to educate, inspire and lead in an informal, experiential summer learning program for elementary school students in the Israeli periphery. TALMA educators will teach in an English immersion-centered learning environment for students who live in low-income communities. English proficiency is essential for future academic success and developing this skill is critical to unlocking future opportunities.

TALMA is YOUR opportunity to use your summer to grow your leadership network, gain international education experience and have an immersive personal & professional development journey in Israel grounded in an effort to repair the world. The first two summers were an amazing success, and now we want to expand this groundbreaking program and increase our impact with the contributions of MORE highly qualified leaders like you to spearhead the effort.

Still have Questions? Contact us at talma.admissions@gmail.com.

Okay, guys. Brace yourself. This is big.

Or, rather, not so big. More like kid-sized -- but amazing.

I have recently discovered that even if you are, in fact, 29 years old, you can be a kid again and order from the kids menu at a restaurant.

This changes absolutely everything. Here is what I have learned.

Reasons to order from the kids menu

- The food is obviously better than the regular menu.
- No more "I can't eat at this restaurant because the food is too fancy for me!"
- Cheaper. Most of the time, it's under $5.
- Usually comes with apple slices or grapes.
- Always -- not usually, but always -- comes with chocolate milk.

It all started a few months ago, at L. Woods, a restaurant I visit often because it's in a good location, but a place where the only menu item I enjoy is a flatbread pizza. This flatbread is so flat that it always feels like I'm eating nothing but air -- which is fun, but not filling.

"One of these days, I'm just going to ask for the kids menu!" I said to a colleague in her 50s.

"Waitress, we'll take a kids menu!" she yelled, hands in the air.

Even though the kids menu said that it was for kids ages 10 and under and not for "jealous" adults, I asked the waitress very nicely if I could possibly order something from the kids menu. She agreed, I ordered, and my 50-year-old colleague said she'd have the same. Minutes later, out came a delicious meal of grilled cheese, French fries, and a bowl of grapes plucked from their stems. This is what heaven looks like.

Since then, I've been on a quest to learn more about kids menus. This is what I've learned so far.

Potbelly

So far, Potbelly has been the least impressive kids menu. I enjoyed a delicious mini version of the PB and J sandwich (it was like a finger sandwich at a tea party!) for under $4, but it did not come with ANY side dishes. Come on, Potbelly, what about my balanced meal? I'm a growing girl!

Panera

Slightly outranking Potbelly is Panera. I ordered a grilled cheese that came with a choice of apple, baguette, or yogurt. This didn't impress me because all meals come with a choice of apple, baguette, or chips, so this didn't make me feel special or kid-like.

My friend, who is around my mom's age, got excited and ordered a kids Greek salad along with a side of apple. It was good, but this is pretty inauthentic. I mean, seriously, what kid orders a Greek salad?

Subway

I very much enjoyed my kids meal at Subway. It sadly does not come with one of their amazing cookies, and you don't have a choice of bread (just white or wheat), but you get a mini sub (if a 6-in. is their small sub, this must be a 3-in.) plus apple slices and chocolate milk.

Chipotle

Ahh, Chipotle. I didn't even think there was anything I could eat here until I learned about their secret kids menu. If you're a kid at Chipotle -- or just an adult who asks for the kids menu really nicely -- you get two cheese quesadillas, two or three sides (I got different answers depending on the location), either grapes or chips (depending on the location), and, of course, chocolate milk. At the time of this picture, I enjoyed the quesadillas with rice, grilled vegetables, grapes, and chocolate milk. I do not understand why this place does not have a Michelin star!

Culver's

The winner of my kids menu research is definitely Culver's. It's hard for me to imagine any kind of competition that Culver's would lose, because I'm so in love with their frozen custard, but I'd say this is pretty fair.

On the Culver's kids menu, while taking a break from a long drive from Chicago to Minneapolis, I enjoyed a grilled cheese sandwich, applesauce, chocolate milk and a scoop of vanilla custard. And I'm pretty sure that they gave me back my change from a $5 bill. The custard there is so delicious but it's even more delicious after you know that you've earned it -- you've eaten your protein (cheese in the sandwich), fruit (applesauce), and calcium (chocolate milk), so there's really no guilt.

I challenge all of you to go out there and see which places have the best kids menus. You'll save money, eat healthier, and you'll feel like you did in the good ol' days.

I'm hungry … I wonder what they serve to kids at Alinea!

To survive hibernation, bears pack on the pounds in autumn. We do the same thing, even though binge watching Netflix is not the same as hibernating.

Aside from a buffet of viewing options, we also have actual buffets and endless eating options during the late fall and winter months. It starts with Thanksgiving mashed potatoes, and ends with a champagne toast on New Year's. It feels like an unavoidable health trap, but it doesn't have to be that way.

You can survive the holidays without all the weight gain! With a little planning, you won't need to add larger pants to your holiday wish list.

Become a "food snob"

My favorite trick to avoid most treats is to become a food snob. I will never quit desserts, but if it's average brownies, I'm going to skip it. I love a good chocolate chip cookie, but I won't let a plate of burnt chocolate chip cookies ruin my diet. The same philosophy can be applied to mashed potatoes and green bean casserole. If something is Top Chef quality I'll take a small portion, maybe get seconds, but anything super salty or not that good gets passed. Don't feel guilty because a pushy family member or friend is guilting you into it.

Find the healthy alternative

If you are in charge of a menu or a dish, make it healthy and delicious. Be sure to spice things up too with natural flavor boosters -- don't give healthy food a bad rap. Turmeric, curry, paprika, garlic powder, cumin, dill, oregano, basil, thyme, rosemary, ginger, and cinnamon (it's not just for desserts!) can do wonders. If you are trying to lose weight, bring fruit for dessert. Or better yet, combine them. I used to make healthy cookies using apple sauce and though my family did not love them, pumpkin was another story. Pumpkin is high in vitamin A, has three grams of fiber per cup, and has other health benefits. It is great in baked goods, breads and soups.

Home is where the gym is

As the colder months come and you don't want to venture outside, work out in your home. Buy some fun fitness videos, have a dance party, or work with a trainer. A cheaper option to personal training is working with a trainer online. All trainers do it differently, but whether through Skype, texting or emails, having a "virtual coach" helps. I have clients log their food and I send them workouts. We talk about the workouts and I offer some healthy eating options. The key is in the tracking. Once you have to write down Doritos and Oreos as a snack, you make better life choices.

If you decide to workout at home, and need some equipment, I recommend bands. They are affordable, don't take up a lot of space, and you won't break your toe if you drop it. I like the bands they sell at www.resistancebandtraining.com and the Spri bands with handles. If you want to get a bunch of stuff, check out craigslist; people are always trying to get rid of equipment.

Lastly, have some fitness fun! Now is a great time to take tennis lessons or join a basketball league. When I don't have time to work out, I setup an obstacle course and have my four year old do it with me.

What are your holiday health hacks?

Any minute now my ship is coming in
I'll keep checking the horizon
And I'll stand on the bow
And feel the waves come crashing down…
And you said, 'Be still, my love
Open up your heart
Let the light shine in'
Don't you understand?
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin…

These are lyrics from the Colin Hay's song "Waiting for My Real Life to Begin."

I imagine his words resonate for many of us. After all, it's human nature to keep waiting for our "real" life to start once we have all our ducks in a row. We're waiting for that dream job, that dream love, that dream baby, that dream white picket fence, to reach that dream body size.

But while we wait, we're stuck in a holding pattern. While we wait, we miss out on the good stuff that's all around us. While we wait, we miss our lives.

Don't get me wrong. Dreaming big, holding on to hope, and creating lives with intention are all important, but just as vital is how we spend the here and now.

We as people, particularly as Jews, know that life is precious and fleeting. One of the tenets that's core to Judaism tells us it's how we treat each other today and what we do today that counts. As Pirkei Avot, Ethics of the Fathers, teaches us: "Who is happy? He who is happy with what he has."

Did we love, laugh, learn, lift people up, and find meaning in today? Why sit and wait for what may or may not happen tomorrow, or after we pass on?

Last spring, I shared a poignant exchange with Rabbi Naomi Levy, a spiritual leader and author living in Venice, Calif., who spoke to the Chicago Jewish community when she was in town. When Levy's daughter was just a little girl, she was diagnosed with a serious illness. After facing a lot of tough days and introspection, Levy discovered that no matter what obstacles were thrown her way, she would still manage to see the blessings in the present. "I found a way to see the openings," she told me, "to see more of the light than the darkness."

In fact, she encourages everyone to discover meaning and blessings in today, to live the best possible life now-even though life is imperfect.

For instance, as a rabbi who often counsels Jewish singles, she advises unmarried people to stop putting their lives on hold until their potential, future partners walk through the door. "I've seen single people unwilling to even buy dishes, eating off paper plates," Levy said. They'd tell her, "'I'll buy dishes when I get married and for now I can just slum it." Instead, Levy urges them to say, "'I'm here, I'm alive, and I deserve to eat off dishes. I deserve to live the most beautiful life possible and not put it off for some magical point in the future.'"

Today's technology makes us less centered than ever. We're constantly splitting focus from what's present and real to what's virtual, on our screens. In a recent New York Times column, titled "Stop Googling. Let's Talk," written by technology professor Sherry Turkle, the author asserts that dividing our attention between face-to-face interaction and face-to-smartphone interaction is lessening the quality of our conversation with each other. Texting is tampering with our ability to talk to each other in a deep and meaningful way because we all have (tech) attention deficit disorder. Even when we're alone, Turkle explains, by looking at our phones every two seconds, we're detracting from own concentration and imagination.

So maybe it's time to put our phones away a bit more. As we approach the holiday of Thanksgiving -- a national holiday that I've found to be an extension of the High Holy Days because it centers around themes of gratitude, so present in Jewish values -- maybe it's time to focus less on what we don't have, on what we want next year, or some day way down the road. Maybe it's time to look at the blessings we have right now.

I'm thankful -- right now -- to be relatively safe, free, loved, at peace, in good health, and full of joy. I'm thankful for the beautiful bonds I share with my family, friends, and community. I'm thankful to get to do meaningful work every day. I'm thankful to be constantly learning and growing. And I'm thankful to be a strong Jewish woman living in a time and place where I'm encouraged to say and believe what I want -- to be me.

What are you grateful for today?

It's World Series time, so it's time for Jews everywhere to find a connection to the Series. Well, Kevin Pillar is done. Theo Epstein didn't come through. How about we go back in time a little?

Introducing Chicago's own Tony Cogan. Cogan played for the Royals, although is admittedly a Cardinals fan. He recently joined TheGreatRabbino.com Speaker Series. Here is his take on the ups and downs of getting to the Majors and the best pizza in Chicago.

1.Tell us a little bit about yourself?

I live in Chicago with my wife, our young son and our golden retriever. We are expecting our second child in late February. I grew up in the North Suburbs of Chicago and love the city, the Midwest, and its people. I have a passion for the outdoors -- fishing is on top of the list. I am actively involved with the Scleroderma Foundation of Greater Chicago.

2. You pitched at Highland Park High School. Ever go back to catch a Giants game?

I have been to one or two since graduating, but most of my time was spent away from home. I spent the majority of my off-seasons training with other ball players in northern California, close to school. I did, however, give private lessons in HP for a number of years following retiring from baseball.

3. Was it hard to jump from college (Stanford) to the minor leagues? What is the biggest difference?

Actually, it was surprisingly not that tough of a jump. The big jump was minors to majors. When I got to the minors out of college, I was frothing at the mouth to pitch to wood bats! I felt like the edge was tilted in favor of pitchers because most of the guys were coming out of college or high school and had to make an adjustment to using wood bats. That actually gave me a fair amount of confidence going into my first pro season. The playing field leveled as I moved up the ladder.

4. What was it finally like getting to the majors?

It was an incredible experience. I made the team out of spring training after only two minor league seasons -- so it was quite a surprise. I was not really expecting to be invited to major league spring training let alone making the team. On the last day of spring, the team was making final cuts and a few guys were still hanging out, waiting to talk to management. I was on pins and needles and one of the other players, Chris Wilson, pulled me aside and forced me to sit down and play cards with him to calm my nerves. When I finally got in the office, I had a good feeling, but still wasn't sure. Then, Tony Muser (the manager of the Royals at the time) sat me down and told me that I was going to be on a plane to New York to face the defending champion Yankees on opening day. I will quote him … "you did a nice job in spring training, now don't get all poopy pants on me!" Three days later I was in Yankee Stadium!

5. When did you know it was time to finish your career?

That is a very tough question. A lot of thought and consideration went into the decision. I was still physically able to play when I ultimately hung 'em up. I can't say that "I knew" it was time, but it felt like the right time for me.

6. What have you been up to since baseball?

I am now an investment adviser. I work with a great team in the Private Wealth Management division at William Blair and Company in Chicago. I am a husband, a father of a 2-year-old boy, and have one on the way.

7. You played for the Royals. Are you a Royals fan? Do you have them winning it all?

I am a fan, but it's more about the current team and less about the fact that I played for them. Technically, I am a Cardinals fan, but mostly I am a fan of the game and good baseball. I like the Royals' chances in '15, but if they lose and this is printed after the fact you can strike my prediction from the record.

8. Since you are a Chicagoan. Where is your favorite place to grab pizza?

Great questions -- there are so many great places to eat pizza in Chicago. I am not much of a deep dish fan (blasphemy!) My current favorite would have to be Piece Pizza in Wicker Park. I am drooling just thinking about it.

"Mom? Dad? Remember how you wanted me to love Israel and it was really important to you that I go there? Well, now that I'm here, I do love Israel. In fact, I'm not coming home. I'm staying here."

That's what I told my parents at the ripe age of 16 halfway through my summer youth trip to Israel. And though not every Jewish youth has such an extreme response to their first experience in the Jewish homeland, we all become impassioned in some way. Some of us come back wanting to learn Hebrew. Some want to learn more about Jewish history. Some people are compelled to explore their Judaism more seriously, and others just feel a stronger sense of Jewish identity. This phenomenon is so profound that millions of dollars have been put into getting Jewish youth to encounter Israel.

There's something special that happens to the Jewish soul when it comes in contact with Israel. Yes, the falafel on Ben Yehuda is phenomenal, and the shawarma is shwooper shwrumptious, but is that all that's happening? We're reuniting with our ancient genetic Mideast taste buds? There's gotta be something more.

To understand it, we have to go back to the first Birthright Israel trip ever, which actually took place over 3,500 years ago. There were no applications available online at the time, only a prophetic message sent via Divine Cloud (great app) to the one applicant who put his name in the Divine auction to win a trip to Canaan Land. The one applicant was none other than our great-great-grandfather, Abraham. The acceptance letter read: "Go away from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father's house…" That's a lot of places to leave! Why so many?

There are three things that naturally provide a person with a sense of who they are. Family is the most basic. Whether as a result or reaction to our family, it is a major player in making us who we are. The next level of influence comes from our friends, especially the people we grew up with. We've been through it all together, and we impact each other through our interactions. The level beyond that is the community. When we are in a foreign country and we find someone from the same country, state or city that we're from, there's a feeling of association, of closeness. We may never have met before, but the fact you are also from Chicago, San Francisco, New York, Florida or Minneapolis connects us and we share a commonality.

The director of the first Birthright trip (i.e. the Almighty) told Abraham to leave all three of these impressions before coming to Israel. Why? He was going to discover something precious in Israel. No, not the beaches of Netanya (though they are beautiful) -- he was going to discover himself. The divine words saying to "go" in the Hebrew are, "Lech lecha," which literally translates to, "Go … to you."

There's a "you" that will only be found in Israel. Until you get there, you will not fully be "you." And in order to truly see and become the "you" that you can be, you have to rid yourself of any preconditioned notions of who you are. Drop all those external impressions of yourself; come to a new reality of your core as a Jew in your homeland and experience the true "you."

When young Jews go to Israel, they find a new self-definition. When they're open to the experience, they can find out just how beautiful and precious their heritage truly is. I know that I did. We see ourselves and our Judaism in a new light. It's a homecoming. Going to Israel is not just coming to our homeland and people, but also coming to the home within ourselves.

This past weekend, I ventured down to my alma mater, the University of Illinois at Urbana Champaign, and for 36 hours clumsily made my best attempt at re-living my college days. In the 10 years since I first stepped onto campus, so much has changed, yet so much remains the same. While I might not be able to party as hard as used to, getting to enjoy Champaign in the fall was just as much a treat as ever.

The weekend was an ideal mix of visiting with old friends and revisiting our treasured old haunts. You know what I mean. That college experience. Making my way back brought to mind an interesting thought: No matter how uncertain I was when I was applying to schools, I am so glad to have made my way there. I wasn't sure about my choice from the start, but my heart is filled with unforgettable memories and a warm nostalgia that will last for many years to come.

A few weeks ago I assisted a group of high school students in a college essay-writing workshop. I poured over the tips and tricks to get in the mode of cobbling together this most daunting of missives. When I arrived at the tutoring center, I was greeted by students with a range of strengths and experiences. I let my inner English professor take over as we chatted about which schools they wanted to attend and any colleges they visited while I prepped my pen (black, not red) to comb through their essay draft.

I tried my best to impart any wisdom I had. My own pass at the college essay process was half-hearted at best. I knew I loved to write. I knew my grades were passable. I participated in extra-curricular activities. My ACT was relatively up to snuff. My stumbling block? I didn't know how to write about myself.

I also didn't want to write about myself. I was terrified. I've been enamored of writing, stories and language since I can remember. Shaking in my proverbial 17-year-old boots, I had not a clue where to begin.

How do you distinguish yourself in a meaningful way, to share a unique perspective or experience? Those weren't the tenets of the English classes I'd absorbed. Answer the question. Follow the rules. Keep your head down. Work hard. Not, "What value can you add? What challenges have you faced and how did you overcome them?" Confidence was difficult to come by when I stared at the blank page.

It wasn't until I feverishly penned my essay, anxiously awaited my acceptance, went to college, lived a little more life in Chicago and abroad that I became more patient with myself. That patience has also encouraged me to continually deepen my effort to help others go through what I've already tackled.

Ten years later, I don't have the answers. But now, after two and half decades of voracious reading, writing and editing, my eye is trained and ready to peel through layers of a given document to get at the heart of what it's trying to say. My favorite part of working with these high school seniors is unearthing the core of what makes their own journey unique. How their personal experiences, described with their own narrative flair, fit into the framework of a personal mission statement is gratifying to reshape and define as a team. No one needs to write alone. But as I've learned the hard way, the most difficult and most crucial step is asking for help.

I admire the dedication it took these students to wake up early on a Saturday morning to work on this difficult piece of writing with a tutor they've never met. That takes guts, especially with a weekday schedule packed with hours of homework and activities.

I left these sessions with a few lessons bubbling to the surface, that hopefully we all learned together. When it comes to personal essay writing, don't be afraid to think of yourself in the most positive light possible. The longer you wade into the academic waters (and beyond), knowing the power you hold as your own advocate will be your guide. Don't censor yourself (within reason). Get someone else to read your writing.

For everyone, from the most ambitious Harvard-bound student to the most tepid and apprehensive, I wish them all the luck in the world in landing in a place -- and it definitely does not need to be four-year university -- where you feel contented, at home and ready to grow into the person you wish to become.

Jimmy Butler and Fred Hoiberg

The 2015-16 NBA season tips off this week, and when the Chicago Bulls face off against the defending Eastern Conference champion Cleveland Cavaliers on Tuesday night, they'll be sending out a lot of familiar faces. Except of course, for one.

The Coach

After five seasons as head coach, the Bulls parted ways with Tom Thibodeau. In so many ways, Thibodeau's time in Chicago was a success. His 255-139 regular season record is the second best in team history behind only Phil Jackson, but his teams -- once at the top of the league in most defensive categories -- were beginning to tune him out. Talk of championships turned to questions about playing time and injury management. Add a rift with the front office and a .451 winning percentage in the playoffs and his fate in Chicago was sealed. Thibodeau was as good a coach as there was in the NBA in terms of Xs and Os, but his shortcomings began to become glaring as the current roster's window of opportunity began to close.

So at the end of last season, the Bulls parted ways with Thibodeau and hired Iowa State coach (and former Chicago Bull) Fred Hoiberg. Hoiberg brings with him an approach that features a spread, high-paced offense, which should fit the myriad of wing shooters Gar Forman and John Paxson have assembled.

The roster from last season is almost entirely intact, giving Hoiberg a playoff-ready, experienced group hoping to achieve what they couldn't under Thibodeau.

The Backcourt

For the past four seasons the big story has been the health of Derrick Rose, and after his first healthy off-season in recent memory, it appeared they were going to avoid that this time around. Not so fast. Rose suffered an orbital fracture in practice about a month ago, but as it stands now, appears on track to play in the season opener.

But this isn't Rose's team anymore. This team is now led by Jimmy Butler, who cemented leadership status and his future with the Bulls when he signed a five-year, $95 million contract at the end of last season. Last year's Most Improved Player has seen growth in his game every season and now with the spotlight and the big contract he is looking to take his game to the next level and be the star the Bulls have been looking for to take them all the way.

Behind the starting backcourt of Rose and Butler is a familiar group. Aaron Brooks, Kirk Hinrich and E'twaun Moore return to back up and act as a three-man insurance policy for Rose. Brooks seems the best fit in Hoiberg's offense for his scoring ability, but Moore saw extended minutes in the pre-season and could see time if the Bulls use smaller lineups.

Moore or even Hinrich could see time at two guard, where the Bulls are a bit thin. Tony Snell is primed for a breakout season, but it remains to be seen whether he'll start at small forward or come off the bench to back up Butler. Either way, Snell will play a major role on this team as a guy who can not only score, but can also take some of the pressure off of Butler in guarding the other team's best perimeter players.

The Bulls' starting small forward, Mike Dunleavy, will start the season on the injured list after undergoing a low back microdiscectomy to address some issues he was having in the off-season.

With Dunleavy likely missing at least the first 4-6 weeks, this is an opportunity for last year's lottery pick, Doug McDermott, to emerge. McDermott, who essentially served a "red shirt" season in his first under Thibodeau, is a perfect fit for Hoiberg's offense, which relies heavily on the three-pointer. In the preseason, the Bulls averaged about 30 3-pointers per game, nearly eight more than last season's average, and McDermott has not only made more than anyone in the league, he's shooting it at 43 percent. While McDermott will likely start the year coming off the bench, Hoiberg has said he likes the scoring spark he brings to the second unit. He has an opportunity to really develop in this new system.

The Frontcourt

Chicago's crowded frontcourt is the big story heading into the season, returning Joakim Noah, Pau Gasol, Taj Gibson and Nikola Mirotic and adding talented rookie Bobby Portis. While Noah and Gasol may be the obvious choice given they started together last season, they also never quite found chemistry when they were on the court at the same time.

If it is chemistry you're looking for, a Gasol/Mirotic or Noah/Gibson combination appear to be the best bet, but there are issues with both. While Gasol and Mirotic will spread the floor and put up a lot of points, they are both defensive liabilities. And while Noah and Gibson will protect the hoop, neither has the ability to create their own shot. It will be something to monitor all season long as Hoiberg gets to know his team better.

And with only 96 total front court minutes to go around, where does Portis fit in? While it is easy to put him behind all four experienced players, Portis made a strong case for himself in the pre-season, averaging 12 points and over 10 rebounds per game. He is not only Hoiberg's first draft choice as head coach, he is another player who has size and can spread the floor. Don't be surprised if you see a mid-season trade involving one of these players, most likely Gibson or Noah, especially if Portis plays well.

In case of injury …

And as is the case every year, the Bulls will be defined by how healthy they are. The end of the Thibodeau era likely means an end to guys playing hurt or too many minutes, but as long as Rose and Noah are on the team, injuries will be a hot topic in Chicago.

If they can stay healthy, this team has a lot of depth. If Hoiberg can find the right combinations and still enforce enough defense to supplement their offensive fire power, the Bulls will be right there in the East come playoff time. This may be the last opportunity to win a title for this group as it is currently composed, but we are beginning to see the core emerge of the next Bulls era, and there is a lot to be excited about.

At the time, it seemed like a no-brainer. I could easily give up Sunday morning and Thursday evenings. I would be with an experienced co-teacher who could help me with the lesson plans. I had a curriculum and some general support from the administration. Best of all, I got paid. Teaching Hebrew school seemed like a great way to make some easy money.

As we prepared for the year, I was informed that I would be filling an opening in the seventh grade room. These kids had a lot of energy, I was told, but were basically good. Energy is good, I thought. I was excited for how my experience as a speaker, trainer and entertainer was going to be great for these kids. They were going to love me.

What I didn't account for was how much they would love to test me. They were bright and involved in sports, drama and other extra-curricular activities, but for some reason, when they walked into our classroom, all of that seemed to go away.

Hebrew school for them was a game of how much they could get away with. How many buttons could they push before I cracked under pressure?

The curriculum contained what I thought were rich discussion questions and interesting pieces to read, but something was lost in the delivery. Large group discussions resulted in contests to see which kid could grab the most attention by saying the most inappropriate things. The kids that actually did want to have meaningful discussion eventually gave up. Those that wouldn't stop talking eventually got sent to the office. 

You can only send so many kids to the office and have so many authority figures (the education director, the Rabbi and so on) intervene before you wonder, who is really at fault? Is it the kids? Is it me?

As teachers, we made our share of mistakes that probably didn't help. One time we started to show them a Holocaust documentary without adequately warning their parents, which was probably not the best idea. The kids turned away at certain scenes and covered their eyes at others, and when we had them reflect in writing, it didn't go over so well. One of the kids wrote about how he was probably going to have nightmares now. Needless to say, we never finished watching the video.

We needed to try something different. Then it occurred to me -- a field trip. I had attended a fundraiser once at an equestrian center that specialized in helping children with disabilities. I found out they took volunteer groups to help clean the stables and help lead the horses around the ring. One of the volunteer coordinators had a connection to our synagogue, so we set up a special outing for our class.

For one thing, it was a relief to start our day without having to be "on" as teachers. We were able to just all relax up front, while the kids socialized.

After a tour of the facility during which the kids actually asked thoughtful questions, it was time to help out, and that's when you could really see the difference outside of the classroom.

One child was asked to lead a horse around the barn while a younger child who was maybe 6 or 7 years old rode the horse. My seventh grader smiled, the child on the horse smiled, and I think even the horse smiled. That much joy never happened back in the classroom.

More noticeably was how the experience impacted the kids who caused us the most grief back in the classroom. One of the volunteer tasks was shoveling the old hay out of the stalls so it could be replaced with fresh hay for the horses. Most of the kids recognized this was not the most glamorous of jobs and found ways to get picked for other assignments. The unlucky four were given shovels and a set of instructions. It wasn't more than a few scoops into their task that three of them stopped shoveling and started chatting. The fourth kid, however, who had behavioral challenges in the classroom all year long, was furiously shoveling hay. He was doubling his efforts to pick up the slack from his peers.

Getting the children to participate in the classroom was beyond pulling teeth, yet the kids who resisted formal learning the most were the most eager to jump in and participate at this barn. It was amazing to see how much had changed after a 45-minute bus ride. The change of scenery, or the fact that there was a clear connection between the work and helping others, made the difference.

The learning opportunities that worked best, it seemed, were the ones when I stopped trying so hard to get them to learn something and just let them discover and experience it for themselves.

Looking back, I learned a lot that year. The obvious lesson was that maybe I wasn't so cut out to teach seventh grade, but more importantly, I learned that training (my expertise) and teaching are different. Teaching involves transferring knowledge and a deeper understanding of what motivates learners to learn and requires more than energy and a sense of humor.

Would I teach Hebrew School again? I think I'll keep focusing on other pursuits that better reflect my talents. And when the time comes to think about my own children's Jewish education, however, I hope that their teachers will have already learned what I did that year.    

"This supposed to be ya'll year/we ain't get the memo."

This Nicki/Drake collaboration couldn't be more applicable to how and what I feel when I reflect on the happenings of any past year. As I try to avoid sounding like the world's biggest pessimist, I am certain that no one in this world feels like his or her expectations are always met. Things that are meant to happen, that almost feel like they should happen serendipitously, often don't come through. Things fall through the cracks, people (myself included) fail, and events often don't occur in the fashion that any of us hoped for with the outcome that was originally anticipated. The grass is always greener on the other side and "next year" always carries promise to (hopefully) leave behind the trials, tribulations, and shortcomings of the past year, in an attempt to move forward.

Since it's nowhere close to the New Year, you're probably wondering why this rant now. Well, I'm a die-hard sports fan, and it goes beyond the sport itself.

I was crowned -- or cursed, depending how you look at it -- as a Cubs fan before I left the womb. I can't remember my first game or experience at Wrigley Field, but there is plenty that I can recall.

Baseball was always on in my house growing up. Some of the first memories I can recall are watching baseball with my dad in our den on our 1980s-style L-couch. As the firstborn of a dedicated sports fan, I think it was also decided that I had to like sports, and luckily for him, it was love at first pitch.

As a Cubs fan, it is clear that I understand disappointment. I understand the feeling of year after year expecting for it to be our year and suddenly it's halfway through the summer (if we're lucky) once we are mathematically out of it and we're already on to thinking about how the next year will be ours.

To be perfectly honest, sometimes I think my life mirrors the Cubs. I joke far too often about being cursed, about setbacks and frustrations, but trek on to the next step and opportunity. As far as people with bad luck go, I hope I fall into the category of being a lovable loser like my all-time favorite team.

With that being said, year after year as baseball season -- the best time of the year, by the way -- rolls around, I hope for the best and expect the worst. Year after year, we experience the high highs and the low lows. From watching the Bartman game in that same den where I watched my first baseball game and feeling the pain in my chest as we realized everything was unraveling, to the time I cried at a fraternity house when the Cubs lost their last postseason game in 2008 (mind you, I think this may have been one of maybe three times I have cried in public about anything besides death).

I've gone through the rocky emotional roller coaster that is being a Cubs fan alongside the best of them. I remember sitting in my apartment senior year watching the MLB '12 commercial, one that fantasized a Cubs World Series win, with tears streaming down my face thinking that it was too good to ever be true. (Disclaimer: I just teared up watching it again, which is mildly embarrassing, but I'm going with it).

Fast forward to now. This year has been different for the Chicago Cubs. For a year that has personally been filled with more downs than ups, it's been a relief that baseball has been a source of positive energy and hope, more so than I can ever remember. This season has been incredible. There has rarely, in my lifetime, been this many plays I have re-watched for positive reasons. I can't remember the last time the team as whole had this much energy, spirit, connection, and drive; I can't remember the last time Wrigley wasn't overflowing with anxiety. Although losing these first two games to New York has my nerves speaking a bit of a different language, it still holds true how special this team is.

Coming off of flying to Pittsburgh for the Wild Card game and attending Game 3 and 4 of the NLDS (side note: witnessing the Cubs clinch at Wrigley was one of the top five things I think I have ever experienced), I am hopeful. Although it's been a hard series thus far, I am confident that the next few games will be different at home. I'm not saying this is the year or that this isn't the year (mostly because I am superstitious and also, not a psychic), but what I am saying is that the Cubs are on their way.

Being a Cubs fan is about hope. It's about tradition. It's about loyalty. It's about dedication. It's about trust. It's about family. It's about a connection to a team that goes far beyond what happens on the field.

^{Magen David Adom paramedics arriving at the scene of an attempted stabbing in the Afula bus station, October 9, 2015. (Magen David Adom)}

The first thing they tell you after a terror attack is not to give in to fear. You must continue to live your life as you have always lived it. Keep taking buses, keep going to class, grab that drink after work; don't let anyone know that you are afraid. Don't even admit to yourself that you are afraid. Acknowledge fear and the terrorists win.

Well, sorry to Israel and sorry to the Jewish People at large, but I am a little bit afraid.

There has been a lot of tension in Tel Aviv over the last week as random acts of terror have gotten closer and closer to our doorstep. But the only concrete example I could ever find of this increased wariness was the behavior of individuals riding the public buses. It was the slightest change -- just a few extra pairs of eyes raised from smartphones and newspapers to examine fellow passengers. To an outsider, people-watching on the bus wouldn't raise any alarms, but, to me, those glances said it all: When ordinarily bus-goers are glued to their phones, this tiny change meant that people were taking inventory, that they saw cause to be aware.

On Oct. 8, the city's unspoken concerns were realized. I was grabbing a coffee with some friends during our break from Hebrew class when I saw four or five police vehicles whizz by towards the center of the city. As the sound of the sirens faded, I and everyone around me knew exactly what had happened. There was another attack, but this time it was in Tel Aviv. Playing it cool, my friends and I laughed and made our way back to the yeshiva, walking just a little bit faster than we would usually walk. By the time we made it back to class, our phones were already buzzing with safety alerts.

Now things are quiet, but the widespread sense of concern/frustration is unmistakable. (The latter sentiment not aided by Bibi Netanyahu's increased media presence.) There's not much to do but go about life as usual, and so we will.

But I will not do so pretending that everything is okay. I will be vigilant. I will avoid protests and crowds because I want to be around to experience this great county and to bring my experiences home. I truly believe this is a country worth knowing and fighting for, so I will be careful, in order to be its advocate for years to come.

The author captured a moment of Zen on Lake Michigan on a recent morning at daybreak.

Over the summer and now into the fall -- and a brand new Jewish year -- I've been waking up early in the morning a few times a week to make it to the lake to watch the sunrise. Blame insomnia for getting me out of bed, but there's a bright side to rising early.

It's a quiet, still, and present moment, in contrast to the rest of the kinetic, noisy day. I call it my "Moment of Zen," coined by Jon Stewart.

Zen, defined in Urban Dictionary as "a total state of focus that incorporates a total togetherness of body and mind," is exactly what I feel as I sit on the dock looking out at the horizon.

I'll watch the sun dawn over the shimmering water. Each time, I'm struck by the light and beauty of the sky, a palette of oranges, yellows, and reds dancing together, each sunrise breathtaking and different than the one that came before it. It never gets old, something we all can depend on -- literally like clockwork. The chores and work for the upcoming day seem far off as I'm enveloped by the peaceful majesty of the scene. 

It's something we often taken for granted, but it's comforting to know, that in a world with so much uncertainty, we can depend on the sun rising every day. Can you imagine how relieved early cavemen, who were still learning how the world operated, must have felt every time the sun rose for another day?

For me, watching the sunrise is a spiritual experience. On that dock, my belief in God is reaffirmed. There's a prayer we say thanking God for creating the sun, called the Birkat Hachama, the "Blessing of the Sun," and I think about that blessing in that quiet moment at dawn.

All the bad things happening to good people around the world, and the personal stresses of life -- the deadlines, the bad dates, the flood of demands, worries, disappointments, and all the other tsuris -- seem to melt away in that moment. What remain are serenity, light, hope, and peace. It's oddly reassuring to feel so tiny next to the big sky over that huge body of water. Our perspective shifts.

At a recent Shabbat service, the rabbi asked the crowd to search for the things that bring purpose to our lives. That dock feels like an extension of the synagogue's sanctuary. Out there, I'm inspired to think about what will bring meaning to the day ahead, and maybe even longer term. Our faith may be shaken and tested the day before, but every day is a new day with a clean slate, where our faith can renew itself.

Jews subscribe to the concept of free will; in fact, I believe each of us plays a role in shaping our own destiny. At the same time, at certain powerful moments in our lives, I find comfort in knowing, hoping, and keeping faith that some of the choices we make and that which is b'shert (destined), work in harmony. Perhaps some steps along our life's journey--what we're meant to do, who we're meant to meet, and who we're meant to become-are out of our hands, shaped by a force bigger than all of us.

When I watch a sunrise, I think about the things I can create and shape in life but, just as much, I think about the things I can't control. And that's kind of liberating.

So maybe you're not an insomnia-prone early riser. Maybe you relish as many minutes of zzz's as you can get before the alarm clock sounds. No problem. For one thing, there will be another spectacle in the sky later in the day -- called the sunset. Really, we're each in search for our own moments of Zen-and your moments may not include a sunrise or sunset. No two moments of Zen look exactly alike.

So many of our moments -- in contrast to watching a sunrise in solitude -- are less about the time or place, and more about the good people we surround ourselves with, the people we love most. Think back to a Moment of Zen you had recently with people you love. If you're lucky, you can count a lot of those moments in your memory.  

And you know what? They rarely cost a penny.

Yad (Torah pointer)

While they may look very different at first, most Jewish sacred or ritual items have something in common: They are containers. 

Many are receptacles for food or drink: a seder plate, a Kiddush cup, a challah board, a Rosh Hashanah honey pot. A tzedakah box is a receptacle for, well, tzedakah. And a hand-washing cup, naturally, holds water.

Some are containers for light, like candlesticks or a menorah or a Havdalah-candle holder. Some are containers for words, like a mezuzah or tefillin. Some are even containers for sounds, like a hollow shofar… or for scents, like a spice box.

Some objects are receptacles for our bodies, such as a kipah or tallit. And then we just "put our whole selves in" a sukkah. That's what's it's all about, after all.

A few Jewish accessories, granted, do not fit this paradigm. A dreidel doesn't hold anything, nor does a yad (Torah pointer) -- you hold them. And while you may have a woven holder for the lulav, a palm frond itself is not a container. But even in these cases, Jewish ritual objects are not just for looking at. They are for interacting with.

Still, most Jewish objects are containers. The need for physical interaction with these objects is a metaphor for the emotional investment required for a spiritual experience to occur.

In other words: In order for this Jewish thing to work, you're going to have to put something into it.

Sandwiched between a shvitz and a shiver, fall is the perfect season. Not only do I love fall weather, which is often breezy and cool, I cannot get enough of the beautiful fall leaves and tasty treats that arrive with the season.

As fall blows through Chicago and knocks all of the leaves off of the trees, I can't help but to crave cinnamon, pumpkin, apple and pecan.

I have a few recipes from family and friends to help ring in the season. These warm, spiced treats are sure to be crowd-pleasers at any fall gathering or occasion:

Kathleen's Hot Mulled Apple Cider
Courtesy of Kathleen Royston

Ingredients:

2 quarts apple cider (very good quality cider makes a huge difference!)
1/4 cup brown sugar, packed
6 whole cloves
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 sweet orange, thinly sliced and peeled
1/4 teaspoon lemon juice

Directions:

1. Combine ingredients in a large boiler or slow cooker and heat at low temperature for about 3 hours.

2. Serve hot.

Momma Chavis' Cinnamon Mandel Breit
Courtesy of Harriet Chavis

Ingredients:

4 eggs
2 cups sugar
1 cups vegetable oil
4 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoon vanilla
2 cup chopped walnuts (more can be added, to taste)
1 cup raisins or coconut (optional)
1 lemon grated
At least 4 teaspoons cinnamon (lots)
1 teaspoon nutmeg

Directions:

1. Beat eggs vigorously.

2. Add sugar and vanilla and continue mixing. Then, add oil and lemon.

3. Sift flour, baking powder, and baking soda. Add cinnamon and nutmeg to flour mixture.

4. Add flour mixture to egg mixture. Add nuts (raisins, coconut).

5. Let it all rest for some time.

6. Grease an 11x16x1-inch pan with oil. Spoon out mixture and spread out with fingers.  Make flat.

7. Bake 30-45 minutes at 375 degrees F.

8. When baked batter turns lightly brown, slice down and across the pan into long cookies.

9. Turn each cookie on its side, sprinkle with lots more cinnamon and sugar, and bake until medium brown and crunchy-hard. 

10. Cool on rack.

Perfect Pumpkin Bread
Courtesy of Kathleen Royston

Ingredients:

3 cups sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
3 eggs
1 16-ounce can solid pack pumpkin
3 cups all purpose flour
1 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup coarsely chopped pecans (optional)

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

2. Butter and flour two 9x93-inch loaf pans.

3. Beat sugar and oil in a large bowl to blend.

4. Mix in eggs and pumpkin.

5. Sift flour, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking soda, salt and baking powder into another large bowl.

6. Stir into pumpkin mixture in 2 additions.

7. Mix in pecans, if desired.

8. Divide batter equally between prepared pans.

9. Bake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 1 hour 10 minutes.

10. Transfer to racks and cool 10 minutes.

11. Using a sharp knife, cut around edge of loaves.

12. Turn loaves out onto racks and cool completely.

Note: This is wonderful spread with cream cheese. Also freezes well.

Extra noshing inspiration:

Back in January, I offered Oy! readers some awesome Jewish food bloggers to follow in the new year. With help from those talented, Jewish bloggers, here are some additional tasty, fall selections:

• Carrot Sweet Potato Cake from WhatJewWannaEat.com

• Pumpkin Butter and Caramelized Fig Rugelach from WhatJewWannaEat.com

• Cranberry Pie with Thick Pecan Crumble from SmittenKitchen.com

• Apple and Honey Challah from SmittenKitchen.com

• Balsamic Apple Cheddar Scones from JewHungry

• Life Changing Pumpkin Cheesecake from JewHungry

I grew up in Russia (technically Moldova, but we will leave the technicalities be for now). The winters were frigid -- and sometimes a bit depressing, as winters tend to be. Food was used to comfort the grumbling bellies and laughter was used to warm up from the inside out.

In Chi-Town our winters have always reminded me of Russia. Lots of snowy days with frosted windows and red noses. One day last year as I walked down my driveway and the snow crunched under my feet, I was reminded of cold winters as a little girl. I was always comforted by the savory scents of a stew slowly cooking away on the stove top as I ran into the house after playing all day in the snow. My mom, made the best stews and pot roasts. She used fresh ingredients and simple flavors. And was always, she was able to make an amazing dish out of practically nothing.

On one of these very snowy days last year during a very long and dreary winter, hubs decided to give me the task of a mushroom stew. I just so happened to have bought some really nice mushrooms that I had no plans for. I went out and bought my favorite piece of beef cut -- a nice cut of chuck that has lots of marbling -- and went to work.

The result was an incredibly comforting stew with layers of simple flavors. I served it over my skinny smashers and felt a little better about my indulgence. At the end of a few days, when I still had some of the stew left, I placed it in a ziplock bag and froze it for another day.

This stew recipe is not really a recipe but more of a technique. Once mastered, this typical braising technique can be used in hundreds of different recipes.

Wild Mushroom and Beef Stew
(from girlandthekitchen.com)

Ingredients

2 pounds of chuck, cut up into bite size cubes
1 large onion
1 pound of a variety of mushrooms
1 bay leaf
5 cloves of garlic
6 sprigs of thyme
1 cup Cognac
vegetable oil
salt and pepper to taste
about 2 quarts beef stock

Instructions

1. We begin by cutting up our meat into medium bite-sized cubes and seasoning well with salt and pepper on both sides. Preheat a Dutch oven or a thick-bottomed pot with vegetable oil until it starts to smoke.

2. While you are at it, preheat the oven to 325-degrees.

3. Place the beef into the pot, making sure not to overcrowd the pan. Allow to brown on all sides.

4. In the meantime, wash and roughly chop your mushrooms. I used button, cremini, shitake and oyster mushrooms in this dish. If you use shitake mushrooms, make sure you remove and discard the stems as they are very woodsy and tough.

5. Dice up an onion while you are at it as well.

6. Check on the meat and remove once nice and brown. Set aside. You will have some fat and yummy bits on the bottom of the pot. Let it be. This is your flavor.

7. Add in the onions, a few cloves of garlic, a few stems of thyme, a bay leaf and mushrooms and toss to cover with the fat in the pot. Sautee for about 10 minutes.

8. Add the meat back into the pot and sprinkle evenly with one tablespoon of flour. Mix to combine until none of the flour remains.

9. Take about 1 cup of cognac and pour into a cup and then into the pot. NEVER POUR OUT OF THE BOTTLE! A flame can catch onto the bottle while pouring and the bottle will explode. (I have seen this happen, it's not a pretty sight.) Pour into a cup first then pour into the pot. You can either let it cook out or light the cognac on fire with a long match, or if the pot is shallow enough, tilt it toward the flame so it will catch on fire. Flaming it is a neat party trick :) This is also called deglazing.

10. Once all the alcohol has cooked out, about 3 minutes, you will be left with a beautiful glazed meat.

11. After 30 minutes, turn the heat down to 275-degrees and allow to cook for another 90 minutes or until meat is nice and tender.

A little less than a month ago, I took a leap of faith and moved to Israel to participate in a 10-month volunteer/internship program called Tikkun Olam in Tel Aviv-Yaffo. The program gives me the extraordinary opportunity to intern for local non-profits and live alongside the communities my workplace serves.

I also have the opportunity to do something I've never done before: celebrate the Jewish holidays in a country full of Jews; to pray and laugh and eat in a community where Judaism is actually mainstream.

But to my disappointment, my first holidays in Israel, Shabbat and Rosh Hashanah, didn't feel all that different from any other weekday. There were fewer busses and most of the shops in my area were closed, but beyond that it was just an ordinary day. If you weren't familiar with the usual commercial traffic patterns of Tel Aviv, you'd never know that anything was different. As a result, I took my ulpan teacher's promise that Yom Kippur would be "unlike anything I had ever experienced before" with a grain of salt. It turned out that his promise was good.

Set apart from all other Jewish holidays, Yom Kippur -- the Day of Atonement -- brings all daily activity in Israel to a grinding halt. From sunset to sunset on this holy day, all businesses, schools and streets closed, causing even sleepless cities like Tel Aviv to grow quiet for a little while.

But as night fell on Erev Yom Kippur, the country's atmosphere of quiet contemplation gave way to waves of joyous sound as people filed out from their synagogues and homes and filled the streets. Children whizzed by on bicycles while their parents strolled arm in arm up the boulevard. Friends and neighbors all dressed in white met with kisses on cheeks and eager embraces. Bus stops and street corners became community living rooms, complete with cheerful old men stretched out on plastic lawn furniture, and traffic signals blinked comically unnoticed in the distance. Only when the approaching sun lent a bit of color to the sky did the people return to bed. Even I, a passionate sleeper, stayed up late to listen to soak up the musical chatter in the streets. How could I sleep when the world felt so alive? What if I went to sleep and the whole night turned out to be a dream?

But it wasn't a dream. Early the next morning the streets back came to life with shul-goers and cyclists in a fusion of old and new that only Israel could support. I became a part of that fusion on my way to Torah study when my neighbor's grandchildren challenged me to a bicycle race -- an invitation that, of course, I accepted. On our bikes we flew up and down the carless streets of Tel Aviv dodging teens playing soccer near the entrance ramps to Israel's empty expressways.

After class, I made my way home to help prepare food for the break-fast with my roommates. As I biked through my neighborhood, the smell of spiced meat and baking bread filled the air as other families prepared too. The chefs occasionally looked up from their work to shout holiday greetings to passersby from their open windows.

As night fell, my roommates and I made our way to the Sephardic synagogue a few blocks from our apartment. We were obviously late for the evening service as by this point in the evening no one was left on the streets. When we arrived at the synagogue, it was standing-room only, but somehow, the ladies in the women's section made room for us. They slapped siddurs in our hands already opened to the right page in the service. Every so often, the same ladies would peek over their shoulder to make sure we hadn't lost our place.

Before long, shofars bellowed out from all corners of the city and just like that Yom Kippur was over -- or so we thought. But it turned out that the communal spirit of Yom Kippur wasn't done with us just yet. As my friends and I shuffled out of the synagogue we were stopped multiple times by women of the congregation who wanted to make sure that we had somewhere to go for dinner. In fact, even after explaining that we had food prepared at home, our doorbell still rang that evening with smiling neighbors holding out pots of food for us to taste.

It turned out that my ulpan teacher was right. But at the end of the day, the parts I will remember the most about this Yom Kippur are not the carless streets or the closed up shops. Instead they will be the people I met and the kindness they showed me on what happened Judaism's holiest day. But it is a kindness that I know will last and remain special any old day of the week.

Come with me, and you will see, my world thrown back into imagination with just one spark. Yes, journey with me on a discovery that was more of a re-discovery. For I want to tell you a tale. A tale of fencing! Of fighting! Of torture! Revenge! Giants! Monsters! Chases! Escapes! True love! Miracles -- wait a second! That's The Princess Bride. Wrong tale. Moving on!

This tale is about something within me that was long forgotten yet greatly missed. I am of course talking about -- my imagination. (I thought I had a more clever way to reveal that, but it must've been a figment of my imagination). The year was 20 aught 15. The month, the Ember of Sept. The day, not really important.

I was in the land of Kalamazoo, which as it turns out is a city and not a zoo known as Kalama. I went to the city on a personal journey of self-discovery. I also brought along my girlfriend. Our self-discovery was to find beer. And while beer was found during our self-discovery (and in quite the abundance), t'was the stop between beer discoveries that has had some truly significant significance.

For you see, there was a museum or wonders at the heart of this city, lying right under the lungs but above the stomach. What drew me there was not only the price of the admission (free), or that it was on our beer excursion walking route, but it was that they had one very special exhibit.

Tinkertoys. That's right, toys of the tinkering kind.

A love letter, or rather a love exhibit, was on display encompassing the joy and exhilaration of that carefree building toy of yesteryear. I was reeled in by the bright colors, the elaborate displays, the fact that I had accidentally grabbed a fishing lure and the want -- nay, need -- to build using my imagination. It was a feeling I hadn't experienced in quite some time.

I've always loved building toys. I grew up a lover of K'nex; I was never as big into LEGOs, which is very characteristic of my personality to go against the popular thing. (This is how I rebelled.) But that non-specified day in the Zoo known as Kalama, I found my long-neglected need to fully explore my imagination no longer remained dormant.

That day my girlfriend and I built a great many things. Fireworks, bazookas, lollipops, throwing stars (or starfish, depending on who you asked) a zoo I named Kalama as well as abundance of memories.  And during the course of being reunited with my imagination, I was additionally being reunited with other Tinkertoy enthusiasts (read: toddlers) that I had to contend with to get the best pieces to build my imaginary deluxe-sized abacus made of Twizzlers that uses doughnuts instead of wooden beads and requires a verbal passphrase to unlock as well as a retinal scan from a pet. Not just anyone can use it, you know.

The moral of this tale, as all tales come conveniently packaged with a moral, is that I should never lose sight of my imagination again. To take it a step further, I should even take time out of my busy, adult-stuff-centric schedule to explore what my much more mature imagination has to offer.

Playing with those Tinkertoys was like a wakeup call. Well, actually, not that. Wake up calls are a nuisance. Let's see, um … it was like diving into a pool full or marshmallow fluff! In other words, it was a realization that my imagination is still there, with much more to explore, or as my adult version might say, much more to be tapped. Heh heh. (Because this started off as a discovery for beer. I used my imagination good on that one.)

I've begun to realize that reconnecting with my imagination is more than just daydreaming. It's making something great out of something that came entirely from within my own thoughts, ideas and dreams and then playing with it. I love where my imagination can take me when I use it for the fun stuff, because the fun stuff has no stress, no anxiety and no limitations. As I said, it's more than daydreaming -- it's finding my dreams by using my imagination, because with my imagination, a dream can be a dream come true.

Yom Kippur is "Judgment Day," and there is a prayer that repeats over and over again throughout the many services of the holiday called Vidui, or "The Confession." Every year when I go to shul for Yom Kippur, my heart beats a little faster when the Vidui comes up in the liturgy. I rise to my feet and pound my chest with my fist, while uttering the long list of sins that I may or may not have been guilty of committing. I once heard that the point is to confess to the entire list because even if I didn't do it, someone in my community did and I am just as much responsible for their sins as my own.

As someone who has worked to make transformative change in his life over the last 10 years, I would love to be able to stand up on this Yom Kippur and say I have nothing left to confess, but that would never be possible.

Every year I come to contemplate and confess my wrongs and just like millions of other Jews, every year I know that I'll be back again next year. I won't ever be perfect in the coming year and I'll always be guilty of something that I promised to never do again.

No matter how hard I beat my chest on Yom Kippur, my inner demons still remain. My story of losing over 100 pounds, building a successful career, paying off thousands in debt and finding true love is not about leaving the "old me" behind and forging ahead as a completely new soul. Instead, it's about figuring out the right routines and strategies to keep that negative side that was dragging me down in check.

When I show up for Yom Kippur, dressed in traditional white, I bring all of my soulful and sinful self to pray. There is still a very large 300-pound man inside of me. All he wants to do is sit on the couch and eat cookies. He doesn't care about putting his health first. There is still a very lazy, unmotivated college student inside of me, and he doesn't want to stop playing video games to finish his work. He doesn't care that people might be depending on him. And there is still a snarky teenager, ready to make jokes at the expense of others' feelings.

Judaism uses the word tshuvah to mean repentance, but tshuvah really comes from the word for "return." When I think about the metaphor of returning, I might leave a place behind, but I still have to bring my whole self with me. I have to come clean about who I was and what I have done and bring the lessons from my mistakes. All of that informs my new perspective so that I may return to my true path. The path that I would like to think leads me down the road to a sweet new year.

Shana Tova Tikateivu -- may you have a good year and be inscribed in the Book of Life.

Dress by MIMU MAXI. Photo credit: Alexanna Cox

The High Holidays allow me time to reflect on my past year and dream of a new year filled with endless possibilities of the person I can become and accomplishments I can achieve. But to be completely honest … I also love attending synagogue during this time of year to admire the outfits of the other fashionable congregants. 

So, I've created a list of shul fashion dos and don'ts for this Yom Kippur, so you can look smashing while repenting.

Crop Tops Should be Cropped Out        

There are many women who wear these tummy-barring tops while exuding the utmost class and confidence (i.e. Jessica Alba). But, I believe these tops should be saved for, let's say, hanging out with friends. 

Clothe Those Kickers

Call me old-fashioned, but I believe the knee should be hard to see when wearing a skirt in shul. I'm all for a short skirt or dress being balanced by a more modest top half (Heidi Klum is an expert at this), but synagogue is not the place to strut those barre legs. 

Having a difficult time finding longer skirts or dresses? One of my favorite labels is MIMU MAXI. It was founded by two Orthodox sister-in-laws who design modest yet fashionable clothes.

Skivvies Should be a Secret 

This piece of advice goes out to both the ladies and gentlemen. Your undergarments should be out of site. Synagogue is not the place to pull out your inner Kim Kardashian with the exposed undergarment look.

The High Holidays are a time to rebuild oneself, but it never hurts to look fabulous while doing it. L'shanah tovah and easy fasting!

One of the "it" phrases in the fitness world is muscle confusion. If you stay up late enough and watch a few infomercials, you are bound to hear some meathead selling a DVD using this buzz word. I hear muscles get really confused with algebra…

In all seriousness, your muscles adapt to how you train. If you are doing the same workout day after day, your body will get used to it and suddenly you stop getting stronger, faster, leaner, etc. Eventually everyone hits a plateau, and then it's time for a change. The change can subtle or drastic. I usually make big changes because boredom sets in. A few changes you can make:

1. Slow down
2. Circuits
3. Unilateral training

Slow Down

I got a little crazy recently and confused my muscles by weight training more slowly. Normally when you are pumping iron, you throw the weight up on the faster end, albeit controlled but still quickly. My workout was similar to the Super Slow method where you bring the weight up on a 10 second count, and lower the weight the same.

I loved Super Slow training! It was a little hard on my shoulder for certain exercises, but it was an intense burn. Fun fact, this was the first method I used to train people when I was in college. The program I used was one exercise per body part, and we went to failure on each set. Here's a sample workout:

- Body weight squats
- Seated rows
- Deadlifts
- Dumbbell bench press
- Shoulder press
- Lunges
- Bicep curls
- Triceps push downs

Circuits

A circuit is a workout where you move from one exercise to another with little break. Most workout videos are done like this. A lot of bootcamps are also done in this fashion. What's great about it, is you can make every circuit different. When I design a workout like this, I use a balanced approach, i.e. for every chest exercise there should be a back exercise. Another benefit to this style is it can combine cardio training for your heart, with anaerobic training for your muscles if you don't rest between exercises. And since everyone is calorie-burning crazy these days, this workout will achieve that goal too. Here's a sample circuit:

- Assisted chin ups
- Alternating leg lunges
- Push ups
- Single leg deadlift
- Shoulder press
- Jumping jacks
- Rows
- Mountain climbers

Run from one exercise to the next. Take a 1-2 minute break when you finish all exercises, and repeat the circuit 2-4 times. 

Unilateral Training

It sounds fancy, but it's just training one arm or leg at a time. If you are bicep curling, you do your left arm first and then your right arm. I like this because you can work on strength balancing. Most of us have one arm or leg that's stronger; with this type of training you can do an extra set if you need to on the weaker side. Another reason I like this type of programing is it helps with balance when you do single-leg squats, leg press and deadlifts. A kettlebell works well with this type of training. Sample program:

- Single arm row
- Single leg deadlift and bicep curl
- Single arm dumbbell bench
- Single leg squat (I would hold on to a stick, TRX, or body bar)
- Overhead triceps extension
- Lateral lunge
- Dumbbell shoulder press

Do each exercise 10 times on one side and then switch. Because it takes a while to do one side and then the other, I would only do two sets of each exercise and then move on to the next exercise. 

There are millions of ways to confuse your muscles, I recommend mixing up your routine every 4-6 weeks. If you go to a gym that has classes, try a different teacher or new class. Have fun, and of course only exercise if you are healthy enough and cleared by your doctor.

I absolutely love working at Temple Jeremiah, and I also love the neighborhood where I live -- Lakeview, almost 20 miles away from Jeremiah. For many, an hour-long commute could seem like a nightmare; but for me, it's my own personal sanctuary.

I am constantly on the go, running from one thing to the next. I rarely take time to sit and just "be" -- it doesn't fit into my schedule. But for two hours a day, in my car, I'm sitting, relaxing, and enjoying "me time" by myself. I don't think I realized it until now, but it is truly a blessing.

In the mornings, I listen to audiobooks. I love to read, and audiobooks allow actors to bring characters' voices to life -- and my book list tells me that I've listened to more than 80 audiobooks (ask me for recommendations!).

In the evenings, I call my mom. We chat daily for almost an hour, sharing stories from our day, and, recently, getting excited about wedding planning details. I truly treasure this time for us, and it feels like she's right there with me in my driving tour of the Chicago suburbs.

While many people grumble in traffic jams and are filled with road rage, I think about the sanctuary that my car has become. It's my time to think; it's my time to relax; it's my time to make connections with my mom and other relatives and friends; it's my time to lose myself in a good book as it transports me to other countries, other times, and other cultures.

Sometimes if highway traffic is bad, I drive down Sheridan Road, with beautiful mansions on one side and a sparkling, shimmering lake on the other. I take a deep breath and just relax.

Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year and the Day of Judgment, is upon us. And it's kind of a funny day. No, being judged for the year is not so funny, but if you look at our customs for the day, you've got to wonder what's going on; we have these huge festive meals on the Day of Judgment.

Yes, we're Jews -- we use any excuse we can come up with to eat. But it's Judgment Day! What's with the five-course meals? And you would think on Judgment Day we're going to have a real heart-to-heart conversation with our Creator about all the things we've done wrong and how we're going to change this year. I dare you to go look for that in the prayer book. You won't find it. It's actually forbidden to talk about our sins on Rosh Hashanah. What's up with that? Are we trying to pull a fast one on the Almighty as if it never happened? And what's with the shofar blast? It's a cry? A coronation? What's the connection?

Rosh Hashanah is commemorating creation. Actually, no Jewish holiday is just a "commemoration." They are actually reenactments (most notably the Passover seder). Rosh Hashanah is a reenactment of creation. Here's a quick Jewish trivia question for you: True or false? Rosh Hashanah celebrates the creation of the world.

Rosh Hashanah is actually the sixth day of creation which is the day Man and Woman were created. So technically, false. If every Jewish holiday is a reenactment then it follows that we are annually recreating ourselves on this Day of Judgment. And it's an opportunity we don't want to miss.

So back to the lavish meals, the shofar and not mentioning sin. The reasons all related to the question of how does a person truly change, or in context, truly create? Do we change by focusing on the past and wallowing in the pain of our mistakes? Will that inspire us to become better people? No. In fact, this actually prevents us from changing. So Rosh Hashanah is a setup for success. There's no mention of past errors.

We don't successfully change by changing our behaviors. We can't. Rather, we have to change ourselves first. Then we can change our behaviors. 

I heard this beautiful idea recently from a friend, Charlie Harary. He explained that people think the way to change is to start with your behaviors and eventually you will become a new person. But it's the other way around.

If I decide I want to be more patient with my children, I have to perceive myself as a patient person. Only then can I begin to structure my behaviors in a more patient way. Otherwise, if I still see myself as an impatient person trying to fake patience, it won't work (just a hypothetical example …). If I decide to be more kind, I have to take on that quality as a part of my essence or my kind behavior will conflict with my unkind core.

To change the self-perceptions that will lead to behavior change, we have to stop beating our core up. Every time we smack ourselves for something wrong we've done, we're in essence saying to ourselves, "You are such a bad person! You always do X, Y, & Z!" And we believe it. So on Rosh Hashanah, the day of recreating ourselves, there's no beating up on ourselves.

Secondly, when we accomplish something great we celebrate. It helps concretize the accomplishment. And what greater accomplishment is there in the world beyond changing one's core? If we're really tapping into our inner greatness and potential, there's nothing worth celebrating more than that. Big festive meals are quite apropos on such an occasion.

Ultimately, we are confronted with the overwhelming question of whether a person can truly change; not just our behaviors, but our true selves. I believe we can, by believing we can and by putting every ounce of existence into this effort. That's what the cry of the shofar is about. It's not a mournful cry, but a cry of passion and core strength. It's the age-old cry of our people for thousands of years striving to change and become the greatest Jewish man or woman they could be. It is our own cry for this wish. It is the cry of our ancestors all the way through to our great-grandparents and into us. The shofar ignites the strength inside us, allowing us to reach our soul's strength to truly change. Then, the blast becomes a coronation. It's a coronation for a new reality. It's the new way we see the world as our new selves.

I would like to personally invite you to join me on Rosh Hashanah at the CTN Rosh Hashanah Experience as we discuss the idea of recreating ourselves along with many other beautiful High Holiday insights together on these upcoming beautiful Days of Awe. A happy beautiful new year of true change and creation for all!

Close your eyes and imagine yourself in the synagogue listening to the blasting of the shofar, something some of us will be doing just days from now.

Feel the power of the sound -- the staccato notes, the longer notes, and the really really long note -- reverberate throughout the sanctuary.

The sounding of the shofar (ram's horn trumpet) on Rosh Hashanah serves as a wakeup call for the Jewish people, a chance to start over with a clean slate.

Maimonides describes the wakeup call: "Arise you who are fast asleep, and awaken you who slumber," he writes. "Search your deeds, repent, and be mindful of your Creator…"

Now close your eyes again, and this time, look back at the year behind you.

Did you live a year that mattered, and did you fill it with meaning? Did you laugh easily? Did you connect with someone new? Did you cultivate deeper connections with people you already knew? Did you chat with the barista at your coffee house? Did you smile at children?

Did you look up from toggling between apps on your phone to watch a setting sun or notice a full moon? Were you brave enough to take some risks and leap -- even if you were scared? Did you dance? Did you say sorry, and mean it, to someone you hurt? Did you wander slowly through the rain? Did you notice lady bugs?

Did you honor your parents, your grandparents, and other people who helped form you into the person you are today? Did you think about how your food gets from the land to your plate? Did you treat your body as a temple -- at least some of the time? Did you stand up for the things that matter to you and stick up for people who needed it?

Were you sensitive to the pain and bloodshed of others that you heard about in the news -- in Chicago, in Israel, and around the world? Were you present? Did you teach your children to be kind to people, to animals, and to the earth? Did you give tzedakah (charity)? Did you give thanks each day for something in your life? When you spoke about other people, were you thoughtful about what you chose to say?

Did you appreciate the fact that someone always has it worse than you do, and did you recognize that you're luckier than most people in this world? Were you honest? Did you trust?

Did you give yourself a break about the things beyond your control? Did you value the sacrifices of your ancestors that made the world a better place? Were you a mentor to anyone? Did you open your mind and listen to people whose beliefs and ideas are different from your own? Did you let a baby's tiny hand grasp your finger? Did you give big tips? Did you visit someone sick? Did you read and learn about something new? Did you do something you didn't really feel like doing because you knew it would make someone else happy?

Did you stand and say the Mourner's Kaddish prayer for someone you loved and lost, or did you say it alongside someone else who lost a loved one? Did you learn a new skill? Did you smell rosemary, pinewood, vanilla, or cinnamon? Did you invite a guest to come and share your Shabbat table? Did you dream big?

Okay, now that you've looked back over the past year, close your eyes again -- but this time look ahead to next year.

How will you fill your life and the lives of others with spirituality, meaning, and love? Who will you surround yourself with?

As Jewish year 5775 comes to a close, let's take stock -- and awaken from our slumber -- and then press reset for a new year.

Wishing you and your loved ones a year ahead filled with health, happiness, sweetness, fulfillment, and peace.

I can't forget that cloud of gray coiffured hair breezing beside Madison Street Bridge. Tell me you saw her too, perched on the florescent Home Depot bucket, in a stylish purple top that matched her pomegranate lips. Tell me you couldn't stop staring at her either, that this living Mona Lisa didn't penetrate you in a way that made your throat croak a heartbeat and eyes well-up. Shouldn't she be on her way to work like the thousands crossing the bridge and not holding up a sign that reads, "Please help me find a job"? Tell me she smiled at you too.

"Oh, so you've met Bonnie."

My dad said he's passed by her for years on his daily commute. He stops sometimes and they chat over peanut butter Chewy bars. Did I know that it was common for commuters to stop and offer Bonnie a job? No I didn't -- so why is she still there then?

We parted and my dad and I picked up the conversation around the dinner table. What if I interviewed her, her and a bunch of other homeless people around the Chicago Loop? I'd go around asking how they got to where they are, and just schmooze. I'd write up an article and pitch it the Chicago Tribune -- wouldn't that be cool?

My dad said I could call it "Bonnie By the Bridge." He smiled, clearly pleased with his alliteration. I mulled over the title, which had a Southern simplicity to it. I liked it.

But within the week, my idea invited fruit flies who were attracted to the smell of rotting reservations. How could I verify that my sources were credible? Would I be compromising my own safety by initiating conversation with strangers? What message was I trying to portray? Was it ethical to use another's financial struggle to push my own professional agenda forward?

My two years in journalism taught me that while titles hook the reader in, it's the story that keeps the reader reading. Sometimes, I realized, we are more transfixed by the title than the actual story -- and the same can often be true when it comes to Jewish observance.

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For the past three years, I've been privileged to share nearly every Sunday morning with the same chevruta, or learning buddy, reading the identical text from our year in Israel. Each Sunday we size-up our coarse Hebrew skills against Oral Law and Biblical codex, exploring topics like the step-by-step process of brit milah, Judaism's squeamish vendetta against the descendants of Amalek and why the Passover loopholes of selling chametz actually work. Currently, we're uncovering the rationale behind our Jewish "fringes."

After discussing the significance of the garb -- how the strings and precise knotting reminds us of the 613 commandments -- I looked at my friend's pixelated face and declared that I was going to start wearing tzizit. Mind you, I'm allowed one hasty remark weekly during our sessions before my chevruta usually ends up airlifting me back to less choppy waters. This was it.

Talking over my reasons for wanting to wear tzizit, I realized I wasn't cut out for the fringed linen cut-out. Women have every right to wear tzizit, and they have my wholehearted blessing if they wear them to enhance spirituality, but these impassioned few must be impervious to stares. They would have to maintain the same conviction and determination day after day in their own practice to deflect the raised-eyebrow looks, the mommy-skirt tugs, and the not-another-bra-burner eye-rolls.

I realized that I wasn't that resolute, and so I closed the Torah text feeling like I had just eaten a tub of Ben and Jerry's the day after New Year's. Through it though, I realized how awfully proud I am of the male role models in my life who openly wear kippot and/or tzizit.

I was caught up in the glorified title of being a tzizit-wearer, a feminist, a "spiritual Jew" without truly considering the full story. I was all too focused on the hoorah of declaring my right to wear them instead of envisioning the reality of wearing them and the conviction it would require.

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During my first few weeks at college I remember telling one of my best friends that the Jews here call themselves "Orthodox" but don't necessarily look or act like other "Orthodox" people I've ever met. I remember tensing up about Orthodox Jews saying they "eat dairy out" but keep their kitchens strictly kosher, or women who change into bikinis for sun-bathing on Shabbat afternoons but make it to minyan almost every week. These anomalies used to hurt my brain and prickle my scalp -- now they barely make me wince.

During a recent Shabbat I was wore a short sleeve dress with only a mild V-neck in front. The real testiness was in the back with a deep cut plunge. To synagogue I was respectful and wore a cardigan, but the 90-degree heat proved too overbearing by the time I got home, so I shook it off with a sigh of relief. The visible skin did not go unnoticed; it pains me to say that the clash of being a respectful child while determining my matured self-expression is an ongoing battle.

But for now I've stopped being startled by the different versions of Orthodoxy there are, and whether you call that becoming "open-minded" or "desensitized" is up to you. Because "Orthodox" is just another word like "tree" or "feline," which bear altering images to each and every person.

In life we can't live by these titles -- "Orthodox," "feminist," "homeless," etc. -- when the stories are in people.

Meet the newest Jewish boxing sensation, Cletus Seldin. He isn't just hard-hitting, he is repping the Jewish people hard too. Take notice!

1. Tell us a little bit about yourself.

I grew up in Shirley, N.Y., which is a working-class neighborhood in Eastern Long Island. I graduated from Longwood High School and I played multiple sports through my years there. I was the starting cornerback on the 2004 Long Island championship team, I was a second-in-the state-wrestler, played lacrosse … I held the state record for a deadlift of 470 pounds at 145 pounds, and I took fifth place in the Eastern USA regionals bodybuilding competition. Don't mess with me when the Dallas Cowboys are on and I'm a food connoisseur. Outside of the ring I'm a really laid back, fun guy to be around, but when I work, I work hard and I don't let anything get in the way.

2. How did you get into boxing?

I started boxing around 2005 after my brother took me with him to the MMA gym where he attended. I was actually pretty good naturally because of my wrestling background and believe it or not, I tapped out the Sensei my first day there. I even worked my way up to a brown belt in Judo. But what I found out was that my stand-up fighting ability was pretty bad. There was a local boxing gym in Shirley that trained a couple big name guys and they had a really good amateur reputation in the Golden Gloves. When I started there I was getting knocked around pretty good by experienced amateurs until made a decision to start going every single day until I was beating those same guys, and that's what I did. I started winning exhibitions and winning amateur competitions and now the rest is history.

3. Have you ever considered going into MMA or wrestling?

MMA, yes. Before I started boxing, like I said earlier, I was doing MMA training. But once I started excelling in boxing, I haven't really looked back toward MMA. I can't say that I never will in the future, but as of now I am 100 percent committed to boxing. As for WWE, nope, never really crossed my mind.

4. How did you get the nickname The Hebrew Hammer?

The Hebrew Hammer alias started when I was still competing as an amateur. I was going to all of these tournaments and people started noticing my really hard-hitting right hand. They would say "Wow, that kid has a hammer. What is he, I don't know. Umm, I think he's Jewish. Yeah he's got a hammer, The Hebrew Hammer." And that was it, I'd go here, they said it, and I'd go there they'd say it and eventually I just stuck with it. I'm the Hebrew Hammer.

5. What was your Jewish life like growing up?

There are very few Jewish people in the town and in the schools where I grew up. So there was plenty of misinformation and Jewish banter. Nothing really offensive, it was more ignorant humor type of stuff and you learn to adapt. But I was a tough little kid back then. Small but tough, and eventually everyone realized that if you said something that I really didn't like, you were going to have to answer for it, or fight. But I did like growing up in a Jewish household. It makes you feel part of something special and you have a certain insight that can't be learned. We weren't terribly religious, but we kept the holiday traditions, I had a bar mitzvah, and everyone in my family all have Hebrew names as well.

6. What is next for Cletus Seldin?

The next step for me is to become a contender for a World Championship Title shot. I feel ready whenever they are. Ultimately, I want to fight anyone in the world at 140 pounds with a belt. I want to fight them all and I want all the belts.

7. What does life look like after boxing?

If I can get another three or four solid years out of my career as a boxer, that would be great. ;Right now I'm in top shape, I feel excellent, and I can easily fight at least 4-6 times a year. As for life after boxing, I don't know with certainty where this road is taking me now, so I couldn't tell you where it'll take me then. But I can tell you that I've always been solid on my own two feet, so wherever I do end up after boxing you can expect good things.

8. What else should we know about you?

Fans should know that I do what I do not only for myself, but I do it to represent a part of every hard-working American, and everyone with dreams, ambition, drive, and the courage to do what it takes to get where you want to be.

With the Jewish holiday season fast approaching, perhaps this is a good time to ask: Why are there no Jewish holidays based on events in American Jewish history?

We have Jewish holidays for events that happened in Persia (Purim), Egypt (Passover), Europe (Yom HaShoah) … even in no-man's land (Sukkot). We have holidays about ancient-Israel events that took place under the rule of the Romans (Lag Ba'Omer), Greeks (Chanukah) and Babylonians (various fasts).

Sure, many of our holidays celebrate events in the Torah, but we create new holidays all the time. Modern Israel has three (Yom HaAtzmaut, Yom HaZikaron and Yom Yerusahalyim), and there are people alive today older than the Jewish State itself.

The Jewish community in America is one of the largest and strongest in history. We were only recently (in 2013) eclipsed by Israel as the country with the largest Jewish population in the world, a position we have held for centuries. Jews have been in North America for more than 350 years! That's longer than many other empires' entire existences.

So where are our holidays? Are American Jews not part of Jewish history? Can you even talk about "Jewish history" without taking about American Jewish history?

Jewish American Heritage Month is nice, but a bit vague. In attempting to encompass all of the Jewish American experience, it spreads itself too thin. It's also not a part of the Jewish religious calendar, like the history-based Purim or Chanukah.

It's time to rectify this situation. Here are 10 Jewish-American events significant enough to warrant a Jewish holiday celebrated by Jews everywhere:

American Jewry Day
Jews won the right to settle in New Amsterdam and establish a Jewish community in 1655, and on this day, we celebrate the relationship of American Jews with their country -- for all its faults, easily the strongest between the Jews and a Diaspora country in history.

Jewish Rights Day
Jews achieved political equality in all 50 U.S. states in 1877, and today we appreciate our rights and pledge to continue our efforts toward equal human and civil rights for all.

Zion Day
The Federation of American Zionists is established in New York City (1898), but the day honors the overall role of American Jews in helping Israel become a country.

Triangle Fire Remembrance Day
A solemn day for remembering the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire of 1911, and redoubling our efforts to ensure fair and safe working conditions everywhere.

Justice Day
Louis Brandeis was appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court in 1916 becoming the first Jew ever nominated for the Court, let alone to serve on it -- and in his name we honor all that Jews have done to bring justice and the rule of law to America and the world.

Immigrants Day
Today, we remember the racist Immigrant Acts of 1921 and 1924, which closed America to East European Jews and others, and advocate for immigrant rights.

Civil Rights Day
In 1964, Congress and LBJ passed the Civil Rights Act. On this day, we honor all Jews who strove for civil rights in America and worldwide, and pledge to follow suit.

Jews in the Arts Week (8 days, of course):
The contribution of American Jews to the world(s) of art are incalculable. We would take a whole week to celebrate achievements in painting, sculpture, music, dance, theater, film, poetry, prose and comedy.

Rebecca Gratz Day
In honor of this pioneering Jewish woman, we recognize all the achievements of Jewish women to American history and culture, and renew our commitment to women's rights.

Soviet Jewry Day
The Exodus of a million Soviet Jews from behind the Iron Curtain is celebrated and the story of their liberation retold, including the American Jewish role. This, certainly, is an historic landmark of Biblical proportions and deserves a formal holiday.

Let the Jewish people and the rabbinic authorities work together to create, ritualize, and promote a holiday based on America's Jews and all we have achieved over the centuries.

I mean, waffles have two holidays. And American Jews don't even have one.

Growing up, the High Holidays were that time of year when our parents made us wear the fanciest dress or suit in our closet and sit through long services while sitting so far back in the room, you questioned if the rabbi was even on the bimah (stage). The trade-off was you got two nights of your parents' or grandparents' finest cuisine (assuming you survived your family meals).

In our 20s, nobody is forcing us to go to services anymore (guilting us, perhaps, but not forcing …) and sometimes even a family meal isn't nearby. Suddenly, we realize how much life has changed, which coupled with how introspective Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are, leads us to ask ourselves some questions.

In hopes of preparing you for the inevitable, here are five scenarios all too common for 20-somethings during the Days of Awe.

Wondering if you're a "Good Jew"

Despite the fact that being "good" or "bad" is not really a Jewish concept at all, this seems to be the time when everyone questions their spirituality. As a result, this moment creates one of three scenarios: 1) You make a promise to yourself that you know you aren't going to keep, but do it anyway because you feel like you should; 2) You embrace your "badness" by doing something that feels taboo (such as not fasting on Yom Kippur) and using the High Holidays as a time to rebel against your childhood or 3) Jewish guilt overtakes you and you decide to change things up. This could be anything from keeping kosher to participating in YLD's LEADS like your mom always bugs you about.

Having to explain the state of your life struggles

If the High Holidays mean being reunited with family, the joy you have from getting the best home-cooked meal you've had in months suddenly becomes a line of interrogation. Nobody ever explained that graduating college required hiring a PR agency to explain why you aren't in graduate school or why you're still single. When you try to defend yourself, your "Tinder culture" argument falls on deaf ears as every relative suddenly thinks they're Patti Stanger and wants to suggest "the perfect match" for you. Where's the swipe left button when you need it?

The unfortunate run-in

The person you thought you'd never see again when you graduated is literally the first person you see in shul. Either they are also visiting home or happened to move to Lakeview (because where else to 20-something singles go for the High Holidays when they're not at home?) and spot you before you can avoid them. Maybe this is a friend you had a falling out with over a decade ago, or maybe even an ex. Whatever happened, they're the last person you want to see and you have a lump in your throat. Suddenly, the focus you originally intended for prayer drifts toward this person. Perhaps this is what the Day of Judgment is really about?

The rabbi's sermon

The rabbi will almost certainly touch on at least one of the following subjects: 1) Why you should give more money to the shul; 2) An extremely controversial political opinion or 3) New beginnings/praying for mercy before our fate is sealed. If you find yourself listening to all three, then congratulations -- you hit the sermon jackpot. These are the most uncomfortable moments of the never-ending service. To top things off, the usual "two Jews, three opinions" stereotype suddenly becomes five opinions and the last 45 minutes you really didn't want to hear to begin with becomes the subject of a two-hour conversation at your dinner table.

Inexplicable excitement about the shofar

You know the shofar is coming. You've heard it every year during High Holiday services and yet, you still have the same reaction to the shofar service that you had when you were six. Perhaps it's the one point where you feel nostalgic about spending the high holidays with your family, or maybe you just like shofars. Even if you decided to rebel and sleep through most of services, you set your alarm just to hear the same blasts you hear every year. It's like the Jewish version of fireworks.

^{JCC Chicago’s Shabbat on the Lake. Photo credit: Mishkan Chicago}

The last gasp of summer is upon us, so I'm making it my business to get outside and enjoy as many activities "al fresco" as I can before the blustery winter weather inevitably makes its sinister return (Sorry, not a winter fan).

In that vein, I went to a lovely outdoor gathering last week: JCC Chicago's Shabbat on the Lake. As I rounded the corner and walked along Lake Shore Drive toward Diversey Parkway, it dawned on me that it's been quite a long time since my last Shabbat celebration. I was a casual Hillel attendee in college, enjoyed some Shabbat festivities when I lived in France, but a gathering with approximately 500 Jews on a Friday night isn't anything I'd ever experienced. I felt a slight shiver of trepidation, but as I saw the event sprawling out of the welcoming crowd in a lush green park, I advanced with a spring in my step and geared myself up to shmooze.

The setting sun cast a lovely glow on the festivities. As I gathered my bearings and scoped out the scene, I noticed a drum circle to my left, a few discussion groups scattered about and some pre-Sabbath yoga to boot. I'd shown up after work -- a.k.a. blue jeans, semi-cute top, potentially disastrous hair -- while most people were dressed neatly in outdoor-ready synagogue attire.

Seeing circles of friends congregate around the park, I couldn't help but think this little gathering resembled a hive of bees. Productive, chattering, buzzing -- filling the area with warmth and activity. Fun fact: Dreaming about bees can symbolize a moment in your life when you're particularly social, when you are balancing a lot of interactions at once. Whether or not that's entirely accurate, it's hard to be sure. In any event, it's a fitting metaphor, don't you think? After prayers were said and dinner devoured, a quiet hum fell over the crowd, the evening easing into a state of blissful contentment.

What I love about going to events like this one is that you never know just whom you might run into. The friend who invited me is a sorority sister. As soon as I arrived, I was joined by my friend, her sister and a healthy smattering of fellow University of Illinois grads. We were quickly joined by her boyfriend, his friends from the local Hillel, Israelis visiting, working and enjoying Chicago, and so on. I spotted friends from college, random acquaintances from high school and I even bumped into a friend from my French conversation group.

It's gatherings like this that remind me: no matter how large a city can feel, a sense of belonging to a community can make the world seem small.

Another college chum is a recently ordained rabbi settling into her new post in Chicago. She put out a call for ideas on how to reach out to people our age, not quite just out of school, but who want to be engaged with Judaism in a way that is comfortable for them and suits their lifestyle. I'm excited to hear what my friends will have to say.

What suits me is taking a moment to engage in Judaism in a way that doesn't feel forced. Something that isn't necessarily focused on "meeting singles" (even though those events are pretty fun, too) is a breath of fresh air. As the High Holidays approach, it feels like a mighty fine time to delve into what it means to be a participant in the community for me, and how I'd like to get involved in the future.

Before I began a tutoring program in inner-city St. Louis, all I knew was that I would be teaching reading and writing skills to third through fifth grade students who were not reaching the state-required levels. Additionally, I was to serve as a mentor just by being someone who graduated high school and attended college -- many of the adults in these kids' lives did not.

Our task was to teach commitment, determination and responsibility. I knew trying to impart these values and skills would be a difficult but rewarding process. If I was lucky, I would help these kids stay the course in their education and hopefully their lives, but I never considered how much they might teach me in the process.

On my first day as a tutor, I walked down the fluorescent-lit hallways and into the cafeteria, which was filled with approximately 30 children, all African-American. The majority of the tutors were Caucasian.

There seemed to be an invisible barrier between the two groups because of our evident differences in age and background and our lack of knowledge -- maybe even ignorance -- about each other. I could feel each group clinging to what was familiar and being resistant to hear someone else's story. But I was determined to break down the wall between us and show my students that we do in fact share values and experiences that can allow us to develop a deep connection.

I sat down at a table with three 10-year-old girls. They looked at me with curiosity and confusion, as if they were seeing an alien.

"I'm Jessica," I said to their awed stares. After a minute, their silence broke. They asked me questions about my favorite music and color, and I was transported back to fourth grade. I loved answering every question, and we bonded over our mutual love of Taylor Swift and Beyoncé.

We immediately had a connection. My playfulness fed their curiosity, and we discovered many things in common. I could feel their preconceived notions of me disintegrating as we spoke, and I felt the same way. We were together to learn, and we had lots in common to connect us.

We worked together all school year. At one point in the curriculum, the students had to read a children's newspaper aloud and discuss the topics it presented. Then, the girls were supposed to write about one of the topics.

In the beginning, the girls were hesitant to write because they had a hard time spelling or thinking of what to write. For example, one of the topics was about "giving back." The girls had a hard time relating to it. I told them that it's possible to write about something even if it hasn't happened to you personally. I suggested they write as if they could assist anyone in whatever way possible. The girls thought about the question in this way instead, and wrote down beautiful tales of donating clothing and giving food to those in need.

Every time they had an obstacle in writing, I would try to frame the question in a relevant and interesting way. After a while, they started to do this practice themselves, and by the end of the year, they needed very little prompting before they began writing. They improved their critical thinking and motivation skills immensely over the months.

The girls also taught me lessons that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I once asked them if they had been playing outside because it was sunny that day, and one girl told me that she couldn't because her neighborhood was too dangerous. Another girl told me that all of her cousins moved into her house, and it was fun to hang out with them, though I couldn't help but imagine how cramped and challenging it must've been. The girls would tell me these things without my asking, and they would tell these stories with a nonchalance and positive attitude that was admirable and extraordinary.

I was astounded by their stories and how they conquered every day as if it was the best day of their lives. They loved being together and with family, and they didn't need much more in order to be happy.

I hope that these girls never lose their ability to see the positivity in every situation, and I know that in my own life, I can definitely follow their example. They taught me to remember and heed all the blessings in my life, and try not to dwell on the more negative aspects. They were not bogged down by their reality, and they enjoyed all victories, small and large. And whether that was receiving a new "Frozen" pen or a new backpack, they were excited at everything, and were my tutors in happiness.

Whenever my mom wants to diet, instead of using the "D" word, she professes that she's making a lifestyle change. I like the way this woman thinks.

To me, a diet implies incorporating a new eating trend that swears you'll lose weight and look fab in your skinny jeans, bridesmaid dress, or crop top. However, once you've achieved your goal and ended that diet, you often gain the weight you've lost. On the other hand, a lifestyle change, to me, offers lasting physical and mental health.

There are many types of lifestyle changes. Maybe you want to get eight hours of sleep each night, workout five days a week, or eat more veggies. The difficulty of a lifestyle change, however, is sticking to it.

In my free time, I love reading books and articles on ways to better myself physically, mentally and spiritually. Below are a few tricks I've learned to help maintain a lifestyle change, so it just becomes a lifestyle:

Write It Down

A lifestyle change of mine has been to work out Monday through Friday. To best achieve my goal, I plan my workout schedule each Sunday. By planning it out, I know I have enough time in my schedule to hit the gym. Naturally, some weeks I make it to the gym when I plan to, while other weeks I sweat it out less frequently, however, ever since I started writing down in my schedule when I'm working out, I've been more likely to do those squats and arm curls.

Be Your Lifestyle Coach

One of my lifestyle goals is to get eight hours of sleep each night. If you're like me, you're busy, and it's hard to keep up with everything in our lives. So, if I'm at an event that goes past my bedtime, I'm learning to feel comfortable leaving before it's over so I can get some shuteye. Don't feel guilty doing things that are going to make you a happier and healthier person.

Don't Worry

We all have good days, bad days, good weeks, and bad weeks when it comes to implementing lifestyle changes. Don't beat yourself up about not sticking to your new lifestyle 100 percent of the time. Honestly, life would be boring if we followed every healthy habit. Find a balance with your new lifestyle change and your current lifestyle. A lifestyle change is supposed to empower you and not to deprive you.

It's important to always find ways to improve ourselves, so we can live more fulfilling lives. I hope my advice helps you stay on track.

As I prepare to jet off for a week-long trip to South America, a trip I have been saving for and planning for years, I can't help but wonder about the rise of Millennials making "hashtag wanderlust" not only a thing but a way of life. Traveling is emphasized more than material goods, and spanning the globe is deemed far more important than holding down a 9-to-5 job. While this sounds all well and good (I mean who wouldn't want to take exotic elephant rides through Thai jungles), to me the entire concept feels a bit unrealistic.

Quotes pervade social media emphasizing traveling while you're young. Jobs and money are deemed secondary to the knowledge and memories you acquire while traveling. The "lose yourself to find yourself" in pretty much any country but America argument makes this phenomenon appealing and glamorous to an entire generation.

While it seems like everyone and their mother is taking hashtag wanderlust to heart by eating the local food in Asia and wearing the local garb in India, I can't help but wonder, how are people really doing this?

First there is the cash. Young 20-somethings who can afford to travel the world with no means of income and no job to return to can only mean that they are supported by others, are spending a lot of their savings or have won the lottery. Whatever the case, these people seem to be the exception among college grads as opposed to the rule.

Second there is the sheer reality of the thing. I recently read an article in Cosmo that chronicled the adventure of a young woman in her move to the Caribbean to scoop ice cream. She escaped from her well-paid albeit demanding corporate job in New York, completely changed her life and has apparently never been more satisfied. As inspirational as that is, I don't know too many New Yorkers who would be so casual about waking up to find poultry in their bathroom.

Although the article encourages taking risks, trying new things, and falling off the grid, it's a bit hypocritical -- it ran in a major fashion magazine! Still, I recognize this woman drastically changed her life, lives the way she wants to AND stands on her own two feet. For those who travel the world in this way, applause.

Packing your life up to move somewhere foreign and mysterious is no easy task, irrespective of how you achieve means to live. Not everyone can do that. But not everyone has the wanderlust gene either. Maybe that's okay too? What if it's okay to just try new things on the weekends? Or travel to another city to visit a friend? Shouldn't these less drastic things be encouraged and valued too? What ever happened to just treating yourself to a vacation?

My upcoming trip has been three years in the making with a group of friends who haven't been together in the same place since they took pictures together in their caps and gowns. Would I love to extend this trip, travel the world for a year and forget about my responsibilities? Of course! But for now I'll settle for doing that one week out of the year and to be honest, I don't think that's too shabby.

I am deeply in love with Starbucks. Every morning I stop by my local drive-through and pick up the largest coffee that the law will allow. I'm fairly certain that I wouldn't be able to function with out these daily trips. Frankly, I'm surprised I manage to find my local store in the morning, since I'm not being chauffeured by a grown-up and haven't had a drop of caffeine. I mean it. I've got it bad for the coffee mermaid -- she saves my life everyday!

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, can we talk about the recent announcement that the Pumpkin Spice Latte is coming soon? Like very soon -- Aug. 25 soon. How can this be happening to us, Chicago? I just felt the sun on my face for the first time two weeks ago and I had almost forgotten that winter was even a thing. I understand that we have to constantly move on to the next trend, but can it be summer for just a minute or two more? Please?

It's not that I hate the PSL. I actually like it a lot. I'd just prefer to focus on the foods and flavors of summer before having to wrap myself up in all of my clothes while returning to the cave to hibernate. If Starbucks really had our best interests at heart they'd be burying us in the flavors of summer. 

Let's all think of summer foods for a moment. When I think of summer, all I can picture is tomatoes. Where are the tomatoes, Starbucks? This is tomato season after all, and nothing says summer like fresh tomatoes. I guess that's probably not the best flavor to combine with coffee, but I'd try it at least once. Maybe more if that's what I was handed at the drive through in the morning.

No! I'm not about to give you a recipe for tomato-flavored coffee -- that's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard! I would, however, like to share my new favorite summer recipe: Caprese salad. It's the easiest thing you'll make for dinner all summer, almost easier than picking up coffee at a Starbucks drive through.

The "It's Still Summer, Dammit" Caprese Salad

Ingredients

4 large, beefsteak tomatoes (or whatever tomato variety you're most in love with)
3 balls of fresh buffalo mozzarella 
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
Small container of pesto (optional)
Small red onion (optional)
Basil leaves
Generous pinch of salt and pepper

Directions

Slice tomatoes into 1/3 inch-thick slices, if you're using the onion, slice it into very thin pieces and then also slice the mozzarella the same thickness at the tomato. Arrange the tomato slices on a plate and sprinkle each with a pinch of salt and fresh black pepper. Top each tomato slice with onion and dab a tablespoon (more if you like) of the pesto on the onion, then top with a slice of mozzarella and top with a basil leave and drizzle each with olive oil.

The Chicago Cubs' nine-game win streak came to an end this weekend, after a dominant 15-strikeout performance by Chris Sale in a loss to the White Sox on Sunday at U.S Cellular Field.

And this is no disrespect to the Cubs, but when I saw Sale vs. Haren, I knew the end of the road was near.

The loss ends an exciting run by this young Cubs team, which is performing well above expectations and ahead of schedule.

The last time the Cubs won nine games in a row was in May 2008. The fact that they are in playoff contention and winning in this fashion so late in the season is not only remarkable, but also completely unexpected. According to ESPN Stats & Info, this was their longest streak in August or later since they won 10 in a row in September 1953.

After being swept by the Phillies at the end of July, many analysts thought this would be the beginning of the downward spiral for this young Cubs team. They had kept themselves in contention for longer than anyone expected, but lack of experience was finally going to get the best of them as the games started to matter more and more.

The Cubs didn't see it that way.

They went on to win 16 of 19 after that series, including a 4-game sweep of the defending champion San Francisco Giants. During that stretch, Kris Bryant had a 12-game hit streak and Anthony Rizzo and Dexter Fowler both hit near .400, not to mention the hot run Kyle Schwarber has been on since his most recent call up. But it hasn't just been the bats. In his last 10 starts, Jake Arrieta is 7-1 with a 1.23 ERA, which is 3rd best since late June.The Cubs also have the best road record in baseball at 33-25.

This is not a fluke. The Cubs really are this good. They'll tell you themselves.

And it has been so much fun to watch, in part because you can tell it has been so much fun for them. This does not feel like a "curse-busting" team of strung-together players like we saw during the playoff runs in 2003 and 2007-08. This does not feel like a group carrying the baggage of 109 years of losing like those teams did. This is a whole new type of Cubs team, a complete re-build of not just a roster, but a way of baseball in Chicago.

The Cubs are somehow still "quietly" sitting with the fourth best record in baseball, in part because of the quality of their own division. Two of the three teams with better records than the Cubs also reside in the Central, the St. Louis Cardinals and the Pittsburgh Pirates. With the exception of the AL Central, the Cubs would be in first place in every other division in baseball. The fact that the hype machine has not completely overtaken Chicago yet is a factor I believe is helping the Cubs focus entirely on improving as a team and winning games.

As great as they are playing on the field, I would be remiss if I did not give credit to the work Manager Joe Maddon is doing. As exciting as the Maddon hiring was prior to the start of the season, expectations were still not through the roof. Baseball managers do not add more than 3-4 wins above replacement, especially on a team with their best days still expected to be ahead of them. As much as Maddon is known for his personality and antics, his biggest role so far in Chicago has been to keep them grounded -- focusing on fundamentals, not taking anything for granted and earning their way onto the field every day. So far there has been very little drama and they look like a team that belongs in the playoff race every time they come out onto the field.

Joe Maddon

But as I watch and as expectations continue to rise, I feel it is important to make a plea to Cubs fans not to forget to exercise patience in a sports world focused on results, viewing anything short of a title as a failed season.

As great as they have been, there is plenty of time to regress. We've seen them go through stretches where they struggle to score runs, and with a tough final seven weeks ahead of them that will see two series each against the Cardinals and Pirates, it is still possible that despite their record, the Cubs could still miss the playoffs -- be it by record or a loss in a play-in game.

It is important to remember, we were not supposed to be here yet this season. This is still a team with four rookies that are more or less everyday starters. We were not even supposed to see Schwarber or Addison Russell until next season. Let's not let our history of bitterness and cynicism spoil what this team has already done. I hope as much as anyone that this continues into the playoffs, but if it doesn't, this season was still a huge success.

The Cubs are finally moving in the right direction. It is not always going to be an exponential growth, there will be setbacks, but the fans on the north side need to appreciate that they have the privilege of watching the Cubs play in games that matter in August and September. Even if they lose those games, the fact that they are meaningful at all is something to be grateful for.

For my upcoming October wedding, as a somewhat Type A bride, there's a lot I'm trying to control.

I don't think I've become Bridezilla, but I've spent 28 years daydreaming about this special day and I have a vision I'd like to achieve. I'm choosing specific flowers (I now know my new favorite flowers are dahlias and ranunculi!), I have songs I'd like the band to play (and not play), and I'm designing our invitations myself.

But I'm realizing that there's one aspect of wedding planning that I can't control and it is driving me crazy. It's my stupid subconscious.

I'm not one who usually remembers my dreams -- I rarely had those "oh-no-I-forgot-about-the-math-test-and-here-I-am-running-late-to-school-and-I'm-wearing-my-bathrobe-and-bunny slippers" nightmares, at least that I could remember. But leading up to our wedding, the nightmares have begun.

It's not monsters and zombies that scare me overnight. What frightens me awake are visions of the hair stylist not showing up, the bridesmaids forgetting what day it is, taking my dress out of the box to find it is salmon colored (yes, even in my dreams, I'm picturing colors by their Pantone names), the chuppah being an enclosed phonebooth-like box where no one could see us during the ceremony, and the photographer's pictures turning out horribly. And that was all one real, horrible midsummer night's dream!

The truth is -- I know the wedding is going to be great. It will be perfect because I'm marrying Adam, who is wonderful and loving and calm. It will be perfect because we will be surrounded by our friends and family who love us. And it will be perfect because at the end of the day, love is the winner. Things will go wrong, mishaps will happen, someone will forget to put out the place cards, but it will still be Our Wedding Day.

So why can't my dreams CALM DOWN?

Is there a way to send a message to my subconscious? "Hey, whoever's listening deep in there … these dreams have been getting a little crazy recently and are kind of stressing me out. Can we tone them down a bit?"

While I have spent a lot of time planning our wedding, the majority of it has been fun and even relaxing for me. I like meeting with florists and I enjoy trying on dresses. Even choosing linen colors is fun. But my nightmares are taking my fun and exciting reality and MAKING. ME. SCARED.

I'm sure this is normal, and I'd love to hear about other people's pre-wedding night terrors. Is there a trick to make them stop?

I guess I can't control everything. My brain is clearly bored while I'm sleeping (come on, brain, isn't there an episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" that you can find in there? That show is always on somewhere) and so it wants to mess with me.

But what I can control is focusing on all of the love, all of the friendship, all of the family, and all of the many years of happiness in our future as husband and wife -- and, okay, maybe spending a few minutes every day daydreaming about my bouquet of dark red dahlias. 

I had much internal debate over writing this, but my decision was made by a sighting at my local Walgreens of a young girl donning an athletic jersey of a person currently under suspicion for less than gentlemanly behavior. It made me pause and it gave me courage. So here we go …

I froze. There were words coming out of my mouth but I felt other-worldly -- removed from my voice, my body.

He did it again. Suddenly, I felt myself resurfacing.

"Are you married? Do you have kids?" I demanded.

His voice changed from smug and cool to someone who had just gotten busted.

"Yes. I'm married with kids."

I looked him dead in the face, "If you were my husband and I saw what you just did to me, I would (insert unpublishable bad "-ing" word here) kick your ass!"

He stepped back admonished, with his hands now behind his back.

"What? Was I too handsy?"

"Yeah." I spat, pissed off and finally fully present. "You're too handsy."

He slinked away.

The truth was "handsy" was an understatement. Where and how he touched me, which I find too appalling to describe in writing, could not be filed away and dismissed as borderline inappropriate groping.

I found girlfriends. I told them what happened. We commiserated on his vileness and speculated what his problem was. We then universally agreed that we didn't give a shit.

For a little while I felt better. By the time I got home and climbed into bed next to my sleeping husband, I was drenched in a blanket of shame.

I've been me my whole life. I know that sounds like a ridiculous statement. But there's nothing like thinking you know yourself and then having that whole understanding crumble in an instant. That's exactly what happened to me that night. The stand-up-for-everything-sit-down-for-nothing, mouthy, in-your-face woman I know myself to be, had stood mute, mousy and wide eyed for many minutes. Where had I gone?

My mind went where I suspect many women go when they are violated in this way -- blank. I went blank. And when I returned to my senses, I still didn't act or behave as I would have expected until the following day.

I wrote an account of the injustice which I sent (albeit shakily) to the offender privately on Facebook. After two days of no response, I copied and pasted my words to his work email. Within 30 seconds of my hitting "send" it was returned to me as undeliverable. I felt bereft and enraged all at once. The justice I was seeking had to come from this man knowing what he had done was wrong. I had to wait for the man who with no thought at all had touched me -- twice -- in the middle of a party, to acknowledge his violation in order for me to feel better. This man, who only had more than cordial access to me because I had peripherally known him for years, needed to read my words so I could pass my shame and humiliation on to him and his conscience. It was sick and ironic. And I waited nonetheless.

While I waited for a reply, I ran through the scenario again and again. Each time I replayed the scene I would wonder, "What if...?"

Sometimes it was, "What if I had slapped him?" Sometimes it was, "What if I'd said something to a bouncer?" Sometimes it was, "What if I'd walked away the minute I'd gotten that bad vibe?"

I'm embarrassed by the answers that I would have given in that moment, but in the spirit of full disclosure and in an attempt to close the gap of loneliness and shame, I'm going to reveal them:

If I slapped him, I would have looked like a bitch; if I'd gotten him kicked out, his friends would be mad at me and I would have ruined the celebration; I didn't want to be rude and it could have been possible that my gut reaction was off.

I cannot express the embarrassment I have typing that. I have four kids whom I am entrusted to help navigate the world safely, empowering them with the confidence to stand up for injustices. And there I just stood, frozen, my mind full of reasons why I should talk myself down from advocating on my own behalf, for my own body.

He eventually responded. He apologized. And I was shocked that the justice I was seeking through his apology felt so hollow. It would never be squared because he was sorry, embarrassed or hung over. I had been violated and led to question and doubt myself. The two experiences would never meet in the middle.

I am now realizing something else; I haven't felt grounded up until this point -- up until just now -- as I type these last few sentences. The injustice beyond the actual offense was the silence and the shame of the secret. By sharing this publically, I no longer live in those shadows.

If you thought "Cat's in the Cradle" was a heart-wrenching song when you were single, try thinking about it when you're a dad! We can all relate to that boy who missed out on those moments with his father, and the father (who we can also all relate to) missing out on those moments with his son. Life goes by so fast, and there's so much going on! We all have to fess up to the truth -- it's really hard to catch those special moments in life. Harry Chapin knew what he was talking about.

That poor father and son -- it's too late for them. But we won't let that happen, right?

In real life, there are real feelings, real relationships and real opportunities for deep satisfaction, pleasure and connections. But if we don't open up a space inside to hear and hold them, we lose them. We have to create space for the precious moments in our lives and relationships in order to treasure them. And that's what they are, treasure. But they're lost treasure if there's no space to store them.

This message was actually taught to us by the all-star greatest relationships rabbi of all time, Moses. When Moses was told to prepare two stone tablets for receiving the Torah, he was also told to prepare an ark to keep them in. Moses took those two instructions, but he swapped the order. He prepared the ark first, then the tablets.

Our sages tell us this was done purposefully. Moses felt it was important to have the ark built before preparing the tablets. What's the big deal? They're stone, can't they hold up for a few hours while he puts together the ark for them? His actions teach us that it actually is a big deal. Even if nothing would happen in the interim, the experience of having the tablets without a special space set aside for them would detract from their preciousness.

Symbolically, we learn a very special lesson. Without having a space for our "treasure" to be placed, it's not as treasured. Just like the kid in the song, Dad has to make some space for him. Otherwise, like in the lyric "you know we'll have a good time then …" the "then" comes and goes without ever having a good time.

This is applicable to anything we hold dear to us in life. We have to create a space for it to be a part of us and our lives. If we don't have a space within us to hold happiness, special moments, meaning and all the other wonderful experiences life can give us, we won't have anywhere to put them when they do arrive. We might even completely miss them.

We naturally assume that when good things happen to us we'll realize it, dive in and bask in the pleasures of the moment. But it's not true. We don't do it, and often it's because we haven't created a space for it. And then the experience is lost, as if it never happened. This goes for emotions, relationships and spiritual matters too. We need to create within ourselves space for feeling love, hearing the empathy of our loved ones, experiencing a spiritual existence and even for simply being happy in the moment. Otherwise, we could be missing out on all the abundant treasure around us.

There are many voices in my head. This is mostly because I consider myself somewhat of a voiceover enthusiast, but also because I like to talk to myself.

I do like all the stuff I like after all, so I can hold a great conversation with me. But outside of the cavalcade of voices in my head, there are two voices talking to my head (i.e. voices I hear) that have great importance in my daily life. I am, of course, talking about the ever-present voices of Carolyn Hopkins and Lee Crooks.

You never heard of them? That might be the case, but while you may have not heard of them, I can almost guarantee you have heard them. So journey with me.

Once we stop singing "Don't Stop Believing" together, let's journey in a different way to find out why these two people are such huge influences in my life, and possibly yours, without us ever even realizing it. If you haven't already Googled them, these two people are the voices of pretty much every transit announcement I've ever heard, ever. If you live in Chicago, it'll be the same for you as well.

Carolyn Hopkins is the voice of hundreds of airports and subways. Not the restaurant, but the mode of public transit. Pretty much anytime you go to an airport and you hear a pre-recorded announcement over the PA system, that's her. When you're at the airport and you shouldn't park in the white zone, which is for loading and unloading of passengers only, that's her. And when you hear someone say, "What the hell are you doing in the bathroom day and night!? Why don't you get out of there and give someone else a chance!?" you're probably watching Mel Brooks' Young Frankenstein.

I travel for work on average every other week, so the voice of Carolyn Hopkins is one I've heard more often than I realize. The point is that my life is probably a little bit calmer and smoother for having Hopkins' voice guide me through my cross-country travels.

When I'm not on the road and in sweet home Chicago, that voice role is filled by the aforementioned Lee Crooks, the voice of the CTA. For those of you not from Chicago, CTA stands for "Causing Total Anxiety" because of all the delays experienced in day-to-day transit. I'm just joking of course. CTA really stands for "Can't Time Accurately" because of all the delays experienced in day-to-day transit.

If you decide to ride the train or the buses in Chicago, you will hear Lee Crooks' voice, provided your headphones aren't on so loud that I can hear your music even though I am listening to my own music. So pretty much anytime you hear an announcement for a stop, that's him. Anytime you hear "we are waiting for signal clearance," that's him. And most famously, according to my own life, anytime you hear "doors closing," that's him. I often find myself repeating "doors closing" in the exact same manner as Crooks whenever I am on the 'L.' Or on the elevator in my apartment building. Or when I go to the bathroom and shut the door. Man, I close a lot of doors.

Within the past couple months, I was finally was able to put a face to these voices, which I found very cool. Most people don't realize the enormous amount of voiceover around them in their daily travels, and it's sometimes baffling to me to think of how many times I've heard these voices without taking the time to think about them. If I ever meet either of these people, I should thank them not only for making my commutes and travels subconsciously a little better, but also for giving me material for this Oy! post.

What's nifty is that as of 2009, these voices actually cross roads in my life, or should I say tracks? Yes, yes I should. Because it happens around trains. See, while Crooks announces CTA stations and all things CTA when you are on the transit, when you are off the transit while on an 'L' platform, Hopkins is the one announcing things like an "inbound train will be arriving shortly." So in just a few moments, I could hear both these voices belting sweet nothings in my ear. It's almost like a marriage of the two.

It'd be amazing if these two voice actors were married in real life. The same way the voices of Minnie and Mickey Mouse were married in real life. You didn't know that? Oh, it's true. Could life get any more adorable than that? Could it!? COULD IT!!??!!!

The arrival of Netflix's Wet Hot American Summer: First Day of Camp came with a feeling similar to that first day of overnight camp: who will your new friends be? What will your new memories look like? Will you find someone special? The possibilities seem limitless, and so was the case for David Wain's return to the cult classic that launched his career and the careers of so many of today's biggest stars.

I already praised 2001's Wet Hot American Summer as one of the best Jewish movies of all time, so needless to say, my excitement at seeing the entire cast (and then some) return for this prequel series was palpable, and my interest in what the Jewish components might be even more so. My expectations, on the other hand were tempered. Comedies of the cult variety are nearly impossible to replicate.

Fourteen years of reflection and insight definitely help First Day of Camp. Wain and co-writer Michael Showalter, who plays Coop, have a real sense of the spirit of their film and why it caught on as a cult classic, and they honor that without apology in this 8-episode series, which while not brilliant, has enough nostalgia and subtle laugh-out-loud moments to warrant the return trip to Camp Firewood.

The key is self-aware absurdity. Just the concept of making a series with all the same actors playing teenagers again (teenagers technically younger than they were in the movie, which took place on the last day of camp) is ridiculous enough. First Day of Camp makes jokes about it. Camper Abby Bernstein, for example, is played by a young girl in the first episode, but then gets her period, and from then on is played by Marisa Ryan, reprising her film role.

The Jewish humor of the series is more overt than it was in the 2001 film, and you can tell its personal for Wain; he plays a new character, Yaron, a counselor from Israel.

Yaron is the free-spirited, sexually liberated Israeli who is friendly and sweet with everyone yet intimidates and angers his fellow American male counselors, namely Coop, simply by default, i.e. he steals away their women with his Israeli swagger. In particular, Yaron captivates Coop's girlfriend Donna (Lake Bell), also a new character, a Jewish hippie type with a Star of David necklace who gifts everyone in camp a shofar from "Yerushalayim."

Israeli shlichim, the Israelis who come to American each summer to work at camps, are an integral part of the American Jewish camping experience, and so Yaron feels like the piece of the original movie that was missing. His subplot with Donna and Coop enhances the Jewish tone of the new series, suggesting Wain felt a certain pride over his movie's Jewish roots and popularity among Jews, and wanted to fly the flag a little higher this time around.

The entire First Day of Camp series is totally outrageous, sometimes to the point of tedium, but it's all in homage to the movie. The stories for each character line up with the original and sometimes in ways that put a twist on what we thought we knew about those characters -- for better or for worse. It's a total reunion-type series, much like Netflix's foray with Arrested Development, and it works as just that. A Wet Hot "virgin" would have a much lower chance of appreciating the series and wouldn't get many of its subtle references to the movie.

True to form, the only time the series is sincere is in the notion of camp friendships and romance, specifically the subplot involving nerdy camper Kevin (David Bloom), who gets bullied and has a crush on a girl. That's the truth of both the film and the series -- camp is a magical yet unforgiving place where a lot of growth happens in a short time.

So in a very roundabout way, First Day of Camp further reinforces why Jewish kids need to go to Jewish summer camp -- just don't show it to them until they're older.

One of the best things  about getting older is growing more confident in who we are and more comfortable in our own skin.

I remember back to my own bat mitzvah and how much more timid I felt back then, in daily life, and certainly standing up in front of all those people on my big day. I wish I could whisper in that 13-year-old girl's ear, up there on that  bimah (pulpit), and reassure her. But growing up is also about learning lessons for yourself. If we could, though, wouldn't it be nice to tell our younger selves a few pieces of wisdom?

Here are 13 things I would tell the younger me:

1. Don't worry so much about what other people think. Now I know that's way easier said than done, but teens and -- who am I kidding? -- adults too, spend a lot of time concerned about how they come off to other people. We obsess that others are judging everything we do. But I've got news for you: Everyone else is way too concerned about what they're doing so how could they be paying attention to your every move?

2. Go to Israel. Take advantage of the incredible opportunities in the Jewish community that will get you to our Jewish homeland. It will change you forever.

3. Listen to the stories your grandparents and parents tell you about your family tree. They're your roots and learning where you came from reflects on who you are and has a lot to do with who you will become.

4. Appreciate summer break. You're not always going to have the luxury to take three months off from the rest of the year to do something totally different.

5. Be kind to people -- and treat them just like you'd want them to treat you.

6. Eat dinner with your family whenever you can -- especially on Shabbat. The life and schedule of a teenager is kray-zee, but share a meal at the end of the day and week as much as you can to ground you from the chaos of our daily routines.

7. Be you. Don't just go with the crowd, wear stripes and polka dots together if you want to, and stand up for what you believe in -- even if it's not the popular thing to do.

8. Tell the people you love that you love them.

9. Be nice to your sister or brother. If they're anything like the little sister I was (and still am), they look up to you and want to be like you.

10. Pick classes and activities you actually want to take in high school and college, as opposed to what's going to look good on your applications and resume. You've got the whole rest of your life to worry about your job. Taking courses you're interested in will make you a more well-rounded person-and more fun to talk to at cocktail parties.

11. Mail a letter. My 13-year-old self didn't know from texting, Tweeting, and Snap Chat, but if she did, I'd still tell her to occasionally write a letter to someone on good old-fashioned paper. I know you'll probably have to find where your family keeps the stamps because it's rare to use them these days, but think of how fun it is to receive a letter in the mail every once in a while.

12. When you learn to drive in a couple years, try not to drive up onto your neighbor's lawn, which I admit I did, almost giving my driving coach/dad a heart attack. And never EVER drink and drive, or text and drive!

13. Remember that this too shall pass! You won't always go to school with that mean bully who probably has pretty low self-esteem, you will one day pass geometry (and perhaps never use your geometry knowledge again), and you're not always going to be in love with that one guy from U.S. History class. I promise you, next semester, you'll have a crush on that other guy from U.S. History class.

After Sandy Koufax and Hank Greenberg, the debate over the third greatest Jewish baseball player begins, and that conversation often starts with Shawn Green. For a stretch, Green showed elite power, which led him to all-star status, but his story is far deeper than his home runs.

1. What have you been up to since you retired?

I retired to spend more time with my wife and two daughters. I wrote a book that came out about five years ago called The Way of Baseball: Finding Stillness at 95 mph. I was doing a lot of speaking with the book. I have been involved in a few businesses, mainly tech startups. Currently, I work for a company called Green Fly, which mainly handles media apps.

2. Do you think the National League should adapt the DH? Would you have played longer?

I like old school baseball. I am not a big fan of interleague play. I believe the game should be innovative but there is something about old school baseball that I love. I liked when it was a true World Series and the leagues had advantages and disadvantages. It threw a wrench in the mix. It was like two very different games going on which was exciting. I do not think a DH in the National League would have kept me in the game any longer. It is more for infielders rather than outfielders. Leaving the game had less to do with not being able to play anymore and had more to do with not wanting to play anymore.

3. What was it like playing for Israel in the World Baseball Classic? How good was Joc Pederson?

Playing for Israel in the WBC was a lot of fun. It was great to put on an Israeli uniform. There were a bunch of young Jewish players and it was definitely the smartest team I have ever been a part of. While playing I got to know Joc. Joc was coming out of A-ball. We all knew he would be special because he has a beautiful swing. He reminds me a lot of Lance Berkman because of the way he swings and the backspin he hits the ball with. He is young and getting better. Right now he hits lots of home runs and his strikeouts will reduce because of his natural swing.

4. What is the hardest part of being away from the game?

I was burnt out when I retired. I do miss the camaraderie. And I miss the flights but not the travel. There is also something about the physicality of a sport, like taking batting practice and honing a craft. I do not miss the stress of competition, but I do miss the success of accomplishing physical goals; it is a lot of fun to hit a home run.

5. What was your greatest professional accomplishment?

I am proud of a lot of things. My first few years were a big challenge mainly because I was platooning. Getting over that hump and becoming an everyday starter and all-star was gratifying. Also the Golden Glove and 35 stolen bases were major accomplishments. My critics believed I couldn't do either. These things stretched me and got me outside my box.

6. Who was the best pitcher you ever faced and the best player you played with?

No question Mariano Rivera was the best pitcher I ever faced. He basically had one pitch and I could never hit it. Best player I ever played with was Adrian Beltre. He was super talented and truly an incredible ball player. All four years we played together he showed signs of being MVP, but what separates him from everyone else is the way he plays defense. He also could have 3,000 hits and 500 home runs by the end of his career. He should be in the Hall of Fame.

7. Like Sandy Koufax you sat out on Yom Kippur. Is that decision still meaningful in your life?

I actually sat out three times. I sat out in 2001 after 9/11, but that did not get much attention because we were a few games behind the Giants. In 2004 we were a few games ahead and had two games that landed on Yom Kippur. I played in one game and sat out the other. When I was younger we acknowledged the holiday but we were not super religious growing up. In 2007, I again sat one game and played the other. 2004 became a big story juggling a religious decision in the modern workplace. It was the right decision for my family and looking back I am happy I made the decisions I did.

Green is a speaker with The Great Rabbino, the Jewish Sports Speakers Bureau.

The first time I saw a trainer using a kettlebell, I judged him. With his thick Russian accent he would yell at his clients, "Pop your hips. Use your legs." I cringed as another trainer tossed a 30-pound kettlebell in the air and caught it with the other hand. Part of me thought, that can't be good for your joints.

Yet I was also intrigued. Fast forward a few years, and this weighted ball with a handle went from an Eastern European fad, to an American gym staple.

The most cost-effective bell is made from cast iron; they last forever and are not expensive. They also make vinyl versions (which don't wear well) and steel (more expensive). The benefit of a kettlebell over a dumbbell is the way the kettlebell can be held, swung, and racked next to your body. These heavy objects are not for everyone, but they are great for improving endurance, burning calories, and becoming more athletic. I own several and use them with most of my clients. When I'm short on time, I'll crank out a quick workout of squats, rows, deadlifts, and presses with limited breaks.

If you are already weight-training, ask a trainer at your gym for some guidance. If you are new to weight training, schedule a session with a trainer to learn the basics. I would look for a trainer that completed a certification or class on using kettlebells.

If you don't work out at a gym with kettlebells or trainers, there are a million videos online that can help. Obliviously, be cautious; whipping a heavy object around can lead to injury. I start my clients off with a few basic movements and light weight, and once the movement is down we can add more weight, speed up the movement or make other tweaks.

The links below are four great starter exercises:

1. Deadlifts
2. Goblet Squat
3. Swings
4. Overhead Press

Let me know if you have any questions. Keep moving! 

I am a Millennial and I am fascinated with the idea of minimalism. And no I'm not talking about the art form or furniture style -- I'm talking about a lifestyle.

Through literature and real-life examples, I actively expose myself to minimalist ideas/principles for a few reasons. Besides it being a freeing experience both physically and mentally, practicing minimalism is a catalyst for growth. It's a journey to discovering a hidden treasure. But this journey is not long and arduous -- it gets easier along the way; instead of gems, this treasure contains the most powerful gem of all: a freeing state of mind.

When I think about minimalism, I think about living life in its purest form. To think that the key is as simple as simplifying life is a refreshing revelation, to say the least.

Sometimes it's just throwing stuff away, donating or not buying that hot new item, but the more I discover, the more I realize that minimalism is all-encompassing -- it's so much more powerful when applied to all facets of life. The moment I apply it to decisions about my relationships, work, passions and future; almost immediately, I get mental clarity.

What did my math teacher always say when I stared blankly at a scary, complex math equation? "Break it down." When I looked at the problem as a whole, it was intimidating, paralyzing even. But as I broke apart the pieces of this long, scary-looking equation, I realized it's just made up of many very basic mathematical rules.

And it's like that with everything. If you want to understand your finances, break down your expenses. If you want to be healthier, evaluate your diet.

When in doubt, simplify, simplify, simplify. You'll discover so much in the process.

"Simple is always better." This statement resonates with me, and I do my best to  actively practice it. I seek simple. I say seek because we live in a complex world. And so, to experience simple, I clear and create space for it.

There's nothing like walking home instead of taking the bus on a sunny day. The city is breathtaking, the people are free energy, and Vitamin D is fuel for the body and soul.

A perfect Friday involves talking, thinking, asking and listening to close friends. A perfect Saturday morning is waking up to natural sunlight and enjoying every sip of my green tea while writing till my thoughts run dry.

These are simple, effective and most importantly, mine; my pure moments of happiness and clarity.

Contrary to popular belief, basic is not boring. Basic is fruitful. Less is more.

For many established individuals, those that garnered immeasurable "success," minimalism is a Zen destination, a realization later in life and sometimes too little too late.

For them, monetary success, and all its stickiness, precedes this realization that money, power, fame, and even respect are not everything. Minimalism embodies this very idea.

And Millennials get it.

You know, we get a bad rap sometimes; we're often called lazy, entitled or cocky. But this generation is redefining success. We're not easy. You can't buy us with money and fancy titles. We're just not that impressed.

We want depth. We want meaning. I am proud to be a part of a generation that is enamored with culture, consumed by curiosity, and hungry for change.

And change requires evaluation. Evaluation requires what? You got it. You need to break it down before you can build it back up, and in this process, you may discover that some things, many things, can remain broken down. Not everything has to be complex to be cool or right.

It's the little things that matter. And it's the little things you'll remember. Minimalism is a way of life -- a life of meaning, a life of purpose.

Netflix, I see you have branched out from live-action into animation with, ahem, BoJack Horseman. But you also might want to develop an animated series targeted at adults that does not have an alcoholic anthropomorphic horse as the main character, whose best friend is a humanoid dog named Mr. Peanutbutter.

You know, something with a touch more … class.

You will run into a problem. Most works that could be animated -- comic books and graphic novels -- would probably end up being for children, like your many other animated series.

Those works that are not for kids, however, almost always contain adult humans, and so lend themselves best to live action. Take Sin City, Ghost World, American Splendor, V for Vendetta, or even Hellboy. Like those, most in that small category have already been developed into movies, including animations such as Persepolis.

Where will you find a property that is for adults, should be animated … and hasn't been, already?

The first that comes to my mind is Maus. The subject is the Holocaust, which is treated respectfully in the graphic novels -- respectfully enough to be treated honestly.

Moreover, all its characters are depicted as animals. Jews are mice, Nazis are cats, Americans are dogs, and so on. The only way to put this work on a screen would be to animate it.

Maus is a major property with worldwide recognition -- it was just in the news again for being pulled off the shelves in Russia. It has won the Pulitzer (the only graphic novel ever to do so) and was a bestseller, so it comes with both critical and popular adulation.

The subject is certainly weighty enough to stand alongside House of Cards and Marco Polo. It would automatically have the gravitas to win back the critics turned off by BoJack. And it would attract major voice-over talent.

Maus is a finite series, true, but there is enough material in the two novels to stretch to four seasons. And author Art Spiegelman is still alive, so you could bring him on as a writer and consultant -- even director or producer -- so fans would know the work is being given its propers.

Turns out, I'm not the only one clamoring for a Maus series, so the audience is already there.

Spiegelman has been approached about this before, and gone on record saying "no" to an adaptation, as that other article notes.

But Netflix, he's never been approached by you before. As a streaming service, you present the unique opportunity for his creative control. As an adapter and savior of other series, you have shown the sensitivity and respect for an artist's vision that few, if any, other studios have. Spiegelman may listen to you when he has rebuffed others.

Besides, he's in his late 60s now and may realize that he'd rather be around for the adaptation than leave it to others once he's gone. Because it's going to happen. As I noted, it's one of the few major unproduced properties of its type, and people have been begging to see it made for decades.

Think of an animation with the profundity of a Shindler's List on your cue. Think of being hailed as the network that dared put a show about the Holocaust on. Think of the acclaim you'd get from being the ones who taught several new generations about the Holocaust -- and at a time when anti-Semitism is on the rise, globally.

Netflix, give Spiegelman a call. As our people say, it couldn't hurt.

A new commercial for Choice Hotels sort of caught me off guard. The background music is The Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go." It was a little freaky to hear the song being used for a commercial. Maybe punk is coming back? If so then I'd like to share two stories.

The first I overheard at a high school party back in 1988:

A preppy teenager walks up to a punk rock teenager with a Mohawk and asks him "What's Punk?"So the hardcore punk teen kicks over a garbage can and say '"That's punk!" The preppy teen proceeds to kick over another garbage can and says "That's Punk?" The punk kid looks at him, smiles, and says, "No that's trendy!"

I love this story because it shows that it's not only our actions that define us, but our attitude when we perform those actions.

We can give meaning and emotion to what we do. Acts of kindness, good deeds or performing a mitzvah have an effect. To follow the crowd without thinking about what or why you're doing something isn't always the best plan. Plenty of people, myself included, fall into the trap of doing things by rote, even when it comes to mitzvot. Raising money for a cause, volunteering for a JUF project, making a blessing over food, hugging our children or a loved one -- these can become empty actions. They can also be really meaningful experiences. It's all about what you do and how you do it.

I'm guilty of not putting thought into my actions, but I'm not alone. These days I find more and more people are on autopilot, and that's not punk.

Here's a second story, paraphrased from the Artscroll biography of Rav Dessler, by Yonoson Rosenbloom:

When Rabbi Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler came to America in 1948, he met up with his son, Nachum Velvel, in New York. Rabbi Dessler asked his son who had helped him during his years alone in America. His son mentioned several people in New York along with Rabbi Eliezer Silver, the head of Agudah Israel (a national organization that services Jews) and the rabbi of Cincinnati. Rabbi Dessler said, "We must thank him."

His son offered to place a telephone call to Rabbi Silver, but Rabbi Dessler wanted to show personal "hakarot hatov," gratitude and thankfulness,  to Rabbi Silver. Nachum Velvel and his father then took a nine-hour train ride to Ohio, arriving at 5:00 a.m. in Cincinnati. They went to Rabbi Silver's home and waited on the porch to meet him as he left his house for morning prayers. Rabbi Silver met his two guests when he woke up and they all went to shul and then back to the Silver's for breakfast. After a bite to eat, Rabbi Silver said, "So, Rabbv Dessler, what brings you to Cincinnati?" Rabbi Dessler said that he had only come to show appreciation to Rabbi Silver for all he had done for his son.

Rabbi Silver thought about this and again asked, "So, Rabbi Dessler, what really brings you to Cincinnati?"

Rabbi Dessler said that he had no other purpose that to show "hakarot hatov." Rabbi Silver said, "Rabbi Dessler, what can I really do for you?"

Rabbi Dessler, for a third time, repeated that he only wished to show gratitude to Rabbi Silver in person.

Rabbi Silver finally gave up and muttered, "This must be the greatness of Mussar (a movement within Judaism that focuses on ethics and growth)."

This is one of my favorite Rabbi Dessler stories. It embodies what I think is the best of the Mussar movement. You can't preach ethics and not be ethical. For me, this means actions need to be in sync with how I live my life. When I am mindful of this, I'm the nicest guy; when I go on autopilot, I can be the exact opposite.

This is what Rabbi Dessler was about. A simple "thank you" isn't enough sometimes. We need to go out of our way. To show gratitude or do a kind act for a spouse, parent, teacher, or even a child who needs to be acknowledged is the right thing. For Rabbi Dessler, he felt he had no choice but to travel to Cincinnati. For me, walking across the street or just to the living room can make a big difference to someone. We have no idea what effect our actions can have on others.

Being punk means that you don't follow the mainstream sometimes, and focus on an extreme. If your extreme is something that helps others, you're real punk.

There's something new I'm sensing about my neighborhood that's making me uneasy -- something I'd never noticed in all my life living here, but made me cringe, like a Q-tip hitting the brain. I'll share with you an incident that occurred less than 24 hours of being home from school.

The way my heart raced, you'd think it had been years not weeks since the last time I'd seen my sister. I was too exhausted to drive, let alone walk, to visit her, my decade-divided twin, so I collapsed on my bed instead and hoped she'd understand. With the summertime luxury of sleeping-in, I woke up after 10 a.m., brushed my teeth and threw on something to wear. I rushed out the door, calling behind me that I didn't know when I'd be back and began the precisely 4.45-minute walk to my sister's townhouse.

Strolling down my street, taking in the familiar birds and 50-degree "summer" heat of Chicago, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a red pick-up truck parked along the curb. Lawnmowers and hand-held weed-whackers filled the trunk and a middle-aged man sat in front looking bored. There wasn't much to take in and I found the squirrels wrestling in front of my feet much more entertaining. I trailed their squirrelly game to the end of the block, and it wasn't until they jumped into the bushes that I noticed the truck cruising alongside me, matching my walking pace.

I figured it was only a coincidence. He must be headed somewhere in the same direction -- maybe he was running low on gas -- who knows? But as I turned the corner and walked the width of two more blocks it slowly dawned on me that the "this isn't happening" situation, was happening to me.

He drove a bit further and parked on my side of the street. With 1,001 red flags raised, along with every hair on my arm, I decided to cross to the other side, putting distance between me and the vehicle. Crossing to the other side helped my nerves as did being a few steps shy of a major intersection, but just as I thought it was over, a heckle hit me hard.

"Shake that ass baby! Shake that ass!"

Over my right shoulder I threw a hard look of shock and confusion, and in a beat, the truck u-turned, fleeing like a torero in a bullfight. The match was done. The red truck drove away and I became the trophy animal -- enraged then gouged in the belly by his words.

As an eating disorder survivor, the metamorphoses of my body from frail-lanky boy, to strong and curvy, isn't just physical, but psychological. Since my ED I've gained over 20 NECESSARY pounds, and it's those pounds that let me get back to the things I love. Whether it's losing the time while roller-blading, counting my chin-ups between breaths or striking my personal trainer with an uppercut during a boxing lesson, its moments like these when I almost forget the girl whose undernourished body physically couldn't get up from bed one morning. It's moments like these when my body and I are finally on the same page.

So obviously I was stunned, to say the least, after this episode. Should I run, cover up, be embarrassed of the body I was so proud of? Would I stand there and let others ridicule my self-worth because I'm a woman? No, because I've spent too long reducing my own body to let others do it for me.

The tally stands at seven now -- seven "nice asses," whistles and honks in the two weeks since I've been home. Don't think I'm strutting around in thigh-high boots and patent leather minis: I literally got honked twice on my way home today wearing a sweaty XL gray t-shirt with and capris from 8th grade.

What's going on?

I believe that women and girls have the right to walk down the street without being made self-conscious, just as men and boys have a right to express their favor. Women do love compliments, but next time, tell your mom/sister/grandma/girlfriend/wife/best friend she looks beautiful today. Tell her how strong and confident she looks. Save the antiquated "a-woogas" and whistles for some cartoon network show or 1920s black-and-white clip. Let's change the way we give compliments.

Yes, there's something new I'm sensing about my neighborhood that's making me uneasy, but it's not about the way I look -- it's the way some are so blind.

Sincerely,
What the Beep?

Eliana Block is an Orthodox Jewish blogger, freelance journalist and creative writer studying at the University of Maryland. Read more of her posts at www.collegadoxparadox.blogspot.com

This is the munchkin, a.k.a. Charlie, back about 18 months ago when I first created this recipe. She snuck over and grabbed the over-sized fork just as I was about to snap the perfect shot.

Summer is here, despite the insanely cool weather we saw in Chi-town the first month of the season, so it's time to get the grills going! And there is no better way to break in the grill then with this scrumptious flank steak.

I first discovered this flavor at a cocktail party back when I worked in the city in my glorious early '20s. They had a carving station and were slicing this tender steak oh so very thin and its juices were flowing out with every motion of the knife.

When I placed a slice on my tongue, I noticed tangy, salty, sweet and savory all at the same time. It made my mouth water even as I was eating it -- and it caused me to "mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm" out loud in front of some slightly uptight folk. They looked at me funny, raising their eyebrows and pursing their mouths … until they tasted the steak for themselves and let out the same sigh and loud "mmmmmm" I did. Conversation ensued.

That night I stopped by at the grocery store and bought the necessary ingredients for my version of the steak. They used flank steak, a difficult meat to deal with unless it is cooked and sliced properly. This meat, like many other cuts such as skirt steak and brisket, should be sliced AGAINST the grain.

Look at the pic below. The direction of the arrow is AGAINST the grain. And that is the direction that you will slice it after it is cooked. Make sure you have a nice, sharp knife!

I also like to marinade these slightly fibrous cuts of meat. In my experience, it helps make them juicier and more succulent. Plus, with a soy sauce marinade (such as this one), you are creating almost a brine-like environment where the wonderful saltiness of the soy sauce permeates each muscle fiber leaving the flesh moist and flavorful. It's science really: a brine allows for osmosis to occur. All you need to know, however, is that your meat tastes awesome if it's brined. And that is precisely why when I make my roast turkey I brine it.

But back to the steak. It only takes a few ingredients that you probably already have in your pantry to make this steak go from ordinary to KA-POW!

Asian-Style Grilled and Marinated Flank Steak
(from Girlandthekitchen.com)

Ingredients

3 pounds flank steak
¼ cup vegetable oil or peanut oil
½ cup LOW sodium soy sauce (I always use Kikkoman)
½ cup balsamic vinegar
¼ cup teriyaki sauce
¼ cup honey
juice of 1 lime
a few squirts of siracha, depending on how spicy you like it
thumb sized piece of ginger, minced on a microplaner
5 garlic cloves minced on a micro planer.
4 scallions sliced thinly

Instructions

1. Combine soy sauce, balsamic vinegar (this is what gives that tangy, savory flavor) honey, teriyaki sauce, ginger, lime, garlic, a few squirts of sriracha, vegetable oil and scallions into a bowl and mix to combine all the flavors.

2. Then throw all the ingredients in a zip-lock bag along with the steak. Shake, shake, shake. Make sure it's all covered.

3. Place in the fridge for at least an hour and up to 24 hours.

4. If you live in the not so warm parts...like me... you can cheat a bit. Take a large oven proof frying pan and place it into a 500-degree oven for about 10 minutes. Or you can place it in there as the oven preheats.

5. Remove your steak out of the bag and place it on a paper towel, dabbing the moisture off of the steak.

6. Once the pan is heated, place the steak directly onto the pan. You will see it shrink up immediately from the high heat. Close the oven and allow to cook for 5 minutes then flip it and cook it for 2 minutes.

7. For me, this is the ultimate way to sear a steak nicely without clouding my house up with smoke.

8. Place the steak on a sheet pan and cover with foil. Let the meat rest for 10 minutes.

9. Slice into it on a bias, against the grain, as we previously discussed.

10. Sprinkle with scallions and grab some chop sticks! Dinner is served.

We were just wrapping up dinner at a new restaurant enjoying a lovely family evening together. My 1-year-old son, John, had eaten well and managed to get most of the food we offered into his mouth, avoiding the floor. My wife and I managed to complete at least half of a decent conversation. Nobody was screaming yet.

As I was signing for the bill, she was wiping a tiny pair of hands and some chubby cherubic cheeks. She sniffed the air twice and then lifted John out of the seat and went in for closer inspection. Scrunching her nose, she looked at me and said,

"He needs a change."

We paused and looked at each other with the same concerned expression on our faces.

"Is there a changing table in the restroom?"

We tend to focus our lives on the things that matter most; when it comes to the day-to-day kind of stuff, we don't often pay attention to the things not relevant to our immediate needs. Before we had a child, I wouldn't have thought twice about the layout and accessories inside a public restroom. Now, I keep a mental list of which locales provide the best and worst options for taking care of some often dirty but very necessary business.

Rather than list the best accommodators and worst offenders when it comes to family-friendly bathrooms, I thought it would be more productive to list some basic requests to bring all restrooms that serve families up to a certain level of comfort.

Parents' Bill of Rights for Diaper-Changing Stations

1. Have one

Without a place to change a diaper, my three options are change the baby on the dirty, diseased bathroom floor; try to get him to hold very still while I balance him on the edge of the sink; or change him out in the restaurant where his bright baby bum is on display for everyone to see.

2. Have one in the men's room too!

This is 2015 -- men change diapers too. Some guys go out in public with small children and don't bring a woman along. Having the women's restroom as a default location for a changer is not okay.

3. Put it in a reasonable location

Don't put the changer in the doorway so everyone has to uncomfortably squeeze by me to enter or exit the bathroom. Don't put it in a bathroom stall. This is all too common and makes no sense. Having it within arm's reach of a sink and a trashcan is really the most practical.

4. Provide a trashcan nearby

My free-throw percentage is awful. Challenging me to toss a stinky diaper across a crowded bathroom with one hand on my child, keeping him from rolling off the table, is a sure way for all of us to lose badly.

5. Check it every once in a while.

Make wiping it down a part of the regular bathroom cleaning routine. If that strap is broken, consider fixing it because a broken strap just becomes something new and disgusting for my child to put in his mouth. Consider fixing that broken hinge, so I don't have to balance on one foot to hold up half the table with my knee.

Trust me, any parent can tell you that these are really just the bare-minimum requests to ensure a safe, clean and comfortable diaper change for baby and us. It's not much to ask, is it?

Even if you are not a parent, you probably know someone who is! Please comment and share this post with others, so we can get some traction around this!

Photo credit: Alexanna Cox

It all began on a little island called Maui.

While soaking in the Hawaiian sun on a family vacation, I was schmoozing with one of the other hotel guests, a mother of three who was telling me about her children. As she was explaining her daughter's hopes of attending New York University, she also mentioned that her daughter began a fashion blog.  

I didn't think much of the conversation for a few days. But, then, it hit me -- I could start my own fashion blog! I've always loved fashion and was going to study it in college. Creating a place where I could document my favorite fashion trends seemed like a wonderful idea.

The direction and content of my blog has changed through time. After blogging for about two years, I've learned a lot along the way. I've rounded up what I believe to be the three most important elements to becoming a happy blogger. I hope my advice will help you if you're interested in starting a blog dedicated to whatever interests you.

Find your niche

Do you love dressing your dog in fun outfits? Maybe you should start a blog about canine fashion. Do you love fixing cars? Maybe start a blog that gives step-by-step instructions on how to tune up a car. Find a topic that interests you.

I have a passion for fashion, but there are thousands of blogs dedicated to fashion. I had to figure out a way to differentiate myself. What I love most within the fashion industry is ethically sourced and made fashion, so I've decided to focus on that. Hone in on your passion and blog about it.

Don't compare yourself to others

Don't you dare research how many followers another blogger has on Instagram or compare your content to another blogger's. It's good to research so you can become inspired to better your own blog, but never, ever, ever feel bad about your content. Blogging is a never-ending learning experience.

Be consistent

Post to your blog on a regular basis. Honestly, this is not one of my strong suits. I consider myself consistently inconsistent -- a quality that isn't ideal when you have followers who await your next post. I suggest sitting down with a calendar and planning what and when you'll post. I've found that writing things down holds me accountable.

Most importantly, enjoy blogging. Most of us have full-time jobs and interests outside of our blogs, so don't put too much pressure on yourself and your blog.

Blogging has become one of my favorite hobbies. I hope it becomes one of your favorites, too!

Carly is the founder of Hippie and Heart, a blog dedicated to ethical and Fair Trade fashion.

Trainwreck

We're living in an age of unprecedented female talent and, more importantly, widespread recognition for female talent. It is an age in which female protagonists can tell stories from a woman's point of view on TV, Netflix and the "Silver Screen."

These women can be strong, ugly, brash, sexual and downright sassy. Katniss is fighting governmental tyranny in the Hunger Games trilogy, and Olivia is covering it up in Scandal. The female experience is examined with a poetic and dark magnifying glass in Orange is the New Black through careful personal narratives and broader commentary on the criminal justice system. Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, Mindy Kaling and Zooey Deschanel are reminding us to laugh at ourselves and peel back the layers of femininity while also embracing them.

More than anyone, however, Amy Schumer has been my feminist hero in recent months. Schumer's Inside Amy Schumer on Comedy Central is an unapologetic affront to sexism and misogyny everywhere--from the media to interpersonal relationships and experience. Each week, her show poignantly tackles how women are portrayed in micro and macro levels in society via humorous vignettes with celebrity guest appearances. Schumer's honesty and no-nonsense wit has gained widespread acclaim among men and women, which is very exciting, given that she appears to have a feminist agenda.

I first saw Schumer live at the YLD Big Event a couple of years ago and I was floored with her performance. Until viewing her stand-up and TV show, I had yet to see a female performer tackle feminist issues in such a self-conscious manner. Schumer is taking society's narrative about what it means to be female and prodding it with her big humorous stick (pun intended).

Schumer somehow has managed to toe the line between sexual humor and female empowerment. She has revealed both her seemingly extensive sexual experience and also her support for a healthy female identity. This is not an easy line to toe, as women are often boxed in (also pun intended) as a "Madonna" or "whore."

Because I've gained so much respect for her, I had been anticipating Schumer's film debut, Trainwreck, for months. So, I was surprised that I came away from the film disappointed--or rather, conflicted. With her film, Schumer managed, in some ways, to stray from what seems to be her mission of building women up.

Trainwreck

I was pleasantly surprised to find the story had substance beyond her incredibly humorous moments and jokes, but I found it disappointing that the movie teetered on becoming the cookie-cutter romantic comedy we all love/hate and know. Schumer played it safe, and there were times when she also appeared to betray the self-empowered woman I believed her to be. There were many small moments in the film that felt like we, the audience, should wave our fingers and slut shame Amy (the protagonist). The movie is about her journey from a slutty "train wreck" to a tamed and "open-minded" girl in love.

As someone who has been out in the dating world for years, I understood and appreciated her humor around feeling disenchanted and even cynical about dating. But this movie felt like a cautionary tale about a 30-something who just needs to stop drinking and having so much sex.

That said, I really enjoyed Anne Helen Petersen's feature on BuzzFeed.com, "In 'Trainwreck,' Amy Schumer Calls Bullshit On Postfeminism," in which she posits that Schumer's film actually provides real and poignant commentary on post-feminist ideals. Schumer's character, Petersen explains, in the face of misogynistic stereotypes, embodies them, and then learns how to let them go and get out of her own way in order to be happy.

"Trainwreck suggests that neither romance, children, sex, shopping, jobs, sick apartments, nor even friendship with LeBron James can provide a shortcut to happiness," Petersen writes. "Instead, confidence, self-knowledge, and mercilessly rejecting anyone or anything that makes you feel like shit--especially the contradictory demands of postfeminism--that's something like bliss."

Even if Trainwreck is about radical acceptance, I still struggle with it.

Spoilers ahead: Amy's journey closes with her conceding to be more accepting of kindness, stability and sports--all in the name of love. The film ends with her dressed as a cheerleader performing to her love interest, Aaron's (Bill Hader), favorite song, Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl," alongside a team of cheerleaders.

This moment was the nail in the coffin for me. Amy plays the cliché cheerleader to indicate to Aaron that she can compromise and truly integrate herself into his life. Earlier in the film she states she doesn't like sports; by the end, falling in love means becoming the weakest personification of herself--and maybe the sports community. She lets her guard down, I suppose …

A week or so before Trainwreck, it so happens that I saw Magic Mike XXL, and with much irony, I must admit it deserves some high marks for encouraging female sexuality. Obviously, a movie about male strippers is going to appeal to a female audience, but the movie consciously promotes and opens the gates for female sexuality.

Magic Mike XXL

Playing a strip show ringleader, Jada Pinkett Smith offers a window into a modern-day, female-focused brothel/pleasure house for women, in which she preaches self-esteem and the values of female sexuality. Via Pinkett Smith's performance and others' throughout the film, we truly experience the female (sexual) gaze, as many women experience it (or hope to experience it), something Nina Friend reflects on for The Huffintgon Post in "The Female Gaze Is Real In 'Magic Mike XXL.'"

Friend quotes the prominent feminist YouTuber Laci Green:

"In 'Magic Mike XXL,' 'people of all ages and sizes, races and gender expression are free to be sexual on their own terms.' Therein lies the Female Gaze: Women in this movie are given power over their sexual desires--something we rarely, if ever, see on the big screen."

The Magic Mike sequel is silly and very poorly written at times, but it captures a sense of pride and empowerment about sex that Trainwreck truly lacks. There is even a moment in the final act (small spoiler alert) in which one of the strip show montages plays on the marriage fantasy and dually incorporatesracy sexual innuendos and play. This performance encourages women who can want and have it all--the fairytale and the wild sex they might desire.

I also recommend "The Gender Politics of Magic Mike XXL" in The Atlantic, which provides three writers' perspectives on the gender politics of the film, and offers counter points, including one that the film provides a story of "what women want" according to men …The film is surprisingly complex, and I encourage you to review these perspectives outlined as well.

So, stripper or cheerleader: Which do you do choose?

If you've seen either or both of these films, comment below with your thoughts!

I have found my workout heaven.

It's a place where I'm accepted, I belong, and I feel motivated to do my best.

But first, let me tell you what my workout heaven is NOT:

1. Boxing gyms. I tried one because a friend found a coupon for a free class. It was probably the most intense workout I've ever had -- sprinting, running, more lunges than I've ever done in my life, and then punching and kicking a bag as if it were your worst enemy. It's possible I might have been so exhausted that I shed some tears -- or was that sweat?? -- no, they were legitimate tears. Meanwhile, the instructor didn't explain the terms -- something about upper crust? I thought that was a bakery -- and I felt a bit stupid.

2. Running on the street. I might someday become that girl who suddenly picks up running, little by little, and then runs marathons, but so far that hasn't happened. For now, it's hard, and then the whole world -- and all of my friends in my neighborhood -- have to watch me suffer.

3. Sports. I wish I liked playing sports for exercise, but again with the whole embarrassment thing. Remember how in college they had the professional level, then the "club" level for the pretty serious kids, and then the "intramural" level for the kids playing on teams with their dorm-mates? I need a level below that, for people who don't always remember the rules of sports but need a ball to hold and a team to be a part of to distract them while running.

After trying those and many other workout activities unsuccessfully, my ears perked up when my coworker mentioned her Aqua Zumba class. I used to like swimming, I thought. This could be good. I signed up in January and I've been going weekly ever since.

Aqua Zumba -- a water aerobics class -- meets at the Lutheran General Hospital Fitness Center in Park Ridge, Ill. It's sort of on my way home from work, and for $5 a class, it's certainly worth it. I arrive in the pool 20-30 minutes early and swim laps, recalling my front crawl, breast stroke, side crawl, and, my personal favorite, the "Monkey-Airplane-Soldier" strokes from my swimming lesson days.

The members of the class trickle into the pool, chatting, and then the music starts. The instructor leads us through a warm-up and then into our upbeat Zumba moves -- but we're all under water. Dragging your arms in the air might not do anything in real life, but under water, there's resistance and it's a real muscle workout. Running a few feet outside is no big deal, but running a few feet under water -- it's quite different.

Our instructor dances to fun Latin songs with an occasional "Uptown Funk" thrown in there, and I appreciate the no-pressure environment. Can't kick your leg all the way up in the air? No problem. Starting with your right arm instead of your left? No biggie. Need to take a break? Who cares? We are told that we are doing a good job, and we're even encouraged to sing along with the music.

I follow the moves, I tune out, I make next week's dinner plans in my head, and I enjoy some brainless, stress-free time to myself.

Oh, and the best part -- I'm the youngest, skinniest, fittest, most in-shape person in the class. When I go to the gyms in Lakeview, I'm surrounded by girls who are much better at it all than me; but here, in the comfort of the Lutheran General Hospital Fitness Center, I'm the one to watch, the most flexible, the highest jumper. It might not be fair, being 30 years younger than most of the other people, but you know what, it's doing wonders for my self-esteem.

So, one of these days, join me in the pool -- I'll show you my new moves to the latest Pitbull songs and I promise -- no lunges.

I have been a Chicago Cubs fan for as long as I can remember. Before I even knew the difference between a ball and a strike, I proudly wore Cubby Blue. I'm not a Cubs fan because I'm a North Sider and I'm certainly not a fan because of their track record. No, I am a fan because the Cubs were my grandpa's team, so they are my team.

Grandpa Bill didn't have a particularly idyllic childhood. A young Jewish immigrant, he and my great-grandmother, Edith, fled Nazi Germany in 1939 and after a time in Shanghai, were rescued to Chicago. My great-grandfather, Herbert, was able to join them in the U.S. a year later. My family was fortunate to have survived the war, but they still faced many challenges, especially Grandpa Bill.

In America, as in Germany, Grandpa was singled out for being different. He was German. Changing his name from Wolfgang to William couldn't hide that in Chicago just as taking off his Star of David couldn't hide that he was Jewish in Breslau. When his classmates heard his accent and saw his blonde hair they called him "Nazi." When he observed the Sabbath on Friday nights, they called him "Christ Killer."

However, despite these experiences, Grandpa found joy in many things -- a good book, a nice meal, a fine piece of music, his family and of course, the Chicago Cubs. He loved everything about Wrigley Field, from its iconic ivy to the shout of hot dog vendors marching up and down the stadium aisles. He read every book about baseball he could get his hands on and, as a result, he knew just about everything about baseball, from the Golden Age of Babe Ruth on.

But it was Ernie Banks who was his favorite player. Ernie personified what Grandpa loved about the Cubs: it was all about the joy of the game. "Let's play two," Ernie would say, and Grandpa thought his attitude was infectious. He loved the '69 Cubs, and taught my mom and uncle to appreciate them, too, pointing out the elegance of a Kessinger-Beckert double play, the consistent fire of strikeout champion Fergie Jenkins and the power of slugger Billy Williams. To this day, my mom has her collection of baseball cards in her keepsake box -- including the entire 1969 starting lineup.

Given Grandpa's passion for the baseball, it was only natural that he shared his love of the game with his grandchildren. I have fond memories of huffing up Wrigley's cement ramps and flagging down the elusive malt vendors with their dark blue freezer bags; of sifting through racks of crisp jerseys and singing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" with Grandpa at the top of my lungs during the 7th inning stretch.

As I got older, it became less about peanuts and Cracker Jacks and more about enjoying a rare opportunity to spend time alone with Grandpa. At family gatherings, it was hard to get a word in edgewise since, like any group of Jews, we talked over each other incessantly. But at the ballpark it was just the two of us. With Grandpa, it felt like I could talk about anything, from books and music to tougher subjects like struggling friendships and picking the right college. Somehow, talking with him made the playful subjects in my life more interesting and the daunting subjects more palatable.

Unfortunately, we had our last talk at Wrigley in 2012. The following year, a brain tumor felled the body, but never the mind, of my amazing Grandpa. For the last two summers, our seats at Wrigley sat vacant. But this year, we filled them again and then some when my mother, father, uncle, cousins and I returned to Wrigley to celebrate what would have been Grandpa Bill's 78th birthday. We laughed and sang and drank bad beer, we talked about books and tough life choices, and we remembered the amazing man who made such a profound impact on our lives.

Amid all the bodies and noise of Wrigley Field, it was easy for us to imagine him in the stands clapping his hands and shouting, "Let's go Cubbies!"

"Anxiety does not empty tomorrow of its sorrows, but only empties today of its strength."

I love this quote! But sometimes we have to ask ourselves … now what? How are we supposed to deal with the natural anxieties of life? I think we can begin to answer that question by understanding the mechanisms of anxiety.

Anxiety is a three-part process. The first stage is the assessment. I have a few kids, and it's amazing to watch how they assess the same situation in such different ways. When they all see a big heavy dog walking toward us on the sidewalk, for example, they respond differently. The youngest smiles and reaches out her hand to pet him. Another is apprehensive, but also wants the chance to pet the dog. Another has now crossed the street to retain a 200-foot distance at all times from being anywhere near what she assesses as a situation with a potentially vicious monster. We all assess life situations differently, and that assessment is the first stage of setting up whether it's going to be a moment of anxiety or not.

The second stage is the feeling of being an outsider, or a foreigner. This is a sense of discomfort. In an abstract sense, it's a feeling of insecurity. When experiencing anxiety, we start to feel unsafe and scared in our own skin. Where we used to feel security, we now feel discomfort.

The third stage is when we retract into ourselves. This actually happens physiologically with our blood going to our vital organs, and it also happens emotionally. We are no longer able to connect with the world outside of us; we are cut off from whatever is going on around us. We don't have the relaxed comfortable presence of mind required to think outside of ourselves.

Interestingly, these three stages are alluded to in one Hebrew word, "gur." Although the word is used in reference to fear (see Numbers 22:3), the word actually has three meanings according to the Midrash, a compilation of the philosophical teachings of Talmudic Sages. These three meanings are: "assessment of danger," "foreign," and "to gather in." They correspond directly with the three stages of anxiety.

In terms of the first stage, if we can reassess the situation through another lens, we may see that it's not as dangerous as we thought. A simple tool would be to ask a friend for their opinion. You might be surprised at what others see as danger or not.

Regarding feeling foreign and insecure, you can combat that by being proactive to do things that make you feel more secure. These can be as simple as checking in with a loved one, calling home, hanging out with friends, texting your sibling, or spending time with your special someone. Do some self-exploration, and try to figure out what it is that makes you feel really secure and comfortable inside (thriller rollercoasters may not be the first option here).

The third stage of disconnect can also be remedied. Similar to the second stage, we need to make special efforts to connect with others. That's not always easy to do when in a state of fear or anxiety, but it is all the more so important. Our friends, family, and community provide us with the stability and support to make it through trying times. As the eternal song of the early '80s taught us, "For good times and bad times, I'll be on your side forevermore. That's what friends are for!"

I don't think we'll ever reach a place of looking forward to anxiety to deal with. However, when those moments come up, I hope we can provide each other the support, love, perspective, and understanding to make it through them. And hopefully we'll come out with even better tools for life in assessment, security, and connections.

Well hello there! Welcome to my Oy! post, "Loving the Little Things," a post that could have also been titled, "Enjoying the Small Stuff" or "Appreciating the Wee Wonders" or "Insert Synonym-Filled Title Here."

For you see, I love synonyms. You might even say I love different words with similar meaning. But I digress, meander and ramble. For me synonyms, in a strange, curious and atypical way, make me happy, jubilant and tickled pink. I'm very particular on the color in which I am to be tickled. This is because I try to enjoy the little things in life --those moment's that may be small to others, but huge to me.

There is a lot of hustle and/or bustle in all of our lives, and taking the time each day to notice to good or special moments in between can show me when a bad day was actually worth getting up for. So while I don't mean to get on my soap box here (there was an abundance of soap on sale for Amazon Prime Day and I didn't know I needed it until I bought it), I want to share with you some of those minuscule moments in my life that make it all the more full for having happened, so that maybe you see in your own life where those moments exist as well.

I revel in realizing the potential for small opportunities and taking them. As silly for me as it is, at the Blackhawks parade last month, I noticed Red Bull distributors on the street giving out free energy drinks. Therefore, I took the opportunity to keep walking by them to get free cans. I did this four times, wearing different disguises and putting on different voices, of course. But what I found true pleasure with this was then giving some of them to my coworkers to help give their day some feathery appendages. (I can't say the actual slogan for Red Bull, but either way my phrase is funnier).

Additionally, I enjoy opportunities that come from exploring a new neighborhood, and discovering a place that has a lunch deal for a Chicago-style hot dog, fries and drink for under $6. It's such a small thing, but I don't shut up about how stupidly happy that makes me.

While those previous moments happened rather organically, I am not a fan of expected celebrations/holidays, so I instead sometimes create, invent or fabricate my own. This is something I get from my parents, actually. I celebrate random milestone days. Like with my girlfriend, I celebrated us dating for 300 days, and more recently, for 1 million minutes. Having literally hundreds of thousands of minutes, you would have thought she'd have seen it coming. Or one of my more prolific, productive and worthwhile celebrations was that of me turning 10,000 days old. It is always nice to have anything to celebrate, even if I force it.

I also have impeccable appreciation for amazing, unbelievable coincidences in my life, which you can read about in more detail in my previous post, "Amazing Unbelievable Coincidences." I bring this up because it happened again recently, but in a way I never expected, predicted or prophesied.

My girlfriend and I were walking to Manny's Deli like every Jewish Chicagoan should do when they are awake, and on the way we ran into an old acquaintance of mine from high school. Here's the crazy, kooky and wacky part. I go to introduce my girlfriend to said old acquaintance, and it turns out she knows him from college. To me, it's a truly amazing, unbelievable coincidence (tying it back to the top of the paragraph!) that we knew the same person exclusively at completely different times in our lives. Once again, my mind had the appropriate reaction that comes with putting a leaf blower near my head: blown.

One final thing I love is how this article is little! It's barely even 800 words and that's what makes it great! Because great things come in small packages. Except for my Super Nintendo. That came in a big package. So perhaps, maybe, possibly this article is one of those little things you love? So now you can go do some other wee wonder, or minuscule marveling, or better yet -- read it again! It's easy, effortless, and a piece of cake.

Mmmm. Cake. Excuse me while I go enjoy a little thing I love that's definitely not cake.

Michelle's high school graduation from Keshet in 2012.

Every now and then, I think about a little girl I was lucky enough to meet when I first started working at JUF News.

At the time, in 2001, Michelle Rappaport was just 5 years old. That afternoon when I visited her family's Buffalo Grove home, a happy little girl jumped off her school bus, bounded through the door, and wrapped a great, big hug around my leg, even though we'd never met.

"The room lights up when she comes in," Michelle's mom, Barrie, told me at the time.

I met Michelle and Barrie as part of a story I was writing about heroic families, whose children were afflicted with Jewish genetic disorders. Michelle suffers from a rare neurological illness called Familial Dysautonomia (FD), an autosomal recessive disorder -- meaning the disease is passed down through two carrier parents -- found almost exclusively in the Ashkenazi Jewish population. The average life span for people with the disorder is 40 years.

For those with FD, like Michelle, the sensory system doesn't do its job properly. If she touches a hot stove, her nerves don't alert her to remove her hand and she could easily burn herself without realizing it. The autonomic system -- which regulates body temperature, blood pressure, and swallowing -- doesn't function properly either. Finally, the "bells and whistles" sign of FD is crying without tears.

That day, when I met the Rappaports, Barrie informed me that she had read two articles about FD when Michelle was a baby, pre-diagnosis. All the symptoms they described matched her daughter's.

It was only then, after Barrie read those articles, that she and her husband were able to diagnose her daughter's illness. "I remember sitting there frozen, thinking this is my child, this is my child," Barrie recalled.

One of those articles, Barrie told me, had appeared in JUF News. It was a lightbulb moment for her -- and for me, too. I realized that our work at JUF was, in some way, helping people like the Rappaports. That realization has motivated me for so many years to do my job better.

Similarly, the staff at the Center for Jewish Genetics, based in Chicago, is making a difference in people's lives every day. The Center seeks to create a healthier, more informed community by educating healthcare professionals, clergy, and-particularly-individuals of Jewish descent about Jewish genetic disorders and hereditary cancers, and about the importance of genetic screening and counseling. In 1999, just a couple years before my visit with Michelle, the Center was launched as a cooperative effort of JUF and the Ann and Robert H. Lurie Children's Hospital of Chicago, as a result of a grant submitted to the Michael Reese Health Trust.

One in 4 Jews is a carrier for a Jewish genetic disorder. While carriers are generally healthy, their children may be at risk for a serious disease. Most Jewish genetic disorders are autosomal recessive, so an individual will develop the disease only if he or she receives the same mutated gene from both parents. Therefore, both parents have to be carriers for the same condition. If they are, they have a 25 percent chance in each pregnancy of having an affected child. 

We in Chicago are lucky to have a genetic center serving our community. The only other cities in the country with Jewish genetic centers are Atlanta, Miami, New York City, Philadelphia, and Phoenix.

One of the programs offered by our Chicago Center educates and screens people in their childbearing years. The Center recommends that anyone of Jewish descent be screened for Jewish genetic disorders. Even if only one partner is Jewish, it's recommended that the couple be tested, because none of these disorders are exclusive to the Jewish population. In fact, even if only one grandparent has Jewish ancestry, the Center advises screening. It's best to screen before conception, when couples can choose from the widest array of reproductive options.

The Center's program features online education and an at-home saliva test (instead of the in-person seminar and blood test in the past), and currently screens for more than 80 genetic disorders. The screening costs no more than $199 per person. In comparison, screening at a hospital costs anywhere from $500 to $3,000 depending on insurance coverage.

Today, all these years later, Michelle still lights up the room. She's now 20 years old, "a true milestone," Barrie told me recently. She said that with the love and support of her family, friends, and a medical team, her daughter has come a long way and weathered many storms, including being sick for months on end.

But in the past two years, life has been much more stable for Michelle, ever since she started a new trial medication. Michelle has attended Keshet -- a partner with the JUF in serving our community, which serves people with special needs -- since the second grade, and currently is enrolled in the Keshet COE-Worker Transition Program, which empowers students with special needs as they exit the formal education system. She also works several jobs, plays baseball, and spends time with her 16-year-old sister, Jessica.

As they seek the best ways to deal with FD, Michelle and her family are facing life's toughest challenges with courage and grace. They are a light and a lesson for the rest of us.

For more information on the Center for Jewish Genetics, call (312) 357-4718, e-mail jewishgeneticsctr@juf.org, or visit www.jewishgenetics.org.

I'll always remember the day I told my parents about my decision to become more observant. I was in Israel with knots in my stomach, unsure of how they'd respond to my decision.

To my luck, it was painless and easy. We talked through how to make it work and it made my life back in Chicago that much easier.

Our 20s are a significant transition on its own, but for religious Jews who either grew up with this lifestyle or chose it later in life, it can be uncomfortable to say the least. For starters, this is - for many - the first time that a job forces us out of our bubble. It requires us to figure out a way to make our practices work with an employer who might not understand why we're running out the door at 2 p.m. in the winter months or why we won't necessarily eat at the same restaurants as the other employees.

These moments also extend into our social circles as well. If you're observant, these are a few of the awkward conversations you're likely to deal with; if you aren't observant but have friends who are, there are also some tips on how you can support them.

1. The shomer Shabbat conversation  

At a time when being connected is everything, the concept of not using a cell phone for 25 hours a week seems unfathomable. Add in all the rules about not cooking, spending money, turning a light switch … you get the idea. Regardless of whether someone has been shomer Shabbat for a whole week or their whole life, turning down a team happy hour or Saturday brunch is never an easy decision, but one that someone observant will always take.

How to support your friend: Ask your friend if you can have a meal with them or meet them for a walk on the park. It shows you're accepting of their lifestyle and your religious friend will worry less about feeling like an outsider.

2. Having to explain their kashrut observance  

Whether someone is kosher-style, eats veggie out, eats vegan out or requires a strict hechsher, there is always a level of awkwardness when it comes to food. The last thing a person who keeps kosher wants to do is offend their friend or employer. However, Chicago is a big restaurant city and restaurants are a natural place to socialize. Anyone who keeps kosher often finds themselves trying to strike the balance between looking like a picky eater and doing what makes them comfortable and it can be difficult to have to explain that reasoning.

How to support your friend: First, make sure you understand that their definition of kosher might be different from how another friend keeps kosher. The easiest way to support them is just offering to go to a kosher restaurant with them. If that isn't possible (the kosher restaurant selection is less than desirable in Chicago), then ask what they are willing to eat. Frozen yogurt places, a bar and coffee shops are always a safe bet. Whatever you decide, make sure it's equally as uncomfortable for them as it is for you.

3. Why they aren't around or at work much during the fall

It doesn't take a Jewish day school education to know what Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are about. However, you might not have learned about Shemini Atzeret or all the details that go into Sukkot. The fall holidays are almost always a stressful time for your observant friends as they try to stay above water at work while coordinating several Thanksgiving-sized meals over the next several weeks. This should hopefully not only explain why they essentially disappear from your life for a month and probably don't have vacation days for a winter getaway at the end of the year.

How to support your friend: Whether you celebrate the holidays yourself or not, this probably isn't the time to ask how their employer feels about all the PTO your friend is taking as it's likely to be a stressful topic of discussion. Instead, offer to come over and help cook for a meal or join them in a sukkah for dinner one night. The lesser known holidays can feel isolating when work is still happening, leaving them anxious for what awaits when they return.

While any observant Jew will tell you what they practice is extremely meaningful to them, they are also conscious that their lifestyle is different from the world around them. If you have a friend who considers themselves religious, support their lifestyle the same way you would with any other lifestyle by going the extra mile to make them a little more comfortable..

I'm four years into this whole parenting thing. It's amazing you spend years learning how to do math, science, the arts, but nothing to prepare you with teething, potty training, or whining. It's easier to get a baby than your driver's license. I'm not downplaying the importance of driver's ed, but we need some parent education.

Teething

I blame everything on teething from about five months to a year, according to my wife. To my defense teething can cause fevers, crankiness, wake them up at night, runny nose - the list goes on. I do not agree with the adage, "better living through medication," but a little baby Advil goes a long way. The ice ring that you store in the freezer is also helpful. Much to my wife's chagrin I allow our 8-month-old to chew on my hand, which he seems to love, but those little teeth are like razors. It's probably not the best parenting tip.

Snacking

When I was little I remember getting snacks after school, and maybe fruit after dinner; now it's out of hand. Sure I condone snacking, a handful of almonds at 3 p.m. is better than overeating at dinner, but do kids need snacks for a five-minute ride to a park? How much of an appetite do you work up swinging? Maybe we have gone snack-crazy, but I am ok with it and usually leave the house with lots. Here are a few staples from our pantry:

- Nuts and tree nuts
- Dried peas and edamame
- Raisins
- Cut fruit (apple slices might be the least messy)
- Carrots, cucumber and celery
- Pretzels (void of nutritional value but better than cookies)

Snacks are also great if you have a picky eater. A great thing to do with a picky eater is involve them in the cooking process. My toddler eats most things, but if it's something new, I'll have him toss in spices, mix up the batter, etc. and he's more prone to eat it. Although he's learned that fruit it not a treat, for the first two years of his life he thought blue berries were dessert. I'm not that mean, he still gets treats, just not every night. If you think sugar doesn't affect your child, they're probably eating too much of it. Childhood diabetes is sky rocketing and most of the time it's preventable.

The absent parent

I developed a new pet peeve. The absent parent is most obvious at the park or parties. These people are either on their phone, talking to friends, or don't believe in discipline. Watch your kid! There is a middle ground between corporal punishment and ignoring your child. The best method for us has been sticker charts. It's a little ridiculous that we made a chart for being good at nap time, but it worked. We also do time-outs, and barter with television time. Who knows what will work with baby boy number two. He already seems feistier than his brother, and he likes to be startled. Who likes to be startled?  

I'm a little nervous but mostly excited for what the next few years will bring.

There are owners and there are players, but general managers assemble teams and staffs. Who better to speak with than the president (former general manager) of the Cleveland Indians, Mark Shapiro.

Shapiro has pulled off some amazing moves (highlighted below). What you won't find below, however, is how everyone my age has some love for the Indians because of the movies Major League and Major League 2 (though definitely not Major League 3).

1. How do you get onto the baseball general manager/team president track?
There is not one answer to this question. When you find people who are successful it is because they are so passionate about that job that they are able to differentiate themselves in their highly competitive field. Everyone in baseball is smart. But each individual who is able to take what they are good at and use it to differentiate themselves, that includes players, will find success.

2. What was the best move you ever made for the Indians?
The Bartolo Colón trade was for sure the best transaction (The Indians traded Colón and Tim Drew to the Montreal Expos for Lee Stevens, Brandon Phillips, Grady Sizemore and Cliff Lee). But I think my best move did not necessarily involve players. I have also hired a lot of people for the organization. I believe I empower the right people inside the organization and those moves often outlive the player transactions.

3. You appeared in the movie Moneyball. What was that experience like? Was it realistic?
It was not very realistic or factual. I was the assistant GM at the time when Billy [Beane] was working toward changing the As. However, the book and movie both portray, some importance that has been implemented in baseball by As and Indians.

4. The Indians just drafted Brady Aiken. Are you excited about that pick?
We are very excited. When you look at draft board at any time there are a variety of ways a team can lean. Brady was a tough player to evaluate because of his injury but we were pleasantly surprised who was still available. He is a player with great talent and character. It is a very exciting move for the Indians.

5. How difficult is it to let great pitching like Cliff Lee and C.C. Sabathia go? Do you keep in touch with players you trade?
An organization or GM keeps in touch with different players on different levels. There is a certain level of professionalism within the job that comes to the forefront with every move. I am still close friends with Sean Casey and Victor Martinez. Victor among the toughest because of who he is as a person. My hope is that their time with Indians is part of their foundation and is positive experience in their baseball lives. When players look back on their careers, more than the uniforms or cities they played for, it is the relationships that defined their careers.

6. Do you feel the National League will adapt the designated hitter?
I am not sure that adapting the DH would be the best idea but I do believe that with interleague play happening every day that clearly the MLB needs one set of rules.

7. What was your Jewish life like growing up and today?
I grew up in a Reform household bordering Conservative. Judaism was very important to my parents while I was growing up. We attended a Conservative synagogue and I had a bar mitzvah. It was always a big part of family and culture. Today, Judaism plays into my life through culture and also the values that religion instilled in me.

8. Knowing how passionate Cleveland fans are about LeBron James, if James wanted to sign a minor league contract with the Indians, would you entertain the idea?
This is an impossible question to answer. I am not big on adding unnecessary distractions around the players. I'd have to answer, what is his intent? The reality is, he is 31 years old. I have seen LeBron swing a bat and he should probably stick with basketball.

As an out Jewish lesbian educator -- and the Executive Director of Gesher Chicago, a local LGBT organization -- I traveled to Israel in June with a delegation assembled by A Wider Bridge to better understand the country through the eyes of its Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender communities.

Founded in 2010, AWB connects LGBT communities in the U.S. to those in Israel through year-round programming, online resources, and by sending LGBT delegates from the U.S. to Israel on trips like mine; AWB recently received a grant from JUF's Breakthrough Fund.

It was the personal stories of those we met that impacted me most. There was Yiscah Sara Smith, a transgender Jewish educator and author born a male. She struggled with her identity into her 60s before finding a community that accepted her and her transition as she accept herself.

This resonated with the theme of a Shabbat service I later attended in Jaffa co-led by a trans Reform rabbi. Rabbi Sholom of Hebrew Union College in Jerusalem explained that the Reform seminary was seeing an increase in LGBT candidates, as it was the only seminary in Israel that would ordain them.

Acceptance was epitomized at the Jerusalem Open House, a struggling grassroots LGBT activist community center in Jerusalem. The House has organized a Jerusalem Pride Parade every year since 2005 and even hosted World Pride in 2006, but has only received government funding in the last year or so. There, I met Daniel and Ariel, a couple of 57 years who never officially came out but made a life for themselves in Jerusalem. They belonged to each other as much as they belonged to the city.

Our trip to the West Bank was eye-opening. Our Palestinian tour guide, Tamer, was a former social worker who had worked with LGBT clients, and now is a PR consultant for the Palestinian government. Tamer took us to the Security Barrier, a refugee camp, Bethlehem, Jericho, the Jordan River and Ramallah. He said, "It is hard to be gay in Palestine." We learned that while areas home to Palestinians, along with some neighboring countries, do not openly ban homosexuality, Israel is still the only country in the region that offers any form of comprehensive legal protections to the homosexual community.

On our way to Tel Aviv, we visited Hannaton, a Kibbutz with a growing LGBT community -- in this case, five families … up from zero five years ago.

The highlight of our trip was Tel Aviv. There, we attended a three-day leadership conference marking the 40th anniversary of Tel Aviv Pride. Along with more than 100 LGBT delegates from around the world, we attended panels on issues concerning the Israeli and global LGBT community. These ranged from the relentless persecution of closeted Arab youths to the controversy of "pink washing."

On the second day of the conference, we attended the inaugural session of the Knesset's LGBT Forum, where they proposed a law to define crimes against trans individuals as hate crimes. Although the measure ultimately failed to pass several days later, those who sat in that room sensed that equity for all was on the horizon.

We didn't miss the opportunity to experience Tel Aviv's nightlife either, taking in the bars and the myriad of parties celebrating Pride. I attended Arisa-- named for an exotic spice-- which catered especially to Mizrahi (Middle Eastern) Jews. I danced with 1,000 Israelis while Yekutiel, a popular drag performer, sang (OK, lip-synced) her greatest hits.

Finally, there was the Pride Parade, which began at the Gay Center of Tel Aviv. No floats, only people marching. No designated numbers or a preset order, either -- everyone just picked up their banners and began to walk forward. Drag queens, families, and activists all marched as one. The parade ended at a huge outdoor concert featuring Eurovision's bearded winner Conchita Wurst where over 200,000 Israelis and world travelers gathered to celebrate.

I am still mentally unpacking all my experience in Israel. A Wider Bridge exposed me to a variety of people and viewpoints that laid the foundation for me to define my own personal views.

Israel is a safe place for those that identity as LGBT, but battles with the government and the rabbinate are far from over. Israel is a complicated place, complicated further with each person you speak to, but that doesn't mean you should stop speaking to people or remove yourself from the conversation.

"Gesher" means "bridge" in Hebrew. Our mission is, we say, to "bridge the gap between Pride and Tribe." I fully plan to make Israel and all its complexities a part of that bridge.  

At a recent event I came across a vibrant, expressive man in the midst of a "mid-life opportunity," surely not be confounded with a "mid-life crisis." Ears perked, I asked him directly what brought him to this event. His eyes were perfectly still and fixated on mine as the words left his mouth." After spending my whole life in the church, I'm leaving. I left. I'm making a clean break."

Up until this point, church was a daily part of his life. He was a graduate of primary and secondary religious schooling followed by an undergraduate degree in theology from seminary. As a gay man, he felt the right thing to do was pursue a different path.  

While religion, as it existed for him in the past, no longer appealed to him, he made another very interesting point. He said regardless of belief, he sees faith as a foundation for a moral compass. For him, this was a choice arrived at with major difficulty.

Naturally, this opened up a discussion of how others approach faith and their own personal experiences. It was clear that religion, in its many varieties, denominations and levels of observation, affected everyone in a deeply personal way.

I didn't grow up in a synagogue, not really anyway. I went to Hebrew school for a few years, learned about religion, culture, Hebrew and all that jazz. I don't keep kosher and I'm not observant. I connect to Judaism in my own way and that's what matters most to me. I like to look at my Jewish life as a carefully crafted mosaic, filled in with colorful moments that might seem disparate at the time, but when looked at from afar, are all connected to illustrate the larger picture.

Moments like my dad explaining the story of Anne Frank to me when I was very young; the countless hours spent learning the rudiments of my first second language at Hebrew school; my time in Israel on Birthright; my first Mourner's Kaddish for a family member; my eighth grade turn as Golde in Fiddler on the Roof at a the local children's community theater; the fun, funny, frivolity of "bar and bat mitzvah season;" taking part in traditions that were passed down to my family from generations ago; and sharing those traditions with those closest to me and starting new ones.

Some fleeting and some enduring, these moments come together as my perfectly imperfect Jewish identity. They have and will continue to shape me and how I find my way in the world.

Sharing concerns and experiences surrounding religion can bring about a quiet, overwhelming empathy. While I may not pray every day, when I see a post from one of my favorite lifestyle bloggers concerned for the medical condition of her young child asking for prayers, it's only natural to oblige. To make someone feel better in even the tiniest of ways, thousands of miles away, for someone who believes in a far different way than I do, is always worth it.

Thinking along these lines draws me back to my absolute favorite storyline from this season of Orange is the New Black. (Spoiler alert ahead, sorry!) Basically, for the uninitiated, many of the inmates figured out a loophole to get the best food in prison: asking for a kosher meal. Eventually, the administration got wise and cracked down on those deemed "non-observant". One of the inmates, even though turned away, embraced Judaism as her own in a very real way and gave an incredibly touching speech in the finale episode. I may or may not have teared up a bit? She found her people. And isn't that what it's all about? In the end, it's compassion that rules.

Last summer I decided to make a few changes in my life. I decided to eat super clean. And I realized that I am sick of being hungry. Anyone else?

I was constantly feeling guilty about eating too much, or too wrong or too many carbs or too much fat. It's enough!

I decided to make a permanent change. No more quick fixes. No more fad diets. No more pills! But most importantly, no more starvation.

The irony is that, I coach people on how to lose weight. And I am told I do a great job at it. And people get results! But somehow, for myself I feel I need to starve in order to look thin.

One day, while sitting through another mind-numbing meeting, I started scrolling through my Instagram account. And pictures of food after food after food started popping up in my scroll. And then I saw this.

It was one of those moments where I felt myself awaken. This quote was so very simple. My greatest fears had been summed up into just a few words.

And as I pondered over my fear of failure, I found myself clicking on this person's profile and I was instantly enthralled.

Here was a woman who had transformed her body. In her before pictures she looked seemingly ordinary, but her story painted a different picture. She was so much like me. A girl who looked healthy and young on the outside but on the inside she was constantly worrying about every calorie, every morsel, every sit-up. Consumed with worry and fueled by her obsession to be skinny she turned to every fad including starvation and over-exercising.

Until one day she just got tired and stopped. She found a coach and he helped her change her life. Her after photo was beautiful. She was lean, strong and most importantly she looked to be genuinely happy.

I wanted to be genuinely happy too.

And so I spent the rest of the day emailing this girl back and forth. We understood each other. She told me her coach's name. Three hours later, I signed up with him and embarked on a journey that I hope can change my life for the better.

Being the loving and supportive husband that my hubs is, he bought me really cute workout pants and then said, "Now go and get fit!"

And I started running. Every day after work. I. Am. Not. A. Runner. I literally cheated every mile I ever had to run in high school. I hated it. But I followed my quote. I had nothing to lose, except fat.

So I turned on my Pandora, bought a Polar monitor, got a training app for running and I ran.

I walked a lot. I wheezed. I talked myself into it every minute. And I made myself a believer. Three weeks later I can run a lot longer than before. And I feel empowered. I feel strong. I lift weights too, heavier than ever. It felt fantastic.

After years of working out, dieting, calorie counting and eventually going back to my normal ways, I feel uplifted and positive. I feel like I can and will succeed. And this is not a race. It's a marathon. And there will be set backs and road blocks. But we are human. We overcome, we power through and we achieve.

Feel ready to battle the world?! How about at least dinner?

As a chef, it's tough not to put butter in everything, but this is just the uphill portion of my marathon. Once I am running full speed ahead I can start getting back to my beloved butter. For now, we are just going to set it to the side.

Doesn't this just look gorgeous? Like confetti in a bowl! Vibrant, fresh and clean flavors make this salad one of my go-tos for a healthy side dish.You have healthy fats in your avocado, nice sweet carby corn and loads of cilantro and lime. It comes together in minutes and is a real crowd pleaser.

Grilled Corn and Avocado Salad
From girlandthekitchen.com

Ingredients

2 corn on the cobb
1 large ripe avocado, diced
½ a red onion, diced
3 tbsp of cilantro, chopped
1 lime, juiced
salt and pepper

Instructions

1. First you need some roasted corn. I always soak mine in water right in the husk for about 30 minutes. Then I throw it onto a grill preheated to medium high and cook for about 20 minutes. Making sure to rotate every 5 minutes. Let it cool.

2. While the corn is cooling, dice up your avocado. While you are at it, dice your onion as well.

3. Chop up some cilantro as well. Roughly. There is no need for precision with that.

4. When the corn is cool, remove the husk and stand it upright and start slicing the corn off the husk with a nice sharp knife.

5. Place the kernels into a bowl with the avocado, cilantro and onions. Toss everything together with a spoon and season with salt, black pepper and juice of half a lemon.

Notes

You can also use frozen corn for this recipe. Just toast them up in a frying pan for a few minutes to get them charred a bit. Or throw them onto a sheet pan into a 450-degree oven for 15 minutes until golden brown.

Father's Day marked one month since my grandma's funeral. Her passing was the first loss of a close relative that I have experienced.  

Rabbi Steven Mason, the outgoing senior rabbi of North Shore Congregation Israel in Glencoe, explained to my family while we were preparing for my grandma's funeral that a person's emotions during a time of grieving can be like a roller coaster -- one moment you're crying and the next you're laughing at a memory of your loved one.  

He was right. I went through bouts of tears knowing that the Sunday morning brunches I frequently spent at Country Kitchen in Highland Park with my grandma, her caretaker, Elizabeth, and my father were now only memories. Then I would laugh at a memory of Elizabeth not being able to remember something, to which my grandma's response was, "join the club."  

My grandma was an incredible woman. Through her actions, she taught me how to be the best possible version of myself. So I want to share three lessons I learned from her.

Lesson One: Family is everything   

My grandma's world revolved around her family. She loved nothing more than to spend time with us. Through her genuine love, she's influenced me to spend more time with my family and be grateful for every moment I spend with them.  

Lesson Two: Embrace your femininity and never stop learning   

Even during her later years, my grandma never ceased to astound me with her impeccable sense of style, witty remarks, and thoughtful responses. She not only dressed with style, but she was also humbly brilliant. She's inspired me to be thoughtful in how I dress and act, so I always present the best possible version of myself.  

Lesson Three: Smile and laugh with life  

Every single time I saw my grandma, she was laughing and smiling. She handled with grace the twists and turns of her life. I'm so grateful to have watched this amazing woman face adversity with poise because she taught me that my reaction to life's curveballs is what defines me.

Thank you, Grandma, for being a model of who a woman should be and for teaching me to never stop loving, learning and laughing.

Shakshuka! Shakshuka! Shakshuka! I bet you can't say it 10 times fast. You probably can't say it very fast more than once. I know it sounds like your new favorite curse word, but it's way more than that.

Shakshuka, if you're not familiar, is a Tunisian dish of eggs poached in a spicy tomato sauce. If you've never heard of it, mazel, meet your new favorite meal. If you do know shakshuka, welcome back!

I happened upon shakshuka a couple of weeks ago while browsing through cookbooks. A gorgeous picture of eggs in a tomato sauce leapt off of the page and into my heart. It's the perfect breakfast or lunch dish to make to show off for friends. You can serve it with a mountain of challah and/or pita on the side. I've only ever made it for dinner, because I don't want to have to share it with anyone!

There are many reasons to make shaksuka. The absolute number one reason to make it is that it tastes amazing. The second is that it's maybe the easiest recipe you've ever prepared. I've been completely obsessed since I first discovered it just a few weeks ago. Did I mention that it's a one-pot meal? What is better than that?

Congratulations, your life is about to change.

Ingredients

1/4 cup olive oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
4 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
2 jalapeños, seeded, finely chopped
1 15-ounce can chickpeas, drained
2 teaspoons Hungarian sweet paprika
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 28-ounce can whole peeled tomatoes, crushed by hand, juices reserved
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup coarsely crumbled feta
8 large eggs
1 tablespoon chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 tablespoon chopped fresh cilantro
Warm pita bread

Remember! Cooking is fun and there is more than one way to get something delicious on your plate. If you're not in to jalapenos, maybe substitute green chillies. Don't like chickpeas? How about white beans. Get creative!

Directions

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Heat oil in a large ovenproof skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion, garlic, and jalapeños; cook, stirring occasionally, until onion is soft, about 8 minutes. Add chickpeas, paprika, and cumin and cook for 2 minutes longer.

Add crushed tomatoes and their juices. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer, stirring occasionally, until sauce thickens slightly, about 15 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Sprinkle feta evenly over sauce.

Crack eggs one at a time and place over sauce, spacing evenly apart. Transfer skillet to oven and bake until whites are just set but yolks are still runny, 5-8 minutes. Garnish with parsley and cilantro. Serve with pita for dipping.

I am not a big sports fan, partially due to growing up short and slightly overweight and partially due to growing up in a city without any professional sports (Wichita, Kansas). Our entire city pretty much followed college basketball. We did have minor league baseball, hockey and soccer, but Wichita State University's baseball team was the main attraction.

My lack of interest usually comes to the surface during the weekly Kiddush in my synagogue when people start taking about trades, winning streaks and fouls. I usually just nod my head in agreement.

My 15-year-old son, Eli, however, is a fanatic. I keep up with the scores, watch some of the games with him (and let him explain things to me) and try to bond with him. It's important to show interest in what our kids are interested in. I see from friends that there is a special bond between parents and children when it comes to sports. My son has been wise to me since he was 6. He knows that I'm not as into it as other dads, but he's cool with it. He sees that I make the effort and I hope there is something to be said for that.

I do, however, look for opportunities to experience the excitement. Two years ago we went the Blackhawks parade and this year, thanks to a really good friend, we went to the rally at Soldier Field.

We got inside at 8 a.m. and spent two hours just hanging out and walking around. As the stadium quickly filled up there was definitely a feeling of camaraderie as a sea of red spread in every direction. The shared energy was much more tangible at the rally than at the parade. It could be the fact that at the parade you just wait for the players to pass and then go home that the excitement is transient. At the rally you are there before the parade, watch the parade on the jumbotron, watch the players get announced, hear all the thank-yous, lose your voice as 60,000-plus people sing "Chelsea Dagger" (although I prefer their other theme song, "Keys to the City" by Ministry), then you join the flood of people and leave.

It's ironic that as a teenager, I was so against conforming and dressing like the masses. The blatant lack of individuality left a bad taste in my mouth. Of course, these days, I am just as guilty of conformity in dress -- well, in kippah -- as everyone is in my observant sub-culture. That being said, my son and I rocked our red jerseys. We cheered when the players came out and clapped after the speeches.

As I looked around, being part of the collective is what makes the experience something special. Sometimes the group is greater than the individual. It's that way in families, in school, in work, and in the way we connect with our Judaism. The unity among sports fans should be an example of how the diverse Jewish community should ban together for certain causes. Of course, easier said than done, but if you own a red piece of clothing then you're off to a good start.

My winter coat and my summer dress are besties

A few weeks ago, people yelled at me because of my appearance and clothing choice.

It was Saturday, the 30th day of the month of May, and I was overdressed. In the morning, at synagogue, I wore a light jacket on top of a long-sleeved shirt, a skirt, leggings, and tall boots. In the evening, traveling to a wedding, I decided to go for my ankle-length down North Face "winter" jacket.

It was certainly a lot for May 30, and my friends had no qualms about telling me that.

"How can you be dressing like this? It's practically summer!"

"I can't believe you're wearing leggings and boots. It's May!"

At the wedding, there was a portable coat rack that traveled with us from the ceremony room to the reception room, and the whole night, it was home to a bunch of umbrellas and my ridiculous puffy jacket.

But I think I might have been the happiest person in Chicago that day.

Friends who ridiculed my clothing choice -- you are living in a fantasy world. You are living in a world where May 30 means "warm," where May 30 means "summer," where May 30 means "no jackets, no leggings, and just the warm, humid summer air and a cup of iced tea."

That world may exist somewhere, but it certainly ain't in Chicago in the year 2015.

How I wish I lived with you in this world! I wish I could be that girl who dresses for the date and whose bright yellow and pink outfit just screams summer and freedom and reminds you of that time when you throw your backpacks into your closet and get ready for a summer of stress-free fun in the sun.

But not me. I live in the world of "reality." I live in a world where, despite what the calendar says, Mother Nature has a cruel sense of humor and wants to keep us on our toes. I live in a world where we are given tools to help us survive each day -- not just a calendar, but also websites like Weather.com that can magically predict the future and guide our clothing choices.

I live in a world where you're never safe to put your "winter clothes" in the cedar closet for safekeeping from March 1 until December 1 -- I keep my winter clothes hanging right next to my summer clothes, because, hey, with all the back and forth in the Chicago weather, these clothes have become buddies.

Oh, how I wished I lived in a predictable land beneath the equator, where weather was always warm and the attitude was always that of summer. But, living in Chicago, the best city on the planet, you have to deal with the good AND the bad. And, friends, let me tell you -- the bad isn't so bad if, when it's cold, you're wearing a down winter coat.

So if the weather gets chilly again this week, don't be a hero. Whip out your winter clothes. Time to bring back your pretty woolen scarves, your fleece-lined leggings and your funky futuristic gloves with the special fingers that allow you to be warm and cozy while texting on your cell phone.

I once wrote that summer is a state of mind; but that doesn't mean that if summer feels more like Siberia, we can't dress appropriately and be happy.

And hey, come mid-June, let me know if anyone wants to go sledding or have a snowball fight!

This story was performed at "Oy! Let Me Tell You …", a live Jewish storytelling event, on June 3, 2015. Check out a live recording of this story here.

I can tell you from personal experience that being a Jewish senior citizen in the summer back in the day was pretty fantastic. And you're probably thinking to yourself, how would a 24-year-old even know what it was like to live like a Jewish senior citizen from firsthand experience? And to that I would say, I'm 30 and thank you.

Let me just say that I am a relic. I am the last of what is known as one of the guests of the Dirty Dancing Kellerman era -- The Catskills -- otherwise known as the Borscht Belt, the Jewish Alps and Solomon County.

Some of you may be asking "What is this magical stateside promised land that I mention?"

Well, The Catskills are mountains in Upstate New York with a chain of resorts where mostly New York City Jews -- starting in the 1940s -- would come and vacation during the hot months.

Every summer, my family would pack up the car in Chicago, with my two younger brothers in car seats and a big rack on the roof with our luggage like we were the Griswalds -- without a TV or iPad or any electronic device -- and my dad would drive from Chicago, through Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and then to finally upstate New York.

At the time, I did not like car rides and usually one of us would get carsick daily. Since this was back in the late 80s/early 90s, my dad had one of the first police radar detectors that was 75% accurate and he still managed to get pulled over for speeding.

Even though these were long car rides, my parents still did their best to make it fun. We would stop along the way and stretch out these car trips to fun places including Mr. Rogers Land at Idlewild Theme Park in Pennsylvania, Sesame Street Place Water Park in Pennsylvania and Hershey, Pennsylvania. So pretty much, it was a long car ride until Pennsylvania but my parents did their best to make it entertaining.

The reason why we went to the Catskills was because of my grandparents -- my mom's parents, otherwise known as my Grandma and Papa. Just picture the ultimate Jewish grandparents and they were it. My papa was a tough man who owned a used truck lot on the south side of Chicago. He worked seven days a week, long hours, until the state made a law that truck lots couldn't operate on Sundays and then Sundays became family days. He was a man's man but had the gentlest way when it came to his family, having raised all daughters with old-fashioned rules on their dating habits, and a huge soft spot for his grandchildren. He only called my grandma "Babe" and my grandma was a blonde beauty who loved to play mahjong and gamble. My grandparents were fun -- in their later years they would drive out to the casino after midnight and come home at all hours of the morning. They were always out on the town on Saturday nights and loved a good, long car ride -- hence the annual drive out to the Catskills.

Growing up, it was Thursday nights with them, Sunday nights with the extended family and then Concord trips in the summer where they would have the room directly across the hall from ours and we would keep our doors open and just run back and forth between the two rooms so that we could model our outfits for them. This was because my mom could dress us all in the same pattern. We have a family portrait of all of us in American Flag attire but it was 1991 and what else do you expect?

So anyway, living like a senior citizen as an old Yid at the Concord was luxurious. We would eat in the dining room where Tony, our waiter, would serve us silver dollar pancakes and grilled cheese at pretty much every meal. We would do water aerobics in the pool or play bingo or watch an artist do a painting, which literally translates to watching paint dry. There was nothing to do but to sit and enjoy and just be old together.

However, I was probably the coolest kid that there ever was because after our dinner with Server Tony, my parents would put my brothers to bed and I would get to go with my parents and my grandparents to the show. Every night, we would head down to the theater that almost looked like a cabaret -- or the Mayne Stage in Rogers Park -- where there were cocktail tables and you would sit and you would watch an act. Sometimes it was a magician (like in Dirty Dancing), sometimes it was a comedian (like in Dirty Dancing) and sometimes they would have really great musicians.

I remember walking through the main foyer where there was a daily polka band playing, and to this day, and I didn't know how but this man walked up to me and asked if I was Jennie Ellman. Now, this was before I knew anything about stranger danger and I was with my family and I answered yes, and he said something like I was selected to receive a gift by that night's guest performer -- Willie Nelson.

Now, I didn't know much about Willie Nelson except that this was a big deal for my mom who loves Willie Nelson, but I still have no idea how I got selected -- as I didn't have to carry a watermelon or anything -- let alone understood why a 5-year-old could win out of the entire resort.

Anyway, that night came and we left my brothers in the room and we went to the theater. I remember watching the first act and getting sleepy and then I remember Willie Nelson coming on stage, but that's pretty much all I remember. All I know is, I woke up the next morning and I had Willie Nelson's Farm Aid bandana that he wore to the Farm Aid benefit concert and it had Willie Nelson's autograph. I did not remember actually getting this, I didn't know how it came about. I was never a big drinker so this is really the only time I've ever really "blacked out" if you will, and I definitely didn't black out in this situation because I probably wasn't even five years old.

Sure enough, we got pictures back and there is my dad, onstage with Willie Nelson, and Willie Nelson was holding his FarmAid bandana and signing it, and there's my dad, onstage -- holding me -- a five-year-old sleeping Jennie. I actually slept through my Willie Nelson moment. So while Willie Nelson's "Blue Eyes Were Crying In The Rain" -- which is a Willie Nelson song title reference -- these hazel eyes were shut and sound asleep.

I always loved this story, but it wasn't until recently that I started loving it more. I was talking to my dad about this experience and asked him how I really got selected when he told me that he found a roadie crew member and asked him if there was anything that they were giving away that he could give to his daughter. The crew member gave my dad some guitar picks but then said that he may have something else and with that, the man came up to me and asked if I was Jennie (per my dad's information) and told me that I was selected. I had always felt special being randomly selected before in this story, but knowing my dad had his hand in the situation, and then also having those pictures of my dad carrying me while I was sleeping on the stage so that he could get me Willie Nelson's autograph, just proves how much my dad has always gone out of his way for me and has always tried to make me feel special.

So, looking back, these road trips were a strong foundation of what my parents had always tried to teach me, as we know, road trips are a great time to learn the adage of the "it's not just the destination but the journey" and all the spontaneity along the way, take time every day to enjoy the arts, and being together really could be the "time of your life" when you are with the people that are "Always On Your Mind" -- which is also another Willie Nelson song title reference.

To read more posts in the "World's Greatest Jewish Dads" blog series, click here.

My dad is a pen collector, golf player, bookstore frequenter and gift shop enthusiast. My dad is a lover of philanthropy dedicated to many organizations both in the U.S. and Israel. He has inspired me to become involved in community service on campus and at home. My dad participates in Israel advocacy and has instilled a love of Israel in my family. My dad reads Hebrew newspapers to practice the language and books about Torah. Every Friday, he studies the Torah portion with a rabbi and blesses my siblings and me at dinner. He attends all dance recitals and basketball games. 

However, in my opinion, my dad's most special quality lies in the ongoing development of our "language."

Our "language" can largely be reduced to our sometimes witty, sometimes deep, and at times ridiculous use of words. We analyze words' meaning, sing them, write them, and read them, and speak them together in three different languages: English, Hebrew and Spanish.

"Jessica, what are you up to today?" my dad asked me early one Friday morning. When he asks me that type of question, I know that it's only going one of two routes: a technology request, such as scanning something for him or figuring out how to download songs onto his iPad. The other route is less commonplace and more special: requesting that I speak our language by writing a song or speech in collaboration with him. We have written many pieces together, usually centered on various celebrations or holidays. We always delighted my family and friends who were our ever-present audience. On this particular Friday, that was his request.

The Hochberg family, including Jessica (second from left) and her dad (second from right).

"I need to send you a draft of speech I wrote in Spanish," he said casually. Normally, I would smirk at my dad's utter randomness and at his unusual interest in odd spontaneous actions that seemed to have no cause. However, I knew the cause of this impromptu speech in Spanish. 

This past school year we hosted a high school foreign exchange student named Victor. Victor is from Brazil, and his family members had come to visit us for the week. My father, an accomplished high school debater and a frequent speech giver, decided to describe how fond we had become of Victor by delivering a speech entirely in Spanish. Although Victor speaks Portuguese, he understands Spanish, so my father deemed it necessary to create a speech in Spanish to deliver in front of our family and friends at our Shabbat dinner table.

Ever the adventurous speaker, my dad decided to use a language he had not spoken since high school to express his gratitude to Victor. Seeing as I studied Spanish in high school and college, I was more familiar with the grammar and vocabulary conventions. So, using my dad's insightful ideas and my knowledge, he and I composed a speech in Spanish. I also produced an English translation and we captivated our audience with our words. We read the speech paragraph by paragraph, alternating between Spanish and English. The audience laughed at the jokes, even when they were written in Spanish, and could tell our affection for Victor by the effort we put into our speech. 

Afterward, many of our friends congratulated us on our successful endeavor and asked us how we were able to execute such an undertaking. My dad gave me a characteristic, suffocating side hug, and with that we mutually understood that this was a special use of our language that would not be our last. Our writing team was as efficient as it was fun, and we knew that our "language" of writing was sacred and precious.

"Jessica what are you up to tonight for dinner?" my dad asked me over the phone some time later. I knew where this was going. Another adventure for the writing pair of father and daughter; this time, a song for a family friend's bar mitzvah, a parody of the Chicago Cubs victory song "Go, Cubs, Go!" replacing "Cubs" with "Ben." We'd composed the lyrics on a paper napkin at dinner, each of us switching off verses and bringing forth new ideas. We even decided to add costumes and accessories to our performance. The delivery of the song was successful, if you measure success in effort rather than musical talent, and once again I was squished into a side hug. This was our connection; our special skill that will always provide a common ground for both of us to flourish, side by side.

Whether it's listening to Taylor Swift endlessly in the car, analyzing the lyrics to a seemingly tasteless rap song for some deeper meaning, or knowing the lyrics to songs so well that we can both recite the ad libs and fake laughter by heart, my dad and I always appreciate words, deciphering their meaning and understanding how they can be used in a larger or more meaningful context. We love reading and writing in the languages we know, and learning new things about languages we do not know. We find meaning where there seemingly is none and share our deep understanding of the world with each other. No matter the language, no matter the place, my dad and I will always have that connection.

So I hope this Father's Day brings my dad some great new books, some new knowledge of Torah, and many fond memories of our endeavors as a writing duo.

To read more posts in the "World's Greatest Jewish Dads" blog series, click here.

Behold the midlife crisis: a stark realization and critical time of change. Most dads turn in their sedan for a motorcycle and their North Face for a leather jacket. Some dye their hair and join the local band. But not my dad. I actually got lucky with my dad's "midlife crisis;" I saw him transform into a master chef in a matter of weeks.

When my dad discovered cooking it was like he had awoken a sleeping giant, one of a passion for and connection to food. My father cooked masterpieces sans recipes or direction like he was one with the ingredients. Whatever he imagined would materialize into a beautiful dish that my family (and our stomachs) gladly "tested."

Ever since then, cooking became our thing. It's more than a passion and quality time well spent -- it's a lifestyle.

My family background is Russian, and I'm technically zero generation. I was born in Minsk, Belarus, and I came here at the tender age of almost two. Nevertheless, my Belarusian culture greatly influenced my upbringing. One of my favorite parts of the culture (and any culture) is the cuisine. You are what you eat so there is no denying that food plays one of the most important roles in our lives.

There are many things I grew up loving that, let's just say, are probably on your "avoid" list to prevent a heart attack at the age of 40: meat for breakfast, lunch and dinner; mayonnaise as salad dressing; and baked goods galore. Don't get me wrong, there was also an emphasis on fresh and whole foods, but that wasn't really my cup of tea as a kid. I was lucky I grew up actively dancing and playing sports everyday; I never quite felt the wrath of "heavy" food.

As you get older, life becomes more static, yet more stressful. More than ever, I realized I needed food to fuel me, to keep me going and keep me feeling good from the inside out.

Around the time of my dad's "midlife crisis," he realized he too needed feel-good food. Not the sugar high kind but the "I feel like I can run a marathon" kind. My dad has always been very physically fit. Standing at 6 ft. 2 in., this is not a man you want to mess with. He can drop and give you 20 and casually do 15 pull-ups without really breaking a sweat. Fitness is one thing, however, but nutrition is a whole other animal.

You see, a state-of-the-art car without fuel or a battery is useless. And fitness is nothing without the right fuel. So my dad and I found ourselves on the same mission: how to create foods that are both energy-fueling and something we're excited about.

Our eating habits evolved, and so did our cooking. Our diets began to mirror one another and there's nothing I enjoy more than bouncing ideas off of my dad. From smoothies to soups, salads to stir fry, and rice to ground turkey, we've helped each other perfect every single dish. We've really bonded over our appreciation for nutrition and our love of cooking.

Now it's something I'd love to share with all of you. A way to a man's heart, they say, is through his stomach, so on this Father's Day, there's no better way to say "I love you, dad" than preparing a hearty, healthy, dish.

Here are two simple recipes. Enjoy!

Very Berry Smoothie

One cup frozen blueberries
3-4 handfuls of spinach
1 apple (any kind)
1 tablespoon honey
1-2 medjool dates
1½ cup of water

Directions:
Throw it all in a blender and voilà!  

The Perfect Brown Rice
Brown rice is a perfect and filling whole grain. This recipe gives it the consistency of fluffy oatmeal with your favorite rice-tastic taste.   

You will need:
1-2 cups of dried brown rice (depending on how much you want to make)
Water
Your favorite veggies (think carrots, onions, mushrooms, cauliflower, broccoli, or zucchini)
Deeper pot and a stainless steel cooking bowl

Directions:
It's very important to soak the brown rice for 12-24 hours (at least try to soak it overnight) in room temperature water. The rice to water ratio should be about one to five: five cups of water for every one cup of rice.

Before cooking, pour out the water used for soaking and fill the bowl with four new cups of water for every one cup of rice.

You'll need a bigger pot and stainless steel cooking bowl that you can stack on top of the pot and close with a lid. Fill a quarter of the pot up with water and stack the steel pan/bowl of rice on top and close with lid.

Bring the pot to a boil and then down to a simmer. Now let it cook for an hour, and at that point throw in all your favorite veggies. You can also sauté the veggies before throwing them in to give it a slightly different taste. Let the rice simmer with veggies for another hour and it's done! You won't believe your eyes that this is brown rice when you see it. It's such a hearty dish and truly one of my favorites!

To read more posts in the "World's Greatest Jewish Dads" blog series, click here.

When my 1-year-old son, Johnny, was born I remember lifting him out of the basinet at the hospital for the first time. Completely swaddled in a hospital blanket, he was a fussy 8-pound burrito. I was in love with and in awe of him. We all had high hopes for him and our newly started family.

A year later, we still have hopes -- we just haven't slept much. Needless to say, it's taken on a different meaning. This former 8-pound burrito is now a 24-pound giant jumping bean that never stops jumping.

At the start of each day, he cries from the other room to wake us up, and my biggest hope is really that nobody gets hurt that day. Come bedtime, I smile when my head hits the pillow, knowing that we barely made it. My last thought before falling asleep is always, I don't know how we did it.

A few weeks ago I was sharing the plans for Johnny's birthday party with David, a good friend.

"You know I've always thought that we should be throwing these parties for the parents," he quipped. "I mean, you have kept another human being alive for an entire year. Congrats!"

David was right. Our life really had become about keeping this tiny, defenseless creature alive. I chuckled lightly, acknowledging the truth of his statement, while cynically recognizing that nobody was going to be throwing me any parties anytime soon. My party days are long gone, but I do have Father's Day to at least feel appreciated.

Over the last year, I've noted the ten biggest changes that come with first-time fatherhood, so for new dads or expectant dads out there, consider this some helpful advice.

1. Everything related to your kids is now a hot-button issue.

Cloth diapers or disposable? You made a choice, and you are now an expert at defending it. You won't let anyone tell you that choice was wrong. Breast milk or formula? You don't even lactate, but that snarky comment on Facebook just got somebody unfriended. Government officials are thinking about cutting funding for schools, and you show up to testify. And don't let anyone get you started on parental leave!

2. Showering every other day becomes a reasonable goal (and is optional on the weekends)

There is a moment when you are getting ready to leave the house. It's probably to go to the grocery store, the park, a play date, etc. Somehow during the morning nap, you were sucked into returning an email, checking Facebook, or squeezing in an episode of House of Cards. Well, the baby's awake, happy, and you have a very limited window before all that goes away, so you gargle some mouthwash, wipe yourself down with a baby wipe, put on a clean pair of underwear and get yourself out the door.

3. Spot-checking your clothing for traces of snot, spit-up and anything that your child has eaten that morning is a regular practice.

Maybe you haven't showered yet that day, but it still means a lot to you that you keep up appearances, especially at work. You know that you have completely lost your mind, but your boss doesn't. Pro-Tip: if you can see it on your kid's shirt, then it is probably on yours too. You ask someone you trust if anything crusty has found its way to the back of your shoulder when you went in for that big hug at the daycare drop off. You keep a change of clothes nearby at all times -- for you, not the child.

4. Never in your life have you been so invested in someone else's biological functions.

Did he poop? Is he wet? Did he eat that? Can he eat that? He really shouldn't eat that, right? Did he nap? Is he sleeping? Is he breathing?

If someone came up to you to sniff your crotch or check your pants, you might kick them, but somehow this is completely fine to do to your kids. This is how you communicate with these tiny little poop machines who can barely stand up on their own, let alone tell you that it's time for a change.

5. When the kid kind of hurts, you quickly learn to help him shrug it off.

If your child falls in the forest and nobody is there to gasp, "oh no!" do they cry? The answer is absolutely not. Very quickly, you learn to shrug off minor bumps, trips, and bangs. It's amazing how these children can bend and bounce in ways that would put any gold medal gymnast to shame. Treating every fall like a crisis means you would never get out of the house.

6. When the kid really hurts, that's when it really hurts you too.

Then there are moments at the doctor when he has to get three shots and you kind of want to punch the doctor for sticking him. Or he's sick, yet you calmly say the words, "okay now, just let it out … you're okay," while the little one projectile vomits all over you. When the fever spikes well above 100, and the kid just isn't himself, you have the will to stay with him all night just to make it better.

7. You compare your kid to every other baby you ever meet.

You swore that you would never be "that dad." You promised that you would let your child grow naturally and become the person that he wants to be. That all went out the window as soon as you found out that "Ethan" started crawling last month, and your kid can't even roll over. Naturally, it goes the other way too, usually at doctor check-ups. Ninetieth percentile for height -- that's my son, the future basketball player! By the way, his head circumference is off the charts, so he's likely to be captain of the team and a genius!

8. You get excited about the prospect of work travel because you sleep so well away from home.

Work is going to send you out of town for a few days to meet with some important clients. In the past, you would have scheduled in some extra time to meet up with friends, catch a show and take advantage of the night life. As a new parent, however, all you want to do is watch a movie at the hotel at a high volume because you don't have to worry about waking anyone up, then sleep through the entire night.

9. Then you get weepy when your spouse and kid drop you off at the airport.

You were excited about the high thread count on those hotel sheets, but now all you can think about is how quiet, lonely and empty the room is going to be without your family. Your head down, you try to make it through airport security as fast as possible, hoping to have time to call and say goodbye again before boarding. In the hotel, you end up watching a movie at a volume so low you can barely follow the dialogue, just because it makes you feel at home to keep the noise down at night.

10. Even though it's the most disruptive thing that has ever happened to your life, you couldn't be happier about it.

Being a father is not a constant stream of smiles and giggles, but that doesn't stop you from pulling out your phone to show them the latest pics. When an old woman smiles at your baby in the stroller or a young couple tells you how they love your baby's (insert hair, smile, sausage legs, outfit, laugh) you find yourself smiling the rest of the day. This bundle of joy has changed everything and most of it for the better.

It's been a long year of keeping this creature alive, and you couldn't be prouder. Maybe it's nothing like you hoped it would be at the beginning. Yet somehow, it's still everything that you always wanted.

To read more posts in the "World's Greatest Jewish Dads" blog series, click here.

As Father's Day approaches, our minds turn to the men who raised us, and -- as is customary -- we honor them with barbeques and fishing poles and colorful greeting cards that sing. But this year, I will break from my traditional gift-giving practices and try something new: a story for my dad.

While I admit, this choice is slightly influenced by the pitiful state of my bank account, I prefer to think of it as one of those "it's the thought that counts"/"it's perfect because my child made it" scenarios.

So, Dad, sorry there's no tackle box this year, I hope this story will do!

---

I don't think Joel Cohen ever dreamed of becoming a stay-at-home dad, in fact, I'm sure of it. If you somehow were able to go back in time and tell his 20-something self that he would spend his 40s making sock puppets and grilled cheese sandwiches, he would look at you like you had six heads.

You see, when he and my mother met in the late 1980s, Dad's life was all about classical music, contrary to the statement made by his Ringo Starr haircut. His life revolved around his roommates -- the percussion instruments set up in his living room. Dad practiced day and night, worked day and night too, tirelessly looking to become the best musician he could be. At times, his devotion was endearing; others, it was mildly concerning. Suffice it to say, my grandmother was elated when he brought home a girl instead of a drum for Shabbat dinner.

A few years later, my parents tied the knot and became the first Jewish couple to get married at the Chicago Athletic Association. The mahogany ballroom popped with touches of pink (that matched the bridesmaids' dresses) and the halls rang with the sound of the wedding march that Dad wrote especially for the occasion.

They had carefully planned everything for their new life. They sold their condos and bought a cute little house in the suburbs. Mom went to work each day at the American Cancer Society, and Dad worked the odd morning and evening hours of a professional musician. He picked her up each day from the bus stop at the corner and they walked home together. This system held true all throughout Mom's pregnancy and resumed shortly after I came home from the hospital, seeing as maternity leave was not yet a legal standard in the workplace. And the next thing my parents knew, without really planning it, Joel had become a stay-at-home Dad.

He said it was a great aesthetic improvement when the drums moved into the basement to make room for my bright pink dollhouse in the living room. He learned how to brush curly blonde hair but never quite built up a tolerance for the associated melodramatic screeching. Dad invented fanciful stories about my toys on our way to preschool and playdates and quickly won over the mothers of my classmates who didn't believe that men could provide the same loving care as their stay-at-home counterparts.

As I got older, story time evolved into science projects that destroyed the kitchen and hours spent arguing over math homework and music lessons. My daily refusal to practice for band made him emotionally short circuit, but he cheerfully ate the loaves of banana bread I made each week, something my mother was especially grateful for when I began experimenting with ground cloves and peanut butter. Even more impressive than Dad's culinary daring was his willingness to go to Walgreens and buy me pads when Mother Nature unexpectedly came to call. Bless him -- he always remembered to get the ones with wings.

Now that I'm grown, quite a bit has changed. I drive myself to playdates and buy my own pads, but I still ask for Dad's help when I'm testing out a new recipe, or learning a new song. I still call him for directions even though I have GPS on my phone and ask him questions that Google could easily answer. He remains one of my favorite shoulders to cry on and I love that he bombards my inbox with pictures of cats to brighten a rainy day.

So, with that said: Happy Father's Day, Daddy! Thank you putting up with me. You are a hilarious friend and playmate and an excellent parent. You keep me sane and you make me crazy. You make a mean "Frappuccino" and I'm very proud to call you mine.

To read more posts in the "World's Greatest Jewish Dads" blog series, click here.

My son and I have reached a new milestone. We can learn together! I'm not referring to math or science, of course, but Torah study. We open up the Torah together, start reading and -- here comes the best part -- we start blasting questions at each other left and right.

Why did Moses say that? Why did the people respond this way? Isn't that an extra word? What's the Torah trying to teach us with this verse? And we start to make a list of our questions together. Then, after we fully prepared our masterpiece of critique, we go back over the list and start looking for answers through deeper analysis of the text, searching our ancestral commentaries, and through our own reflection.

So I want to share with you an example of the latter, an answer that came from a joint father-son reflection on last week's Torah portion.

On Shabbat afternoon, my son came to join me for our study time in the local Chicago Community Kollel (a place for advanced Torah study). We began our critique. The three verses we were scrutinizing came from Numbers (11:4-6), which takes place as the Children of Israel were in the desert on their long journey from Egypt to Israel.

The verses talk about a group of people amongst the Children of Israel who were beginning to crave meat. They start complaining about where will they find meat and describe all the fantastic food they were fed for free in Egypt. Perhaps you even thought of one of our questions, "there was no free food in Egypt! They wouldn't even give them hay for their bricks! What are they talking about 'free food?'" (If you're interested, Rashi's medieval commentary addresses this question). In the next verse as they describe their craving for meat they say, "But now, our life is dry, there is nothing…" We asked a simple question, "What do the words really mean when they said, 'life is dry,' or in Hebrew, 'nafshenu yevesha?'"

To answer this question, we utilized an exegetic technique of searching for where the word yevesha, dry, appears in the Torah to understand its true meaning. Interestingly, the word first appears in the depiction of the third day of creation. Before there was any life on the land, it says, "the yabasha, dry land, was revealed." We started to think about what the world looked like before there were any animals, flowers, people, or plants. It looked like an empty and desolate existence.

We then took our new meaning of the word "dry" as depicting an empty and desolate existence and applied it to our verse. They found themselves craving a desire for something they seemingly couldn't have. And once they were in a place of wanting something that they couldn't receive, they felt as if "our life is dry," an empty and desolate existence. Why? They were living through miracles every day! They just escaped horrific slavery not too long ago. What changed?

The answer is that one thing changed. They now felt a craving. They now desired other things that they couldn't have. This was too hard for them.

When we want something that's not within our ability to have, we begin to feel "dry" even though we're objectively not. I gave my son an analogy to explain our discovery in the text. It's like when a little child comes home happy from school with a big smile across his face. He remembers that there are popsicles in the freezer, and he asks for one. When his mother says no, all of a sudden his whole mood changes. He gets very upset, frowns across his face, and eventually he might even throw a tantrum. What happened? He was just super happy two minutes ago! The answer is what the text is telling us here.

We can easily lose sight of the good and beautiful things around us when we are consumed with cravings for things that are beyond us. We start to feel like our lives our dry, desolate and empty, even when they aren't. I then explained to him that big kids and even grownups are the same way. We can easily get consumed by what we don't have and lose sight of what we do. And the way to combat it is by focusing on what you do have, to be excited about the wonderful gifts you're given on a regular basis.

As for me, I will try to focus on the precious opportunity I have of being able to learn meaningful Torah lessons for life with my son.

Dear Chicago Jewish community,

It's been five years since I called Chicago home, having moved to Miami upon experiencing a family tragedy. Then, I had no idea that JUF would be the source of two of my life's greatest blessings: my husband Michael Rosenburg and father-in-law, Kenneth Rosenburg z"l.

It was a JUF-sparked friendship that led to my 2005 life-changing introduction to Michael. I went on a JUF Ben-Gurion Society mission with Amy Winick. She soon began dating someone; he took her to a Shabbat dinner where she met Michael, and said to him then and there, "I have a girl I'm setting you up with."

Our relationship, which began with our dating, evolved into a friendship. Years later, it deepened with the shared grief of each having lost a parent prematurely. And then, when Michael visited Miami in July 2011, it unexpectedly deepened further.

After a whirlwind, long distance romance, we were married in November of 2012. One year later, we were overjoyed to discover that I was expecting our first child. From the pregnancy's beginning, Michael was the consummate husband and father -- protector of my well-being, fulfiller of my every craving, and fierce researcher of all items that would ensure the baby's safety -- from strollers and car seats to new tires for our vehicles. I carried our child, but my husband carried me -- with humor, affection, and the sweetness that's inherently Michael. Only he could make me feel so loved in my biggest, most swollen (read: third trimester in the hot Florida summer) months.

Since our son Noah arrived last August, it's been a crazy ride. We initially had a few medical issues to resolve. Thank God that is all behind us. But in those first trying months, Michael's calmness, coupled with his ability to care for a healing preemie and healing wife, were nothing short of heroic-all while managing a full work portfolio, maintaining the highest regard from his colleagues and serving on the board of our synagogue.

Earlier this year, we elatedly learned that I am pregnant again. This time, the demands are greater as doctors instructed me not to lift our now 9-month-old son. Without missing a beat, Michael assumed an even more significant hands-on role on nights and weekends. I live in awe of how he balances his demanding career with the demands of our family. I live in awe of his interaction with our child -- the playfulness, affection, and attentiveness to all aspects of Noah's development. I live in awe of how blessed I am to share a life and family with my amazing husband.

Michael's devotion to family and responsibility to community come from a home that nurtured it. My in-laws set wonderful examples as parents. And while I never had the fortune of knowing my father-in-law -- I am privileged to do so spiritually through Michael's anecdotes and actions. It allows me to continue developing a relationship with his father. And that will enable me to help our children grow to know and love their Papa Kenny.

One of the greatest gifts Michael has given me was under our chuppah. To include Michael's late father and my late mother, Naomi, in our wedding, we privately expressed to our Rabbi, for him to share during the ceremony, what our respective parents would have loved about our spouse. It was then that I learned of the JUF connection and passion for community that bound Ken and me.

In my 10 post-college years in Chicago, I immersed myself in JUF leadership opportunities through YLD, National Young Leadership Cabinet, the TOV Volunteer Network and Hillels of Illinois. Ken, a busy attorney, was quite immersed himself -- sharing his heart of gold with JUF since 1973, when he initiated the first communal residence for the elderly. He participated in the first Melton Jewish Leadership program, chaired numerous initiatives including the JUF campaign events at Yehuda Moshe and the Northside Lawyers' Division dinners for years, and served on JUF's Financial and Education board.

Thanks to JUF, for the gift of our meeting, Michael and I will celebrate his first Father's Day as Noah's daddy. Thanks to JUF, I celebrate a connection to a father and grandfather whom I never met, but greatly cherish. And of course, I celebrate my own wonderful father, David Kudish -- Noah's Zayde -- who introduced me to JUF and has always been a vibrant example of Jewish communal responsibility for me to emulate. I am forever grateful to all.

The author (right) dancing a hora -- as her mom always advised her to do -- at a dear friend’s wedding.

I just love graduation season and all its hopefulness: The sweet scene on a beautiful spring day of a graduate clad in cap and gown hugging proud loved ones on the street. The "places you'll go" words of encouragement promising big things for grads on greeting cards, books, and diploma-gripping teddy bears near the cash register at the bookstore.

But most of all, I love the wisdom that extraordinary people impart to the graduates.

As we grow older, and move further away -- ahem -- from our graduation year, the lessons keep on coming if we let them. In fact, if we're doing it right, I'd bet most of us are more open to hearing those lessons now than when we were in school.

I'm constantly collecting nuggets of wisdom to guide me on a life's journey filled with joy, light, meaning, and love. I piece together lessons wherever I can find them: from reading, from rabbis, from TED and ELI Talks, and from friends and family members.

In fact, the best piece of wisdom I ever heard came from a commencement address delivered by my cousin Ron, a brilliant Cornell University professor. In his speech, he spoke of his late son Eric's long battle with brain cancer. Despite his health struggles, Eric -- who passed away too young, in his late 30s -- always maintained a bright outlook and sense of humor about life.

With Eric in mind, Ron told the graduates: "The happiest people are not necessarily the people who are lucky enough to avoid problems, but rather the ones whose ability to cope increases at a more rapid rate than their problems do."

Here are a few other lessons I've gathered along the way -- lessons that come in handy no matter when you marched to "Pomp and Circumstance"…

Tell them.

Tell the people in your life what they mean to you. After all, life's short, and we won't always have the chance. Jewish journalist and author Bruce Feiler, who survived cancer, advised this guidance in his book The Council of Dads. Why, he asked, must it take a near-death experience or dramatic roadblock in our lives to take stock of our friends and family? Drop a note or even a text message, or make a lunch or margarita date with the people you care about and tell them why they matter to you. 

Be amazed.

As the great Jewish sage Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel said: "Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement. Get up every morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted. Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed."

What a beautiful way to see the world. There's so much stress, routine, and noise in daily life. Let's try to be more mindful and intentional in how we live -- and be present. Every so often, let's put down our phones, breathe, and observe the beauty that infuses so many moments of our day -- if we just let it.

Own it.

Take up space in the room. I attended a Jewish women's empowerment seminar a few years ago, where we discussed this concept, and then the theme resurfaced in Facebook exec Sheryl Sandberg's Lean In, advice to women on how to succeed in the workplace. Just recently, I watched the number one most viewed TED Talk, delivered by Amy Cuddy, who gives a fascinating lecture on body language and how exhibiting confidence physically can make you feel more confident on the inside. While women, in particular, could heed this lesson, this advice is directed to all people: Who you are and what you have to say matter. Be confident, look confident, and don't apologize for who you are. Own it.

Just dance.

My mother is one of the wisest people I know, and she imparts advice to my sister and me through her super lovable Jewish mom lens. One of her favorite things to tell us is "I hope you dance," referring to a popular Lee Ann Womack song. My mom, who was a ballerina as a young woman, figuratively and literally hopes we dance -- even though her transmission of amazing ballet skills to her progeny didn't quite take. But, no fancy pointe work is needed for the hora, says Mom, and she encourages us never to sit out this traditional Jewish circle dance.

"The better the hora, the better the marriage," she's proclaimed to us often. At my sister's wedding, I remember the guests hoisting my parents on chairs, and my fearless mother clapped to the rhythm of a fast-paced Hava Nagila, feeling zero need to hold onto the arms of the chair. My mom's wish for her girls, as most parents wish for their children, is for us to grab all the joy that life has to offer-and a big part of that joy is a dizzying, sweaty hora.

Got some wisdom to impart to the grads? Email me at cindysher@juf.org and I'll post your advice online.

This story was performed at "Oy! Let Me Tell You …", a live Jewish storytelling event, on June 3, 2015. Check out a live recording of this story here.

I was 13 years old when I had the worst summer of my life. It wasn't awful because of what happened though; it was awful because of what didn't happen. And when you're 13, what doesn't happen to you is just as worse if not 500 times worse than what does.  

It was early July, in the year 2000 and I was looking forward to another summer at Olin Sang Ruby Union Institute, a Jewish summer camp, not a prep school or an insane asylum. It is an amazing place, and it was going to be my third summer there, and my first time going for four weeks and actually feeling like one of the older campers.  

All I had to do was bide my time for the first four weeks of the summer in whatever my parents signed me up for. This was usually some "teen" day camp program or "summer school" class so that I wouldn't be home alone all day scarfing goldfish crackers and watching MTV.  

To help curb my anticipation, the previous summer I started keeping a journal. I found a random notebook in my drawer; on the cover a picture of the Coca-Cola polar bear flying through the air on a snowboard. I'm not sure what compelled me to journal, or why the tiny Coke bear book. I clearly needed somewhere to dump my pubescent thoughts, and must've thought the Coke bear was the least conspicuous place. That year I began my journal on the Fourth of July and counted the days until camp, usually a little less than two weeks. And as the summer of 2000 approached, I was excited to continue my new tradition.  

On July 4, 2000, I detailed the exploits of my afternoon at Deerfield Days, my village's annual Fourth of July carnival and parade. As a 13-year-old, my patience for this charade of an "exciting day of family fun" had worn thin, so I thoroughly and scathingly critiqued this innocent festival. I scoffed at the low-budget rides, uncovered the scams posing as carnival games and smugly reduced the parade to a pointless procession of bagpipes and candy.  

After jotting down that we were on our way to my great aunt's Fourth of July party, however, the journal stops. I didn't even finish the day. The next page is dated in the fall.  

You're probably thinking that if that summer was the worst of my life, I would've have taken it out on the pages of the Coca-Cola bear journal. Well, I guess it was too agonizing to even rehash privately on paper. So, allow me do my best to fill in the gaps.  

A few days later, my parents and I ventured down to the city. I had a check-up scheduled with an orthopedic specialist and because any visit to the city from the suburbs warranted "making a day of it," we would afterward check out the Taste of Chicago. This was a normal doctor's check-up for me: every so many months I went in for x-rays ever since I'd had surgery to get rid of a non-cancerous bone cyst in a high-risk location on my left hip the summer after fourth grade. The cyst had started to grow back a couple times since, and follow-up procedures had not been effective at replacing it and strengthening the weakened bone, which if not improved could shatter or impact my growth. Usually, the update was "looks good, let's keep an eye on it. And you should avoid high-contact sports." It was great for getting out of gym class.  

But when the doctor looked at my x-rays this time, it came with the worst news one can ever receive at a hospital -- if one is a naïve, innocently self-centered 13-year-old boy:  

You need to have outpatient surgery, and you can't go to camp this summer.  

I balled like a baby. Literally. I probably hadn't cried that hard in front of a doctor since emerging from the womb. This was life-shattering news. I would've probably only cried half as much, if at all, had the doctor said, "we need to amputate your leg with a circular saw, but you can go to camp."  

As we left the doctor's office, I became a non-verbal pouty toddler. My feelings only snowballed as the reality settled in. I dragged myself through Grant Park, eyes welling up as I imagined my friends making new memories and having the time of their lives without me. Not even the smoky musk of Robinson's ribs and droves of sweaty people overpaying for mediocre street food could cheer me up. I was in mourning. I needed to mourn for the friends I wouldn't see, the pranks I wouldn't pull, the girls I wouldn't crush on.  

Noticing how miserable I was, my dad was desperate to turn my spirits around. He promised we would go on a fun vacation after I recovered from the procedure. This was, of course, no consolation. A trip with my parents and 8-year-old brother was never going to replace camp.  

In the following days, I wrote a couple camp friends heartbreakingly melodramatic emails that basically read, "I tragically must inform you I will not be at camp this summer. Have so much fun, dear friend, try not to forget me." Then I braved my way through what was either my fourth or fifth surgery. Shortly after, my dad revealed his plan. The four of us would embark on a road trip to -- Cincinnati.  

Cincinnati. As if the pangs of a summer lost could be quenched with foot-long chili dogs. Might I have at least been consulted in deciding what kind of vacation would best distract me from self-pity? When I asked why, it turned out my dad's selling point was Kings Island, an amusement park. Well played.  

I didn't exactly love amusement parks in the way normal American children did. I liked to study the roller coasters and track them down with a park map, not, you know, ride them. I just liked being immersed in the sounds, sights and smells of uninhibited bliss. At Six Flags Great America, I was the kid riding the carousel and eating funnel cakes. I would crane my neck up at those big looping coasters with a paralyzing uncertainty. Disney World was more my speed -- I had a certain level of confidence that the Happiest Place on Earth would not betray me.  

Kings Island was an in-between of sorts. It was, at the time, a Paramount theme park, which meant it had rights to all the Nickelodeon television shows, my childhood jam. I believed that I had aged out of NickToons by this point in my life, but I was by no means an adult.  

At the park, the first thing we did was ride a family coaster called Beastie, a diminutive version of the park's famous wooden roller coaster, The Beast. It was pretty fun for a family coaster and it got my adrenaline going. Walking around the Nickelodeon area afterward, I found myself caught in between. I was 13. I wanted to distance myself from the kiddie attractions, but I was still terrified of actual roller coasters. Yet after the Beastie, these two polarizing forces could not coexist much longer.  

I think it was my dad that helped me finally break free, surprisingly enough. He is not a roller coaster riding fanatic either. Like most things my brother and I ever asked him to do as kids, he always had a medical excuse. In this case, given his scoliosis, a roller coaster would surely leave him crippled and incapacitated. Who would drive us home then?  

But if anything gets to him, its nostalgia, and his fond childhood memories of wooden coasters at Chicago's old Riverview Park were rushing back to him as we came upon the towering stack of timber that comprised The Beast. In its heyday in the '80s, this was the longest, tallest and fastest wooden coaster in the world.  

When my dad said he would go on it if I went, I considered this Beast. It did not go upside-down, and it was more than 20 years old. And if my dad was willing to forsake his chiropractic health and actually go with me, I wouldn't be alone. So I went.  

After four minutes of huge hills and tight turns through acres of wooded terrain, everything changed. I didn't go on another roller coaster that entire day, but conquering that one beast was enough.  

When we got home I spent hours looking at theme parks on the Internet, imagining myself on all the roller coasters at every Six Flags park in the entire country. It was a matter of days before I begged to go to Great America. My dad grudgingly agreed to take me, though he would later infamously complain about the park food and service, write a letter to Six Flags, not get a response, and refuse to ever go back again.  

We took my friend Michael, a more seasoned roller coaster rider who used to live up in Gurnee. To break me of my upside-down fear, we decided to ride Demon together, one of the older and tamer looping rides in the park, with only four inversions, according to the Six Flags website.  

After some easy rides, Michael and I boarded the roller coaster car and pulled down the overhead restraints. My palms got sweaty as the train rolled out of the station and into the tunnel. No going back. Up the chain lift hill we went toward the first drop; a towering black steel loop waiting for us at the bottom. As we began to fall forward, I distinctly remember screaming, "LET'S DO THIS!"  

It was easy. Painless. If only I could've remembered to apply this lesson, to scream those three words at every drop, twist and loop of my teenage years, and beyond. But I can say there wasn't a second on that ride, or while riding The Beast, that I was thinking about not being at camp. Somewhere along the way, I learned something we all still struggle to accept, even as adults, that even the worst of circumstances bring with them new opportunities. And life rumbles on.  

But enough of what present day Steven thinks about that summer. I'd like to share with you what 13-year-old Steven had learned after all that.  

October 8, 2000  

The reason I stopped writing about the countdown to camp was because of the fact that I never went. My leg. I curse the day I found out I had to go in for surgery and miss camp, which I was looking forward to all summer. However, I climbed great heights and had I gone to camp, I wouldn't be the same person I am now.

What is wealth? Have you ever really thought about it? Or more importantly, have you ever thought about what wealth looks like for you?

I think about it all the time. I believe wealth is very ambiguous. It's not an exact science. In fact, it's actually very subjective. There's no right or wrong answer. That's because it encompasses many different things for different people.

These characteristics make wealth very special and personal. It's what I define and make it. It's not society's definition; it's not my parents' definition; it's unique to me.

Take a moment and be mindful. Get in tune with your thoughts and imagination. Ask yourself one very simple, yet complex question: what does a wealthy life look like to you?

If wealth were an equation, what would yours include? Here are some ideas to get you started:

- money/high salary
- luxury car(s)
- house/mansion(s)
- high-end clothes, shoes, jewelry
- fame
- power
- unlimited travel
- freedom/flexibility
- family
- health
- happiness
- peace

Does your list include all of these? Some? None? The point is that your ideal wealth is yours. Too often, we get lost in the noise of our environment, people's external opinions, and even our internal judgments.

For example, it was embedded in my head from a young age that I really had four choices: accounting, engineering, law or medicine, and that these paths were undeniably more promising than the alternatives, such as becoming a movie director, writer or artist. While this may be true in some forms of measurement (money, prestige, stability), wealth is not always this perfectly measurable thing.

Now more than ever, there's this modern shift of wealth from being a tangible, material destination, to an intangible feeling of meaning and fulfillment.

We all place value on different things. That's what makes us human; that's also what makes us unique. Yet, too often we follow one definition.

We're taught that if we do things right, we will be rewarded accordingly. If we just get straight A's, go to a good college, get a job out of school, and work hard towards our career goals, wealth is this present wrapped up with a pretty little bow waiting for us at the end of the yellow brick road.

And so, we follow this plan: this list of rules and pre-determined life milestones. We stay on pace, keeping track of the notches on our belts. And soon enough we'll get there, this mystical place, right?

Then one day, we wake up. To a small degree, it might feel like waking up from a coma. We live life, and yet we really forget to live at all. Life becomes second nature just like breathing or walking. Today becomes yesterday; tomorrow becomes today; every day passes without intention, like muscle memory.

Isn't it interesting that the future is always picture perfect, and hindsight is always 20/20? But what about now? We tend to neglect the now. Because we just assume the now will eventually amount to said picture-perfect future. But how can it without a clear understanding of what we want, and how we're going to get there?

Sometimes we're too afraid to observe and reflect, because we're scared of what we may discover.

We tend to lose sight of the truth and honesty we once had, a very, very long time ago, as untainted kids. So one day, we finally do wake up and realize that we have these "accomplishments" and these "things" that are supposed to embody wealth, yet there's this uneasy, unfulfilling feeling that has gotten too loud to ignore anymore.

And more clearly than ever, we realize that our attainment of true wealth is directly tied to our feelings of happiness and fulfillment.

Wealth does not always look like a big house with a white-picket fence in perfect suburbia, and yet sometimes it does. Some find wealth in material things or in their job. Some find it in giving back. These are all different definitions, and yet produce the same feeling of wealth for different people.

Your definition of wealth can be ever transforming. Are you the same person as you were five years ago? A year ago? Probably not. And neither is your idea of wealth. Before, wealth could have meant owning that pair of shoes you were dying to have, or maybe it was making six figures at that high-powered job. But now, it may be having a creative outlet, your own business, or maybe a family.

And that is exactly what the wealth equation is: your unique combination of variables. It could be a few to hundreds. However many you'd like.

Let's go back to our fond memories of algebra class. If wealth was an equation it might look something like this: "X + Y + Z = wealth." X might be financial freedom; Y might be family; and Z might be happiness. Or it might be a never-ending equation because the reality is that there are a lot of things that can bring us wealth.

The key is really the first step: defining wealth -- your equation, your plan, and your destination.

If your favorite cookie could talk, what would it say?

An Oreo might warn you, "I'm more addicting than cocaine!"

A Specialty's Bakery Semi Sweet Chocolate Chunk Cookie -- a personal favorite -- would beg, "Split me, I'm 440 calories and have 21 grams of fat!"

An oatmeal cookie might plead its case with you, insisting, "I am higher in fiber than the chocolate chip and have less calories."

Or maybe the cookie would ask to be eaten. It will be happy if its purpose is fulfilled.

OK, I have a slight sugar addiction. I try not to cave in to it unless the treat is amazing. My office etiquette is to have one bite of something if a sugar pusher insists, and if it's delicious, I will come back for seconds. Sugar may not be more addicting than cocaine, but it's the downfall of many diets.

Check out this video of three people giving up sugar for one month. I am not suggesting you try it too, for a month or even a day, but developing a strategy to eat less crap is a key to health. Here are a few suggestions:

- Partner up with a friend
- Schedule a cheat meal each week
- Prepare healthy snacks (cut up fruits a veggies, nuts, seeds..)
- Become a dessert snob

Along with eating less sugar, you should read food labels. Sugar is hidden in many packaged food. Sometimes it's by a different name; check out this list of sweeteners devised by marketers and scientists. Don't be fooled into thinking you can have an extra serving because the cookie uses agave nectar instead of cane sugar.

As a trainer, it pains me to admit this, but diet is just as important as exercise, sometimes more so. Exercise is essential for health, but you cannot eat whatever you want because you're "active." Running 10 miles a day doesn't mean you can polish off a pint of Ben and Jerry's. Eating all that ice cream might not wreck your six-pack, but sugar is a leading contributor to obesity in children and adults and linked to numerous health issues.  

Instead of being a sugar pusher, become a veggie pusher. Carrot sticks won't disappear quickly from the candy bowl, but it will be appreciated, at least by me.

There are a lot of guys who've made it to the Bigs -- that is an accomplishment in its own right -- but only a small percentage of those players have been Jewish. Meet Jason Hirsh. He might not have had the longest MLB career but he played against the likes of Albert Pujols and Barry Bonds. Not the easiest guys to pitch against. Since retiring Jason has stayed close to the game. Here what he is up to:


 1) Tell us about yourself.

I'm a former MLB pitcher who now runs my own pitching academy, cleverly named, the Jason Hirsh Pitching Academy in Denver. I was drafted in 2003 by the Houston Astros in the 2nd round out of California Lutheran University, a small division III school in southern California. I became the 4th highest draft pick ever out of a division III school. While in the minor leagues for the Astros I was named the Pitcher of the Year in both 2005 and 2006. 2005 was in AA Corpus Christi of the Texas League and 2006 was in AAA Round Rock of the Pacific Coast League. I became the first person to ever win that title in those two leagues in back to back years. 

I made my MLB debut for the Astros in August of 2006 and got my first MLB win a few starts later in Milwaukee. After that season I was traded to the Colorado Rockies for Jason Jennings for the magical season of 2007. I was named the 5th starter out of spring training and was pitching to a pretty good season when I was derailed by injuries. The final injury was a broken leg suffered in August, which prevented me from being able to participate in the 2007 World Series. That next season I strained my rotator cuff in spring training and didn't regain form until September that season. 

In 2009 I was traded to the Yankees and sent to AAA Scranton Wilkes-Barre where I regained form and felt like my career was back on track. 2010 was a bounce back season in which I felt like my old self, pitching to some great numbers and helping lead my team to the playoffs. My career came to a screeching halt in August of that season as I tore my rotator cuff and labrum throwing a ball to 1st base effectively ending my season. After major shoulder surgery in 2010, I took 2011 off to rehab and in 2012 played in the Australian Baseball League for the Melbourne Aces. 

Finally in 2013 I was playing in Amarillo Texas for the Amarillo Sox of the American Association when I finally decided to hang up my spikes for good and start my own pitching academy. The goal of my academy is to teach kids proper arm care techniques and mechanics to ensure proper development and growth.

2) When did you know you would be able to make it to the Bigs?

I've always wanted to be a professional baseball player. When someone asks kids what they want to be when they grow up, most kids put fireman or policeman or astronaut, I always wrote Major League Baseball Player and my parents have the schoolwork to prove it. It has been my goal my entire life and I worked tirelessly to achieve that goal. 

I knew I was one step closer when I got drafted by the Astros but didn't realize how quickly it would come, especially considering all the adversity I went through to get there. When I got called up it was a total shock to me. We were in Salt Lake City playing the Bees (I was with Round Rock) and I was running out to the game mound to throw my warm-ups to start the game. Off to my right I could hear someone warming up in our bullpen which was odd considering I hadn't thrown a pitch yet. It was a reliever who hadn't thrown in a while so I figured he was getting some work in. I completed my first inning unscathed and took my seat in the dugout. The reliever continued to get loose. I ran out for my second inning and threw my warm-ups. After the ball went down the 2nd base my manger (Jackie Moore) began his stroll out to the mound. I was still clueless at this point. He reached the mound, laid his hand out flat, which was the universal sign for "give me the ball," he looked me in the eyes and said "Congratulations son, you're going to the big leagues." All my teammates came to the mound to give me hugs and handshakes and that's when I knew my dreams had finally come true.

3) What was recruitment like as a High Schooler?

I grew a lot in high school -- both physically (5 inches between my sophomore and junior year) and mentally. I was 6'8" 260lbs and throwing 88mph in high school. You would think people would be chomping at the bit to get me into their programs. Unfortunately that wasn't the case. I wanted to play for Arizona State, they wanted me to go to a JuCo and transfer in and I didn't want to deal with transferring as my education was just as important as baseball. Finally one day Cal Lutheran offered me a spot on their team. They said I could pitch from day 1 and that was music to my ears. It's a good thing I had a decent GPA in high school because division III colleges cannot offer athletic scholarships. Once at Cal Lu, I started in the bullpen. Then four games into the season a starter went down with an injury and I stepped in and never stepped back out. The rest is history.

4) What was it like to play in the Majors?

The big leagues is everything you could possibly imagine and more. From fancy hotels, to private jets to big paychecks to bigger stadiums, tens of thousands of fans and incredible pressures. There is a reason why people spend a lifetime trying to get there.

5) Who was the best player you played with and against?

I played with a lot of great players but the ones I remember the most are great teammates. I don't want to single out an individual because there were many people who had an impact on my career and my life. Likewise I played against a lot of great players from Albert Pujols to Barry Bonds to Gregg Maddux and Randy Johnson. Granted most of the greats I played against were in their twilight years, there were quite a few who continue to make an impact in the big leagues and are now the superstars.

6) Any regrets?

My only regret is not being able to stay healthy. I really liked to interact with fans and inspire kids and I felt like if I had stayed healthy I would have had a much bigger platform from which to achieve those goals. Other than that, I have no regrets.

7) What was your Jewish upbringing like?

I'm a holiday Jew, though probably the most practicing of all my family members. I'm extremely proud of my Jewish heritage and the legacy that I was able to help carry on. When I was a kid I mostly remember Hanukkah and as I got older we I participated in Yom Kippur services. It wasn't until I got to high school at St. Francis High School (a Catholic school) that I really learned about my faith. I took an intro to religion class which might as well have been called Jewish History where I probably learned more about my faith than if I had gone to another school. I also learned about my faith at Cal Lu (a Lutheran school) where I also took another intro to religion class which concentrated on Jewish history. Without either of these schools I definitely wouldn't have the love and appreciation I do today of my culture and heritage. On a side note my first catcher in the big leagues was a fellow Jew named Brad Ausmus (current manager for the Detroit Tigers). We became just the 2nd Jewish Pitching/Catcher battery in MLB history behind Sandy Koufax and Norm Sherry.


8) Koufax or Greenberg?

I'm a pitcher so of course I'm going side with Koufax. Plus I grew up in Los Angeles where I was a huge Dodger fan. I did learn quite a bit about Hank Greenberg from an amazing documentary I was fortunate enough to see called "Jews In Baseball". On a side note, my agent Arn Tellum was featured in that documentary which was cool for me to see. I love history, especially World War II history and the Greenberg's story was something that definitely peaked my interest.

9) What are you doing these days?

As I mentioned earlier, I have a Pitching Academy in Denver Colorado where I teach kids of all ages the art of Pitching and Arm Care. I'm also married to my beautiful wife Pamela whom I met in college and we have two boys (Brady, 5, Hudson, 3). If I'm not in the batting cage or at home with my boys you can probably find me wading in one of the many beautiful rivers in Colorado, fly fishing for trout (inspired in part by a book called "Fly Fishing: A Spiritual Practice").

Thank you to Jason for taking the time to answer our questions. Great story and checkout his academy www.hirshacademy.com

Anyone making a list of Jewish names, or choosing one for a child, has to be struck by how many start with "J."

This is not an accident. One of the many names for God is spelled, in Hebrew, with the two letters "yood" and "hey." Together, they sound like the last syllable of "hallelujah." (Which makes sense, since that word means "praise God.")

The "yood" -- the 10th letter of the Hebrew alphabet -- is transliterated into the letter "I," the ninth letter in our familiar alphabet. And as any Indiana Jones fan can tell you, "J" began as a capital form of "i." Later, "J" took on its own pronunciation.

So all the "J" names actually start with an "I"… originally, a "yood." Here are some of the more well-known J names (alphabetized) followed by their meanings, their original Hebrew pronunciations, and more modern forms the name has taken… which is where your name might have ended up in the list. Most female names of this type are versions of male source-names; the ones that aren't usually start with a "Y" in English, like "Yael" and "Yaffa."

Jacob: "Heel"
(yah-ah-COHV)
[Jake*/Jacqueline/Jocelyn]

Jadon: "He will judge"
(yah-DON)
[Jaden. "Jayden" = "Jay" + "Hayden"]

James: (a form of Jacob)
[Jamie, Jim, Jake*]

Jamin: "Right (hand)"
(yah-MEEN)

Jared: "He will descend"
(yah-REYD)

Jedediah: "Beloved of God."
(yeh-DEED-yah)
[Jed]

Jeremiah: "God exalts"
(yeer-mee-YAH-hu)
[Jeremy]

Jesse: "God exists"
(YEE-shai)
[Jessica]

Jethro: "His excellency"
(YEET-roh)

Joel: "The Lord is God."
(YOH-el)

Jochanan: "God has favored"
(YOH-chan-an) [John/Johanna, Jack/Jake*, Jan/Jane/Janet/Janice/Janis and even Jean/Jen/Joan]

Jonah: "Dove (the bird)"
(YOH-nah)
[Jonas]

Jonathan: "God has given"
(YOH-naht-ahn)
[Nathan is its own, stand-alone name]

Jordan: "Descend"
(yar-DAYN) [Jordana; Jordan River flows southward]

Joseph: "God will increase"
(yo-SAYF)
[Josephine/Josie/Joe/Jody]

Joshua: "God will save"
(yeh-hoh-SHOO-ah)
[Josh]

Judah: "Praise, thanks"
(yeh-HOO-dah)
[Judith/Judd/Judy/Jody/Jude]

^{*"Jake" can be a nickname for Jacob, for John (through Jack), and even for James (since James is from Jacob anyway).}

Some rarer Hebrew "J" names include: Jaleel, Jasper, Jedidah, Jehochanan, Jemima, Jephthah, Jeroboam, Josephus, and Josiah. Jumpin' Jehosephat! (Yes, also Biblical.)

While there are J-ified versions of these names, you mostly hear them in Hebrew or in Israel: Yael, Yafit, Yair, Yaron, Yechezkel, Yedidah, Yehudit, Yerucham, Yigal, Yirachmiel, Yishai(ah), Yisachar, Yoav, Yoel, Yocheved, and Yuval. All starting with a "yood."

Some "yood" names retain the "I," however: Isaac, Ilana, Iris, Isabel (from the Biblical name Elizabeth, even if it sounds like "Jezebel"), Isaiah, Itamar… Ian and Ivan (from John)… and of course Israel itself.

Why "I" in these cases? It has to do with the second letter, after the "yood." If the second letter is a vowel, the yood becomes a "J"; "Ya'acov" becomes "Jacob." If the second letter is a consonant, the "yood" has to stay a vowel; "Yitzchak" becomes "Isaac"… not the unpronounceable "Jsaac."

Probably the most prominent city names that start with "J" in English but "yood" in Hebrew are, of course, in Israel (which itself starts with a "yood" in Hebrew:):

Jaffa: "Beautiful" (YAH-foh)

Jerusalem: "Vision of Peace" (yeh-roo-shah-LAH-yim)

Jericho: "Fragrant" (yeh-REE-choh)

Not all J names are Hebrew in origin, of course. Those from other languages include: Jarvis, Jasmine, Jason, Jay, Jeffrey, Jennifer, Jerome, Jill, Joy, June, Julius (and, therefore: Jules, Julian, Julia, Julie, Juliet, etc.)... and Justin/Justine.

But still, quite a few "J" names do come from Hebrew, even from the Torah. And now you know why.

Growing up I had a split personality. On the one hand, I loved smelling the tadlikos and spinaki that my great aunts would busily prepare in the kitchen during any family gathering. I loved hearing the stories about Macedonia, the "old country," that my grandfather and older relatives would tell around the dinner table. I loved the special "Non Komo Muestro Dio" (or Ein Keloheinu to most of you) that we sang for Shabbat.  But on the other hand, I didn't like that I looked so different from many of my other Jewish friends, that I didn't know most of the funny Yiddish words they tossed around so easily, and that I still can't tell the difference between kreplach and kashka. When I was younger, I didn't know how to address my Sephardic culture outside of my family--it's not something kids talk about with each other, especially if you're the only one who shares your customs. I felt different, and sometimes lonely. 

Wouldn't it be amazing if we all grew up in communities where these differences are embraced but also known about? As I got older, I became increasingly aware that none of my friends had ever even heard of the word "Ladino" before. Did you know that in Israel, the government has placed so much value in the preservation of this critical aspect of Sephardic culture that they have set up an entire institute, "The Ladino Authority," and appointed a former president of the State of Israel, Yitzhak Navon, to lead it. If only Jewish kids in America were even taught what Ladino is! A girl like me may not have felt so "other" as a child. 

We all come from families with amazing stories, in a country filled with immigrants. My story likely is not so different from yours reading this. My grandfather's family came to America escaping war. In his case, it was the Balkan Wars in 1911. The Balkans were home to a large population of Sephardic Jews who had found safety in the Ottoman Empire after the expulsion from Spain in 1492. Jews had lived in the region peacefully for over 400 years, but when the Ottoman Empire fell, my family in Monastir (what was then upper Greece, lower Yugoslavia) decided it was time to leave.  They came to America with nothing, and they quickly wanted to find success in their new country. They did not teach their children many of the customs from the old country, save for a few family recipes and songs. Sadly, Ladino, the first language of my grandfather, and the beautiful pan-Mediterranean Sephardic language based in Castilian Spanish, did not get passed down.

But luckily I grew up with the knowledge that our family history was precious and worth understanding. This picture below, of a synagogue in Thessaloniki, Greece that my relatives built in 1923, has stood for a symbol to me of why I need to share my story.

Many people are not aware that Greece was the hardest hit country, in terms of percentage of Jews exterminated, than any other country during WWII. Greece? Yes, Greece. Eighty seven percent of the Jewish population, mostly all Sephardic, was murdered, higher than in any other country. While Thessaloniki was obliterated during the war, this one synagogue was left intact, as the Nazis used it as a Red Cross Shelter. It stayed standing. We are still standing. While the numbers of Sephardic populations are small, our stories are big and impactful. And I owe it to all my relatives before me who survived the Inquisition, and subsequent wars, to keep my Sephardic culture alive. 

Sephardic culture is Jewish culture. Just because I come from Sephardic ancestry doesn't make me "other."  Whether you eat gefilte fish or huevos haminados during Passover, we're all part of a larger Jewish history. I want to know your family's stories from Russia, or Vilnius, or Vienna. And I hope that you will want to hear about mine from Greece, or Turkey or Serbia. We should get to know each other better; we're all part of the same Jewish family.

Sarah Aroeste is a contemporary Ladino singer and composer living in Massachusetts. (www.saraharoeste.com). She will be speaking on "Sephardic Culture is Jewish Culture: Why Ladino Matters" on June 18th at WTTW11 in Chicago as part of the latest production of ELI Talks. Get your tickets to see her and five other speakers present their TED-style "inspired Jewish ideas" on new Jewish culture here.

I'm in a great mood right now. I feel vindicated, sane, and ready to conquer the world. 

For months my two daughters have been getting on my back because I was convinced that Taylor Swift's song "Blank Space" contained the lyrics, "All the lonely Starbucks lovers."

To hear from an 8 and a 12-year-old that I'm wrong isn't so bad, except that they weren't even able to tell me what they thought the line was in the song. I'm happy to honestly admit when I'm incorrect about something, but I felt that this had to be the lyric because I, too, am a Starbucks lover. While I couldn't ever "Shake It Off," I've been a drinker of Starbucks since 1992. I related to this line. 

On Monday night, after having great Shabbat and two inspiring days of Shavuot, I learned something that has caused a total paradigm shift in how I relate to the world and those around me. I found out that I wasn't alone. I wasn't crazy. I was wrong, but not alone. It seems that Talyor Swift's mother also thought the lyric was, "All the lonely Starbucks lovers." 

Being the only one wrong stinks, but it turns out that thousands have also been in the "Starbucks" camp. I guess, like myself, they never bothered to look up the lyrics (an action that has become outdated since the digital music era). I wasn't very upset, since I was comforted in knowing that others also heard what I thought I had heard. When we are not the only ones wrong, it's always easier to digest.

For the record, the lyric is, "Got a long list of ex-lovers."

When it comes to hearing things, I'm a bit subjective. It's not selective hearing (though my wife thinks it is), but I hear things in relation to what I can connect with. One of my teachers, Rabbi Moshe Weinberger, once explained that we all fall victim to hearing what we want to hear. He even quoted a popular folk rock song from his youth, "Still, a man hears what he wanted to hear and disregards the rest." 

Again, being wrong stinks, but for me there is a sliver of joy in it. When I do find out that I'm wrong and I have to admit it, there's a choice I have to make. I can either say, "Ok, I'm wrong, but it was an easy mistake," or admit my mistake and use it as a lesson to remind myself that I don't always know as much as I think I do. 

Tonight when I tell my daughters the "good news," I'm going to try to do so in a way that will let them see that it's OK to be wrong.

'Tis the season for Taglit-Birthright Israel trips. For those of you who were accepted on the Birthright summer program, you are about to have one of the most incredible experiences of your life. Soon you'll be sharing your camel-riding, Masada-climbing, Dead Sea-floating photos all over Facebook. 

To those of you who've already gone, you know the high you have while in Israel and the low you feel when you're no longer surrounded by the 50 or so people who became your best friends in just a few days. 

I definitely felt prepared before I went to Israel because of the suggested packing list from my trip organizer. But, now that I've gone through the incredible experience that is Birthright, I can share, with expert knowledge, how to best prepare for this trip you'll never want to come home from. Yes, Birthright is that amazing. 

So, I've provided you with a short list of suggestions and items you most definitely want to carry with you during your travels through the Promised Land. 

Less is more
Men don't usually have an issue with over packing, so this tip is really for my ladies. Don't pack five pairs of leggings, three pairs of jeans, and two pairs of heels for the two nights you go out. I survived on, wait for it, one pair of leggings, one pair of jeans, and I didn't even bring heels. The people you meet on your trip become your best friends, and they don't care about how you look. They care only about the person you are. Focus less on your outfits and more on the unforgettable experiences you'll be having.   

Be a walking Walgreens
Do pack cough drops, Advil, bandages, sunblock, and allergy medicine. Since your days are jam packed with unforgettable activities and nights consisting of four hours of sleep on average, it doesn't hurt to be prepared in case you start feeling under the weather. In addition, drink an excessive amount of water all day, every day because you don't want all of the amazing hiking, sight-seeing and socializing to catch up to you. 

Bring out your inner photographer
I took a ton of photos and am really happy I did. I packed a journal thinking I would have time at the end of each day to write about the activities I did and the funny and memorable moments. I was completely wrong. You have basically no time to yourself, so take plenty of photos so you can look back and remember all of the amazing moments you had and people you met.  

It's all about the Benjamins … or shekels
There are Birthright programs that suggest bringing $200 to $300 that you later exchange for Israeli currency. You could very likely spend more than that. I did. Your suitcase will start overflowing with gifts for your family, like chamsah necklaces for your bubbe and mom; a yarmulke of your dad's alma mater; many shot glasses for friends and siblings; and, of course, an Israel Defense Forces sweatshirt, t-shirt and muscle tee.

Finally, don't forget to be open to every experience your trip has to offer and relish every moment because your time in Israel days will go by too fast.

Does anything spell American BBQ more than potato salad? I think not.

There was a time when I could not stomach potato salad. Not one bit. I could not fathom cold, mayonnaise-drenched potatoes being appealing to me.

That all changed one day when I was working in a super busy cafeteria that serviced 3,000 people a day and it just so happened to be picnic season. During this season we made batches upon batches of potato salad. Huge 5-gallon vats of potato salad would disappear in a day's time. I even packaged it up and sold the stuff by the pound as most grocery stores did.  

Watching and serving the salad all day long made it even more unappealing to me.

But one day, I was the only chef manager in the kitchen and one of my favorite cooks Teresa came looking for me to taste the batch of potato salad.

"No gracias, Teresa. Seguro esta bien," I said. "No thanks Teresa, I'm sure it's good."

She waved her head, dunked a plastic spoon into the gooey mixture and said, "Here!" I had a feeling she was not going to take no for an answer. I had to taste it. It would be wrong and a bad example if I didn't, right?  So I sucked it up and tasted it …Teresa watched me with her usual cheery smile on her face. And then the unbelievable happened.

I accidentally breathed. You see, I was holding my breath hoping to not taste anything … I know, I know and I call myself a chef!  But people, I have a wretchedly evil gag reflex!

When I breathed, I was surprised to find that what was being passed around in my mouth was surprisingly delicious. It was creamy, but not in the gross way I had imagined. It had all the texture and mouth feel that I expected it to have… but those textures were not gross at all! They were delectable.

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM es muy delicioso, Teresa," I said. She smiled, thanked me and began placing them in huge Tupperware containers to be used later on that day. And I continued eating the salad.

It was not all creamy; there was some crunch to it and even some tanginess.  And it was just what this girl's appetite wanted. Not needed, wanted. No one actually NEEDS potato salad, let's be honest.

The next day, I stood by Teresa and watched her make it. Such simple ingredients came together to make the ultimate classic potato salad.  She made it with such knowing hands and such precision, never measuring anything but consistently getting the same result. That, ladies and gents, is a pro.

And so I pass on her delicious recipe to you. I promise THIS will be the only recipe for potato salad you will ever need!  I brought this over to a BBQ I attended and it was gobbled up instantly.

I will say; I prefer making it the night before and letting the flavors marry a bit. It's a lot yummier that way.

The Ultimate Potato Salad
From www.girlandthekitchen.com

Ingredients

5 pounds of red potatoes
5 hardboiled eggs
1 bunch of scallions finely chopped
3 stalks of celery, finely diced
¾ cup of sour cream
¾ cup of mayonnaise
4 tbsp dijon mustard
salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

1. First wash up your potatoes. I like to use classic small red potatoes. Cut them up in quarters if they are small, or in eights if they are the larger ones.

2. Place them in a pot with a few pinches of salt and bring to a boil.

3. While you are at it, grab some eggs and hard boil them. I got a nifty tutorial for you on how to make the easiest and most perfect hard boiled eggs every time.

4. While that's working for you, finely dice some celery.

5. When your potatoes are juuuuuust fork tender, dump them into a colander and let them cool. In fact you can always do this the night before as well.

6. Place the potatoes in a bowl and crumble up your eggs right on top of there. I just mushed the eggs with my hand, but feel free to do this with your fork if you would like.

7. Chop up a bunch of scallions (about ¾ of a cup) ... I like it really scalliony because I feel it really brings out the flavor in the potatoes. Add the scallions to the heap as well.

8. Now add ¾ cup of sour cream, ¾ cup of mayo, ¼ cup of dijon mustard and salt and pepper. (If you're forgoing the sour cream for a kosher BBQ, add a squeeze of lemon for some tanginess.) Mix everything with a big spatula or your hands. I prefer to use my hands because you get the "dressing" distributed a bit more evenly this way. Check for seasonings and see if you need it zestier, saltier or if it's just right!

9. Garnish with scallions and enjoy!

My favorite thing about food, other than how most of it tastes amazing, is how it's bonded to memory. What's your favorite thing to eat? Think about that food right now. Where are you? You're probably far, far away. Maybe you're a kid. Whenever it is, chances are you're happy. I love the instant time-traveling aspect of food memories. It's magical.

One of my most favorite foods is pickled okra. I wish I were surrounded by it this very moment. Okra is maybe a weird food to talk about if you're not from the South, but stay with me.

Whenever I think of pickled okra I am instantly seven years old and I'm at the salad bar of a restaurant in my hometown with my mom. She used to sneak me extra pieces of okra from the salad bar because she knew I loved it. Those little okra presents felt like our little secret.

When I think of those trips to the salad bar, I instantly see a giant canister of pickled okra and so clearly that I can almost reach out and touch it. Just about every time I eat pickled okra I have this little fragment of a memory. When the memory pops up I am filled with warm happy thoughts. I am filled with love, love for my Mom and love for pickled okra. 

I was at a fancy specialty grocery store recently and happened upon a selection of pickled okra. I know -- can you believe it? How random. There was more than one brand and several different flavors. I didn't even have to taste the okra; I was instantly seven and standing in front of that same old salad bar in my hometown with my mom. I love that feeling and I adore that weird little flash back. 

I don't run across pickled okra very often these days, but I decided that maybe I should start making it at home so I can have my little okra memories whenever I want. How revolutionary! Until I saw the okra at the store it never even occurred to me that it could be anywhere other than that salad bar from long ago. It's time to fix that. Maybe you're not in love with okra -- maybe it's chocolate cake or humus or homemade ice cream. It can be any number of things. I think you should find a recipe for your favorite food and make it tonight. You won't be disappointed I promise.

Pickled Okra

Ingredients

10 cloves garlic, peeled
2 cups white vinegar
6 teaspoons kosher salt
Several sprigs of fresh dill
1 teaspoon celery seed
1 teaspoon coriander seed
1 teaspoon mustard seed
1/2 teaspoon black peppercorns
1/2 teaspoon pink peppercorns (if you have 'em)

In a medium saucepan, bring 4 cups water to a boil, reduce the heat so the water simmers and add the garlic. Cook for 5 minutes. Add the vinegar and salt, raise the heat and bring to a boil, stirring until the salt dissolves. Remove from the heat.  

In 2 clear 1-quart jars, place a few sprigs of dill. Divide the seeds and peppercorns between the jars. Using tongs, remove the garlic from the brine and place 5 cloves in each jar. Then pack the jars full of cucumbers, carrots, scallions or green beans, cauliflower and chiles. You want them to be tightly stuffed.  

Bring the brine back to a boil, pour it over the vegetables to cover completely, let cool, then cover and refrigerate. The pickles will taste good in just a few hours, better after a couple of days. And they'll keep for about 3 months.  

This is becoming a familiar feeling -- the Bulls' season cut short by LeBron James.  

I've thought about this a lot over the last week or so once I saw the writing on the wall that this team just didn't have what it would take to get past James and company, yet again.  

As much as we love the Bulls and as much as they have improved the roster -- probably the best roster they've had in the Tom Thibodeau era -- they never found an identity this season. They were never able to identify a true leader on the court, and they struggled pairing Thibodeau's defensive mind-set with a focus on making the Bulls a better offensive team.  

Their skill on the roster and on the bench got them as far as they could possibly go, but it was clear to me that this team was floating more often than not. Not only did they struggle to score at times, but they looked completely lost on offense for entire quarters.  

Here are my grades for each player this season. It will be interesting to see which, if any, pieces get moved around in the off-season.  

Pau Gasol -- Gasol was the Bulls' most consistent player this season, leading the league in double-doubles and earning his first appearance as an All-Star starter. Once seen as an off-season consolation prize in the Carmelo Anthony sweepstakes, Gasol gave the Bulls more than anyone expected. He was great in the pick-and-roll game and was the low-post scorer the Bulls have been looking for. His defensive lapses were often made up for by his shot-blocking ability. Although the veteran missed time when it really mattered in the playoffs, he was healthy for nearly the entire regular season. --  A  

Mike Dunleavy --  I really liked what I saw from Dunleavy this season. He gave the Bulls solid wing minutes, played good defense and hit threes coming off of screens as well as spotting up. Injury kept him out about 20 games this year, but he was a good veteran presence who wasn't afraid to play a little nasty on a team that lacked toughness at times. I would have liked to see him used more but that wasn't his fault. He may be the odd man out with his contract up after this season, but I think he would be a good asset to have if they can figure out a way to get him back. --  B  

Joakim Noah --  This year's Joakim Noah was not the Joakim Noah we've been accustomed to seeing. Maybe it was injuries, maybe it was difficulty fitting into the offense or with Pau Gasol, but Noah never really found his groove this season. His production dropped in every statistical category and just didn't have the emotional flair he had when he was All-NBA First Team last season. -- C-    

Jimmy Butler --  The NBA's Most Improved Player established himself this season as one of the league's best two-way players. He averaged 20 points and attempted a team best seven free throws per game. Butler bet on himself turning down the Bulls' pre-season contract offer and it looks like it is going to pay off. -- A  

Derrick Rose --  It was unclear at the start of the season which Derrick Rose we would see, if we would see him at all. Despite missing some time with a meniscus injury, Rose certainly showed signs of his former self. Prior to the injury he depended too heavily on the three-point shot (and was 28 percent from long-range), but in the second half of the season began to attack the basket again and played much more efficiently. Playing 51 regular season games and every game of the playoffs earns Rose a good grade alone for this season, but his inconsistent shooting and knack for turning the ball over drops him a bit. -- B+  

Taj Gibson --  I feel like I've been saying every year is going to be Gibson's break out year, but this might be his ceiling. After getting rid of Carlos Boozer, the starting power forward position was supposed to be Gibson's, but signing Pau Gasol and bringing over Nikola Mirotic changed that and Gibson struggled to find his role on this team. He looks to be the Bulls' most attractive trade bait this off-season as the odd man out in a crowded front court. -- C  

Nikola Miroti --  It was a hot and cold year for the rookie, but I loved the flashes that I saw from Mirotic. His ability as a big man to hit threes, put the ball on the floor and also find the open man put him at the center of some Rooke of the Year talk at points this season. He still has a ways to go on defense, but he definitely has potential to be a very good sixth man on this team for the foreseeable future. Once his confidence grows and he develops more of a low-post game, he can be a very, very dangerous player. -- B  

Aaron Brooks --  In the long line of great off-season point guard pick-ups, Brooks filled the bill. His often stellar scoring ability carried the Bulls a lot of the time when Rose or Hinrich were out. He got into the lane, hit impossible shots and shot well from (and sometimes two feet behind) the three-point line. But Brooks disappeared completely in the playoffs, showing very little ability to score the way he did in the regular season in limited minutes. -- B-  

Tony Snell -- Snell struggled to get into the rotation consistently, but he showed the potential to be the Bulls' next hidden draft find. When he did find his way on the floor, he showed he can hit from long range and also displayed a smooth, quick drive game. With Dunleavy's status in question next year, Snell may be ready to emerge as a potential starting 2 or 3 next to Jimmy Butler. -- C+

Kirk Hinrich --  Captain Kirk has always been someone I have defended when others didn't want to see him on the floor, but he made it awfully difficult to be in his corner even for me this season. Hinrich was always a favorite of Tom Thibodeau so he ended up in games even when he maybe shouldn't have been. He lost a few steps on defense, where he had been reliable in the past. -- D

We did not see much from E'Twaun Moore, Doug McDermott, Nazr Mohammed or Cameron Bairstow this season, but with the need to clear some cap space, we could see more of the first two next year and possibly not see the latter two on the roster at all.

I think it's unlikely that Thibodeau returns next year, and I'm guessing we'll see a few roster changes, but I don't know how much better the Bulls can be with the roster structured the way it is now. With Jimmy Butler likely to receive a max deal and Derrick Rose's max contract still on the books, we'll only see minor moves unless a trade is made.

It should be an exciting offseason full of speculation, but it appears for now that any improvement the Bulls make will have to come from within.

After all this time, I'm sure you're wondering: When will one of the writers at Oy!Chicago tackle the "selfie stick?"

Well, friends, today is your lucky day.

Last week, my fiancé and I got back from a wonderful 12-day trip to Europe, visiting cities in England, Belgium and Holland. We loved seeing the sights, experiencing the culture, and indulging in so, so many waffles. 

But there was one aspect of our trip that seemed to -- well -- stick out.

Selfie stick in St. James's Park in London

Selfie stick in St. James's Park in London

Selfie stick near Kensington Gardens

Presenting the top five things your selfie stick says about you:

1. I am a tourist -- not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'm definitely, surely not going to even attempt to blend in with my surroundings

2. I love architecture, but I think that famous buildings like Buckingham Palace, the Taj Mahal, the Egyptian pyramids, and so many others would look better if my face were in front of it.

3. I'm not interested in talking to strangers -- even the nice, friendly ones who would gladly take my photo and then in exchange I'd take their photo, and then we'd talk about where we're from and think, wow, this little world really ain't so bad.

4. Seriously, I am so uninterested in asking a stranger for help that I would rather carry a metal stick around with me all day.

5. I truly believe that my metal stick and my arm are more capable than you to take this picture.

Although, with all of the European rain, if only we could figure out a way harvest that selfie stick technology and put it onto an umbrella -- then the tourists would really have it made.

And for the record, Adam and I somehow managed to get awesome selfies anyway, sans selfie stick.

Yesterday my brother stuck his head through my window in the Hebrew school carpool line and asked if I'm ready to quit. Like the rest of my family, Jeff doesn't approve of my marathon habit, and while he hasn't yet staged a full-blown intervention, he asked me the same question after my first one. And second. And third.

I get it. I used to think people who ran marathons were insane. As recently as last Tuesday, I hated marathons. I approached them with dread. I suffered mentally for 26.2 miles and it was pure stubbornness that kept me going. I even announced my retirement on Facebook -- while still in an active state of bonk -- last October after completing Chicago with a 4:33 personal record.

Granted, I registered for Kenosha the following week, but not because of adrenaline, masochism, or the need to shave three more minutes off my time. But because I realize I have so much left to learn. With that, I set my next goal. Figure out how to enjoy a marathon.

My original vision entailed a Swiss cheese costume, something so absurdly out of character that it would be a constant reminder not to take myself, the run, or life too seriously. While I can get pretty literal with my symbolism when it comes to holes and imperfection, I couldn't quite figure out the logistics of foam. So, over time, my vision morphed into a glittery, yellow tutu I made myself and a Swiss cheese bow tie. I debated to the very last second whether I'd have the guts to actually wear it.

The Tuesday before the race, I attended my first Jewish meditation sit with Rabbi Jordan Bendat-Appell at the Center for Jewish Mindfulness at Orot (www.orotcenter.org), who talked about netzach -- endurance.

He said, "For this week, set the intention to endure -- to return with energy and confidence, over and over to your intentions, to that which is important. And, notice if this kind of persistence leads to unnecessary hardening. When this happens try to add a gentle softening, a dose of chesed, lovingkindness."  

I haven't decided if it's the ultimate cliché, or ridiculously timely, but this shifted my mindset. I was no longer dreading a marathon. I was curious if I could experience it as a 26.2 mile meditation -- with the intent to feel blessed that I could run long distances, to enjoy the nature and sense of community, to contemplate netzach rather than negativity, and to be carried along by the energy of the universe.

I set out to run a 10:10 pace in my glittery yellow tutu and a cheesehead bowtie. 10:10 because it's symmetrical and slow; the tutu and bowtie as reminders not take myself too seriously.

In purple Sharpie, I wrote the word chesed (lovingkindness) on my right hand and netzach (endurance) on my left hand.

So was it 26.2 miles of peaceful bliss? Hardly. My legs were heavy from the start. By mile 1, I was hot; at mile 7, I was a few gulps of air away from a full-blown panic attack; at mile 10, I was -- in the words of my dear friend Brian -- six seconds away from shitting in my pants; and at mile 13, I considered dropping out. By mile 16, I'd swallowed enough air to inflate a large inner-tube, and a gigantic bubble formed in my chest. The downward pressure made me nauseous, the upward pressure constricted my breathing, and running became damn near impossible.

But I also had meditative moments and during those moments everything shifted. I heard the sound of the pack, feet hitting pavement, collective inhaling and exhaling, as though the marathon itself was alive and pulsing. Sometimes I looked down at my yellow tutu and smiled in spite of myself. I loved my damn tutu. "Hello, Yellow Tutu Woman," said someone. Sometimes I thought of my daughter Emma who would be starring as Maria in The Sound of Music that night and I borrowed from her brave. On one out-and-back, I passed half a dozen participants in wheelchairs, one after another, many with giant grins, all being being pushed by runners -- and I borrowed from their brave. Sometimes I looked at the Hebrew words in purple Sharpie on the back of my hands, and silenced the voice that was saying, Your time sucks and listened to the voice that was saying, Run your own race, Dana. Don't stop.

That's when I came to terms with everything. On any random spring morning, I'd be all in if someone said, "Want to go for a walk?" To my surprise, Kenosha is far more than a bunch of outlet malls off of I-94. Think miles of lakeshore including a lighthouse, quaint shops, beautiful homes, subtle rolling hills, green fields, and quiet. Everything I'd want in a Saturday morning nature walk, with the added bonus of an occasional stranger offering me a banana and saying, "You're awesome" as I stroll on by. I decided to enjoy that stroll from mile 17ish to the finish and unlike Chicago, there were stretches where there wasn't a soul in sight. I loved it.

So no, my dear brother, I am not quitting. Thanks to netzach (and my friends), I didn't quit at mile 13. And thanks to chesed (and my friends), I enjoyed it. It was 72 minutes slower and 72 times better. I've already registered for Kenosha 2016, which gives me plenty of time to practice breathing with my mouth closed. And this time I learned the following: Sometimes conventional measures of success, like a marathon finishing time (or hitting every note in The Sound of Music) are secondary. Or even inconsequential. And it takes a yellow tutu to remind you of that.

It takes truly dedicated friends to wake up at 4 a.m. on a Saturday morning, schlep you across the state line to run excessive distances, pop up at various points (4.5, 13, 18, 22 and 26) across bumblefuck (albeit beautiful) southern Wisconsin for five-plus (+++) hours, and haul your stinky, nauseous ass back home. And offer to do it again next year. Thanks, Sarah and Pat.  

Relationships are the backbone of our emotional health, yet they are also the source of our emotional aches. So often the people we love and find comfort in are the cause for our distress, and it usually comes from a communication we had with them that went awry.

Wouldn't it be nice to just feel a strong bond and closeness constantly with everyone we're near to? Would you think this blog post is the start of a cheesy fake commercial if I told you that you can?

Let's take a look at a rather typical argument between a young couple that had a moment of conflict when they rendezvoused for lunch and he arrived late:

She says, "We said we'd meet for lunch at noon. It's almost 12:30! You're almost a half hour late."

He says, "I'm sorry for being late, and it's only 12:19. I assumed you realized it was going to be hard for me to get out to the suburbs from the city on a weekday from work."

She responds, "Well, if you couldn't come here on time, than you should've told me so I wouldn't have messed up my whole day!"

He responds, "Fine! Then I just won't even try to come out here to meet you next time!"

She replies, "I'm sorry for yelling. I just wish you wouldn't make promises you can't keep. It really messes up my schedule!"

And he replies, "I'm leaving!"

What went wrong here? Who messed up? Was it his fault for arriving late? Was it her fault for not forgiving or being appreciative that he made the effort to get there? Could either of them have said something to the other that could've fixed the situation?

She could've been more accepting about his tardiness, and he could've accepted her apology and offered to try to be more on time next time, but I don't think they are capable, not yet.

Let's try to understand what's really happening between them. He arrived late. What does that really mean to her? Well, it might feel as if he doesn't care about her or prioritize her in his busy life. In couples therapy, we call that a feeling of abandonment. Because she appraises his behavior that way, she's feeling really hurt and sad. And it's coming out at him as anger.

On the other side, he's experiencing her anger. He doesn't have a clue about her interpretation of his behavior and the profound sadness it evokes. It was hard for him to take the time off work to meet for lunch, and all he sees in response is that she's very upset with him. His appraisal of her criticism and anger is that he messed up and he can't ever seem to get it right. In therapeutic terms, we would say he's feeling unappreciated, even unloved. His feelings cause him to respond by pulling away from her. She then appraises his distancing to mean she's even less important and a priority to him. The abandonment feelings get stronger, the anger comes out harsher, and the nasty cycle spirals onward.

All relationships with our loved ones -- parents, friends, spouses, and children -- have patterns, and sometimes these patterns can get ugly. How can they see the depth of what's really going on underneath the external behaviors that are so triggering?

Hillel, a great sage of the Talmud almost 2,000 years ago, addressed this exact topic. He said, "Do not judge your friend until you have arrived at his place." Hillel is addressing the question, "What goes wrong in relationships?" And he answers, "You are 'judging' it from the wrong vantage point!" If you want to truly appraise the situation, you must look at it from the other person's perspective. Once you can see it from their paradigm, then you can truly judge the situation properly.

If he would step into her place and view the situation from her vantage point before making a judgment, he would see how hurt she is feeling from his late arrival. When he see how much it impacts her, he can better address those feelings and also understand why she's so upset. And if she would step into his place before making any judgment, she would see how important it is to him that she recognizes his efforts to meet her there. She would see how important it is to him to feel her appreciation and love for his effort and understand why he's distancing because of them.

We can truly take to heart the advice of Hillel and not judge our loved ones until we have fully arrived and put ourselves in their place. Then, from that vantage point, with the understanding of what's really happening, we can stay close to the ones we love.

Joshua Marder is a Rabbi & Licensed Marriage & Family Therapist.  Josh is the director of Chicago YJP, a Division of the Lois & Wilfred Lefkovich Chicago Torah Network.

I have felt looked down upon many times in the various customer service jobs I have held over the years. I've often felt the need -- especially when unexpectedly reencountering former classmates -- to explain that my work at the mall/gym/concession stand was only temporary and that I was in fact studying/writing/traveling in my spare time, therefore proving that I had not fallen off the proverbial higher education bandwagon and still counted as an achieving member of society.

Looking back, I feel a bit ashamed of these hurried justifications of my social value. So, to cast a more insightful light on the world of mops and punch clocks, here are some of best, weirdest and thought-provoking experiences I've had while working in the service industry.

The Hydrogen Bomb

Well … technically, it was carbon dioxide.

When you go to a snack bar or fast food restaurant, you don't often think about how they make the soda (or pop, if you will). And why would you? When you buy soda at the store, it's already in bottles or cans. There's no assembly required. But at restaurants and snack bars, it works a bit differently. These drinks are assembled right when you order it. Carbon dioxide, water and soda syrup mix together as your cup is filled at the soda fountain, and most days it's a pretty effective system. However, if one of the three elements is missing -- say, carbon dioxide -- the machine stops working.

Fortunately, most kitchen instruments are fairly easily repaired and don't require an engineering degree, and I thought trying my hand replacing the carbon dioxide canister on the soda fountain would fall under that not-too-complicated category. Unfortunately, simple tasks become much more difficult when the instructions are in Japanese.

A coworker and I were in this situation during the lunch rush at the pool-side concession stand where I worked a few years back. We scrambled to the back room and got to work replacing the empty canister with a new one. However, having never before replaced one of these scuba-sized tanks and being illiterate in Japanese, we failed to wedge an apparently very important washer between the intake tube and the tank. This error prevented the carbon dioxide from reaching its intended destination, and instead resulted in something pretty similar to a Roadrunner vs. Wile E. Coyote routine.

Within seconds of turning on the soda fountain, the CO ₂ canister decided to make its great escape, propelling itself with the leaking gas all around the back room. Screaming, my coworker and I jumped up and tackled the tank to the ground. Hearts pounding, we sealed the leak and reattached the tank to the soda machine with the metal washer in place. Afterward, we dissolved into hysterical laughter.

The canister fiasco, or The Hydrogen Bomb, as we called it, soon became one of our favorite personal jokes. Even today, I can't look at a soda fountain without smiling and tipping a mental hat to the workers who make that job look simple.

The Teen Philosopher

Working at the pool-side concession stand by my house was one of my favorite summer jobs. The work was gratifying and the people were extremely nice. On busy days at the pool, I was so busy assembling nachos and counting change that I hardly had a moment to think, which was nice in its own way. But on slow days, I could sit and read between visits from hungry customers.

One summer, I was preparing materials for a class on Heroism that I was helping lead as a T.A. for one of my professors. At the time, I had a narrow understanding of heroism that didn't extend much beyond the exploits of Grecian demigods, masked vigilantes, and rescuers of cats from trees. At school, I had a top notch library along with brilliant peers and educators as resources. At the concession stand, however, there were days when the most intellectual conversation I'd have was with the microwave.

Seemingly at a loss for human resources, I sought answers in the pages of books: The Odyssey , King Arthur , Harry Potter , anything I could get my hands on. One afternoon, I was sitting behind the lunch counter with my nose buried in The Lord of the Rings when a young voice chimed, "Which one are you reading?" Startled, I looked up and saw my teenage coworker trying to get a closer look at the cover of my book.

"Uh, the first one," I said.

A smile broke out on her face. "That's my favorite," she said.

At first I was surprised; I had previously pegged her as ditzy and not someone not likely to read The Lord of the Rings at all, much less have a favorite volume. I was never happier to be wrong, because her knowledge and enthusiasm presented me with an exciting opportunity. Returning her smile, I asked, "Who do you picture when you think of a hero?"

After a thoughtful moment's pause, she answered, "The people who went back during the Boston Marathon."

Reading the confusion on my face, she clarified, "You know, the runners from the Boston Marathon; the ones who were about to finish the race but turned around when they heard explosions to go help the people who got hurt. They could've kept running and won the race, but they chose to go back help the people they were racing against instead. They're real heroes."

Her answer rendered me speechless, not only because it proved that I had totally misjudged her character and intellect, but also because her perspective on heroism was positively inspiring. In addition to teaching me not to "judge a book by its cover," she opened my eyes to the incredible potential of every person, and she will always be my hero for that.

So the next time you stop by your local supermarket or go for a run at the gym, take a moment to consider the person behind the register. Don't assume that their uniform reflects anything but the jobs they are doing at that moment. They deserve respect for the hard work they do, and if you listen, you might learn something.

Do you believe in miracles? Of course you maybe do or don't!

In my 28 years on the third rock from the sun (not the TV show, I mean Earth), I've experienced a lot that has truly blown my mind. Outside of once putting a blow dryer too close to my ear, some these experiences include the Blackhawks winning the Stanley Cup for the first time in 48 years, the fact that I've been to Israel on Birthright, and that I once saw a blue car. However, coincidences in which I unexpectedly see people I know are the most amazing moments to me.  

I know I'm not alone in this feeling, because when it happens to my dad, he actually writes them down and keeps track of them. Basically, he's keeping track of the universe. If only he had hitchhiked and talked about the galaxy more, he could have written some sort of guide or something. But like my father, I like to appreciate the fantastic and incredible moments in my life, especially when they involve running into someone I know, not only when it's completely unexpectedly, but also when it's in a faraway land. As you'll see, the faraway lands in this blog piece include Minnesota, Milwaukee and O'Hare.  

I often fly for work. As would be the case, in this first … case, my flight was cancelled due to people forgetting that Chicago is home to inclement weather. Because of this, I had to book a new flight on an airline I don't usually fly. This new flight was, of course, delayed. I had had enough, so I went to the bar, and as I flashed my ID to the bartender, the man next to me noticed my University of Iowa college ID (from 10 years ago) that is (still) in my wallet. And it just so happens that a gentleman next to me was a history professor there. He too was delayed. Of course, we hit it off immediately, though the bartender was none too pleased that we were hitting things off of his bar. But the point is, so much had to happen perfectly to lead up to that chance meeting to give me an experience I will never forget. But wait, the next two are bigger, better and more personal.  

I was on a weekend excursion in the mystical utopia of Milwaukee when who should I run into but an old friend that I hadn't seen a couple years. Now this friend is no ordinary friend. This is Scott, who asked not to be mentioned by name. You all know Scott, for he is great. It's why we call him Great Scott. (No one calls him that.) The thing is, he doesn't live in Milwaukee either. So the fact is, it was absolutely unbelievable that we ran into each other in Milwaukee by happenstance. (I didn't have a chair so I couldn't be happensitting.)

As you well know by now being an avid reader of my blog posts, I am an introvert and usually I will go out of my way to avoid people, but Scott is one of the few people who I would go in my way to not avoid. In fact, the experience was so incredible that it literally inspired me to write this piece. But yet, there is one more coincidence that must be told.

Me with Great Scott. Look at the love in that hug. Mostly so you stop looking at my butt in that hug.

Of all places, one of the most incredible coincidences in my life took place at the Minneapolis airport. I was coming home from a work trip, just milling about in front of the gate when I saw my uncle. Not just any uncle, but the brother of my father, my father who keeps track of the coincidences of the universe! All the more interesting, my uncle was only on the flight because of things that happened at the last possible moment for him. But here's the kicker (which was luckily not the child in the seat behind me): Not only were we on the same plane coming from a city we both don't live in, but we were also in the aisle seats in the exact same row on the same plane coming from a city we both don't live in. That's right, we sat right across from each other without any knowledge that each one of us would be flying to Chicago from Minneapolis that day. My mind cannot even fathom the odds.

Me and my Uncle. Separated by an aisle. Bonded by realizing they'll let anyone onto planes these days.

I believe in the Butterfly Effect, which says that the smallest change can have an everlasting ripple effect in future events. I can't comprehend how perfectly every moment leading up to that moment had to be in that absolute correct order in which they took place to make that coincidence happen. It is impressively mind-boggling, and my mind is the only part of me that I'm impressed with when it is boggled.

When it comes to these situations, some people say "it's a small world." When I'm involved, some people will just say, "Adam, stop singing 'It's A Small World.'" But whether you believe everything happens for a reason or not, those times when the chance odds of crossing paths with someone seem so astronomically slim, and yet they still occur are so special. Especially when both me and the coincidencee (I am the coincidencer in this case) are far removed our homes and the usual circles in which our lives operate.

I feel it's important to take note of these moments, because other than my birth, they are the life moments most unlikely to ever happen again. These, my fellow, dashingly attractive Oy! readers, are some of the moments truly worth remembering. Well, that and the blue car.

When I was in junior high, I learned the hard way what it felt like to be bullied. Out of the blue, these three girls who'd been close friends of mine only the day before suddenly started taunting me.

One day, we were BFFs playing Chinese jump rope and choreographing a dance routine to Paula Abdul's "Opposites Attract." The next, they'd declared war on me. They would imitate my mannerisms, whisper to each other as I'd pass in the halls, and campaign to get other girls not to like me.

It was so devastating to my junior high psyche that I didn't want to go to school. But then, a few weeks later, they re-friended me. As quickly as they'd cut me out, they let me back into their inner circle, but their clique was no longer a place I desired to be.

The experience taught me a lot about how random and cruel people can be to each other.

Of course my story isn't that bad -- and it certainly isn't unique. It's even typical. A few years ago, I attended a BBYO-sponsored anti-bullying forum for an auditorium full of Jewish teens and their families. Members of the crowd were asked to rise if they'd ever "witnessed or been involved in bullying"; every person in the room stood up.

Kids today face a much tougher world than I did. Back when I was in school, a cruel joke or rumor had a short shelf life, confined to one's school or neighborhood. But these days, we all have the power to spread gossip, lies, and venom to millions with one click.

You'd think bullying would stop after high school, but that's just not the case. We urge our children to treat each other with kindness, but we expect them to do as we say -- not as we do.

Face it. We live in a culture of mean -- in politics, on reality shows, in the pages of tabloids where women celebrities who look a pound heavier than they did the week before are paraded on covers to be mocked, and in the anonymous comment sections of practically any seemingly innocuous electronic news story.

What does it feel like to face such constant and inescapable public cruelty, humiliation, and ostracism?

The world got a memorable answer -- a lesson in empathy -- at this year's Oscars. Chicago native Graham Moore inspired millions in his poignant acceptance speech for his adapted screenplay of the film The Imitation Game. It tells the story of Alan Turing, the mathematician who broke the Nazi code, which was essential to the eventual Allied victory over Hitler. Instead of being hailed a hero, Turing, who was gay, was investigated and prosecuted for "homosexual acts" and died, likely from suicide, before his 42nd birthday.

Moore said he related to Turing's story of feeling different, and that he tried to take his own life as teenager. "I felt weird and I felt different and I felt like I did not belong," Moore said in his speech. "…I would like for this moment to be for the kid out there who feels like she's weird or she's different or she doesn't fit anywhere. Yes, you do. I promise you do. Stay weird. Stay different. And then when it's your turn and you are standing on this stage, please pass the same message to the next person who comes along."

Like Moore and Turing, people of all stripes -- but particularly women, minorities, people with disabilities, and the LGBTQ community -- are targets of ridicule. Every week, we read a headline about another kid driven to suicide because they were tormented by bullies either in the flesh or on social networks.

We especially, as Jews, should care deeply about bullying. The issue goes to the very heart of our history and Jewish teachings. After all, just as bullies pick their scapegoats for no reason other than their victims are different from them, we as Jews have been bullied and branded as scapegoats on a grander scale throughout our history.

We should care because our tradition is rooted in kindness. The Torah teaches us most fundamental of all: "Love your neighbor as yourself."

And many other Jewish laws forbid cruelty from every angle. Halbanat panim bids us not to inflict public humiliation; rechilut prohibits statements that are untrue, while lashon harah expands this prohibition to include factually truthful speech that might malign an individual. And we are taught the concept of adam yachid -- that every human being is unique and precious.

Indeed, our community is working to counteract bullying. SHALVA, a JUF beneficiary combatting domestic abuse, and Response, a teen outreach program of Jewish Child and Family Services, both engage children, teens, parents, and teachers through anti-bullying programs.

But faced with a culture of mean, it's not enough to urge our children to teach each other with kindness. We have to practice it ourselves.

Let's not forget that kindness must be passed on to our children -- l'dor vador -- from generation to generation.

If everyone reading this could wake up tomorrow and feel the empathy to be a little kinder to each other -- to our families, to our friends, to strangers on the bus, to the people in our Facebook networks, and yes, even to the celebrities we've never met -- maybe, just maybe, we can change our culture for the better.

Because a culture of kindness begins with each one of us.

To learn more about anti-bullying programs offered through Response, visit www.responsecenter.org, email responsecounseling@jcfs.org, or call (847) 676-0078.

Response is a program of Jewish Child & Family Services (JCFS), a partner in serving our community supported by JUF.

To learn about anti-bullying programs offered through SHALVA, contact Bobbie Gordon by visiting www.shalvaonline.org, email bgordon@shalvaonline.org, or call (773) 583-4673.

SHALVA, the oldest, independent Jewish domestic abuse agency in the United States, is a beneficiary of JUF.

Guilty. I was that mean mommy. You know the one all the perfect parents shield their children's eyes from? Yup, that was me.

To make matters worse, it happened on vacation and afterward, I hid in my hotel room hot with shame. My husband, on the other hand, got to be the nice daddy and take the boys surfing on a fake wave and happily played in the pool, never once fretting about how saggy his boobs looked in his four-year-old bikini.  

No one knew I hid in shame. My daughter was conveniently feeling sick, so actually I looked like a doting mother forgoing the fun in the sun to take care of her, which honestly made it worse.  

It all took place on a beautiful day with a sunny, desert mountain view. We were in a resort town. I didn't have to cook, clean, make the beds or unclog any toilets. I was on vacation. I should have been a happy mommy! I should have been a relaxed mommy!! I should have been an AWESOME mommy!!! But that was not the mommy I was channeling that day.  

In part, I am going to blame my newly teenaged teenager. He was quite the typical adolescent on the trip. And although I attempted to quell his angsty derangement, his hormones were seriously killing my R&R. My patience was shot. But he was just the spark. It was actually the kid my teenager insists is my favorite -- my youngest son - who bared the brunt of my mommy-rage.  

What led to my embarrassing display wasn't even that serious of an offense. It was one of those, "time to go and put your shoes on" scenarios. It took place at the pool, in front of a bounty of overly tanned and seemingly underfed absolutely perfect mothers with perfect boobs in fresh-off-the-runway bikinis.  

After the third calm request of, "We have to go. Please put your shoes on." I'd had it. I snatched him up by his arm and hissed, "Let's go. NOW!!!"  

"OWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!" he yowled, and suddenly I felt all sets of eyes on me as the pool area fell silent in disbelief that such trash had slipped through the exclusive and snooty gates. I immediately dropped his arm.  

"Come on sweetie," I assured him in my doting, attentive, ever-patient mommy voice that I conjured up on the spot, hoping to ensure the horrified public that the minor in my care for the rest of his life was perfectly safe with the deranged-looking lady with the hopelessly out-of-date bathing suit. "We need to go now. Then we'll get ice cream. And a pony!"  

My son skipped off compliantly as I smiled in shame at the head-shaking, tongue-clucking crowd, regretting never having fully completed my tooth-whitening regimen.  

I am sure the second I left everyone forgot about me and resumed drinking, tanning and well, drinking, but I just couldn't shake it. It's terrible to have a bad moment with your kid, it's horrendous to have that moment in public with unsympathetic witnesses. And so? What did all this humiliation lead to? It led to me to the realization that I too have been an unsympathetic witness. I too have turned my back on my parental brothers and sisters and I too have judged them in their weakest of public moments.  

So to my fellow moms and dads -- whether we wear Jimmy Choo's or flip-flops to the pool! -- the truth is, we are all just trying to keep our heads above the proverbial waters of parenthood. Let's throw lifesavers to one another in place of anchors. And may we always remember the rule: (We are) never swim(ming) alone.

Turning one year older always leads me to think about the state of my life, my goals, and what I want to accomplish in the future. It also causes me to usually feel like I am in some sort of crisis.

I can't tell if I am having an existential crisis about turning 25 because I feel like I am supposed to or because I am actually, kind of, mildly freaking out about moving beyond the 18-24 age bracket. Alas, my nerves are a little more out of whack than usual, meaning they're really out of whack.

As most people who love writing would say, I am confident that the best way of dealing with these overwhelming feelings is to write about it. That's what I did at 23, too.

So without further ado, here are the top 25 questions that I am asking myself during the week prior to turning a quarter of a century:

1. Does this mean I need to stop stealing the majority of my silverware from Chipotle?

2. What percent of my income has to go to Starbucks to prove that I have a problem?

3. Why is everyone getting engaged? More importantly, how is everyone getting engaged?

4. Seriously, two engagements popped up on my newsfeed while writing this. What is going on?

5. The kind of perfect Jewish boy has to be out there still, right?

6. In the meantime, is it bad that pizza is my most significant other?

7. Similarly, is it still socially acceptable to order Domino's? I am going to keep ordering it no matter what the answer is, but I'd rather just know.

8. How often do you really need to wash your hair?

9. At what age is it inappropriate to consider wine an appropriate meal?

10. Will I ever actually accomplish everything on this list? Is it more likely that I go to Patagonia or run a 5k? At least I go to Israel Eilat (see what I did there?) and am no longer that scared of the dentist.

11. Can someone just set up my retirement fund(s) for me? Please?

12. Do I really have to go off my family's health insurance next year? Can we just pretend that's a fallacy?

13. Will I ever not be tired? Is everyone else always tired? How do people function without caffeine? Maybe I'm cheating my list by asking three questions within a question. Is that annoying? I'll stop now.

14. Can you OD on hummus? Has anyone ever ODed on hummus? Will I be the first victim?

15. What about allergy meds? Asking for a friend.

16. Similarly, how much tuna do you need to eat to get mercury poisoning?

17. Can something be off fleek? Kidding, don't answer that.

18. Is asking for an assistant an appropriate birthday request?

19. What about a life intern? Is that a thing? Where can I find myself one of those?

20. Will someone teach me how to invest well? How do people just know how to do these things?

21. Is Spotify premium a worthy investment? Probably not. Did I just buy it this week? Of course.

22. Why isn't life more like Friends?

23. Do I actually need to stop buying things at Forever 21?

24. Can I have a voucher for all the naps I passed up in Kindergarten?

25. Wasn't I just 21?

Between performing surgeries, my friend and sports medicine orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Josh Alpert, carved out (bad pun intended) some time to talk injury prevention with me.

Dr. Alpert works for Midwest Bone and Joint Institute, and you can view his impressive bio here . As a sports fan, I was very jealous when he did his Fellowship in Boston and worked with professional sports teams. It was the year the Patriots didn't lose a game until the Super Bowl. Dr. Alpert has been my surgery advisor for years, and recently treated me.

With summer approaching, this is busy season for emergency rooms, physical therapists and doctors. Dr. Alpert offered some tips to avoid those visits.

1. Pain is not normal: Do not work out when you are pain. There is a difference between muscle soreness and pain. Stop working out and talk to a doctor; this is not an Under Armor ad a la "Pain is weakness leaving the body." For overweight exercisers, start slow and focus on eating better before pushing it in the gym. Extra weight is tough on joints.

2. Mix up your workout. If you do the same workout day after day you are more prone to stress fractures (and boredom). You are also strengthening the same muscles day after day, while skipping other muscles, which can lead to muscle imbalance injuries. Runners in particular need to vary the distance, do interval workouts, and strength train to help avoid stress fractures. Although running intervals are hard, they are much easier on your body than running a marathon.

3. Stretching is important. When I first injured my hip, I'll never forget Dr. Alpert telling me, "We're getting older, you need to stretch." Many trainers have different views on stretching, Dr. Alpert recommends 10-15 minutes of stretching post workout. A warm up to start your workout is also helpful. Take a cue from the Patriots and spend a lot of time stretching.

4. Follow the 10% rule. Whether you are running or weight training, increase your speed/weight by no more than 10 percent per workout.

5. Low impact for life. Thirty minutes of low-impact exercise three times a week is a great way to stay in good health and avoid the surgeon's office. Swimming, biking, and the elliptical are much easier on your joints than running.

6. Vary you child's activities. This one's for parents. If your child plays one sport year-round, they are 3.5 times more likely to get injured than children who play multiple sports. If your child is a pitcher, make sure to pay attention to pitch counts and make sure they don't throw back to back days. Make sure your high school or college athletes have supervision during their workouts with either athletic trainers, coaches, physical therapists, personal trainers or coaches. There is no suggested age for beginning a weight-training program, but they should start focusing on form and using light weights at higher reps. In fact, this is a good game plan for all lifters.

7. Be careful with supplements and anti-inflammatory drugs. There are a lot of supplements on the market, and because there's no regulation you have to be very careful. The most popular supplement for joint pain is Glucosamine Chondroitin. If you take it, look for a certification like NSF or USP : it should be pure Glucosamine Chondroitin and a recommended dosage is 1500 milligrams. Like all supplements it's controversial, but some people feel it helps.

As far as over-the-counter anti-inflammatory drugs such as Advil, work with your doctor on dosages. These pills can really do a number on your stomach and can have other side effects. Aleve is great because it's one pill every 12 hours, so you are taking less pills compared to Advil.

Start off slow this summer and as always, check with your doctor to ensure you are healthy enough to begin exercising. Please email me other topics in the wellness field you would like to hear about at rkrit@fitwithkrit.com .

If you're a single 20-something Modern Orthodox Jewish male like me, you are experiencing trying times when it comes to dating. Not only do you need to find someone you're attracted to, have good chemistry with and who laughs at your jokes, you also need to find someone Jewish. And if that wasn't hard enough, that person has to be willing to detach from a cell phone for 25 hours during the weekend.  

Needless to say, the checklist of what you're looking for suddenly makes it seem like finding the right one is impossible.  

Many of us go through cycles where we meet all sorts of girls. Based on my experience and the experience of other Modern Orthodox men I know, I've found there are five types of women who we are most likely to date before we get married.  

Your On-Paper Bashert  

You met through a Jewish dating site or were set up. Either way, she seems perfect for you. Maybe she loves How I Met Your Mother as much as you do, or enjoys a fine scotch on the weekends. When you first start talking to her online, you think she has it all and are jumping up and down to meet her.  

However, you go to meet her and she's now what you're looking for. Maybe there's no chemistry or she's too self-absorbed. Maybe you're too self-absorbed. You want to believe you can make it work with her, that this could be something special. So you convince yourself to go out with her once or twice more, but to your disappointment, there's nothing there.  

The College Girlfriend  

If you were in college, she'd be perfect for you. You feel like you can be yourself around her and the two of you hit it off. The problem is, you two have no future and it's apparent right from the start.  

Maybe she has no direction in life, or tells you she's "not looking for something serious." Maybe she always consults her parents before making any sort of decision, such as whether or not to go on vacation with you. Or maybe it's you -- you're not sure what you want just yet. You just don't see eye-to-eye with her on what you want your future to look like.  

These girls make great friends and are fun to hang out with, but simply aren't for you in the long term.  

The One You Regret  

Perhaps you made out with her at a Purim party or spent all your time with her over a Shabbaton. Either way, you quickly realize this isn't college and you need to be a gentleman. You go on a date or two with her only to realize that your conversations are as exciting as watching paint dry.  

Sometimes, this girl is on the same page as you. Sometimes, one of you has to be the one to  break it off, which is rough, but cooler heads eventually prevail and it becomes an experience you both let go.  

The Girl Who Makes You Swear Off Dating  

This is the one that hurts. Maybe it was her fault: she stood you up, strung you along or held her past negative dating experiences against you to the point that you felt like you couldn't win. Or maybe she revealed something about you that you that was tough to hear. Either way, you question yourself and even question dating period.  

The thing to remember is that while meeting someone like this can hinder your willingness to date, these are the exception more than the norm. And as the saying goes, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." At the end of the day, this girl is what's going to make you truly cherish your bashert.  

The Crappy Timing Girl  

This one causes a different kind of pain. You meet at the most unexpected time, usually just before one of you moves away or makes a big life change. Or you meet and it turns out she's just in town for the week visiting friends. The second you meet her, you think she could really be the one. The problem: this relationship has either no starting point or a definite ending point and there's no way around it.  

When you say goodbye, there's not an ounce of resentment in your body and no bad feelings: there is a hope that at some point you reconnect and make it work even though the odds are stacked against you.  

---  

Whether you've dated all five of these women, or only identify with a couple, remember there is a reason they came into your life. I believe each type ultimately teaches us about ourselves and we are better off for meeting them, even if they're not Mrs. Right. Often, your encounters with each of them provide you with greater clarity and perspective for when you finally find Mrs. Right.

After seeing Josh Gershon pop up on Twitter, I knew we had to be in touch. The man is living a dream -- his dream and I am sure many of your dreams: scouting the future of basketball. We caught up with Gershon, an up-and-coming scout, and learned his awesome story.

1. Tell us a little bit about yourself.
I'm 33, live in Hermosa Beach, California and work as a basketball scout for a living. Being a basketball scout was a dream job of mine as a kid and I'm very fortunate to be able to have made it my career. Between doing what I love for a living, residing on the beach and having incredible friends, family and colleagues, I feel like I have a dream life and am working hard to assure that it will be a lifetime dream life.

2. What is Scout.com and how did you get involved in it?
Scout is a digital media network that has a large collection of websites, many focusing on college sports team coverage, but the Scout brand has websites specializing in college basketball and football recruiting, NFL, MLB, etc. I covered University of Arizona Athletics during and after college for Scout's rival, Rivals.com, and was able to work my way up to being offered a job by Scout as a West Coast recruiting analyst in 2011. I was recently promoted to National Recruiting Analyst and NBA Scouting Analyst; as we grow into the NBA space, I'll be evaluating college prospects for draft coverage.  

3. What makes Scout.com unique?
As far as basketball recruiting, we have four full-time experts and the amount of resources we pour into scouting and covering the entire country is second to none. The majority of websites scouting high school basketball have just one full time expert and Scout has invested into dominating this market space.

4. Does scouting lead to coaching and would you coach given the opportunity?
I've had some opportunities to get into college coaching but it's not something I currently -- or ever really -- foresee myself being interested in. I'm investing everything into being a great basketball scout and think that getting involved in coaching would only distract me from that path. I have several close friendships with coaches and use those relationships to continue to gain knowledge about the game but being an actual coach isn't an interest of mine.

5. Which player do you look forward to in this draft? Any surprises?
It sounds obvious because he was the best player in college basketball this season, but since he's not unanimously considered a top 10 guy, I'll go with Wisconsin's Frank Kaminsky. He's a legit 7-foot power forward with terrific footwork, scoring and shooting ability, ball skills for his size and craftiness. Add that to the fact he's mentally elite and an intense competitor and you have someone who is bound to overachieve at the next level in the same way he did in college.

6. Did you play basketball as a kid? Were you any good?
I played up until high school and eventually got distracted by everything else going on when you're that age and stopped trying. I mean I was a 5-foot-8 power forward and there's not a big market value for those anyway and I certainly wasn't anyone that someone would have considered a good player. But I was extremely competitive and really only cared about defending and rebounding, which is funny because those are the characteristics I'm drawn to as a scout. Understanding that no matter how hard you try, there are many things you just can't overcome physically has been an important lesson for me as a scout. As hard as I tried, there was nothing I could do to be a good basketball player, despite my love for it. I'm thankful I've been able to take my passion for the sport and make it my life's work.

7. What was your Jewish upbringing like?
Even though I had a conservative bar mitzvah and education, I was raised as a Reform Jew and my family went to synagogue together every week growing up. We observed Jewish traditions at home and celebrated high holidays. My parents raised me to be proud of my heritage. The Jewish community in basketball is very strong and loyal and there have been several Jews who have believed in me, supported me and helped me grow as I've moved up the ladder. I'm very thankful to have that kind of support.

8. Lakers or Clippers? Mamba or CP3? Jack Nicholson or Billy Crystal?
Clippers. CP3 is one of my favorite players. Love his mental toughness for the point guard position. Intense competitor with extremely high skill set and basketball IQ. It would be hard to care about winning as much as he does. So definitely CP3 over Kobe. I feel bad going against Crystal and his awesome sense of humor, but Nicholson is one of the coolest actors ever. When I think about Los Angeles, which I now call home, he's one of the first people I think of.

9. Anything else we should know and where can we follow you?
One of the best parts of the job for me isn't just developing and growing into a successful scout, but also the opportunity to help kids get scholarships and chase their dreams. There have been several instances in which a player, often from a tough situation in which his family couldn't afford to send him to college, didn't have any scholarship offers and I've helped them land a full ride. I'm fully invested into maximizing my talent and having a great career but along the way I hope to have a big impact on the community as well and I feel like that's starting to happen and it's a very rewarding feeling. You can follow me on Twitter -- @JoshGershon

The rabbis at Sixth and I Historic Synagogue sent out a message acknowledging how the world can be a challenging place to live, and this week was far from an exception. An earthquake shook Nepal and left thousands of people dead. Violence broke out in Baltimore after the funeral of Freddie Gray. The Supreme Court heard the case for marriage equality and protestors shouted loudly outside the building, denouncing homosexuals as sinners. The rabbis made a compelling call to action, and reading their words, I realized how I had missed an opportunity to take that action.  

Amidst everything happening out there in the world, my 11-month-old son, John, was sick. After several days of fever he broke out in a rash. I reluctantly had to Google "baby … rash" for the first time in my life. I'll spare you the hyperlink. If you are a parent, you likely have seen it, and if you are not, trust me that you don't want to yet. After consultation with the doctor it turned out his sickness was relatively benign and the rash was gone by the middle of the week. But while he was sick, even as the world seemed to be crumbling around us, all I could focus on was my little one.  

Objectively speaking, my child's mild illness was in no way as tragic, complicated or shocking as the events going on in the world this week. I was aware of them, yet did not take action to help. Meanwhile, my baby was home from daycare half the week, without enough energy to smile. I was left helplessly holding him in my arms, trying to make him comfortable enough to rest and heal. In that moment, it felt like the most important thing I could be doing in the world. In hindsight, a teeny tiny voice, very deep down, wishes I could have been in two or maybe even more places at once this week. That way I could have helped everyone get better.  

Thankfully, there were those that did take the time and effort to focus their relief efforts outside of their homes. When news broke that villages were leveled from the earthquake, organizations like AJWS and JUF set up emergency campaigns to raise money in support of relief efforts. Local rabbis joined other faith leaders in and around Baltimore and Jews United for Justice joined other social justice organizations to organize peaceful marches in hopes of turning attention away from violence and change the conversation towards the problem of systemic racism in Baltimore. My Facebook feed lit up on Tuesday as friends in D.C. joined counter-protests on the steps of the Supreme Court to support marriage equality for all.  

As for me, my son is well now, smiling most of the day and back to the business of being a happy baby. I am breathing a sigh of relief for that. I also went online and made a donation to support the earthquake relief efforts. I am hopeful my contribution will still make a difference.

Slightly tucked behind some mothy Beanie Babies on my dresser at home stands a glowing, faux-Oscar statue. Below the elegant Oscar himself, the following superlative is engraved: "Most Optimistic."  

This is one of my most prized possessions. I won it at an awards ceremony during one of my final nights studying abroad in Jerusalem. I love this statue, and I love everything it represents and reminds me of. There's just one little problem -- it's not true.  

I might describe myself as people-pleasing, or generally cheerful, or even mostly happy, but I would never, ever classify myself as optimistic. This isn't a contradictory statement; the difference is based on time. Cheerful is how you feel in the present moment, while optimism or pessimism is how you feel about the future.  

"A pessimist confronted with two bad decisions," claims one Jewish proverb, "chooses both."

In my case, however, I'd say the pessimist chooses neither. When you're 23 years old, life sort of veers in whichever way you direct it. For me, this is puzzling -- every decision before had always been preordained or set upon some kind of prescribed, pre-approved route.  

"Choices are made in brief seconds and paid for in the time that remains," writes author Paolo Giordano.  

This thought haunts me. How can I possibly know which second will mold the future? Faced with big life decisions, I usually retreat and just let things unfold instead of plunging forward. Numbing anxiety about the future causes me to step quietly into the backdrop and let things happen as they may.  

By doing nothing, I may actually be choosing the most harmful option.  

Any decision can go wrong, but, as I've started to learn, not doing anything is making quite a decision in itself. Time goes by, even if you let events pass through by osmosis. Things are still happening and they're shaping into what's becoming your life.  

As it turns out, I'm definitely not alone in my outlook. In fact, we Jews are pretty famous for exactly this habit of pessimistic anxiety. We often see ourselves on the cusp of some mind-boggling, existential threat, and often, we're not wrong. Throughout the centuries, this tendency has carried over and made (some of us, at least) walk the world with a perpetual thunder cloud over our heads.  

Putting aside my self-proclaimed pessimism, I should point out that there may be a bright side here. Recent studies done at Ontario's Lakehead University have shown a correlation between high levels of anxiety and intelligence. While nothing is conclusive yet, this just one of several studies that shows a potential connection between the two. So at least we can quit worrying about that .  

I don't know for sure how much pessimism or anxiety has affected me. It's definitely caused some sleepless nights, and plenty of hand-wringing and anguished re-hashes of the past. It causes me to question the decisions I've already made, and to doubt the choices yet to come.  

But when I can, I sneak a glance back at my Oscar. It reminds me of a time when I was happy and fulfilled in Jerusalem, going to bed each night hopeful for the next day. If nothing else, it reminds me that I can conceivably be optimistic. At least, I can certainly try.

I bumped into an old friend the other day on the El, a friend I haven't seen in a few years. He's one of those friends that appeared out of nowhere after college, after the dust settled from the four years of unfettered freedom and everyone re-descended back to their home towns. Now that we were seated on the train next to each other, he had nowhere else to go -- how lucky/unfortunate for him.

We didn't really know each other well in high school and we went to different colleges. We connected at the intersection of the post-grad merger of our respective friend groups. But, so often as friendships go, people grow apart and move on to new and different things. He's married now.

Anyway, after all this time, here's the first question he asks: "Have you met your beshert yet?"

What a question! I smile from ear to ear as I fall back into the rhythm of a silly conversation with someone whose humor I'm relatively familiar with. We talk about dating sites and then he asks about any gossip I might have.

To this I respond with a resounding, emphatic "no." Then I spoke the following words, which took me aback somewhat: "We're grown up. Of course I don't have any gossip."

A beat. I fawn over this moment of wondrous adulthood, then I swiftly end it when I bring up that an ex-boyfriend (a mutual friend) is dating a new girl, and I hope it works out for them, I really do.

Well, I tried. A noble effort, right? Everyone's a little bit yenta, whether we'd like to believe it or not.

I flutter back to his mention of a "beshert." The word brings to mind the very reason I'd bumped into him. I stayed late after work to run errands for a friend. She's getting married this weekend. She met her beshert long ago, in the usual way (a sorority/fraternity exchange). Very recently, she converted to Judaism in anticipation of this event, a decision she arrived at carefully and introspectively. Watching her discover this new-to-her religion phase is, honestly and truly, a very cool thing. It's hard to settle on one adjective that encompasses it. From my outside perspective, I find it so incredibly brave. It's such a personal decision; only she can truly know the magnitude of what it means and feels to her each and every day. One thing I'm certain of? I'm so excited to see her man stomp on the glass and make everything official.

As I bound off the train, a warm and fuzzy nostalgia wraps around me, bundling me up on the walk home. I won't see my long-lost friend for another few months to be sure, maybe at another wedding or perhaps on another El ride. But our little encounter made me think: everything old can be new again.  

Things fly by in an instant. We get new jobs, we embark on new relationships, we immerse ourselves in new activities. But the recent past lives and breathes in a way to remind us, if anything, you're never too old for a little harmless gossip, or to remember what it was like just graduating college, waiting impatiently for what the world will have in store.

My favorite bakery is in trouble . The business is failing, and the owner has cancer. The bakery is called Lax & Mandel , and it's not in Chicago.

I'm from the suburbs of Cleveland, originally. Lax & Mandel is a kosher bakery founded in 1956 by Shimon Lax and Burt Mandel, who ran it until 1980. It has changed hands and even locations since then, but kept its original name. At one point , it was co-owned by the younger brother of a classmate of mine.

I went to this bakery as a kid. Walking into the aroma of fresh-baked challah was like getting a grandmotherly hug. Running into friends you haven't seen in a while, shuddering at the sudden rumble of the maniacal bread slicer, seeing kids light up when getting their own cookie, it's better than the candy store scene in Willy Wonka .

I remember the store being packed before Shabbat, with everyone mobbing the counter for the fresh-made challah -- still the best I've ever had. You'd take a ticket from a paisley-shaped dispenser with your number and wait until they flipped the big numbers over the counter to yours.

During your visit, the clattering old automatic bread slicer would interrupt all conversation for the 10 seconds or so it ran. It had these huge metal claws that would slash through a loaf like Wolverine while roaring like an angry bulldozer. As a kid, it terrified and fascinated me.

Your challah went into a plastic bag. Your pastries went into a simple white cardboard box, tied around with string. Then the Russian ladies with the white aprons and thick accents tallied your purchase by adding the items up in pencil - writing everything right on the paper box!

The bakery had these small, crumbly cookies they'd sell by the pound. Most had sprinkles, but some had cherries in the middle . If you were a little kid, the Russian ladies would smile with their crooked teeth and hand you one. When you were four, it was like winning the lottery.

Once, I took my then-six-year-old niece there. Our purchases included a pumpernickel loaf. "Why is that bread burned?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "It's not," I laughed. "It's a kind of bread called a pumpernickel." She looked me straight in the eye and said, " You're a pumpernickel."

While home from college one summer, I was accosted by an elderly lady I had never met her before. She sized me up, then pointed in my face: "You're a Wieder boy, aren't you?" All the men in my family are clearly related, but I was still impressed.

Years ago, Esquire magazine ran a story about American cities, and all the best places in each that only the locals knew. Lax was of the Cleveland entries. The writer noted that the pastry to get was the " high hat ," a cupcake with a cupcake-size dollop of frosting on top encased in a hard chocolate shell. Unfortunately, Esquire got it wrong; the high hat is overwhelmed by the frosting. The way to go is the chocolate-less Russian tea biscuit . It's death-row, last-meal good. The Dobish torte is also pretty amazing.

This is not the first time the bakery has been in trouble. It was closed for three or four years in the 1980s. In 2012, a car drove through the window. A large oven fire another time did $50,000 in damage -- a lot of, um, dough for a bakery.

Afraid they wouldn't pull through, I cut the notice about the fire out of the paper. My sister made a face at my nostalgia. Years later, when her favorite local department store closed, she called me with the news: "Remember when I made fun of you for being sad about a bakery? I get it now."

I pray that Lax & Mandel, and its owner, have a speedy and perfect recovery. If they want to save the bakery, they could probably have everyone in town write down their favorite memories of the place, turn them into a book, and sell it. I'd buy a copy, especially if the second half was a cookbook containing some of their recipes ... if only to help save the bakery. After all, it would be a sad world indeed if no future generation knew what a real Russian tea biscuit tasted like.

Religion. Never in a million years did I ever think I would become more connected with my Judaism. I came from a household of Russian/Ukrainian parents where religion was almost non-existent because of the restrictions on Jews in the former Soviet Union. We celebrated Passover and Chanukah once when I was five. I remember celebrating New Year's as a child, with a tree and the ever-symbolic Grandfather Frost, common non-religious Russian traditions. 

I found it hard to explain how I lost the little faith I was exposed to. Recently, during an interview, I was asked, "How did you get interested in becoming more involved with Judaism?" My response usually is, "I am communal Jew." However, I found myself blurting out, "I lost Judaism, and now I found it here at Loyola."

Not many people know about my past. In fact, I refused to talk about it once I got to Loyola. I transferred here in the fall of 2013 -- was it important to really talk about my story? Now more than ever, I think college is the time to talk about one's story. 

From my birth till the age of 10, I was raised in a psychically and mentally abusive home. My father subjected me and my entire family to cruel and traumatizing situations. I recall as a child praying and pleading for all the issues to end. I prayed every single day but nothing ever happened. At such a young age, I questioned why God would let bad things happen to good people. I didn't hear a response, and I lost my faith. When I was 10, my father kicked my mother and me out of our home. I thought, "Was this a miracle or God's way of punishing me?"

I reached my adolescence feeling that Judaism was never a part of my identity growing up. I had such a negative perception about religion, and I loathed the sight of any practice. I naively thought to myself, "Why would they do this? Nobody is listening!"

Adam Mogilevsky

Fast-forward 11 years. I am now the vice president of Hillel at Loyola, the Jewish student organization on campus. How? Honestly, it was all an accident. I walked into Hillel because a friend invited me, and the rest is history. I felt welcomed, and I was able to participate in Jewish holidays and cultural events and communal activities. I felt uncomfortable at first, but once I let my barriers down and encountered each ritual with an open mind, I became more comfortable, and I fell in love with the Jewish community. As I became more involved, I began to really understand the importance of embracing my religious identity. 

I began my position in the fall thinking about ways to improve Hillel's visibility on campus, and I ended up focusing most of my time building a sense of community among the students. They come from all backgrounds. Each student possesses amazing tenacity and spirit toward Jewish life. They have made me nothing but proud. Siting in Hillel and seeing the soon-to-be leaders and the freshmen having fun makes me hopeful for the future -- a future without anti-Semitism, a future where the Jewish population at Loyola will no longer be one percent, and most importantly a future where we become not just classmates, but family.

Hillel at Loyola

I am also proud of Loyola's diversity. Twenty-seven years ago Loyola reached out to The Hillels of Illinois to begin a permanent collaboration. Wanting to promote a diverse community that promoted mutual respect and knowledge, and encouraging a broad understanding of faith as a part of a transformative educational mission, Loyola brought Hillel onto campus. This bold initiative move for diversity and supporting religious and cultural pluralism is one of the school's biggest strengths.

Every attempt to diversify the campus comes with it the beauty of differing opinions and beliefs, so it comes as no surprise that the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement has reemerged on campus.

This time, the resolution brought to the Student Senate requested the university divest from all companies (such as Boeing and Raytheon) that are militarily complicit in human rights abuses toward Palestinians. Their main target, as usual, was Israel. Not Iran, not Syria, not Lebanon, but Israel, the one and only true democracy in the Middle East. The resolution passed 16-15-2, and a week later the Senate President signed it. 

I, along with other anti-divestment advocates, stood up in front of the Senate and told them the ugly truth. With each passage of divestment on college campuses we see a surge of anti-Semitic activity. If the basis of the student government is to promote safety and ensure the well being of the community, how does legislation advancing personal political beliefs accomplish this? 

Various student groups have ignored any collaborative efforts to do bridge-building with Hillel. We have been ignored on issues of dialoguing, and some students have had anti-Semitic comments made to them. Even so, we sat through the last two Senate meetings where senators completely disregarded any existence of anti-Semitism on campus. 

Students on college campuses find themselves inundated and indoctrinated with one-sided information. It is up to us as Jews to combat this misinformation and educate the community about what Israel does and does not do. In continuing to educate students regardless of the outcome, and standing side by side, I wholeheartedly believe our Jewish community has grown closer because of this experience. I am incredibly proud of my community. We didn't give up and we fought 'til the end, as we will every single year if we have too. 

I am proud of my efforts to bring our small yet strong Jewish community together. Watching students experience their faith reminds me of how I found my faith again at Loyola and gained something that can never be taken away from me -- a stronger cohesive identity. 

As I reflect on my time at the university, I can only thank Loyola for everything it has already done to foster a Jewish community here, and I am confident that Loyola will focus on its recruitment efforts to insure that Jewish life will continue to thrive here.

Adam Mogilevsky is a senior at Loyola University Chicago where he is the vice-president of Hillel and an interfaith advocate. He will be graduating with a B.A in History in May.

To read more posts in the "Repairing Our World" blog series, click here .

I think I hit my all-time tikkun olam high when I was 16. For the first time in my life, I left the North American continent and, with 16 other teenagers from my synagogue, traveled to the Czech Republic. I don’t think any of us quite understood the sheer holiness of the task before us, but that would quickly change, and change us for good.

Our group at the cemetery. I’m in the back right in the dorky Cubs floppy hat.

Our quest: visit the tiny community of Kolin, the original home of a Torah scroll that survived the Holocaust and came into the care of our synagogue in the northern suburbs of Chicago. There stood a Jewish cemetery, overgrown with weeds, the names on the headstones shrouded in rampant vines, a piece of European Jewish history that – like much else after World War II – had been discarded and forgotten.

After touring Prague for a few days, we arrived in Kolin armed with gardening tools and a fierce sense of responsibility. We were the third contingent of youth from our synagogue to make the journey, and it had been three years since the last trip – plenty of time for nature to erase the hard work of our predecessors.

Our focus and determination to clear off as many graves as we could kept much of those days a blur, but I will never forget reading names, names that might otherwise have been forgotten, or huddling together to say kaddish at the graveside of people who had no one left to say kaddish for them. It was on this trip that I learned firsthand the meaning of the Pirkei Avot quote, lo alecha hamlacha ligmor, v’lo atah ben chorin l’hibateil mimenah – “it’s not your duty to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist from it.” The solace in knowing that time would undo all our labor was that another group of teens would come along and continue it, and our legacy would endure.

The row of graves a few of us worked to clear early on in the day

The row of graves after we finished clearing

Well, three years later our synagogue teens returned, and what they found nobody quite expected. The cemetery had been completely cleaned up by the proper Czech authorities. When I heard the news, I chose to believe it was the work of our previous trips that finally made the someone take notice and commit to maintaining the cemetery. This was a different feeling than simply engaging in a couple days of mitzvot. This was what raising awareness and affecting change felt like. This was tikkun olam.

As far as making a difference goes, I think most of the 17 of us who unearthed a part of our Jewish identities while cutting, pulling and scraping the cemetery clear of weeds would still rank that trip as the most powerful volunteer experience of our lives. Yet more than a decade later, many of us have chosen difference-making, fulfilling paths. Four of us from that trip, myself included, became youth group advisors (one led a future trip to Kolin), a handful of us work for Jewish non-profits (again, myself included) and a few have chosen helping professions. And that’s just what I know, or what Facebook and LinkedIn tell me.

Reflecting on the trip today, I realize that repairing the world is not about accruing successful and meaningful volunteer experiences, but about making a commitment to the work that needs to be done in this world once you see a part of it that is broken that you know you can help fix. I’m a little sad that the current upkeep of the Kolin cemetery will prevent future participants from sharing in my same experience, but to say it takes away from the tikkun olam value of the trip would be missing the point. Witnessing, experiencing – and in this case, remembering – are all part of that commitment.

On Yom HaShoah last week, my old youth group advisor – old as in a long time ago, not old as in age (you’re welcome, Larry!) – shared our group photo from the trip. His intent was to honor the day by remembering the work we did to remember others; what I remembered was how proud I was of that experience, of how it affected me in a way I did not know I could be moved. More importantly I remembered the difference I made that summer, the differences (however smaller) I have made since, and the differences I am still capable of making.

This June will mark the seventh Congregation BJBE youth trip to Kolin, and my cousin will become the fourth member of my family to help keep alive the memory of the Jewish community there. He too will pray in the Kolin synagogue, now a museum, and feel the connection to these people whose lives were stripped away from them. Hopefully, he too will look back on his path 12 years later and realize he’s done more to repair the world than he thought.

 To read more posts in the "Repairing Our World" blog series, click here.

“Would you be willing to donate to the Muscular Dystrophy Association?” I was taught to say holding a can out to shoppers walking out of local stores. Rather than being the shoppers, like most moms and daughters, this was many times what I would do with my mother on weekends. My parents became involved in the organization when one of their friends had a family member suffering from the disease. 

“Why are we picking up people who are waiting for the bus?” I would ask my dad. “Because it doesn’t look like the bus is coming for a while and they look like they need a ride,” he said, not afraid to pick up strangers. When I learned how to drive, the refrain became, “Go pick up (fill in the name of a person from our synagogue who had no family in the Chicago area) and bring them here for dinner so they aren’t alone.” 

This is how I was taught to contribute to making the world a better place. 

When I was in seventh grade, I asked to borrow our synagogue’s Purim carnival games to host a fundraiser for the MDA (and this was long before mitzvah projects were a bar/bat mitzvah requirement). In high school, I became president of my temple youth group. At the University of Illinois, I became president of Hillel, where I met my husband, Mark. His parents were also involved in leadership roles both in and outside of the Jewish community (a legacy he continues today on the board of Sinai Health Systems and of a senior housing building in our community), and I think that’s part of what drew us together.

Carla and her oldest son, Jeremy, at a Planned Parenthood rally.

When it was time to choose my profession, I saw my parents, who served as the presidents of many organizations, as examples. I also admired the youth advisors from the organizations I was involved in (USY, NFTY, B’nai Brith). So I decided that my passion was in social work.

For the last 32 years, I have worked for Metropolitan Family Services, one of the oldest and largest non-sectarian agencies in Chicago, and I have the privilege of knowing I’ve helped at least one person every day. The abused and neglected adults with disabilities and older adults that I serve as supervisor of an Adult Protective Services program sometimes say they prayed for help and I came. That is a pretty nice feeling. Like the old saying, “to the world you may just be one person, but to that one person you might be the world.”

I have brought in help for overwhelmed caregivers, cleaned bathrooms so someone wouldn’t get evicted, assisted hoarders in making their homes safer, held the hands of people as they were dying and even participated in the mitzvah of burying someone, all as part of my job to make a difference in someone’s life.  

Social work is not the kind of job you can easily leave at home, so my children have often overheard me talking on the phone to clients. They would ask me how so-and-so is doing and I would tell them (of course keeping everything confidential). But children observe more than listen, so it was important that we go out and volunteer in the community. Our favorite experiences have been working at the JUF Uptown Café on Christmas Eve, putting together and delivering Maot Chitim boxes on Rosh Hashanah and Passover and making lunches for the homeless before Sunday School (ok, not always fun, but a good learning experience …).  

As someone who was once a young adult and who now has young adult children of her own, I have learned the importance of looking to the generations that came before to see what really matters in life. What has been passed on to us is most likely what we will pass on to the next generation. My children took notice of when their parents and grandparents gave of their time and money, and now I am so proud to watch them bring the Jewish value of making the world a better place into practice in their lives.

The Frisch family at a 2015 Keshet dinner.

My youngest, whose bat mitzvah theme was “Making a Difference,” became involved in activities serving children and young adults with disabilities because of a good family friend with a disability and is now studying to be an occupational therapist for children with special needs. My middle child, an engineer, is on the Junior Leadership Board of Keshet and the Auxiliary Board of Our Place of New Trier Township, both organizations serving those with special needs. Our oldest chose Brandeis University because of its social justice emphasis and worked for Planned Parenthood for four years.

Carla’s daughter, Naomi, with her zayde, Lester Jameson (z”l), after receiving an award from New Trier Township for her work with people with disabilities.

This is what L’dor Vador is all about: Jewish values being passed down from generation to generation. There is no better way to make the world a better place than by sharing it with family.  

Personally, I can’t wait to see what the next generation brings to the table. 

To read more posts in the "Repairing Our World" blog series, click here.

Last month I found myself on the side of a highway outside Montgomery, Alabama, with a group of 300 strangers. We represented three countries, 29 states, and hundreds of personal stories and purposes that brought us together.

The event was the 50th Anniversary Walking Classroom, an immersive educational experience commemorating the 1965 March for Voting Rights. We replicated the 54-mile journey from Selma to Montgomery that 300 activists and faith leaders marched to shed a light on racial injustice and break down the significant barriers to the ballot box that African-Americans faced almost a century after they were legally allowed to vote.

^{Photo credit: Albert Cesare}

“Like the children of Israel leaving Egypt, we marched toward the Red Sea, and we were on our way, not knowing what was before us,” wrote Amelia Boynton Robinson, one of the organizers of the 1965 marches.

Raised in an interfaith home, social justice is one of the things that ultimately attracted me to Judaism. Reading about how many young Jews flocked to the March on Washington and risked violence on Freedom Rides and at Sit-Ins filled me with pride and a sense of obligation to ensure civil rights for everyone.

I’ve always thought that activists have this moment where they make a choice between what is easy and what is right – and I’ve wondered when my choice would present itself. It turns out you sometimes need to take the first steps of a journey before you realize that you’ve already made your choice.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, who marched next to Martin Luther King, Jr. as the crowd swelled to 25,000 upon reaching Montgomery in 1965, connected faith and activism when he wrote that, “for many of us the march from Selma to Montgomery was about protest and prayer. Legs are not lips and walking is not kneeling. And yet our legs uttered songs. Even without words, our march was worship. I felt my legs were praying.”

That line has always spoken to me, but miles into the walk I began to feel it on a deeper level. Deeper than my blisters and sunburn, louder than the spirituals we sang in the pouring rain, I felt in my bones throughout those five days of marching that I was doing something meaningful and holy.

It was good I had my legs to pray, because I was left speechless more often than I could have ever anticipated.

When a foot soldier who marched in 1965 embraced and thanked me for honoring her march 50 years ago, I was speechless.

When I crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge, without danger or hesitation, I was speechless.

When Amelia Boynton Robinson drove alongside us one afternoon on the highway outside of Selma, I was speechless.

When I stood at the memorial to Viola Liuzzo, the only white woman to die while protesting during the Civil Rights Movement, I was speechless.  

When our 300-person march swelled to thousands on the last morning, as we filled block after block of downtown Montgomery and assembled in front of the capitol, I was speechless.

After the formal program ended, I walked up the steps of the capitol, and found the podium King stood at while giving his “How Long? Not Long” speech 50 years before, down to the day. I laid my hands on it, took hold of this piece of history that had supported a man who lived and died for freedom and equality, and prayed for the strength to bend the arc of the moral universe toward justice.

I work with young people for a living, and I see it as my responsibility to create a world for them that allows them to learn and grow, and where it is safe to be themselves. When I read about Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown, I think about the 17- and 18-year-olds that I love, and about the endless potential they have to influence the world and effect change, something stripped from young black men with alarming frequency.

Last week I was leading a Rosh Hodesh group for high schoolers at one of my synagogues. The maintenance staff had turned on the alarm, forgetting we were in the basement, and we set it off while looking for Nutella on a snack break. The alarm blared through the building and alerted the local police. I calmly explained to the responding officer that I was there to run my group, and that I was very sorry that this is the third synagogue I may or may not have set an alarm off at in my four years working with congregations. He took my name, thanked me for my time, and left.

I couldn’t help but ask myself, would that interaction have gone differently if I had been someone other than a 5 ft. 4 in. blond woman? If I were a different race or gender, if I appeared physically intimidating, how would the officer have approached me? If I had been leading a group of five 15-17 year old young black men, instead of white Jewish girls, would he expect one of us to be armed? To have broken into the building, instead of being on a mad hunt for some Nutella? The teens I work with can usually be approached by a police officer and feel safe. They receive the assumption of good will, rather than a weapon drawn on them.

On my first night in Selma, I sat down at dinner across from Harrison, a black 13-year-old. Because I spend all of my time with teenagers, and am socially awkward around my peers – like a 13-year-old – Harrison and I became fast friends, and I spent a lot of miles talking to him. We quizzed each other on Harry Potter trivia. We shared in the woes of being an only child and how we felt it probably wasn’t too late for our families to adopt brothers for us. We raced Fitbits to 10,000 steps each day, and we shared photos of our dogs on Instagram. It was no different than getting to know my teens at home in Chicago.

A week later, Harrison’s mom posted this to Facebook: “Today's homeschool lessons include where to put your hands if the car you are in is ever pulled over and how to ‘yes sir’ even when you know you're not wrong.”

It has never occurred to me to teach my teens deference to authority. In fact, I sometimes worry I’m going to get angry phone calls from parents for helping to raise radicals that I put out into the world with the express intent to make social change. I take joy in teaching them to be agitational when it comes to community organizing – to shake the system until it notices them and can’t help but hear their voices. And I’ve never thought that it could put them in fatal danger.

That is entrenched racism. That is privilege. That is why I walked and thought and prayed my way from Selma to Montgomery; it’s not enough for only my teens to be safe. Emma Lazarus wrote, “until we are all free, we are none of us free.” Repairing the world requires activism on behalf of everyone. Social action is just that – action. It comes from a life of movement, continuing to put one foot in front of the other, praying with our legs, marching toward justice. 

To read more posts in the "Repairing Our World" blog series, click here.

More than one out of every 100 deaths is by suicide. That is more people than die in car accidents. And more than 80 percent of Americans diagnosed with clinical depression are not getting any treatment for it. Studies have shown that one of the key barriers to people seeking treatment is the stigma associated with mental health.  

My name is Miriam Ament and I am dedicated to breaking the stigma associated with mental health through my organization, No Shame On U.

More than a decade ago, I went through a major depression. I couldn’t get out of bed, felt helpless, hopeless and alone and couldn’t undertake simple tasks. In addition, I faced stigma and isolation from some friends and relatives who didn’t know how to handle me or the situation. When I was at the worst point in my depression, a good friend of mine called. “I only want to talk to you when you’re happy,” she said, “so let’s not talk again for a while.” I never heard from her again. Fortunately, I was able to successfully treat my depression with professional help.

Two years ago, through a charity auction, I had the opportunity to go to lunch with legendary actress Glenn Close. She founded a mental health organization and was very open to talking about it. I had never spoken about my history of depression with anyone who was not already aware of it, but I felt compelled to tell Glenn my whole story. She was amazing to talk to and it was so freeing. In turn, she told me a story about how on a visit to an Ivy League school, a Ph.D student approached her in secret to tell her she was living with severe depression but was afraid to tell her colleagues for fear of the impact it would have on her career.

My immediate reaction was “that needs to change.” I knew it was time to take my experiences and the challenges I faced and become a force for normalizing the mental health conversation.

Shortly after our meeting, Chicago media was buzzing about then Chicago Bear Brandon Marshall; not only on the field, but also off it. He was using his platform to share his story and raise awareness for mental health. The Brandon Marshall Foundation was looking for volunteers, so I started volunteering and loved being a part of making such a difference in mental health. From that I knew it was time to change careers and devote myself full time to mental health awareness.

After receiving a Fellowship from JCC PresenTense Chicago, I launched No Shame On U so that no one should be ashamed to get help in the Jewish community and beyond. My goal is for the people who need the help, to seek it, for family members and friends to know how to provide proper support and for lives to be saved.

Last October, I was interviewed by WGN News for a segment they were doing on National Depression Screening Day. For the first time, I talked publicly about my mental health history and as scared as I was to open up, I knew that my story had the potential to impact an untold number of people. The segment led to a cover story for another Chicago publication, helping further the reach of my story beyond what I ever imagined.  I never would have thought 12 years ago that I would be where I am and have the confidence to speak out.

As a result of the media exposure and NSOU’s social media presence (more than 10,000 Facebook followers), many, many people have reached out saying the impact No Shame On U has had on them. One of the more touching comments I have received after responding to someone was, “Thank you, so much, for your informative and potentially life-saving reply!”

No Shame On U is disseminating information daily to raise as much awareness as possible. In addition, we are planning an inaugural event this fall where we hope to reach even more people. If you or someone you know is going through a rough time, please know that you are not alone.

Here are some free resources: If you are in crisis, or know someone who is, please call 24/7 hotline: 1-800-273-(TALK) 8255 OR text 741741 for a 24/7 crisis text line – a live, trained crisis counselor receives the text and responds quickly OR go to www.imalive.org for 24/7 online crisis chat.

For additional resources, go to:
www.feelingkindablue.com (online support network 24/7)
www.7cupsoftea.com (FREE anonymous and confidential conversations with trained active listeners)
www.helpyourselfhelpothers.org (online self assessment tool)

For more information, please go to www.noshameonu.com, Facebook.com/NoShameOnU or @NoShameOnU. 

To read more posts in the "Repairing Our World" blog series, click here.

The melodies notifying you that your laundry is dry and your dishes are clean ring like a relaxing chime. Although there are machines to empty, you feel in no rush because you’re on your own clock. That’s one beauty of living alone: You don’t have to worry about emptying a laundry machine, so your roommate can clean his or her week-old dirty garments. I’ve been living this way for two years.

Well, kind of.

Ever since attending college in the city, I convinced my parents to let me live in their city pad until my graduation. So, this time in my life is very bittersweet. I recently graduated from college, but I’ve been asked to vacate the premises by mid-May. I guess you could say I’m part of my parents’ spring cleaning.

In all honesty, I’m looking forward to moving out. I love seeing my parents when they come downtown on the weekends, but I can’t wait to have a place I can call my own.

Well, kind of.

I’m moving in with one of my dearest friends who I’ve known since birth – literally. I haven’t lived with someone for a while, so, naturally, I’m a bit nervous. Since I’ve been living alone, I haven’t had to worry about someone else’s needs. And I’ve heard the horror stories about best friends who become roommates and now they’re no longer speaking.

To avoid a friendship meltdown, I’ve compiled a list of words I want to live by during this very exciting adventure.

Respect

I read on one of my favorite career websites, The Muse, that you should immediately complete a task that would take you approximately 30 seconds. These tasks include washing dishes, taking out laundry from the washer and dryer and taking out the trash. By doing these small tasks, you’re – for one – doing your part as a respectful roommate, but you’re also acknowledging that your roommate has chores he or she needs to complete. There’s nothing worse than having a roommate who never takes out the trash or takes days to empty the laundry machine.  

Empathy

Right now I’m reading The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin. According to the book – and, I’m paraphrasing – we believe that by bringing up every issue we have with someone, we’ll feel better. In fact, we’d feel better by doing the exact opposite. By focusing on the good in life, we feel good.

Your roommate might be doing something that’s frustrating you. He or she might be, for example, leaving his or her work projects everywhere on the kitchen table. You think he or she is being passive aggressive by leaving the area so dirty, but they might not know it’s even an issue. By politely asking your roommate, let’s say, if they don’t mind reorganizing their work before going to bed so you can eat your breakfast at the kitchen table, you avoid an argument over a misunderstanding.

Fun

This is the most important word to live by. You chose to live with this person because, hopefully, you have a lot in common and enjoy each other’s company. Make sure to enjoy the time you have with your roommate because before you know it your lease will end. Take walks around your neighborhood to discover restaurants, parks, stores and markets. Spend a night on the couch eating takeout and having a drink while watching a movie or TV show you both love. By spending time together, you learn about each other and grow a bond that lasts past the lease date.

Now, all that’s left is a mezuzah!

When spring rolls around, we all get that itch to clean, spruce and purge our clutter. I’m so busy these days, I scarcely have time to update my spring wardrobe, let alone clean out my already too-packed closet. When cleaning out our homes, our first instinct might be to donate clothes or household items to Goodwill, a local resale shop or another charity, which I often do when moving — donating tons of items in bulk. However, the task of cleaning out one’s place can be made easier with small cleanses every few months.

My grandmother grew up during the Great Depression. I’m convinced her experiences somehow translated to how she raised my mother, who basically can’t throw away anything. This resulted in my mom’s insistence when I was young that I get use out of every article of clothing my older sisters outgrew. It has also resulted in a storage unit containing far too many of my sisters’ and my childhood relics. To this day, my mom can’t even bake without grabbing every granule of sugar dropped onto the counter while measuring.

While I find my mother’s baking habits endearing, she has also instilled in me an irrational fear of throwing away anything. The promise of good friends, cheap wine, and free loot in the form of a friends clothing swap, however, somehow temporarily shakes me out of my hoarder’s neurosis every few months.

I have a group of seven or eight girlfriends with whom I gather every couple months for a clothing swap. We alternate hosting at our various apartments, and much like with a book club, the host provides treats and wine. Each of us contributes a bag (or several) of items we want to swap, and we take turns auctioning off our old treasures for verbal dibs.

Admittedly, there are some heated debates over certain articles of clothing, but we all go home with tons of new things and some satisfaction that we’ve gotten rid of the old. Often, I end up going home with more than I got rid of, but at least they’re new items I’ll be wearing or using in the next few months. Older clothes, shoes, books, or movies aren’t helping me at all if I’m not using them. If I receive a new dress, pair of heels, sweater, or even a kitchen whisk that I really needed, at least it’s taking up space in my apartment with purpose.

Evidently, we don’t limit our swaps to clothes. We essentially bring anything we’re trying to get rid of, from jeans to evening gowns, as well as purses, coats, shoes, books, DVDs, music, kitchen utensils, electronics, and even strange items, such as jumper cables—my favorite latest score in our April swap.

As someone who hoards a bit, I actually find it really satisfying to give my beloved possessions to a beloved friend. Plus, it’s really fun fighting over new finds. Not to mention, members of our swap group unabashedly re-swap items once we’re tired of them, so I’m never stuck with something for too long if I don’t want it.

If you love a good bargain (and there’s no better bargain than “free”), or you just can’t part with all of your favorite clothes at once, I definitely recommend the clothing swap route. You can part with your oldies, but goodies, slowly and you get to hand them off to a great new home where you know they’ll be cherished and used.  

I don’t know where I’d be this spring without a bunch of new tops from my girlfriends –and those ever important jumper cables.

In your 20s, you’re a step above the naivety of your teen years but a step below the complexity of the rest of your life. It’s at this stage in our lives we have a realistic future ideal, but we may not have the final blueprint down.

Our 20s are some of our most formative years. If you think about it, it’s kind of crazy how much can change in this one decade. You go from studying to graduating, interning to working, renting to buying, dating to marriage, and maybe even starting your own family. It’s a steep life learning curve. So how do we manage this change? We leverage our past and apply what we’ve learned to our present and future. And just like that, you continuously build onto your foundation, block by block. Networking works the same way.

“Networking” gets thrown around as a buzzword all the time. That little voice in your head is always yelling at you to attend every possible professional event under the sun. You start to feel like it’s a dreaded full-time job. This word sometimes has a negative connotation because networking may feel forced, uncomfortable and robotic even. That is, until you change your perspective.

Just think about it. Your network already exists and it’s at your fingertips, merely a call or message away. Whether it be school clubs, football games or birthday parties, you’ve already created a wealth of memories. Who were/are your friends in these moments? In school and in our early professional years, we have this luxury of forming truly genuine bonds. It’s not your paycheck or connections that interest others – it’s you. Sadly, the older and further along in our career we get, the more we start to question the motives of the people seeking our friendship. So take advantage of the sincerity of your relationships now.

Look no further than your group of friends. Sure, we all may be at the bottom of the corporate food chain right now, but we won’t be there forever. You and your friends will go on to become managers, presidents, partners, founders, CEOs, CFOs, etc. These are the decision-makers. Decision-makers impact change. Collaboration opportunities, new business ideas, and new roles begin to emerge. And friends help friends. You’ll be naturally inclined to keep your inner circle in the loop and seek their guidance.

Also, remember young people have a lot going for them. We are never freer at any future point in time than right now. We have minimal responsibilities, low expenses, high energy, and lots and lots of time. Take advantage of it because you’d be lucky to ever feel this free again. So call your friends back, go to happy hours, grab dinner, meet to watch the game, go out, and continue making memories. Trust me, you will have some awesome stories to talk about in the conference room in 20 years.

The Charles Tillman era has come to an end in Chicago as the creator and master of the “Peanut Punch” made his windy city departure official, inking a one-year deal with the Carolina Panthers. The signing marks the end of Tillman’s 12-year stay in Chicago, which included two Pro Bowls and a Super Bowl appearance in 2006. The move will reunite Tillman with Panthers coach Ron Rivera, who ran the defense in Chicago from 2004-2006.

While Tillman will go down as one of the best defensive backs in franchise history, the last two seasons have been frustrating for the veteran. A torn right triceps two seasons ago kept Tillman out eight games and he went on to miss all but two games of last season after suffering the same injury.

Tillman, Lance Briggs and Roberto Garza were the only remaining starting position players left on the roster from that 2006 team (kicker Robbie Gould still remains), and with Garza’s release and Briggs all but gone, this marks the end of an era for the Bears and their most successful defense since the 1985 “Monsters of the Midway.”

The truth is, everything started to change when Lovie Smith was fired at the end of 2012. That season was also the last for Brian Urlacher, whose tenure with the Bears came to a rocky end when his agents proposed a two-year contract for $11 million to the Bears, who came back with a take-it-or-leave-it deal of one year at $2 million that Urlacher decided to leave.

To call the break up between Urlacher and the Bears unfriendly would be an understatement, and with the hiring of Marc Trestman in 2013, the Bears marched out two of the worst defenses in franchise history in consecutive seasons. The defense never truly believed in Trestman or defensive coordinator Mel Tucker, who failed to provide the team with any kind of defensive prowess or identity.  

And while it is easy to focus on the bad ending with Urlacher, the unrest with Briggs last season and the injuries that have plagued Tillman the last couple seasons, it is important to not only acknowledge but also to celebrate the great Bears teams on which they played significant roles. The defense carried the team during Tillman’s time in blue and orange, with the defense priding itself on forcing turnovers and scoring points. It wasn’t just one of the team’s strengths, it was a necessity. With struggling offenses led by Rex Grossman and Kyle Orton, the Bears relied on defense to win games and they consistently came through, often scoring more points on defense than on offense. This defense was not as good as the ’85 Bears or even the ’63 Bears, but they did lead a team to a Super Bowl. It was a special team and Tillman will no doubt be remembered as one of the pillars of that group.

Through all of the drama of the last couple seasons, Tillman has remained a consummate professional. He was not only a hero on the field, but in the community as well. The Charles Tillman foundation has given more than $1 million to families in need. Tillman won the NFL Salute to Service Award in 2012, and in 2014 received the Walter Payton NFL Man of the Year award.

Letting Tillman walk was probably the right decision for the Bears, who are trying to remake their defense, but his leadership will be missed. A new era is starting in Chicago. How this next chapter will look has yet to be seen and who will lead them forward is still a question mark – but hopefully they can learn from someone like Tillman, who always led with passion, dedication and class.

“Hey, how are you? What’s new?”

“Oh, not much, what’s new with you?”

“Nothing new here.”

“Yeah, same old, same old.”

“Things are good.”

“Well, glad nothing’s new, it was great talking to you!”

That conversation was a disaster. And how many times do all of us have this same dialogue over and over again? It’s an empty pleasantry and a waste of everyone’s time.

Here’s what I’m tempted to say when asked “what’s new,” none of which actually make for good conversations:

“Well, I took my dresses to the dry cleaner yesterday, so it’s always nice to wear a clean outfit.”

“I usually get my turkey sandwich with mayo, but today I asked for pesto mayo, and it was a good addition.”

“Not much is new, but recently I’ve been craving jelly beans.”

Not the best, right?

The nosy, inquisitive journalist in me would like to offer a few suggestions for those frequent moments when you want to make conversation but just don’t know what to ask.

• “What projects are keeping you busy this week at work?”
• “Tell me about your most memorable meal this month.”
• “First thing that pops into your mind — what’s the best book you’ve read this year?”
• “How was your weekend? How did you spend your Sunday afternoon?”
• “What’s the funniest thing that happened to you today?”

Let us all join together and attempt to eliminate the pointless, useless question of “what’s new” — and instead, we can find some questions that are interesting and actually much easier to answer.

Except … in one instance.

“You’ve got some snu on your shirt.”

“What’s snu?”

“Not much, friend, what’s snu with you?”

Chicago YJP at Auschwitz-Birkenau on a Poland-Prague trip. 

After the Nazis had fled Bergen-Belsen knowing their demise was imminent, Izzy Starck and some friends searched the Nazi barracks to find a bunch of rifles. They were starving – that wasn’t what they were looking for. Nonetheless, they decided to take them for safety’s sake. Then, while taking in their first breaths of freedom as they continued their search for food, they saw a Nazi SS guard they recognized from the camp running with suitcases.

They surrounded him with their rifles. As the devil’s elf pitifully begged for his life, no one felt mercy for his wicked soul. They had all lost so much to his blood-stained hands and all of his fiendish comrades. One of the friends said to Izzy, “He deserves to die. Shoot him.” Izzy agreed and responded, “You’re right. Go ahead.” One by one, they all agreed he deserved to die, and they all told the next person to shoot him. But no one could.

It wasn’t a lack of desire for revenge that stopped them. As Izzy explains it 70 years later, “Maybe it just wasn’t in our genes? It just wasn’t in our blood to kill.”

Despite all the horrific atrocities they had been through, they kept the Jewish fundamental concept in mind – we build. That’s what we do. After so much destruction, they had a tremendous yearning to build. No more destroying. As Izzy Starck told us, “The revenge I have against Adolph Hitler wouldn’t come from killing an SS officer. It comes from four of my kids living in Israel and my 40-plus grandchildren.”

It comes from a lifetime of rebuilding the Jewish people and heritage.

On Passover, we lovingly eat our matzah. The matzah has two seemingly oppositional meanings to it. At the beginning of the Seder, we declare, “This is the bread of affliction.” This is the bread of oppression. It is the bread of destitution. Matzah is made of the same flour and water as all bread. What makes this particularly destitute bread? The answer is it didn’t rise. Not letting your bread rise is a choice a destitute man makes when he doesn’t care about taste anymore. Life isn’t worth living. Who cares if the bread is moist, soft, and risen or dry, rough, and thin? That’s the despondence of destitution. The slavery we remember of our ancestors was a destitute existence. And the matzah is apropos to the occasion.

However, we later proclaim that matzah is symbolically the bread of freedom. We recall toward the end of the Haggadah how the matzah reminds us of the speedy exit our ancestors took from their bondage, how they did not have time to delay and their unrisen bread testified to their haste. Thus, the same symbolic object juxtaposes these two polar opposite points of the Seder: oppression and freedom.

But how could this be? Doesn’t the matzah seem to naturally befit oppression, and the freedom symbolism is a bit of a stretch? How about just leaving the freedom symbolism to the four cups of wine and calling it a day?

The answer is seen in the story of the liberated Jews from Bergen-Belsen. You see, in Judaism, freedom is not really about luxury. Of course, free people have luxuries, and we express ourselves as royalty at the Seder night accordingly. But that’s not the full picture of what it is to be a free Jew. True freedom is the ability to build. We aren’t just seeking pleasures for the sake of fulfilling base desires. Some may even call that simply transferring the slavery to one’s body. We are looking to build. We want to build our nation, ourselves, and our heritage.

True, tasteless food is the bread of a destitute man. But there’s another man who eats tasteless meals. When a huge business tycoon is going in to work to seal the deal on a big project, he leaves the house that morning in a frenzy. He doesn’t have time to sit down to a fancy breakfast. At best, he just grabs whatever he can while rushing to the door and eats on the go while working out the final details of the project on his way to work. So too, we the Jewish people are huge business tycoons. But our business isn’t simply making big financial projects; we are looking to build our nation, ourselves, and our heritage. We don’t have time or energy to focus on petty rising food, revenge on Nazi blood, or any other detail that doesn’t help us on our mission. We are looking to build.

Therefore, the matzah is apropos as a sign of freedom. It’s a symbol that reminds us of how we handle our freedom. We seek to build. We seek to create generations to come, to build the generation we’re in, and to grow in our own spiritual strength. This is the way of our people. It was the way of our people upon their liberation from Nazi hell. It was the way of our people over 3,000 years ago from horrific slavery. And it is our way of building through all times. In every generation, they will come upon us and attempt to destroy us. But we will stand up to them, and we will build.

This piece was put together based on a lecture given by Mr. Izzy Starck at the recent Chicago YJP Poland-Prague Reunion. To find out more about the next Poland-Prague trip with young Jewish professionals and other upcoming events, email Rabbi Josh at josh@chicagoyjp.org. You can also find other stories of Mr. Starck’s experiences in his autobiography.  

Passover is one of my favorite holidays. My third favorite, in fact. One element I enjoy is the Seder Plate and the items we put on it. In general, we Jews like to use symbols – or in the case of Passover, food – to represent things. It’s why, especially during this holiday, if I walk past a fellow Jew all I have to do is shout, “Represent!” and they know exactly what’s going on.

But this whole abundance of representation can sometimes feel antiquated in tradition (TRADITION!!!!). What we have now is great, but I figured that it might be interesting to delve into what a modern version of a Seder Plate might have on it. But then taking it one step further, so as not to get in the way of tradition (TRADITION!!!!), I further figured a Seder Plate that represented me might be more interesting, and fun, for you, the attractive Oy reader to, ahem, read. Now, I know that this could be a huge plate if I really took the time to fill it up, so even if it was simply a sampler platter, I wonder what would be on the Seder Plate of me … of me … of me …of me …

Doodly-doo! Doodly-doo! Doodly-Doo! Doodly-doo! Doodly-doo!

Hi. Not sure what that was. I thought maybe something would happen. Anyway, here’s what would be on my Seder Plate if it were to represent some small iota of who I am in no particular order from least to most important. Enjoy!

SpaghettiOs  

Well, this one is pretty obvious if you know me. SpaghettiOs are pretty much my staple. Much stronger bond than my paper clip. But what SpaghettiOs represent to me is a bit of how I will never completely grow up, hopefully in a good way. It’s like my Rosebud. It always reminds me of the innocent times in my life and it’s a part of me I never wish to get rid of. It lets me know that despite all the stress of my life and the hectic day to day goings on, there’s a part of me that truly hasn’t changed in over 20 years, and I really like to hold onto that.

Huh? What? That Rosebud reference just ruined Citizen Kane? Oh, woops. Should have said “spoilers.” Sorry everyone!

A video game controller  

This is representative of all that I love when I just want to shut off my brain. These days, video game systems not only play video games, but they are my Blu-ray player and my streaming device as well.

Now, when it comes specifically to video games, I always like to say that they are a lot like books. This is because, for me, they usually take roughly the same amount of time to finish but they are truly an interactive and immersive experience. It’s the games with good stories that truly capture me and while many other people will go through the same story, I get to take away my own interpretation of the material. And with my favorite games, I revel in the chance to revisit those great worlds again and discover new things while reliving familiar yet exciting stories. Also, just like books, the movie is never as good as the video game.

A Blackhawks jersey  

Hockey holds most of my passion for professional sports. Well, that and curling. But my love for hockey represents something very important to me, and that’s the bonds with others it has helped me forge over the years. Some people seem to not understand sports, but at their core, sports brings people together. Specifically because of hockey, I have a much closer relationship with some of my closest friends, my brother and my father. Not that I needed any additional help, but there it is. So a Blackhawks jersey, to me, symbolizes some of the greatest experiences and memoires I’ve had bonding with others, and that is tough to beat.

Also, the Blackhawks are going to the playoffs for the seventh year in a row. Cue the “Chelsea Dagger.” Eh beh deh.

Portillo’s Chocolate Cake Shake  

There’s no symbolism here. These are just awesome and I want them on my plate. Or maybe it represents that I am awesome!? Yes. Yes it does. But you are awesome too. You are a Portillo’s Chocolate Cake Shake!

Mel Brooks  

Yup. I want to put Mel Brooks on my Seder Plate. If anything, he represents my humor, which is a very significant part of my life. I love to make people laugh (like hopefully you have been doing while reading this, I hope, I hope, I hope) and I use humor to get me through times of difficulty. And really, my sense of humor is a gigantic element of who I am and Mel Brooks has been a humongous influence on my life. He is possibly the greatest person I’ve never met but his influence makes me feel that, with humor, I am the king. And it’s good to be the king … of my own Seder Plate.

The Orange

I’m keeping this one on my plate. The symbolism of the orange is too wonderful. It’s some darn good symbolism in fact. Specifically, it looks at the idea of fruitfulness for all Jews when lesbians and gay men are contributing and active members of Jewish life. I may have stolen that phrasing but it was really good phrasing, so sue me. I have a wonderful diversity of people I care very deeply for in my life, and the idea of including everyone, no matter what their race, gender, creed, religion, sexual orientation, anything, is absolutely one of the strongest feelings I have about absolutely anything. So yes, that orange is sticking around on the Seder Plate of me.

So there you have it, the Seder Plate of Me! And while I could have countless additional items on my Seder Plate (local craft beer, gummy Coca-Cola bottles, a symbol for the pursuit of voice acting, etc.), I have to ask – you awesome Portillo’s Chocolate Cake Shake you – what would be on the Seder Plate of you? Represent!                         

Passover has always been my favorite Jewish holiday. Not for the funky food – and definitely not for the candy fruit slices that taste like Tums – but for the people. Passover, more than any other holiday, has been a special time to for our family and friends to congregate.

When I was a little girl, Passover meant a visit from my cool older cousins in Colorado, an annual event that brought me so much joy, I’d start countdown calendars in the back of my school notebooks months in advance.

My sophomore year of college, Passover meant renting a house in Portland, Oregon with my great-aunts, my grandmother, and an assortment of cousins. Between Seder prep, we went on walks through the green spring rain and taught my 90-year-old Great-Aunt Zera how to use an iPad. (Aunt Zera loved the device so much, she went out and bought one as soon as she got home.)

Last year, Passover meant a new chapter in our family narrative as we held each other close and celebrated Pesach without my grandfather for the first time.

This year, Passover meant broadening our social and culinary horizons. In a feat of love – and possibly madness – in addition to welcoming new friends, Jewish and non-Jewish alike, to our Seder table, we prepared a vegan, sugar-free, and gluten-free friendly dinner to make sure that everyone in attendance had plenty to eat regardless of their dietary restrictions. This endeavor  to let “all [vegans] who are [definitely] hungry come and eat” led to the sitcom-like moment of watching flax seed matzo balls dissolve in the boiler and learning that not all brands of margarine are, in fact, dairy-free – a realization that led to a few last minute trips to Jewel.

While the details of Seder each year have always been a surprise, the question of where I would end up for the next Passover never troubled me because I knew I’d be with my family. But it seems like Passover 2016 will pose even more than the traditional four questions, because next year, I’ll be in Israel.

Yes, I, the girl once cripplingly afraid of change, will be moving to Israel for the year to study and intern in Tel Aviv, and I couldn’t be more excited!

But, I can’t help wondering what being away from home for so long will mean. I wonder how I will change individually and Jewishly. I wonder how I will grow as a friend and as a thinker. I wonder, especially, who I will meet, what I will experience, and what the faces at next year’s Seder table will look like. Right now, imagining next year’s Seder is like looking at photograph with the human subjects in silhouette. So close, I can almost smell the Tsimmes, but far enough out of reach to leave my questions unanswered.

But like the four questions, my queries do have answers – I just don’t know them yet. But, I guess that’s one of the fun parts of Passover – and life. You never know how dinner will turn out until everyone’s at the Seder table.

It's hard not to get worn down by the steady stream of hate flooding our newsfeeds.

We're consumed by images and rhetoric in the media of human turmoil and strife—a world crying out for repair. Every day, we're reminded that we share a world with people whose evil knows no bounds. They hate us. They hate all humanity and civilization.

We, the Jewish people, in particular, are feeling the heat—but what else is new? The bad guys reject the values we hold dear—learning, light, love, and knowing that what matters most is the good (the acts of loving kindness) we do in the here and now.

We've seen violence recently against Jews in Belgium. France. Denmark. Argentina. Har Nof. Stabbings on Jerusalem buses. Swastikas in West Rogers Park. The Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions Movement on campus, distorting the Israel narrative, including in February at my alma mater, Northwestern University. The threat of a nuclear Iran. The list goes on and on and on.

We know there are many people who want to see Israel—and, in fact, all Jews—wiped off the planet.

But for all the darkness and heartache, let's be mindful that we've been through worse. The Jewish people have survived thousands of years of combatting hatred, persecution, and tsuris—and we always make our way out of the dark and into the light.

For all the bad, we see hope too.

After the shootings in France and Denmark, a group of Muslims encircled a synagogue in Oslo, Norway, on Shabbat, creating a "ring of peace," protesting anti-Semitism and violence against the Jewish people.

I heard from Mosab Hassan Yousef, the son of a Hamas founder, at the recent American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC) Policy Conference in Washington, D.C. After growing up in Hamas, Yousef left the family business to work undercover for the Shin Bet, Israel's internal security service, where he forged a deep friendship with his Shin Bet handler along the way. The information Yousef gave to the Shin Bet exposed Hamas cells, prevented suicide bombings and assassinations of Israelis, and helped Israel track down militants.

The subject of a recent documentary, The Green Prince, and author of the autobiography, Son of Hamas, Yousef—who has relocated to the United States and cut off ties with his family back in Ramallah—embodies a gentle, beautiful soul. He told us that he believes in loving people, no matter where they come from.

Yousef's story shook me to my core. When we're born, we all start off innocent. But then we learn either to love or to hate. It horrifies me when I see images of small children of terrorists bearing weapons and following their parents down paths of violence and destruction. Changing their hearts and minds, breaking that cycle of hate, is nearly impossible. And yet, Yousef chose the path of love.

It's people like him who give us a ray of hope that one day we will live in peace.

Jews in Chicago, in Jerusalem, and around the world have been sitting down for Passover seders. Right now, as in so many other times in Jewish history, the plagues of hate, evil, and violence occupy our thoughts, along with frogs, hail, and pestilence.

"In every generation," we read on Pesach, "they rise up against us to destroy us."

Pharaoh tried. Hitler tried. And most recently, in France, in Denmark, and in many other places around the world, evil people keep on trying.

But they will never destroy us. They will never break our spirit—they will never break us.

Am Yisrael chai!

Every year at the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament, Jewish basketball coaches get together to give out the Red Auerbach Best Coach Award. This year's nominees include: Larry Brown, Southern Methodist University; Steve DeMeo, Northwest Florida State College; Scott Garson, The College of Idaho; Matt Gordon, Phoenix College; Larry Shyatt, University of Wyoming. Congrats to all the nominees.

Speaking of the NCAA, former Duke Blue Devil and Chicago native Jon Scheyer has found his way back to the Final Four, this time an assistant coach. And while he did not make the tournament, Auburn coach Bruce Pearl has received glowing praise after turning around the school’s basketball program. Auburn made a late run, but of course ran into the mighty Kentucky Wildcats.

In baseball news, one of Jewish baseball's all-time greats, Al Rosen, passed away. Rosen played for the Cleveland Indians; he was a four-time All Star and the 1953 American League MVP. The Indians will honor Rosen all season by wearing a #7 patch.

On a lighter note, Toronto Blue Jays player Kevin Pillar injured himself sneezing. The incident was made famous when Jimmy Fallon poked fun at the injury on The Tonight Show. But the joke is on everyone, as Pillar will finally be an opening day starter.

Jewish baseball-lovers will also be happy to hear that Jason Marquis has made it back to the Bigs after what could’ve been career-threatening surgery. He will be in the Cincinnati Reds’ starting rotation. Meanwhile, Joc Pederson is second in home runs in all of Spring Training with six. He is not only making his case to make the team, but probably beat out veteran Andre Ethier as the starter.

Finally, as we prepare for the NHL playoffs and MLB Opening Day, the NFL Draft is around the corner. Iowa running back Mark Weisman’s draft stock has risen and there’s hope that he will be a late round pick. Good luck to Weisman!

I was debating calling this article “My Country Western Song,” but since I do not have a dog or a pick-up truck, I thought this was more apropos. With 2014 ending on a high note, 2015 has been a little rough, but I think I finally learned an important lesson.

Last year was great; we added Joel to our family, and I will briefly gush that he is sweet, handsome and smiley and his big brother has handled the attention-sharing very well. We are extremely lucky, minus a few trips to urgent care and one visit to the emergency room.

This year, I became the hot mess of the family. One of those reasons is sleep deprivation.

Having a baby is an interesting study in how to deal with tiredness. I have no idea how my wife has dealt so well with it. In fact, I am going to make a sweeping generalization that moms handle lack of sleep way better than I do. Don’t get me wrong, my recent lack of sleep wasn’t what cut my index finger to the point of stitches (that was an emulsion blender), but I think it has played a role in other aspects of my recent klutziness.  

The real culprit in my 2015, however, has been my need for speed. Not the drug – moving quickly. I like to get things checked off my list, so I’m often in a race with no one in particular. I wonder if that’s why my three-year-old hates to come in second place or even tie. Anyway, both bosses (wife and JUF) have encouraged me to take my time, and I’m going to start trying very hard to apply that advice, especially after my latest speed-related incident.

I took a day off recently and used the opportunity to try accomplishing all my errands. I ventured to our favorite butcher, hit two other grocery stores, and visited the auto-mechanic. But then I got greedy. I thought I should return my sunglasses to the mall before picking up family at the airport. I had a cushion of at least 15 minutes, but convinced myself that I needed to run into the mall. Had I not been running, the stones I stepped on probably wouldn’t have turned my foot.

The tiny bone break that resulted requires a massive boot and four weeks to heal. I now have been called “Gimpy” and can no longer sneak up on anyone (not that I did that before, but it’s nice to have the option).

My take away from this tired, sliced-up, limping start to the year? Sometimes you need to run, but most of the time, walking is your best bet.

Leonard Nimoy died in February, but the memorials continue. Nimoy embraced and celebrated his Jewish heritage publically, especially in his later years. Here are some of his most Jewish contributions to popular culture:

The Vulcan greeting was developed by Nimoy for his iconic role as Mr. Spock on the seminal Star Trek series. He based it on the gesture used by kohanim to bless Jewish congregations. It represents the Hebrew letter shin.  

Shekhina
This is Nimoy’s first book of art photographs. The subjects are Jewish women interacting with Jewish objects such as a tallit, tefillin and mikvah. Some would find it controversial to see women wearing these items, let alone that they are wearing little else.

American Jewish Music
This was a 13-episode, nationally broadcast radio series Nimoy narrated. It was produced by the Milken Archive, a library of Jewish musical recordings, many rare or unique. The series, initially produced with WFMT, included works by Kurt Weill and Leonard Bernstein, film scores, operas, cantorials, klezmer melodies, symphonies based on Jewish themes, Sephardi music, and songs from Yiddish theater.

Portrayals of Jews heroes
Nimoy read the words of one of the greatest Torah commentators in the documentary Rashi: A Light After the Dark Ages. He played Samuel the Prophet in a TV movie about King David. He played Mel Mermelstein, a Holocaust survivor who took Holocaust deniers to court and won in Never Forget. He read the words of Israel’s third leader, Levi Eshkol, in a documentary about Israel’s prime ministers. And he even played Morris Meyerson, aka Mr. Golda Meir, in A Woman Called Golda, opposite Ingrid Bergman.

Narrations of Jewish documentaries
Nimoy was a go-to voice-over actor and interview subject for Jewish topics, including American Hasidism, American synagogues, Chinese congregations and even “Hava Negila.”

Inquisitiveness
Nimoy hosted the 1977-1982 show In Search Of…, which later inspired the History Channel’s less-than-historical focus. The show delved into such topics as aliens, ghosts and Bigfoot. 

Loyalty 
Nimoy’s co-stars and directors were often Jewish. On Star Trek, there were William “Kirk” Shatner and Walter “Chekov” Koenig. Fringe was created by J.J. Abrams, who later directed the Star Trek reboot films. The Transformers movies (for which Nimoy voiced different robots) were directed by Michael Bay. He appeared with Don Adams in the Mel Brooks show Get Smart, and on the Western show Bonanza with Lorne Greene and Michael Landon. He directed Steve Guttenberg in Three Men and a Baby. And Nimoy was a friend of Suzanna Hoffs’ family, which is how he ended up in a video for her ’80s band, The Bangles. Nimoy even took over as star of Mission: Impossible for Martin Landau… the man who was originally offered the role of Spock! 

A sense of humor
In a Simpsons episode, Krusty the Klown— born Herschel Shmoikel Pinchas Yerucham Krustofski— almost leaps to his death from a speeding monorail. Leonard Nimoy (or, more accurately, his cartoon self) grabs Krusty and pulls him to safety, declaring: “No! The world needs laughter!” Nimoy’s non-cartoon self agreed, roasting William Shatner and being interviewed by one of the Muppets’ Pigs in Space, Dr. Strangepork. He also spoofed his Spock character on Futurama and The Big Bang Theory. Most recently, he starred in a rather self-effacing video to Bruno Mars’ “The Lazy Song.”

Along with Barbara Streisand, Mel Brooks, Joan Rivers, Jackie Mason, Neil Diamond, Woody Allen, and a precious few others of his generation, Leonard Nimoy was one of the most proudly open and openly proud Jews in entertainment. 

As they say in Vulcan, “kol hakavod!”

I took the two photographs above while walking on the “Bloomingdale Trail” in Chicago. This unused three miles of elevated railroad track and footpath is slated to become a park and trail system connecting four neighborhoods by summer of 2016 and has been renamed the 606.

In June 2013 I spent five days with my son and two friends running a small urban adventure day camp. One of our adventures involved walking the “Bloomingdale.” It was so cool to be walking 16 feet above street level and getting a very unique perspective of Chicago. We walked over and next to parks, streets, schools, old factory buildings, and residential areas for about 30 minutes. On a second trip there a few days later, we walked the entire stretch of from beginning to end and back again. It was on this excursion that we found the two abandoned trains. They had been left there and over the years had become part of the urban landscape; I had wanted to walk the entire Bloomingdale Trail prior to its reconstructive surgery.

These abandoned tracks made by joggers and bicyclists will lose some of their character when the city of Chicago transforms them into park area and trails. As I looked at and examined the these two sets of train cars, I reflected on how they, at one time, served a purpose holding cargo of one type or another, but without an engine pulling them they were rendered non-functional. I thought about myself and how I have big grand ideas and projects in my mind, but if they are not “attached” to an action plan or any measurable movement, then they are just plans, sitting abandoned on a railroad track.

Learning from our surroundings (people, places, and things) is key for those who try to invest time in working on themselves. This is what I was doing with the train cars. As I walked back to my entry point (which involved climbing through a cut out passageway in a fence, climbing up a man-made ladder, climbing over another fence, and then jumping onto a garbage can) I was reminded of a something  taught by ethicist, Rabbi Israel Salanter.

When he first observed the railroad system he was able to extract three important lessons: If you come late, you will miss the train; if the train jumps the rail, then all of the cars might overturn; and a person without a ticket cannot board the train.

No matter how hard I looked, I just couldn’t see any black and blue in that damn dress.

I know, I know. We’re all sick of hearing about the (white and gold!) viral sensation that took the web by storm. (All things considered, however, I did prefer this to photos of Kim Kardashian’s naked and glistening derriere, which apparently “broke” the internet last year.)

But hear me out: besides being a head-scratching conundrum that inspired millions of quasi-hysterical emails and re-shares, there is something genuinely puzzling about this singular image. How can color, of all things, be a topic so disputed?

I dipped into a little research to see why this could happen. As it turns out, the things we see right before our very eyes are by no means undebatable.

Confused yet?

Take Homer, for instance – the poet, not the Simpsons character. For him, the issue of color truly was black and white – and I mean that literally. He only saw black and white, with a splash of red here and there, maybe a hint of green if he really strained his eyes. Of course, we have no way for sure of knowing what exactly the ancient poet saw as he scanned the Greek landscape, but judging by his writing,  it’s very likely that he lived in a world that, at least to him, appeared rather colorless.

Homer is not alone, either. In most ancient texts, whether it be the Vedas or our very own Torah, color references aren’t as obvious as we might expect. Most interestingly, despite biblical texts’ innumerable references to the sky and the heavens, the color blue is not mentioned once. Never.

Blue is, in fact, humanity’s most modern color.

But the sky is blue. Isn’t it obvious? Yet, hundreds of years ago, this may have not been obvious at all. The color blue might have been there, but we humans were just unable to process, or even notice, it. It’s quite possible that, without a word or concept for blue, humanity might have just seen a colorless nothing as they gazed into the expansive mass of the sky. 

This begs the question: How many other things are so obviously right in front of us, but we’re just unable to notice?

Take another example. About 150 years ago, a single terrifying thought kept hundreds of people awake at night, shivering nervously under their wool blankets and clutching to their loved ones. It was the overwhelming fear of being buried alive.

That might make sense for a couple extremely paranoid or naturally anxious individuals, but masses of people?

This was because back then, doctors didn’t have the medical prowess to differentiate between when someone had died or, say, simply lapsed into a coma, or drifted into unconsciousness, or suffered an epileptic attack. So the fear of being buried alive was actually quite legitimate. And the heartbroken relatives, ridden with grief, had no idea that their cause of despair was something they could still change. The solution was right there — they were just unable to see it.

As William Safire, New York Times columnist and Romanian-descended Jew, quips, “Never assume the obvious is true.”

Today, new pictures of the dress are making their rounds across the internet. Indeed, the dress is blue. But whenever I look back at that initial image, no matter how much I squint my eyes or print it out and turn it upside down, I always see gold. 

What else is out there that I’m missing?

(For more info: Radiolab: “Colors;”Memory Palace)  

One of my goals at 100 Reasons to Win is to help professionals improve their relationships. Some of my clients are looking for true love; some have found it and want to work better with their partners; and others are just looking to navigate the tough conversations that they engage in with family, friends, and colleagues. 

No matter the purpose, I have found myself offering similar guidance to just about everyone as the foundation for sustaining good relationships.

1. Understand the nuances among different types of relationships. There are all different types of people in our lives and different protocol for how we interact with them. There are also actions that can be taken to improve each of those relationships. Understanding those nuances helps us to increase the value of each and every one of our relationships as we strive to deepen those connections. A good read on this topic is the Seven Levels of Intimacy by Matthew Kelly. Kelly offers a path to overcoming fears and strengthening bonds with others.

2. Speak the truth. This doesn't necessarily mean you must tell everyone, everything all of the time, but it does mean that sharing a piece of how you feel or what you think about a situation breaks the ice and brings a certain authenticity. It can be as simple as having the courage to calmly tell a colleague, “I feel nervous about this event tonight, so I am glad you are here to help.” Sometimes this involves admitting when you were wrong and/or asking for forgiveness when you have wronged another.

3. Compare your similarities. When you meet or speak with someone, ask yourself not what is different between you and the other person, but what is the same. A very important coach and mentor once shared that with me and it has made a huge difference in my ability to prevent and/or resolve conflict. The idea is that when you try to figure out what's different, you are really asking, “What should I fear about this person?” This fear inevitably sets you up to be in conflict. On the other hand, when you try to look for what is the same, then you are asking, “What should I love about this person?” This love sets us up to cooperate with that person.

We interact with people all day long and every person is a part of another relationship for us. Understanding the foundation for what makes relationships a success is an important skill. Like any skill, it comes more naturally to some more than others, but it can be learned, and with practice, improved.

By the way, the best relationship to start practicing with is the one that you have with yourself.

As a 24-year-old single lady, the world of dating is a 180-degree difference from when my parents were single and mingling. My mom was always being courted and my dad was taking women out on proper dates. You know your parents are way out of the loop when your dad’s dating advice includes going to Studio Paris Nightclub at 9:00 p.m. (For those of you who have not been to Studio Paris, the nightclub crowd doesn’t arrive until at least midnight.) His thought process is that respectable men who want to meet respectable women are out earlier. I’ve accepted that for me, meeting a quality guy probably won’t happen at a Lincoln Park bar or a River North nightclub.

Last summer I came across an article in JUF News that discussed the book How to Woo a Jew: The Modern Jewish Guide to Dating and Mating by Tamar Caspi. Although I’m happy being single, a part of me is looking forward to the day I meet my dream guy. So, I decided to read the book, which I suggest you do, too. The book puts dating in perspective.

We work hard to get into highly regarded universities and rewarding jobs. We nurture our relationships with our families and friends, but we don’t put that effort into finding a life-long companion. I applied every piece of advice from the book into my life, but I learned from experience that certain aspects of the book weren’t working for me. I’ve learned what has and hasn’t been working for me while dating and wanted to share my thoughts with you:

Make a non-negotiable list

Set high yet reasonable expectations

Make a list of traits you desire in your future companion. In the future, do you want a Jewish partner? Do you want to have similar passions like jogging? I keep my list handy in my iPhone’s Notes application so that I can add traits at any time. I learned from Caspi that creating this list reminds of us of our true desires instead of being tempted by a seemingly nicer present option.

Poly-date

Date to learn what you like

What better way to learn the traits you want in a partner than by going on as many dates as you can? By going on dates with numerous potential partners, you begin to learn the signs of a true mensch or meshugener. Dating can be fun, or one of the most dreadful encounters you’ll face. It’s all about perspective. My advice is to look at dates as a way for you to get to know someone and let them get to know you while enjoying delicious drinks and noshing on a yummy meal. You might realize this person is totally not meant for you or be surprised at what you have in common.

Go beyond those Dating Apps

Get out and meet people in the real world

Personally, I’d rather use resources that are going to enhance my dating experience. We all know someone who met their significant other on Hinge or one of those dating apps, so we start believing the same will happen to us—and maybe it could. I’ve gone on a handful of dates through these dating apps, but I didn’t have much in common with my dates because the apps only show the surface level of its users.

Caspi advises subscribing to online dating resources such as JDate. As someone who subscribed to JDate for about six months, I went on only three dates with the same person until I realized we weren’t right for each other. Personally, I wasn’t profiting from the investment of money and time to produce my profile.

In addition to your dating apps and online profiles, my advice is to join organizations and group activities to meet more people who share your interests (I have to admit that was my dad’s advice to me. I guess he’s not totally out of the loop.) One way to meet eligible singles is by joining LEADS, a program created by JUF’s Young Leadership Division, which is great for creating relationships in a relaxed social setting.

I know the game of dating can be difficult to navigate and rules are always being added and subtracted, but I hope my advice can help you think through what is best for you.

Happy dating!

I recently poached eggs – successfully. I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever been more proud of anything; which probably means that I should find a more thrilling life.

Poaching eggs has been on my to-do list for a while, but I haven’t attempted them because I’ve been too afraid. They’ve always sounded like a difficult science experiment that I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to tackle.

When you think about it, though, they are kind of magical. How else are you supposed to describe cooking eggs in water? Then again, they can’t be that difficult to achieve since a poached egg of some sort is on every brunch and breakfast menu. They can be found everywhere, and up until this week everywhere excluded my apartment. 

Maybe you’re like me and you’ve let the idea of failure scare you out of the kitchen. I started cooking mostly because I got tired of the same boring takeout in my neighborhood. Most of the time I’m not very confident in the kitchen, but I’m learning to bite my tongue and go for it. I am slowly checking seemingly difficult cooking projects off of my to-do list. Originally I was hoping that would make me a better and braver cook; what I’m finding is that it’s making me a better and braver person. 

I can’t think of a better metaphor for life. Cookbooks are as readily available as any other book. They’re full of instructions – you just have to be able to read and try to do what they ask. The key word here is try. If you mess up, so what. Try again. If I’ve learned anything from my kitchen experiment, it’s that trying something new is absolutely worth it and when it does work out you feel like a magician. What’s better than that?

My (Magical) Version of Eggs Florentine

There are a zillion steps to this recipe, but once you’ve done everything and assembled it you’ll feel like a champion.

Hollandaise

12 tablespoons unsalted butter (1½ sticks)
4 large egg yolks
3 tablespoons lemon juice
1½ teaspoons salt
¾ teaspoon pepper
¾ teaspoon cayenne pepper

Melt the butter in a small sauce pan. Place the egg yolks, lemon juice, 1½ teaspoons salt, ¾ teaspoon pepper and cayenne in the jar of a blender. Blend for 15 seconds. With the blender running, slowly pour the hot butter into the blender and blend for 30 seconds, until the sauce is thick. (You can leave it in the blender at room temperature for up to 1 hour. If it is made in advance, add 1 tablespoon hot tap water and blend for a few seconds before serving.)

Sautéed Spinach

1 tablespoon butter
1tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 small onion chopped
10 ounce package baby spinach
Salt and pepper to taste

Heat a large skillet. Melt the butter, and then add the olive oil and chopped onion. Cook until soft, about 3 minutes. Add the spinach and cook, stirring, until spinach is wilted. Season with salt and pepper and toss again. Serve warm.

Poached Eggs

Heat the water: Add enough water to come 1 inch up the side of a narrow, deep 2-quart saucier. Add 1 teaspoon kosher salt and 2 teaspoons white vinegar and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Meanwhile, crack 1 very fresh cold large egg into a custard cup or small ramekin. Use the handle of a spatula or spoon to quickly stir the water in one direction until it's all smoothly spinning around.

TIP: Use this whirlpool method when poaching a single serving (one or two eggs). For bigger batches, heat the water, salt and vinegar in a 12-inch nonstick skillet and do not stir.

Add the egg: Carefully drop the egg into the center of the whirlpool. The swirling water will help prevent the white from "feathering," or spreading out in the pan.

Let it poach: Turn off the heat, cover the pan and set your timer for 5 minutes. Don't peek, poke, stir or accost the egg in any way.

Lift it out: Remove the egg with a slotted spoon and serve immediately. Alternatively, move the egg to an ice bath and refrigerate up to 8 hours. Reheat in warm water just before serving.

Put it all together: Toast an English muffin and then top it with a bit of the spinach, top it with a poached egg and a bit of hollandaise sauce.

One of my favorite times of year is finally here – March Madness. The good weather, the high stakes, and basketball on television nearly every minute of every day.

Now, I am by no means an NCAA aficionado; I don’t watch every minute of every regular season or even conference championship game. But since when does being an expert make you more qualified to pick winners when it comes to the NCAA tournament? Sure, there are trends to follow and hot players and teams heading into the tournament, but what truly makes March Madness great is its unpredictability – the “madness” if you will. It is one of the few sports bets you can make where the biggest college basketball fan has little advantage over the casual viewer. The thing I love about it is that no matter how much I know about any of the teams going in, I am going to become as emotionally invested as any other fan once that first game tips off.

I actually think I approach this with a bit of an advantage over someone rooting for their alma mater. My college doesn’t even have a team, so I go in completely unattached and open to jumping on and getting behind whoever I think is the most fun to watch. It is one of the few times for me when a loss doesn’t equal heartbreak. It’s like speed dating: I don’t have a life-mate, nor am I looking for one – I’m just going out looking to have fun.

With that said, let’s make some preliminary picks. These may not be the picks I stick with, but they are the ones I like right now after actually watching a good amount of college basketball this year and using a healthy mix of good, solid research and pure gut prediction. I’ll go region by region.

Midwest Region

I only see one real upset coming out of the Midwest, and that is 12th ranked Buffalo topping 5th ranked West Virginia in the first round. Aside from the history of upsets in the No. 5 vs. No. 12 portion of the bracket, I think there is a lot to like about Buffalo and they are a perfect underdog to get behind. This is their first trip to the tournament, coached by former NCAA star and NBA player Bobby Hurley. Their main weapon is big man Justin Moss, who nearly averaged a double-double this season. With a few notable injuries on West Virginia and a little Cinderella magic dust, I can see this 12 seed moving on. I like Notre Dame, but they struggle to get stops on the defensive end. Teams with stars typically have success in the tournament, and Maryland potentially has one in Melo Tremble. But this region starts with Kentucky, and I believe it ends with them. They are more than just hype – this is a team nobody wants to play. They have depth and were dominant all season long. Sure someone could always sneak up on them, but as of today, this is my team to come out of the Midwest.

East Region

I don’t see an obvious favorite coming out of this region. To me, the team to watch out for is Michigan Stage. Don’t be fooled by their seven seed. You can never count out a Tom Izzo-coached team, who will be coming in with a big chip on their shoulder as a result. I think they could get past two seed Virginia, but may have trouble with a team like Oklahoma. In fact, I’m going to take Oklahoma out of the East. They finished the season hot and have one of the best starting five in all of college basketball.

West Region

Now to the West where Big Ten champion Wisconsin holds the top seed, but I think Arkansas is the dark horse team to watch in this region. Arkansas can flat out score and are led by SEC player of the year Bobby Portis. Wisconsin is probably still the favorite and Arizona will be a tough out, but I am not buying Wisconsin. Bo Ryan has them right there every year and they are as fundamentally sound as a college basketball team can be. If the tournament were a “best-of-seven” scenario, Wisconsin might be my champion. But this tournament is about momentum as much as it is about skill and I see them being beaten on any given day by a team playing with more heart. I’m going to take Arizona out of the West because of how well they play against ranked teams.

South Region

The South has my true Cinderella team, Stephen F. Austin. SF Austin is a great offensive team who made noise in the tournament last year and I think have a favorable bracket to do it again. But to me this region comes down to whether or not Duke and Gonzaga are for real. Duke is a favorite every year and Jahlil Okafor may be the best player in the tournament. Gonzaga is one of the top teams every year, and this may be one of the best teams they’ve had in recent years, but the ‘Zags have a tendency to disappoint come tournament time. If either one of these teams come up with a letdown, look out for Iowa State in the South. I like them every year, probably because of my affinity for head coach Fred Hoiberg, but I also think they can shoot lights-out.

So, my Final Four looks like this: Kentucky, Arizona, Oklahoma, Iowa State. And my National Title game? Kentucky over Iowa State to win it all. Kentucky is just too skilled and too deep. They have everything that makes a championship team, and as much as I love to ride an underdog, I just don’t see them being upset on their road to becoming NCAA National Champions.

I’ve recently learned that many of my friends — including my soon-to-be husband — have spent more time traveling abroad than within the United States. As kids, they spent summers and winter breaks exploring London, Paris, Peru, and Morocco, but have never been to Seattle or New Orleans.

As someone who, outside the U.S., has only ever traveled to Israel, Poland, Canada, and Mexico, I am in awe of these world travelers. I look forward to many years of exploring what our planet has to offer, near and far.

But for those of you who have the travel bug but haven’t yet visited the depths of the USA: What are you waiting for? Our country is beautiful, diverse, and full of history and culture. You don’t need a passport or a different kind of currency to go on wild adventures.

If you’re traveling domestically, then, here are my top 10 local destinations.

1. New Orleans, Louisiana. I love the feel of the culture here — it’s a little southern but also uniquely Cajun. There are musicians playing jazz in the streets, there’s a Voodoo Museum, the little shops are adorable, and even though I’ve sworn off of doughnuts, I’ll make an exception for the amazing beignets. Even after Hurricane Katrina, the culture is still strong, and it’s been so meaningful for me to help rebuild post-hurricane on my three trips there. 

Eating beignets at Cafe Du Monde in New Orleans with Anne in February 2011

2. Sanibel Island, Florida. She may sell sea shells by the sea shore, but YOU can experience millions of the beautiful shells in sunny southern Florida. This quaint town is beautiful and romantic, known for its seashells and vacation atmosphere. 

Picking seashells in Sanibel in February 2013 with Priya, Maham, Christie, Virginia, and Syema

3. Seattle, Washington. Seattle is a fun, hip town full of diverse neighborhoods and quirky things to see. And if you love rain, you’ll fit right in! There are food markets, a chocolate factory tour, amazing hikes, and a troll under a bridge. Plus, it’s a short ride to Vancouver, Canada — one of my favorite destinations outside of the U.S.! 

Hanging out on the Fremont Troll in Seattle with Christie and Virginia in March 2012

4. Charleston, South Carolina. Charleston is probably the most unique city I’ve visited in this fine country of ours. It feels like you’re walking through a time capsule of the Civil War era, filled with southern mansions with gas lanterns and cobblestone streets with horse-drawn carriages. The locals love their city and are so excited to show it off to visitors. Plus, you can visit the oldest remaining Reform synagogue in the United States! 

On a horse-drawn carriage tour of Charleston with Adam in December 2012

5. Sedona, Arizona. Beautiful multicolored mountains are the backdrop for this small, spiritual town in sunny Arizona. My friends and I loved hiking, horseback riding, and Jeep touring on the cactus-lined terrain. It’s known for spiritual vortices — and though I’m not sure we found deeper spiritual meaning, we sure loved the sun and the scenery. 

Hiking in Sedona, Arizona with Priya and Virginia in December 2014

6. Saugatuck/Holland/South Haven, Michigan; and Indiana Dunes, Indiana. I listed a lot of cities here, but Adam and I visited these places all on one trip. The hiking in the Indiana Dunes was so beautiful (and full of many hills and stairs … my calf muscles still haven’t fully recovered), and I think we Chicagoans forget how close this gem really is. South Haven is an idyllic little town with great beaches, cute shops, and a beautiful lighthouse. Holland is like a little local piece of the Netherlands, complete with a windmill, a tulip festival, and wooden shoes. Saugatuck was lovely, an art lover’s dream, filled with art galleries, gift shops, and beautiful beaches. 

Dune ride in Saugatuck with Adam in August 2013

7. Starved Rock and Matthiessen State Park, Illinois. Friends, you don’t even have to leave Illinois for a great getaway. The hiking and scenery in Starved Rock and Matthiessen State Park were fantastic — and oh so local! Many of us know of Starved Rock, but Matthiessen State Park is a lesser-known find, filled with beautiful waterfalls.

Enjoying the waterfalls in Matthiessen State Park with Adam in May 2014 

8. Washington, D.C. I’ve often said that if I didn’t live in Chicago, I’d love to live in D.C. In addition to the thrill of being in the center of our nation’s government (I assume that any person who walks by in a suit is a member of Congress), I think the neighborhoods are great to explore and the vibe is so much fun. I just feel smart when I’m there. The museums are free, the food is great, and, let’s be real, any place that houses the Ruby Slippers is like home to me. 

In front of the White House in Washington, D.C. with my friends from my Alternative Student Break trip in December 2008

9. New York, New York. Okay, okay, I’ll include New York on this list. It’s no Chicago, but it’s certainly an experience. The Broadway plays, the restaurants, the museums, the neighborhoods, the cupcakes, the studio tours, the Highline, the frozen hot chocolate — it is a fantastic place to visit. Plus, I recently visited Brooklyn, and it’s adorable — who knew?? 

At the Carnegie Deli in New York with Adam, Dan, and Dori in November 2011

10. San Francisco, California. I loved visiting San Francisco, even for a short visit as part of my USY on Wheels teen tour (and somehow I forgot to wear some flowers in my hair). It feels straight out of the 1960s with hippies on Haight Ashbury, and I loved visiting the steep and curvy Lombard Street, plus Ghiradelli Square and Alcatraz. I definitely want to go back for a longer trip. 

My photos from my USY on Wheels trip in summer 2003 have not yet been digitized, but I did find this picture of our group from that summer — perhaps this photo was taken in San Francisco!  

Honorable mentions to Minneapolis, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, St. Louis, San Diego, San Antonio, Ft. Lauderdale, Birmingham, Breckenridge, Niagara Falls, Lake Geneva, Atlanta, Boston, and Madison, all of which I also enjoyed.

If you’re planning on visiting any of these places, I’d be happy to share my recommendations; and if you have ideas for other places that you loved in our great country, I can’t wait to visit them, too.

God Bless America! Play ball!

We Jews love our food memories. We have our stand-by recipes that remind us of holidays, family, good times, and bad. And horseradish—maror in Hebrew—is one of those foods.

I can’t even look at the root vegetable without the familiar smell taking me to Passover. I can be standing in my kitchen at work, pulverizing the giant veggie in the middle of a hot summer day, and once I crack open the gnarly looking knob, I am back at the seder.

It is funny, because not many other foods do that for me. I can eat latkes all year round (and do!) and have occasionally snacked on an orphaned box of matzoh I found in a cabinet, months after the holiday. In desperate moments I have greedily gobbled stray gelt and never once thought of Chanukah.

But Horseradish is different. The pungent aroma is so unique and so—Pesadich!

Eating a bitter herb is an important part of the Seder.

There is a commandment in the Torah to eat bitter herbs during the seder together with the Paschal offering. Nowadays since we no longer bring a paschal offering, the commandment to eat maror during the seder is rabbinic in nature.

The reason that we eat the bitter herbs is to commemorate how the oppressive Egyptian slave-masters embittered the lives of the Jewish slaves in Egypt. According to the Talmud, there are different types of food that qualify as maror. The most common custom is to use romaine lettuce, but it is essential that the lettuce be pre-checked for any bugs. Others use grated horseradish and some people have the custom of using both. It is customary to dip the maror in the charoset (culinary bricks-and-mortar mixture) (and then to shake off the charoset) as an antiseptic to its pungent taste.

In addition to the requirement to eat the maror by itself, the maror is also an ingredient in the korech Hillel sandwich in commemoration of the practice at the time of the Temple to eat the matzoh and maror together with the paschal lamb as indicated in the verse “you shall eat it [the Paschal lamb] together.

Smoked salmon schmear

3 ounces Wild Alaskan Smoked Salmon, chopped finely
1 medium shallot, minced finely
1 tablespoon prepared horseradish
2 tablespoons mayonnaise (homemade or purchased)
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1 tablespoon chopped fresh dill
Freshly cracked pepper
Garnish: fresh dill, salmon roe, caviar, crème fraiche (for dairy preparations)

1. Combine all of the ingredients together in a food processor. Pulse several times until the mixture is combined, but still has some texture.

2. Dollop the schmear on latkes fresh out of frying pan and garnish as desired. Store the schmear, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 5 days.

Horseradish crusted standing beef roast

Serves 6-8

Something wonderful happens to horseradish when it is cooked. The pungent root vegetable so tearfully familiar during Pesach becomes sweet and savory once cooked and slathered all over gorgeous beef. The king of all meat cuts is a perfect celebratory gorgeous hunk of meat. It looks intimidating—but is actually really easy and can be done ahead of time and kept warm.

1 4-rib roast (about 9 pounds), cut from the small end or first cut with the chine bone cut off (ask your butcher to tie the bones on to the roast)
2 onions, coarsely chopped
2 red peppers, coarsely chopped
2 carrots, coarsely chopped
3 plum tomatoes, cut in half
4 tablespoons fresh cracked black pepper
6 tablespoons kosher salt
1 cup prepared white horseradish
2 bulbs of garlic, roasted and the soft garlic squeezed out
1 750 ml bottle dry red wine (I prefer Cabernet Sauvignon)
2 cups chicken stock, preferably homemade

Preheat oven to 450 degrees

1. Lay the rib roast, bone side down, in a large heavy duty roasting pan. Scatter the vegetables around the roast. These will be the base for wine sauce later.

2. Season the roast with salt and fresh cracked pepper. Mix the horseradish and roasted garlic together.

3. Generously smear the mixture over the rib roast. Place the prepared roast in the pre-heated oven and roast for 20 minutes. Lower the temperature of the oven to 325 and roast for an additional 60 minutes.

4. Insert a meat thermometer into the thickest part of the roast and when the temperature registers 115 (for rare-medium rare), remove the roast. Loosely tent the meat with foil and allow to rest for 20 minutes. This will allow the final temperature to be around 125-130. The internal temperature will continue to rise in a process called “carry-over” cooking.

5. Remove the meat and place the roasting pan over a burner at medium heat. Add the wine and gently scrape up any brown bits with a wooden spoon. Continue cooking until the wine has reduced by half. Strain out the vegetables and discard. Add the stock and continue cooking until the sauce has reduced and coats the back of a spoon. Adjust seasoning with salt and fresh cracked pepper.

6. Remove the bones and slice the meat. Serve on a platter with wine sauce and sautéed mushrooms if desired.

7. To hold the meat for Shabbat: Once the meat has reached the desired temperature, turn off the oven and remove the meat as in step 4. After the meat has rested and any carry over cooking is finished, return the meat back to the warm oven. Allow the door to stand slightly open and the meat will stay warm for another 30 minutes or more.

My 5-year-old son, all dressed up in his finest Purim costume, looked up at me and said, “Abba, I love Purim! Let’s go do some more shalach manos!” He was referring to the special candies and treats that are given out amongst friends throughout the community on Purim day. 

He and his siblings along with all their friends prepared many days in advance, just like their parents were doing the same, to give out packaged treats to all their friends, neighbors and community. It is a special mitzvah on Purim called mishloach manot. I smiled and thought it was cute how he probably was perceiving the “agreed exchange.” Typical 5-year-old kid, right?

But then I remembered a beautiful teaching Rabbi Moshe Katz shared with us at our Purim event downtown. He asked the question we all have to ponder, “What’s the difference between Purim and Halloween?” They dress up, and we dress up. They get candy, and we get candy. Is it just that Halloween has a horror theme to it, and Purim has more of an ancient Persian royal banquet feel to it?

The answer he gave shed a beautiful light on the holiday; it also influenced my response to my son’s query. Rabbi Katz told the crowd of 60-plus young professionals gathering at JUF/JCC downtown to learn and celebrate the story of Purim, that the difference is profound and actually goes to the core of what it truly is to be a Jew.

You see, on Halloween children are taught to go around knocking on doors asking for candies and treats. They put in their efforts, and they reap the rewards. But on Purim, we teach our children to go around knocking on doors to give candies and treats. Despite the fact that we often receive in return, the true Purim experience dictated by our heritage going back over 2,500 years is to be giving on the day of Purim. That’s the Jewish “Halloween.”

Purim is a day of connecting with our friends, community and our heritage. Some even explain the age-old custom of costumes is to break down any barriers that may have been between us. Perhaps my neighbor and I are of a different socio-economic status, or perhaps we have nothing in common. Today, I dress up as a ‘50s rock star and he’s a green crayon. We walk around the neighborhood and the community sharing in our delight of being a part of the Jewish people. We send each other homemade goodies as we laugh and dance to our hearts content together, on par as comrades.

This is the message of Purim. It is the message of our Jewish people. And it was the message that I tried to convey to my son with his cute inquiry. I told him, “Enjoy your candies and treats, my son. They come from your friends who love and care about you. But remember, the most precious opportunity for you to be a part of on this day is the chance to show your friends how much you love and care about them!”

The Downtown Purim Experience was a project of Chicago YJP, a Division of the Lois & Wilfred CTN: Home of the Wondering Jew in partnership with JCC 20s & 30s. To receive periodical insights from Rabbi Moshe Katz, you can email him at RabbiKatz@TorahNetwork.org.

I’m terrible at feeding myself.

Not literally – when it comes to getting a forkful of food to my mouth, I’m actually over 98 percent accurate. What I mean is, in this life that could be considered adult, when I am tasked to eat a meal by myself, I constantly feel as if I’m failing quite spectacularly at it.

Now don’t get me wrong, there have been successful meals in the past. One you can actually read about here! That’s right, I wrote a whole Oy!Chicago piece about how I ate dinner successfully by myself one night. But what I’m really getting at is, for some reason, eating by myself seems to pose quite the multitude of troubles for me that really shouldn’t exist.

It all began in 19-aught-87, when I was born to wonderful parents, albeit bland-paletted ones. As I grew up, my mother was not one to cook much. I blame my father. That’s honestly not meant to be mean-spirited; let’s just say that for my dad, BBQ sauce is the most exotic thing he eats – as long as it’s normal BBQ sauce, which I think to him means McDonald’s BBQ sauce. Hence, my mom didn’t cook often, so we went to restaurants often; hence, as an adult, I am often at restaurants. Ironically, despite my lacka-taste-ical upbringing, I’ve actually developed quite the diverse palette myself, relative to my family of course. So a son or a brother, since that’s how I’m relative to my family … I’m so sorry.

The irony of going to restaurants on a more than regular basis is that my introversion would lead you to believe I wouldn’t want company. It’s not that I need company, but for whatever reason, I can’t just sit there and eat. Regardless of being at a restaurant, I need to either be watching something or have my mind focused elsewhere other than on the monotonous task of chewing my food. Therefore, because I get what I like to call “All By Myself Restaurant Anxiety,” I sometimes, like to play Eric Carmen’s “All By Myself” when eating, hence the title of the anxiety.

One major reason why I love all the big Jewish holidays is it gives me a reason to be around others conversing and having a spectacular meal. And while I love the leftovers that come with it, when I have to eat those leftovers alone it is just not the same. Not even close. At home, I pretty much have to be watching TV or something. It is the darndest thing and kids aren’t even saying it. I will literally plan my meals around a TV show or a sporting event which on occasion means I won’t eat dinner until roughly 9 p.m., or if I’m lucky, around softly 8:30.

When I don’t have plans to eat a meal with a companion, sometimes the struggle involves simply taking the time to eat. As a rational adult, I know that I need to eat or I will die. Not immediately of course, but pain will come via a rumbly in my tumbly if I don’t feed myself. Unfortunately, sometimes I get so hungry or as some like to say, hangry (hungry + angry) that I cease to have the ability to make any rational decisions. At that point I want to forgo any preparation time, so dinner sometimes becomes a bag of Flamin’ Hot Fritos and that weird flavored water that has been at the back of my fridge since I moved in three years ago.

I think the silliest struggle I have is the one with breakfast, the quote unquote most important meal of the day. I never eat it for the quote unquote exact reasons I’m supposed to eat it. It gets my metabolism going far too early and come lunchtime, I’m dealing with a whole different version of the Hunger Games. Yes, this paragraph was written just for that joke.

But here’s the thing, despite all these struggles, I manage to get through these spectacularly and honestly asinine troubles I have with dining by myself. Mostly because, and this is a whole different can of worms (I own about seven cans by the way), when eating alone at home, I don’t cook – I microwave. And with that microwaving, I have my fail-safe that has been my fail safe for the past two-plus decades: SpaghettiOs. Glorious, glorious SpaghettiOs.

I don’t think I’ll ever grow up.

Growing up as a child I didn’t fully understand the concept of piggy banks.

As far as I could tell — based on the information amassed from countless viewings of Toy Story and the occasional Nickelodeon advertisement — piggy banks were strange, possibly animate creatures into which you put your unusually large coins. Later, when you wanted to retrieve that money, you either smashed or violated the piggy to get maybe $3 worth of change out of it. The whole thing seemed completely barbaric to me.

When my peers and I became old enough to receive an allowance and visits from the “Tooth Fairy” (sorry, Mom and Dad, you didn’t fool me for a second!) they kept their winnings in bright pink piggy banks, and I kept mine in a little box in my closet.

This choice greatly confused my friends, who would occasionally come to my house with piggy banks in tow so we could all count our money together in an entertaining ritual rather similar to sorting one’s candy on Halloween. The first time we met, no one mentioned my lack of a piggy bank. But the second time, Claudia asked, “Where’s your piggy bank, Jenna?”

Reveling in being contrary, I answered, “I don’t have one, I use this instead,” gesturing to my little box.

“So,” said Claudia, “what’s that?” pointing to an object on the shelf on the other side of the room. Looking up, I realized that she was pointing to our tzedakah box where we set aside money to donate each year.

“Oh,” I said, “that’s just our tzedakah box.”

To my surprise, my perfectly ordinary answer was met with blank stares.

“Don’t you have one at home?” I asked.

More blank stares.

Their silence led to wonder if maybe there was another name for tzedakah boxes that I didn’t know. My mom’s great-aunt called the freezer an “ice box,” so why couldn’t my friends have another name for this everyday household item too?

“You know,” I said, “a charity box. The place you put extra money to give to charity?”

They still had no idea what I was talking about.

It was then that I realized that tzedakah boxes were a distinctly Jewish thing and in fact not a staple in every American household. That realization made me kind of sad. I felt it was a shame that my non-Jewish friends didn’t get to drop coins in the slot of their tzedakah boxes and hear the “whoosh” and metallic “click” of money filling up the box. But then, looking back at the structure of their piggy banks, I realized that my friends did know the satisfying sensation of dropping money through the slot. The only difference was that the money saved in their piggy banks was for them, and the money we saved in our tzedakah box was for someone else.

From that day on, I looked at our tzedakah box with a heightened sense of responsibility. I began following my dad around the house and collecting the change that fell out of his pockets. I rooted through kitchen drawers for spare coins and dug through the washer and dryer too. By the end of that first year, I had helped collect over $25 in spare change — a mighty feat for an elementary school student. And the money went to the charity of my choice, the name and purpose of which I’ll admit I’ve forgotten. But every year since, my family has filled our tzedakah box and donated the money to a deserving cause, which I get to choose.

A few years ago, while counting the year’s savings, I decided to send our tzedakah to the JUF annual campaign. As we sorted the pennies from the nickels, my family and I discussed under whose name the donation would be made, since the three of us were already regular donors to JUF. But before we had the chance to make up our minds, the decision was made for us, for up onto the table jumped our cat, Callie, who then proceeded to roll around in the pile of change on the table. While this adorable — albeit passive aggressive — display was nothing more than a demand for attention, we decided that it was Callie’s way of telling us she wanted to become a regular donor at JUF, too. So we counted out the change and wrote a check to JUF from Callie Cohen for a grand total of $25.

Since then, Callie has become a regular donor of JUF, in fact, she’s come to take it quite seriously. Each year, without fail, Callie joins us on the dining room table to oversee the counting out of her annual gift. She no longer sits on (or rolls around in) her yearly donation, but sits beside the emptied tzedakah box with what seems to be a sort of feline pride.

You know you live in a delightfully Jew-y home when even the cat knows the importance of giving tzedakah.

How do you make omelets and French toast even better than they already are? Matzoh, that’s how. I know that “matzoh” isn’t typically the answer to that kind of question because it’s dry and flavorless, but just go with me on this. Much like the fried tortillas in chilaquiles, matzoh has this way of turning regular old breakfast into something special, textured, and absolutely delicious.

And good news! Passover is coming, so matzoh is plentiful and on sale! What? You are gluten-free? Yup, I got you covered. Now all you need is to decide if you are in a sweet or a savory mood, because matzoh brei (fried matzoh) comes both ways. How switchy.

I grew up eating both versions, savory immediately followed by sweet, because dessert following breakfast is totally a thing and the only civilized way to eat. The classic savory version of matzoh brei has fried onions in it, but I also like to add a little garlic, some fresh herbs, and even a little cheese. What can I say? Gilding the lily is sort of my calling card. The classic sweet version is a lot like French toast, served with butter and syrup and powdered sugar on top. Though I wouldn’t say no to a tumble of fresh berries, some whipped cream, a drizzle of chocolate—I could go on all day!

Below are recipes for both sweet and savory matzoh brei. But by all means, do not limit yourself to my ingredient list. This can really be a “clean-out-the-fridge” meal where you toss in leftover grilled veggies or pesto from last night’s dinner, or scrape out the last spoonfulls of your peanut butter jar.

As long as you follow these five basic steps you can add pretty much anything to the mix and be happy about it. Chag Pesach Sameach!

The basic matzo brei technique in five steps:

1) Take out however many sheets of matzoh you might need. I typically use 2 sheets per person, but I like to over-feed people.

2) Crumble up the matzoh indiscriminately. You want some pretty large shards and some smaller pieces as well. Try to avoid making matzoh dust though.

3) Run some extremely hot water in your faucet. Once it’s hot, drown the matzoh for about 30 seconds, or until you feel it start to break down a bit. You don’t want it totally water-logged, but it should definitely be pretty soft.

4) Drain the matzoh of all the liquid. Completely. Literally press down on the matzo to squeeze out any remaining water.

5) Mix in 2 eggs per sheet of matzo, along with a few pinches of salt.

Boom. Now it’s time to get creative.

Sweet: Heat up a few tablespoons of butter in a large skillet. Pour in the matzoh and egg mixture over medium-high heat, and scramble it up just like you are making eggs. Once everything is nice and browned, plate it up and pour on your toppings of choice!

Savory: Thinly slice a medium-sized onion. Heat up a few tablespoons of butter in a large skillet with a little oil as well. (Pro tip: mixing butter with oil prevents the butter from burning at a high heat. The more you know). Add the onions to the skillet and cook them for about 10 minutes, or until the onions get super caramelized and brown and nom. Feel free to add in some fresh garlic or any other veggies you are into as well. You can also add some spices like garlic powder, dried herbs, chili powder, really anything your little heart desires. Just make sure you add a few big pinches of salt and black pepper. Pour in the matzoh and egg mixture over medium-high heat, and scramble it up just like you are making eggs. Once everything is nice and browned, you can add some cheese to melt in if you wish. Enjoy!

Stephanie Goldfarb, senior associate of teen initiatives at the Jewish United Fund, won the Food Network’s reality show ‘America’s Best Cook’ last year.

I’m in love, and have been for a long time.

It’s a relationship filled with laughter, tears, intrigue, and surprise. It was love at first sight, back when I was a little girl—with an extra-terrestrial that longed to go home. 

From then on, that love has never wavered, and isn’t reserved for one, but for oh so many—Ferris Bueller, Annie Hall, Tootsie, Harry and Sally, Marty McFly, Atticus Finch, Danny Zuko, Yentl, that little dog Toto, Mrs. Doubtfire, and so many others.

Yes, I’m in love with the movies.

What’s better than settling into a crowded movie theater on opening weekend, the scent of $14 buttered popcorn wafting through the air, the larger-than-life screen, booming sound, and darkness enveloping us? Our daily worries melt away, and we’re swept into another world for 2-plus hours.

Sometimes movies are meant purely for escape, and other times their stories change the way we think about our own lives—our real-life dramas and comedies. At best, movies make us think, feel, connect, love, and even reach for greatness.  

Every winter—culminating with the Oscars—I cram in as many movie nominees as I can. In the last three months, I’ve watched a British mathematician break the Nazi code, witnessed peril through the eyes of a Navy SEAL sniper in Iraq, seen a boy blossom into a man over 12 actual years, marched on Selma, climbed inside the genius brain of Steven Hawking, hiked the Pacific Crest Trail, meandered “into the woods,” and more. 

We Jews, as a people, tend to love the movies, and we’re represented in so many interesting ways on film and behind the scenes.

In 2011, Tablet Magazine compiled its list of the top 100 Greatest Jewish films of all times. For the magazine’s staff to pick their favorites, they first asked themselves one crucial question: What the heck is a Jewish film? And since there’s really no formula for defining a “Jewish film,” they decided to think about their picks in terms of a broad definition of Jewishness— movies based on the identity of its creators, overarching Jewish themes, films that have a big influence on pop culture, and movies that simply possess a Jewish sensibility about them. Their list was eclectic, and included everything from The Jazz Singerto The Wedding Singer.

But their top choice for the best Jewish film might surprise you. They picked—drumroll please—E.T.the Extra-Terrestrial, the story of the little alien who made me fall in love with movies all those years ago.

Of course, the movie, one of the highest grossing films ever, was directed by one of our greatest Jewish filmmakers, Steven Spielberg. But there’s more to it: E.T., Tablet said, tells the story of a bewildered alien in a strange land, a metaphor for an immigrant’s tale. The film’s themes of home, love, family, friendship, and enchantment, according to the magazine, make it a beautiful choice for the quintessential Jewish movie.

Of course, any film school professor worth her salt would find it great food for thought to think about what makes a film Jewish or even what makes a decent film in general.

But the joy of movies, to me, doesn’t have to be proven like a mathematical equation. It’s really that je ne sais quoi quality that moves us to an almost transcendent place—that mystical, magical feeling that lingers with us long after the last frame ends.

No, we can’t always define what it is about movies that speak to us. All we know is—just like that sweet little Reese’s Pieces-eating alien—we love them.

A Rabbi once said that a person dies two deaths: The first is when you die; the second is when people stop remembering you.

On occasion, I like to play a terrible game. There are usually three scenarios and it goes something like this:

Scenario #1 - I am suddenly dead. My practical engineer husband, in an effort to appear “upbeat” for the children, never mentions me again. Why upset the kids, himself and his new trophy wife? It would be best not to burden the bunch with such unpleasantries.

Scenario #2 - I am suddenly dead. My husband Mike, in his paralyzing grief, tells no one I’ve died. Not even my friends on Facebook. No one attends my funeral.

Scenario #3 - I am suddenly dead. Mike alerts Facebook. Everyone and their mother attends the service. My ex-boyfriend reveals I was way more into him than he was into me. A girl named Wendy volunteers the story about how I peed on her in kindergarten. Someone farts loudly at the service. No one keeps to the two-minute rule.

My husband does not enjoy this game for a variety of reasons. (Well, duh. Add it to the list.)

This year I have a new “I’m suddenly dead” worry: what exactly is it that will be my “legacy” when I’m gone? How will my life be remembered?

My legacy with my kids will of course be inked with memories of my everyday perfection. They will fondly recall stories that equate me with Mother Teresa and most definitely name one of their children’s hamsters after me. But beyond my brainwashed offspring …?

This may seem very self-important, self-centered, grandiose … and maybe there is a tiny bit of ego in there, but truly, all ego aside (for the most part), I think we should all be thinking about this. How are we impacting the world? Are we making a difference? In other words, are we doing things that when we croak, our absence beyond the obligatory friends and family (assuming they like us) is felt and we are missed because of what we have authentically contributed to the greater good of humanity?

I believe we should all be missed in our communities and by communities outside of our own. Wherever we are and whoever we are, I believe we should be bringing something, doing something, adding something. I believe we owe it to the world to make it a little bit better since we have been given the incredible opportunity of living in it.

Maybe that’s where the answer lies. Instead of worrying about the long-term impact we will have made when we are gone – who will dedicate a plaque in our memory, who will make us a martyr as time erases the more human truths – maybe we need to be worrying more about who and what we are impacting while we are still here.

Because with all due respect to the Rabbi, I think it’s three deaths in a lifetime: 1) You die. 2) No one remembers you. And 3) While alive, you settle for complacency. Tikkun olam my friends! And you can put that on my headstone.

Don’t get me wrong, we need fat. Fat stores energy; it is needed for growth, development, and function when there is a shortage of food supply. Fat also helps to keep you full. If you read the headlines, low-fat dieting is not a successful strategy for losing weight. I’m not telling you to eat burgers with bacon and cheese, but a little fat – namely more of the good fats – is good.

So if you want to shave off a little, here are four ways to do it without plastic surgery.

1. Eat more good fat

The low fat revolution started about 20 years ago, and obesity rates have exploded. Eat some fat – just don’t overdo it. There are even a group of people that eat high fat diets and lose weight, which is called a ketogenic diet. Then there are the paleo people who eat a ton of animal protein but little carbohydrates, and of course vegans, who eat zero animal products and claim their diet is the best.

The ketogenic diet was originally designed for children with epilepsy and has started to gain popularity with nutrition gurus. This diet is high in fat, moderate protein, and low in carbs. Bill Clinton switched from a vegan diet to a diet like this to lose more weight. I am not a nutritionist, but in my opinion, eating the following foods can help with feeling full and energized so you don’t snack from the office candy bowl:

Avocado (great smeared on toast)

Almonds, walnuts, cashews

Pumpkin, hemp, chia and sunflower seeds

2. Eat less sugar

This is a no-brainer: sugar is the enemy. Whether you drink soda, love candy, or are a choco-holic, eat less. I would never say to quit sweets. I have provided many tips in past blogs for enjoying sweets without overindulging, but here are some highlights:

Sample - try a tiny bite and only it’s good, go back for more

Share - my wife gets upset that I make her share sweets with me, but it forces to me portion control

Don’t buy it at home - there are certain things I can buy, like ice cream, that will last in my house for ever – then there are Oreos

Mini cokes - soda is empty calories that ruin your blood sugar level, waist line and teeth. It’s so easy to keep refilling the soda, but a small can lets you get the satisfaction without all the calories

Dark chocolate - because it’s so rich it’s hard to overeat; dark chocolate has less sugar and has many beneficial properties

3. Intensity matters

It’s not the weight you lift or how far you run – it’s the level you are working at. Not every workout should be super hard, but you need to intensify. I’m not recommending you work out so hard you puke, or feel light-headed; if you want to burn fat, short bouts of high intensity training are effective. Here are some examples:

Intervals: It doesn’t matter if you are walking, running or jogging, pick up the pace for 30-45 seconds, cool down and then speed up again

Mix it up: If you normally run, trying boxing; if yoga is your thing, try a different kind. Zumba your jam? Try pilates. Your body adjusts to how you train, so mixing it up will work different muscles

4. Have fun!  

The more you stress about your body, the harder it is to lose weight. Make exercise and eating healthy enjoyable. Experiment with different fruits and vegetables, or buy a new healthy oil like coconut and figure out how to cook with it. Keep it in the fridge and know it spoils and is best for cooking at lower temperatures. Take a different exercise class, enlist a friend, make a total 80s mix and enjoy the workout. And most importantly – don’t give up!  

If you want to work out with a trainer, get coached through the web, or just ask a question, email me at rkrit@fitwithkrit.com.

Since Sid Luckman, the NFL has not seen its share of great Jewish players. Julian Edelman, Taylor Mays and a slew of offensive linemen have recently sparked our interest, but not too long ago, there was a man under center who was all the craze. His name was Jay Fiedler.

Fiedler revived the Miami Dolphins franchise, which showed signs of life for the first time in the years following Dan Marino. We recently got in touch with Fiedler, who not only has a great football story, but is an overall great guy.

1. What got you involved in football?

I grew up on sports. From the time I was 5 years old, I played every sport possible. At age 6, I began playing football, mainly because my older brother was playing in the town’s youth league. I started as a running back my first couple years playing, then became a quarterback at age 8 and stayed at that position ever since. I played all sports, but football became my favorite because of the intense physical and mental challenges it offers as well as the many team focused aspects that the game teaches so well. 

2. What was your experience playing in the Ivy League?

I went to Dartmouth College because of many reasons. First and foremost was to get a great education. Athletically, I wanted a place where I could participate in both football and track and field and Dartmouth not only allowed, but encouraged many of their athletes to play multiple sports. My experience on the football field at Dartmouth was great. The Ivy League, despite the perception, is an incredibly competitive brand of football with very talented players. Of course, winning league titles during my time made the experience extra special.   

3. Was it a tough transition to the NFL?

The NFL game is played so much faster than at any level of college football. For me, I was always able to process information very quickly, so I was able to transition my game on the field quick. The hardest thing for me was getting my opportunity to perform and climb the ranks. It took a long time and lots of persistence, but I finally got an opportunity to compete for a starting job six years after graduating college and made the most of it when I took over the starting job in Miami in 2000.

4. You took off with the Dolphins; why did you find so much success in Miami?

I had learned so much from many coaches and teammates I played with prior to joining the Dolphins and when I finally got my opportunity to prove myself with Miami, I felt I was extremely prepared to take advantage of that opportunity. Coach Wannstedt believed in me as his starter and I quickly earned the respect of my teammates in the locker room and on the field. 

5. What have you been doing since your NFL days?

I became involved in a few entrepreneurial pursuits, including owning and operating a minor league basketball team, before finally settling into my family’s business of running summer and sports camps along with my older brother Scott.

6. Tell us about Camp Brookwood.

The Sports Academy at Brookwood Camps is a summer sleep-away camp which combines the best of a traditional camp with the best features of a sports camp. We are bringing in world-class instructors no other traditional camp can attract to teach our campers in a number of different sports and activities while also offering the camaraderie and fun activities a traditional camp offers. Campers can learn football from former professional players, baseball from Leo Mazzone (former Atlanta Braves pitching coach), soccer from instructors who work with Manchester United’s Youth Development Program, basketball from two former Division I college coaches, and many more amazing instructors in tennis, dance, sports broadcasting and more. The best way to find out about our camp is to watch our videos on our website at www.brookwoodcamps.com/video

7. What was your Jewish involvement as a child?

I was raised as a Reform Jew and received bar mitzvah at Temple Avodah in Oceanside, NY. I remain very proud of my Jewish heritage today.

8. What is your favorite Jewish tradition?

My favorite tradition is spending Yom Kippur with family. While the fast can be a bit difficult, I enjoy spending time with family and feasting on a wonderful spread at sundown.

9. Who is the greatest defensive player you played against? Why?

The best defensive player I played against was Ray Lewis. He had all the physical tools to make every play on the field, whether blitz the QB, stuffing the run, or dropping into coverage. He also was incredibly instinctual and smart on the field which gave him the ability to get to the ball faster than any other linebacker I ever played against.

10. Manning or Brady? Why?

So hard to choose. Both are so smart and in command of the game. If I had to choose, I would pick Brady based on the overall battles we had in Miami against him. Throughout his career he has shown an ability to keep his offense at an elite level despite the fact that so many of his offensive teammates have changed over the years.

11. Anything else you'd like to add?

In addition to running The Sports Academy at Brookwood Camps during the summer time, I also really enjoy working with and coaching football players throughout the fall, winter and spring at the many passing clinics and training session I run through my Prime Time Sports Camp brand (www.primetimecamps.com). I am currently coaching up a few college players trying to make the jump to the pro level as well as many youth and high school players in my weekly clinics. Coaching these guys and watching them go on to success on and off the field has given me some great pleasures.  

I have watched the Oscars since I was a kid, with my mother as a guide. She was the one who taught me how a movie wins because other nominees split the vote, and explained why certain people win or not regardless of how well they acted in a particular movie (e.g. this man is very old and this is his last chance; people thought this woman should have won many times so this is a make-good award, etc.).

And I have seen many hosts — Billy Crystal being the best, of course. Well, having Neil Patrick Harris disrobe in front of billions just to get a laugh made me think the Oscars jumped the proverbial shark this year. Harris already did the Tonys and had to step it up for the Oscars, but what’s left for the Grammys or Emmys? So here are my humble suggestions for next year and beyond, regarding future hosts.

The Duo Oscars
Most Oscars are presented by a man and a woman who have nothing to do with each other. Well, in these Oscars, presenters would be duos — male/female, male/male or female/female— who have acted in at least three movies together. Tribute could be paid to bygone onscreen couples or duos. And for the “In Memoriam” section, the presenters would be those like Dan Aykroyd and Jerry Lewis who have survived their long-time showbiz partners. Musical numbers would be performed by well-established duo acts like Hall & Oates or Simon & Garfunkel.

The Family Oscars
Taking further the idea that presenters should be somehow connected, in this version, the presenters would be actually related! They would be parent-child pairs, like Kirk and Michael Douglas, or siblings, like Maggie and Jake Gyllenhaal … or husband-wife couples, like Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick. The musical numbers would be performed by family acts like Heart or Van Halen.

The “Stop Confusing Us” Oscars
Certain performers are confused by the general public. Well, here’s Hollywood’s chance to set us straight. One presenter pair would be Bill Pullman and Bill Paxton. Another could be Emma Watson and Emma Stone, or Ellen Burstyn and Ellen Barkin. And not just those whose names are confused, but look-alikes, or act-alike pairs like Timothy Dalton and Pierce Brosnon. Music would be performed by other confuse-ables, like a duet with Jeff Daniels and Jeff Bridges.

The Stupid Star Tricks Oscars
Remember the Stupid Pet Tricks shtick on David Letterman? So for the Oscars, have the presenters come out and show us some non-acting-related stunt they can do, like juggle or yodel. When Jack Palance did one-armed push-ups, it made Oscar history. Also, the Golden Globes have been stealing the Oscar spotlight with their irreverence, so this could be Oscar’s way to corner the viral-video market for a week instead. So many actors have side bands, it would be easy to find five to do the musical numbers.

The Star Trek Oscars
William Shatner and Patrick Stewart, of course, would co-host. The casts of all five series would serve as presenters. And, despite what Shatner said on Saturday Night Live — “It’s just a TV show!”— Star Trek is also one of the longest-running film franchises ever. So those who have been in any of the 12 Star Trek films, going back to 1979, could also present. (I suppose a Star Wars Oscars would also be possible, if they could find enough women in those casts to present).

The Kevin Oscars
The hosts should be Kevin Kline and Kevin Spacey, since they can both sing and the opener requires that. Presenters should include: Kevin Costner, Kevin Pollack, Kevin Bacon, Kevin Nealon, Kevin “Hercules” Sorbo … with Kevin McHale being one of the musical performers (he’s Artie from Glee). Every time a Kevin comes out to present, Spacey and Kline should interrupt him with warm greetings of “Kevin!” and walk over to for a round of introductions: “Hi! I’m Kevin.” “Kevin, this is Kevin.” “Nice to meet you, Kevin; have you met Kevin?”

The Eddie Murphy Oscars
Murphy was supposed to host in 2012 but stepped down because of something impolite a friend of his, who was supposed to produce the show, said. But Eddie should be asked again. There was nothing he did, personally, to disqualify him, and he should not be punished for sticking with a friend. Oscar should ask him to host again.

Other solid hosts could be: Jay Leno (let loose, he can be biting), Jim Carrey, Sandra Bernhard, Jimmy Fallon, Tiny Fey, Seth Meyers, Amy Schumer, Patton Oswalt, Kristen Wiig, Stephen Colbert, Steve Carell … or Mel Brooks, why not. Hey, he’s only 88!                      

By nature, I’ve never been a competitive person. In fact, people who are competitive make me nervous. Whenever the tense aura of competition seeps its way in, I’m usually the first in the group to silently retreat.

When I lived in Argentina during the past several months, one thing that surprised me was the relations between Argentine women. The women I would see ordering wine at a restaurant or waiting around for the bus seemed confident and self-assured, lounging comfortably in matching 5-inch platform heels and generously giving each other kisses on the cheek. They seemed to lack a competitive streak that often characterizes female relations in the States.

For instance, at Centro Hebreo Iona, a Jewish primary school in Buenos Aires where I was teaching, the girls in fifth grade were no older than 10, but every time I’d walk into the classroom, they’d huddle excitedly around, telling me not about themselves, but instead about each other.

“Go ahead, Cami!” little Romina would insist, nodding persistently at her friend. “Show Jessica your cartwheels!”

Camila would blush at first and politely decline, but within minutes she’d be doing gymnastics around the room at the insistence of her friends.

As proud as I was of the fifth graders for their maturity, it also made me realize what I lack in the interactions with my own friends. I may not be madly competitive, but I’m still plagued with the standard vices of jealousy or pride. How often do I praise their accomplishments? When do I encourage them to show off what they’re really good at?

Sure, competitiveness has its benefits, but when competition turns ugly, it often makes one do ugly things.

A couple years ago, public relations executive Justine Sacco was relaxing at JFK Airport, killing time before her flight to South Africa. Bored, she scrolled through her Twitter feed and decided to post: “Going to Africa. Hope I don’t get AIDS! Just kidding, I’m white!”

She thought it was clever. The rest of the world thought it racist.

By the time her plane landed 24 hours later, Justine was not only disgraced and fired from her job, but also publicly sneered at on an international scale. Her Tweet had gone viral, and she had transformed from a relatively obscure New Yorker to the global epitome of white privilege and ignorance.

One question that comes to mind is: Who circulated this Tweet? Justine had fewer than 200 followers, barely a touch in the vast world of social media. How did her Tweet, tucked into the discrete shadows of Twitter, suddenly burst into the spotlight?

It was a writer for Gawker Media, one of her followers, who was delighted to catch a PR pro in this awful fumble. He not only reposted her tweet to his 15,000 followers, but also continued to bully her for months after the incident. Was he just a bystander, eager to fight against racism online? Or was he simply an opportunist, grasping at the chance to topple a professionally successful woman in a similar field?

What about the hordes of Twitter followers, who felt the need to vilify Justine so publicly? Wouldn’t it achieve their purposes better to simply message her privately, and explain their outrage to her that way? Or did these Twitter mobs attack Justine just to show off how unlike her they themselves were?

In a similar move, when Patricia Arquette received an Oscar for Supporting Actress in Boyhood last weekend, she launched into a speech calling for wage equality for women. Backstage, she further expanded on her comments, and made several unfortunate remarks, including a plea for “gay people and all the people of color that we've all fought for to fight for us now.”

There are several options of how to respond at play here. One would be to deride Arquette as a detractor of intersectional feminism; another is to acknowledge that while she misspoke afterward, she also made several important points during her speech, and then point out that if there is any confusion about whom “feminism” encapsulates, then here it is: it’s all women.

Correcting Arquette is helpful and necessary — viciously attacking her is not. Yet many articles did exactly that. Does making a public mockery of others actually help anybody? Wouldn’t it be more helpful to teach others (privately) why they are mistaken, or how they misspoke? Isn’t this public mockery just … self-serving?

In Judaism, pride is regarded as a very serious vice. In fact, the Talmud goes as far as to claim that “God and the proud man cannot reside together in the same world.” Understanding that there is a larger plan, outside of yourself and your own world, is key to being humble. Making a public mockery of someone else’s misstep isn’t making progress — it’s simply a way to enhance your own pride in knowing that it wasn’t you who made the offensive comment.

In the case of Patricia Arquette, several feminists turned on her, decrying her as the epitome of what she was trying to fight against. Instead of correcting Patricia, her critics simply blasted her and placed themselves on a higher pedestal.

Did this sort of competitiveness among women help feminism? I shouldn’t think so. If the girls at Iona are any sort of example, it’s working together and encouraging one another that leads to progress. The other, the sort of prideful behavior of angry Twitter mobs, helps nobody, least of all the causes we’re all supposedly fighting for.

Resolutions come and go, but at the start of 2015, I side-stepped my traditional resolutions for a straight-up GOAL – an enormous yet startlingly simple goal to guide my way through 2015; something to hang my hat on whilst wading through my 28th year. Mixed metaphors aside, I promised myself 2015 would be the year dedicated to “Writing More.”

“Writing more” means, “Write every day,” “Write something I love,” “Write something different than anything I've attempted before” – the list goes on.

So far I'm making good on this admittedly attainable, yet daunting task. I visit my digital archive of unfinished Google Doc jottings and half-stories with a purposeful frequency. It contains nothing overly significant, but working little by little on fine-tuning whatever skills I keep in my creative writing arsenal. In dedicating myself to this sort of goal, I thought it important to look outward in order to stay motivated and you know, not give up. So, I joined a writing group; I started volunteering at a creative writing non-profit; I continued to read voraciously about writers, writing, how to write, how not to write ... you get where I'm going.

The writing group is new for me and I find it incredibly helpful. I've invested hours in National Novel Writing Month only to come up short, but not without a few thousand words, a beginning of sorts. I asked myself, “What's missing?” Perhaps I'm lazy (likely true). Maybe I'm busy, maybe I lack focus; maybe I'm prone to over-thinking, obsessing over those 50,000 perfect words. Attending this small writing group on the North Side the past few weeks clued me into a couple of ideas quickly. Don't fight it, write it – no one is perfect, so why be so ridiculously arrogant to believe that any 50,000 words I ever churn out will be anything more than a quirky, evolving, imperfect work-in-progress? That, and writing in the company of other like-minded, spirited individuals makes the solitary act of mining one's brain for words, worlds and characters far less lonely of an endeavor.

At the tail end of 2014, I signed up to volunteer at 826CHI, the Chicago satellite of the national youth literacy non-profit/writing and tutoring center/publishing house 826Valencia. Founded by one of my favorite authors, Dave Eggers, I wanted to see what it was all about. This place is the real deal. It's the warmest space, complete with massive bookshelves, student work on display in every corner, even a huge wall you can WRITE ON! (Dry-erase board paint is an incredible invention.) Words do not do 826CHI justice, but I've learned so much about writing from taking time to craft poetry and stories with students of all ages in this Wicker Park oasis. This past weekend, myself and the other volunteers witnessed fourth and fifth graders write poems inspired by a musical piece, choreograph a dance based on the emotions of their writing, and perform for their parents. I am so grateful for the opportunity to play even the smallest part in some of the magic created at this place.

It's not a secret that a better reader makes for a better writer, and I'm hoping what I'm reading lately  helps to write with more pizzazz, truth, sophistication, heart, etc. If you are looking for a great book about why writers write, why writers read, why writers are the way they are, peruse www.brainpickings.org. Maria Popova's curated corner of the Internet is nothing short of stunning. Read any post and find a new book to pick up from the library. It's that simple. Over the seemingly endless expanse of the Internet, there is no shortage of brilliant literary-minded websites, filled to the brim with masterful suggestions, reading lists, commentary – easy access to whatever your little corner of the world might be. I'm currently enjoying Ten Years in the Tub by Nick Hornby, a compendium of 10 years worth of columns featured in The Believer magazine. The monthly column highlights everything he read in any given month, brought to life by his wonderfully accessible commentary. Hornby is a delight. The columns are pithy, hopeful, wonderfully funny and packed with a lifetime's worth of book suggestions.

Here's hoping that a GOAL has more staying power than a resolution ... and to spring being just around the corner.  

Sometimes, people misconstrue the terms healthy cooking or clean eating with “flavorless” and “lackluster.” But it does not have to be this way. And my cooking certainly never is. It is a rare day in my house that we do not eat healthily. Even our late night snacks (plate fulls of lean nitrate free turkey breast and tomato and cuke slices) tend to be quite delicious and healthy.

Let’s be honest, it’s tough to stay healthy and eat clean if your food tastes like overly processed cardboard. So I like to keep things spicy and exciting in our meal plans. Like all moms nowadays I do not have all the time in the world to cook anymore (sad…so very sad.) I do, however, have some pretty great standard recipes that I can always go back to and whip up in no time.

Initially my mother- in-law made this dish. (Try and imagine this with the best Russian accent) “Heere Mila trrry this. It iz new dish I saw on Russian televizion. Verry oold recipe, but very seeemple and delicious. They call it Morooocon chicken.” I tasted it. And smiled. It’s my mother-in-law…I am not upsetting her. I tasted sweetness and stringy chicken and that was it. I so wanted to like it. But it was lackluster. She is an amazing cook, but this for some reason was not hitting the spot. I am thinking it was just a cruddy recipe. It was decent…but it lacked some…SPARKLE. And I…well my dear friends…I have lots of sparkles.

I decided to truly make this a Moroccan style chicken, concentrating on all the fragrant spices of the region. Moroccan food has a great deal of bright flavors and intoxicating spices. I also wanted this to be something that I can whip up on a weeknight when I did not have much time. After a few tries and adjusting the spices and the cooking times I ended up with a dish that I am proud to call Moroccan. It has all the gorgeous colors and flavors to make our tummies rumble and our eyes gleam.

Being the wonderful daughter in law that I am, I brought it over for my MIL to try and she was flattered that I based my recipe on hers (based being the operative word here). She was instantly a fan and asked for the recipe. I told her to check the blog :)

NEWSFLASH: THIS IS VERY FREEZER FRIENDLY!

Moroccan Chicken

Ingredients

2 Pounds of Boneless, Skinless Chicken Thighs or Chicken Breast; Cut into Large Pieces
¾ Cup Dried Apricots, Roughly Sliced
¾ Cup Dried Prunes, Roughly Sliced
1 Spanish Onion, Diced
3 Tablespoons Balsamic Vinegar
2 Tablespoons Cilantro, Roughly Chopped
Juice of One Lime
1 Tablespoon Olive Oil
3 Garlic Cloves, Minced
1 One-Inch Piece of Ginger, Minced
1 Tablespoon Smokey Paprika
1 Teaspoon Ground Cinnamon
⅛ Teaspoon Ground Nutmeg
1 Teaspoon Cumin
1.5 Tablespoons Turmeric; The turmeric gives this dish its distinct yellow color
½ Teaspoon Sumac (optional)
½ Tablespoon Salt
1 Tsp Pepper
Pinch of Red Pepper Flakes

Instructions

Preheat the oven to 450-degrees and oil up a medium sized casserole dish. Feel free to use a foil pan for easier cleanup.