OyChicago blog

I’m back again, for the third year in a row, opening up my Kindle to share with all of you the best of what I’ve read this year.

There is something to be said about always being able to access the book you’re reading through an app on your phone or iPad, knowing that you can visit another world whenever and wherever you choose. These are the books that helped me pass the endless hours commuting on the El, the minutes on the treadmill and those nights when I couldn’t sleep. These are the stories that kept me company on lunch breaks, plane rides and relaxing Sunday afternoons.

Looking back, despite binge-watching several shows on Netflix and devoting some commuting time to listening to the Serial podcast, I actually read a lot of really quality stuff this year. Much like my past lists, not all of these books came out in 2014 and they aren’t necessarily the best books of the year—though a few of them might make those lists. These are, however, the books I enjoyed reading the most and hope you will too. So, without further ado, here’s what’s on my Kindle from 2014:

We are Water by Wally Lamb
I was excited to learn that Wally Lamb (author of I Know This Much Is True and She’s Come Undone, among others) had a new novel coming out at the end of 2013, so this was the first book I read this past year. It’s a long one, but stick with it until the end. It tells the story of one modern family from the perspectives and voices of the various characters. The story is compelling, complex, suspenseful and emotional and the characters are rich and real.

Me Before You by Jojo Moyes
This book got a lot of buzz this year, and I totally understand why. Once you start reading, it’s impossible to put down this somewhat heartbreaking love story that takes you on an emotional rollercoaster. I also read Jojo Moyes’ new book this year, One Plus One, which was a little bit slower at first, but one I’m glad I kept reading.

The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion
So this book was recommended to me by a coworker and I’m pretty sure it was my favorite read of the year. This is the story of a genetics professor who is searching for the perfect wife. It’s a quirky, smart and endearing story and I just loved it. The sequel, The Rosie Effect, came out yesterday, and I cannot wait to read it.

Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise by Ruth Reichl
This one was also recommended to me by that same coworker and was another great read. In this memoir, Ruth Reichl chronicles her time as restaurant critic for The New York Times, when she would often visit the restaurants she was reviewing in disguise, so as to not be recognized or get preferential treatment. It’s entertaining and will make you laugh and hungry all at once. Reichl has several other memoirs that I haven’t gotten to yet but look forward to reading.

All Fall Down by Jennifer Weiner
I have read all of Jennifer Weiner’s books (and even interviewed her back in 2009) so as soon as her newest came out this summer, I downloaded it and got reading. This one tackles a suburban mom’s struggle with addiction. It’s a little different and slightly darker than some of Jennifer Weiner’s other books, but as always, she’s created a compelling, engaging story.

What Alice Forgot by Liane Moriarty
As I celebrated the big 3-0 this year, the plot line of this book intrigued me—a 29-year-old happily married woman who suddenly wakes up at the gym to discover she is 39, divorced and her life has not turned out as she’d hoped. There is just something about the style of Australian author Liane Moriarty’s writing that really hooks you. This was the first of her books that I read, but I went on to literally read them all: The Husband’s Secret and Big Little Lies were my favorites, but I also enjoyed Three Wishes, The Hypnotist’s Love Story and The Last Anniversary. I was honestly bummed when I finished the last one.

Not That Kind of Girl by Lena Dunham
This is a collection of personal essays by the creator, producer and star of HBO’s Girls. In true Dunham style, she shares stories from her childhood, her coming-of-age moments and her arrival onto the Hollywood scene. If you like Girls or are intrigued by Dunham, I think you’ll find this series of stories about growing up brutally honest and somewhat relatable.

This is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper
The movie trailers inspired me (though I haven’t yet seen the movie) to read this novel about a family coming together for the first time in years, to sit shiva after the death of their father. This book is just really good—it’s a rich, emotional, sometimes vulgar story and I was sad to leave the characters when I got to the last page. 

Orange is the New Black: My Year in a Women’s Prison by Piper Kerman
As a fan of the Netflix original series Orange is the New Black, I jumped at the chance to interview Piper Kerman before her visit to Chicago next month. I wanted to learn more about the real story of the woman whose experiences and bestselling memoir of the same name inspired the show. Before I spoke to her, I read her book, which recounts the year (2004-2005) she spent in the Danbury Correctional Facility for a crime she had committed 10 years prior. If you watch the show, you owe it to yourself to read Kerman’s memoir which is just as engaging, but not quite as extreme as the show. And you’ll find the inspiration for many of your favorite characters and plotlines are based in reality.

So, what did I miss? And what should be on this list for 2015? Share your book recommendations in the comments below. Happy reading!

I am going to tell you the best time to start working on your goals and it’s not “After New Year’s.” Around the holidays people are big on that comment, especially with diet and exercise. People often set goals/resolutions in the New Year; it’s the perfect time to achieve your dreams – or is it?

Whether you are a goal setter or simply want to get in better shape, start right now. Don’t wait for 2015, or your new job, or your new house ... excuses are easy for all of us, especially with eating sugary goodness during the holidays.

During the holidays, I made a ridiculously unhealthy delicious sugar bomb and ate a tiny piece, enjoying every single minute of it. Does that mean I’m waiting for next year to eat healthy? Of course not. Most nights there’s no dessert on my table, but occasionally I indulge. Part of being healthy is enjoying desserts sometimes, so you never get to that binging point.

With 2015 only a few days away, many of you might think I’m crazy. Why would anyone start with a new goal on Dec. 30? The simplest answer is most people give up on their goals (usually mid-February) so why not start early? Make a lifestyle change right now, because this is what you really want. Don’t deprive yourself of a fat steak, salty frites, and the industry standard lava cake (which I also bake), just enjoy small portions of each. Add a green vegetable to the plate that’s not deep fried. Since you cannot find a cab on New Year’s find a place in safe walking distance.

Another key to success is small steps. I have one client that gave up all sweets for a year, and to my surprise he did it. I have numerous clients make bold statements like that. Out of hundreds of clients attempting crazy diets/goals the ones that make it start with small changes:

- No more daily trips to the candy bowl
- Refill their water bottle at least twice a day
- Join Weight Watchers
- Try a new fitness class
- Cook more and brown bag their lunch
- Learn to share treats

If your goal is to be healthier, start right now with a quick trip to the water cooler, and if no one is looking, maybe add 10 squats.

Have a healthy, happy New Year! Be sure to send me questions and comments to rkrit@fitwithkrit.com

Have you ever noticed that no one seems particularly eager for the arrival of their 22nd birthday? That there are no Hallmark cards for people between the ages of 21 and 25, and that no one when asked responds, “Heck, yeah man! Can’t wait for the big two-two!”

That’s because, up until age 22, or sometimes even later, you spend your whole life preparing for the next school year — the next paper to write, the next class to take — but once they hand you that weird piece of paper with your name on it, that’s kind of it. You either go to grad school or … you know … just figure it out.

And unless you have money or a plan — which you probably don’t, since you just spent every moment (and saved penny) of the last four years earning the degree now mounted like a deer’s head your wall — you have no choice but to pack up your college experiences and brave the infamous “real world.”

And by “real world,” I mean your parents’ house. You suck it up and move back in with your parents.

As you re-enter your childhood bedroom, it seems significantly smaller and – somehow – pinker than the last time you were home for winter break.

Horrified, you stare at the mountain of stuffed animals on your bed and think to yourself, did I really earn a bachelor’s degree while hoarding hundreds of Beanie Babies on the other side of the state? Can they revoke my degree for that?

Stuck in this foreign/familiar space, you feel yourself losing touch with the independent college-self you were a few weeks ago. Slamming doors and arguments over who gets the car slowly but surely make their way back into your daily routine.

Without homework to avoid, laundry becomes an actual chore. The hamper feels a little heavier without the stolen quarters from your roommate jingling on top. And once you run out of your counter-culture hippy detergent and go back to using Tide, it seems like your years of freedom were for naught.

Beyond the city limits of your college town, all the rules are different. Suddenly, your school-town jargon becomes a foreign language, one that Rosetta Stone doesn’t have a box set for, and worse still, you encounter people who refuse to understand the nuances of your (VERY SOPHISTICATED) college culture.

So what do you do without your college identity there to define you?

Well, for a while, you wait. Just like Dr. Seuss promised you would. But, instead of waiting for a bus to come, or a plane to go, or the mail to come, you wait to grow restless. Restless for the independence you just had a few weeks ago and become compelled to look for it again.

Then you apply. Apply for jobs you don’t want, and some that you do. Apply for internships and overseas voyages and organic farming licenses. You find out that you’re underqualified for the Peace Corps, which you had always counted on as your backup plan.

You take up running and volunteering, cooking and drinking, singing and, ultimately, knitting – even though you swore after a particularly traumatic project to never do that again.

Then, almost without being aware, you start your own business, the kind with actual clients. Business cards that have your name on them create a bulge in your wallet and cover every square inch of your desk because, at the time, 500 seemed like a totally reasonable number to order.

People begin to reach out to you, asking for a recommendation, a thought, for a moment of your time. You pretend less and less to know what you are doing and find more and more that you know what to do.

Coffee transitions from a noun into a verb, and it is often the reason you take the train downtown to meet impressive individuals in their impressive corporate offices, only to discover that, in fact, they are also impressed by you.

And you keep pressing forward, hoping that in one of these places, a confident, accomplished individual from the crowd will turn around, and you will look yourself in the face.

On the surface, it would seem as though my mom and Silvia have very little in common. My mother is a Soviet refugee living in the sleepy suburbs of Chicago; Silvia is Argentinian, from the heart of Buenos Aires. When we have guests over for dinner, my mom prepares organic asparagus and free-range salmon. Silvia cooks blood sausage, the cow innards positively teeming out of the juicy meat wrapping. 

If they were to sit across from each other at this fictitious dinner table, Silvia and my mother would not have a single language in common, yet, strangely enough, there is no doubt in my mind that they would become instant friends. For all their differences, my mom and Silvia have one very important thing in common: they are passionately, unyieldingly, wholeheartedly Jewish mothers.

There’s something about Jewish mothers that’s almost a universal quality, a sort of bond between those who grew up under the warm and sheltered wing of such a parent. That isn’t to say that non-Jewish mothers aren’t as loving, because of course they are, but Jewish mothers are somehow of a different stripe, in ways that can only be described in anecdotes.

Demian and I first bonded talking about our mothers. We already had a few similarities, but this was an instant click – Silvia and my mom had astounding qualities in common. For instance, both of our mothers worry intensely if we don’t wear sunscreen. There have been many a time when Demian and I – on separate occasions and in different hemispheres – have insisted that we don’t need sunscreen before going out, only to later find a bottle sneakily slipped into our bags.

Once, when he was just a baby, Silvia needed to take Demian to the doctor. It was winter in Buenos Aires, which drops down to a chilly 30 or 40 degrees on a cooler day. Naturally, Silvia worried that her newborn son might get cold. So she dressed him in a thick sweater and socks; then added another sweater, just to be safe; and a coat; and a scarf; and another layer of socks.

By the time they reached the doctor’s office, baby Demian was sweating profusely and, once the winter layers were peeled away, they discovered a full-body, heat-induced rash. The doctor openly gaped at Silvia. Demian’s mother literally almost loved him to death. 

When I left for college as a senior, my own mother suddenly began to suspect that I didn’t have a fall coat. No matter how many times I painstakingly tried to convince her that I did, in fact, have a coat, she was unwavering. She planned an emergency trip up to Madison, and within five hours, I had not one, not two, but seven coats laid out on display on my bed. 

My aunt Larissa, who is the Israeli duplicate of my own mom, is no stranger to Jewish motherhood. Like my mom, she has two children whom she cherishes and, in typical fashion, spends a good deal of time worrying about. Are they warm? Are they eating well? 

One time, her 15-year-old daughter asked to skip school so that she could spend the day at the beach with me.

“Of course not,” my Aunt Larissa responded, pounding a schnitzel flat on her kitchen counter.

“I’ll eat dinner at home if you let me go,” my cousin pressed.

“Done,” was the immediate response. We spent the entire Wednesday on the beach.

Most of my friends are baffled by this story, but when I told my mom, she nodded vigorously and insisted, “There’s a woman who has her priorities in order!” She then looked pointedly at me. “You know, it wouldn’t be so bad if you ate dinner at home every once in a while, too.”

As children of like-minded mothers, Demian, my cousin and I also share a handful of similarities. We all roll our eyes when we glimpse a bottle of sunblock sticking out of the sides of our bags. We make promises to eat dinner at home only to back out last minute. As aggravating as our mothers may seem, the truth is that we’re aggravating them all the more.

As frustrated as I get when having to insist that, for instance, I wouldn’t like a glass of juice, for the 12th time (even though yes I know the health benefits and the long-term gains from drinking organic juice), I also know that there will never be anybody as deeply invested in my well-being as my mother. And, in case I ever forget, I can always count on my seven coats to remind me.

I've been practicing yoga for about eight years; you would think I would be a full-fledged master by now. However, a great yoga practice is when I can touch my toes. 

To be honest, I’m not consistent when it comes to any form of physical exercise. It’s a “one step forward, two steps back” kind of relationship. I’ll go to yoga Monday through Friday for three weeks, and then I’ll take a hiatus for two months. Although this relationship clearly can’t be good for my physical health, the lessons I’ve taken away from my yoga practice have helped me through many emotional crises. I also realized how closely related my yoga practice is to my religion. 

Being present

This is the root of yoga. At the end of every yoga practice is the savasana pose, or corpse pose, when you lie down on your back for a few minutes and meditate. It’s considered one of the most difficult poses because your mind can easily wander out of the present moment. Through savasana pose, I’ve learned that being present gives you clarity that can’t be achieved from a multi-tasking mind. Savasana reminds me of the meditations I read in the machzor during the High Holidays at synagogue. Within the meditations are stories about rabbis who teach life lessons to those in need of guidance. I’ve learned from my yoga practice and the machzor that you learn unexpected lessons that alter your life for the better when you’re present.   

Gratitude

Yoga and Judaism teach us to be thankful for our blessings and misfortunes. It’s easy for us to be grateful for the good in our lives, but it’s much more difficult to be grateful for the setbacks. However, within the setbacks are lessons to be learned and opportunities to reinvent ourselves.

Acceptance

In almost every yoga class, you’ll find a yogi huffing and puffing while in pain because they’re pushing their body’s limitations. Pain is the antonym of yoga. Yoga is about accepting what your body can and can’t do. By accepting your body’s limitations in yoga, overtime, you’ll advance to more complicated poses. By accepting myself in my yoga practice, I was able to accept other’s in their entirety outside of yoga. My parents, however, were a whole other battle. I used to take all my frustrations out on them, which was ironic because the fifth of the Ten Commandments is to honor one’s parents. I realized I was the reason my relationship with my parents was sour, so I decided to implement the fifth commandment in my life. Now, the relationship I have with my parents is stronger than it’s ever been.  

It’s true: I’m very inconsistent when it comes to my yoga practice and the only time I can guarantee I’ll be attending synagogue is during the High Holidays. But, by being present in just one yoga class and Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur service, I’m learning valuable lessons on how to become my best possible self. All I had to do was show up.

Chanukah is just about over; last night my family lit our seventh flames and, as is our custom, I sat and watched them for a few minutes and let my mind wonder. After a brief mental jog around what exactly will happen when Agents of SHIELD starts up again in March, my mind sort of settled on memories. We all have them: the good ones and the bad ones. Of course, the most powerful ones are those that bring up emotions and take us back to that moment. 

This Chanukah, I experienced three moments connected to deep, powerful memories.

The first involves cookies. Yeah, cookies! Every year we wait and wait for my wife’s Chanukah cookies. It’s a recipe that is unveiled only once every 12 months (like a comet for your taste buds). Our 15-year-old son has been helping my wife make them since he could stand. It’s sort of their thing and every year he jumps in and rolls the dough, uses the cookie-cutters, and sprinkles the colored sugar. Their tradition never started as a platform to build memories, but that is what it has become and it’s the coolest.

I am probably the only one that still owns his childhood “dreidel collection.” I took some with me when I went to college, spent two years in Israel, went back to New York City, got married … you get the idea. My brother visited us recently and he was shocked to see that among the dreidels my kids were playing with was one from my old collection. It triggered a few memories for him, as it does for me. My kids, after years of spinning, know that my old dreidel really does spin better than theirs.

Lastly, I’ll open up (it’s easy when you are typing and not talking) about a personal memory. My father, of blessed memory, died five years ago. About once every 6-8 weeks I will stop by a Walgreens and make my way to the men’s fragrance section. I will glance up and down the aisle to make sure no one is around and grab a bottle of Brut cologne off the shelf. I take a quick smell, put the bottle back and leave. What can I say? My dad was a Brut man.

Our baby boy, Johnny, turned six months a few weeks ago, and a few days later our first resource from PJ Library arrived in the mail. I furiously tore open the package and was excited to find Dream with Me, a CD compilation of lullabies. Perfect, I thought, this will be great to play when we need to get the little one to sleep.  

From what I gather, Johnny’s bedtime ritual is pretty typical: change diaper, wrestle to put on PJs, nurse on the couch while reading stories and singing lullabies before drifting off to sleep. There are always three lullabies that make the evening lineup: 

“You Are My Sunshine,” the song Rose would sing to him while she was pregnant; “The Circle Game," the song her mother sang to her as a child; and “Lilah Tov,” (“goodnight,” in Hebrew) a song my wife made up to whisk him off to sleep.

Even as I write this post, I start to choke up, thinking about the beauty and innocence of this experience that at least one of us has shared with our son nearly every night of his life. Sometimes, I watch him really closely, hoping to catch the exact moment he drifts off to sleep. It is incredibly touching how he falls away so effortlessly and peacefully. This is one of those moments when the emotional side of parenthood comes up from deep inside of you and permeates the entire room. I once walked into the nursery to find my wife singing to him while he quietly lied in her arms. I sat down on the couch and gently put my hand on her knee and tears began streaming down both of our faces.

After we received the Dream with Me CD, I grabbed it on the way to the car that afternoon for a preview. With the baby securely buckled in the back seat, I thought to myself that this would be a good test. The first words of the first song were “Lilah Tov.” In an instant, the sounds and sights of traffic all around me disappeared. For a split second, I was pulled out of the car and into the nursery at night, putting our baby to sleep. It wasn’t long enough to completely distract me from the road, but just long enough to summon those familiar tears.

I have heard that there is a sociological and biological reaction to fatherhood that helps bring out a man’s softer, more sensitive side and increases his commitment to the family. Consider this father a committed pile of mush.

A few weeks ago, my fiancé, Adam, and I went on a vacation to our first all-inclusive Mexican resort – a place called Secrets Capri in Riviera Maya. With five days and nothing to do but relax and enjoy the sun (and, sadly, some rain), we came back feeling refreshed, reinvigorated, and tan – or, let’s be honest, slightly less ghost-colored.

As a Jewish professional, though, you can never really take a vacation. Every aspect of our resort made me think of my job as a Jewish communal professional. This time, I was a guest at a resort in a new country feeling very welcomed; most of the time, I’m busy welcoming guests to our community and folding all the towel art.

So, dear friends, I present you with the list of what we can learn from my Mexican vacation.

1. Don’t make me feel lost

We booked our transfer from the Cancun airport to our resort through the same company as our overnight stay, and they told us to look for the people in the bright floral shirts. They greeted us as we walked out of the terminal, and sent us to exactly the right place. We never felt lost and we didn’t have to ask directions from someone selling homemade jewelry – though that sure would have been interesting!

When a newcomer comes to a Jewish event, would he know where to go? Is there a greeter at the door? Someone with a name tag who makes sure he’s not lost?

2. Create an over-the-top first impression

When our van pulled into the resort, we were greeted with friendly faces, cold towels, water bottles and champagne. And if you walked in a few more feet, there were apples and chocolate chip cookies. Wow! I would have never thought to ask for a cold towel, but I guess after a long flight and a long van ride, it was nice to be able to wash my hands in the humid weather. Instead of beginning our vacation dirty, hungry and thirsty, the resort showed us right away that they care about us and want us to be comfortable.

In the Jewish community, what would someone see when they first walk in to your event? Is there a pitcher of water and maybe even a bowl of apples near the entrance? Some congregations offer an oneg (reception) before worship services – it sure puts people in a good mood and gets them ready to focus on prayer and song when they have a full belly.

3. Offer something for everyone

The list of activities offered at our resort was extensive – water aerobics, a bags / cornhole competition, Pilates, dance lessons, Spanish lessons, towel art, watching Monday Night Football, different kinds of movies, and even a daily feeding of the lobby turtles. There seemed to be something for everyone.

Do our Jewish organizations offer a wide range of activities, or are we catering too much to one group or another? Do we assess our clientele and build programs based on their needs – or do we just offer what WE think they need?

4. Personal invitations

I probably would not have gone to water aerobics on my own. The water was cold, it seemed silly, I didn’t know anyone, I was scared, and somehow I couldn’t convince Adam to go with me. But Hector, one of the entertainment staff members and the leader of the class, went around to every person lounging around the pool and asked if they would be coming to the class. With a personal invitation, these people – myself included – felt a bit more comfortable throwing a bookmark in their book and dipping their toes in the water.

Just because we offer a spectacular, meaningful, artsy, delicious, Jewish-tastic program, it doesn’t mean people will come. We have to ask people to come. Make them feel welcome. Invite them, help them out of their chair, and walk with them to the event. And chances are, these potential Jewish communal newcomers, like silly-looking Lia in water aerobics, will actually enjoy the event and maybe even come back the next time.

5. Remember details.

My mom likes to tell this story of the one time our family went on a cruise – a Disney cruise when I was in kindergarten. As soon as we walked in the dining room, our waiter would immediately bring me chocolate milk and get me plain buttered noodles with no parsley. My tastes have evolved a bit since then, so my food desires in Mexico weren’t as complicated, but it’s nice to know that people remember things about you. We started recognizing the resort staff and they recognized us; and one particular hostess at the breakfast cafe knew that when Adam walked into brunch, he’d probably ask for a waffle.

How many times do I hear Jewish communal professionals – myself included – say that they have bad memories and have a hard time remembering names? It’s just unacceptable. We need to go out of our way to train our brains to be able to remember names and facts. Who in your community is gluten-free? Whose mother just had surgery? Who just gained a new grandson? If your Jewish organization is anything like my workplace, most of this information is readily available. Read the emails, read the newsletters, ask questions, and even eavesdrop a bit on the hallway conversations. Show that you remember who your constituents are and they will notice.

We can’t spend our whole lives as guests in an all-inclusive resort in the warm, humid air, but maybe we can take these experiences – and the ones you witness in your own life at the grocery store, the movie theater, and your client’s office building – to make our community stronger, warmer, and more welcoming.

Let's get to work – we’ve got lots of chocolate chip cookies to bake!

All I can think about are New Year’s resolutions as we speed into 2015. It’s probably because I’m so terrible at them.

I find rules, restrictions and absolutes to be difficult to manage. When I hear the word resolution, all I can think about is what I’m not going to be able to do. Then, like clockwork, I obsess about what I can’t have while stress eating everything in my apartment. All of these feelings can only lead to one thing: doing exactly what I resolved I would definitely not do. It’s a vicious cycle, and I repeat it every year.

I know I’m not the only person who gets into this trap. I start out with high hopes. I do a little inventory of myself and then decide that real changes must take place. Then comes my list. I will train for a marathon. I will read Moby Dick. I will not have ice cream for dinner. These resolutions aren’t so bad, but in all honesty, I’m not likely to do any of those things very well.

That’s the problem with resolutions. It’s not that the bar is set too high, it’s that the resolutions, it least in my mind, are too absolute. What if instead of giving yourself strict edicts for the coming year, you cut yourself a little slack? I’m not sure that I have the time it takes to train for a marathon, but what if I try anyway? Reading Moby Dick sounds awful, but I don’t have to complete the whole book in one afternoon. Not eating ice cream for dinner doesn’t mean that I can’t have ice cream, it means that I try to remain mindful of what I’m eating.

Isn’t it better to work at something? Perhaps failing at a New Year’s resolution is part of the process. Maybe it’s better to be a bad marathoner who tries than to be someone who gives up and isn’t running at all. Could it be that all of those past resolution failures were just part of the deal?

This year, I’m going to give myself a few New Year’s resolutions and I’m going to try to give myself the space to achieve them. Whatever that means. Just don’t laugh in my face when I’m running around calling myself a vegan. I’m never going to be a vegan, but maybe I can be a bad vegan? It’s better than nothing.

The Chicago Cubs introduced their new big money ace Jon Lester yesterday, and while the press conference itself wasn't particularly entertaining – especially compared to the quirk and quotability of the Joe Maddon presser just a few weeks ago – its significance is apparent. The signing of Lester, along with the hiring of new manager Maddon, is a clear message to Cubs fans that the era of bottoming out is over and the era of winning is ready to begin.

In fact, Lester's contract quieted any speculation that the Cubs either didn't have the money Theo Epstein needed, or were hesitant to spend. His contract, $155 million over six years, is the largest multi-year contract in the history of Chicago sports.

So the big question is, is Lester really worth it?

Yes. He's a proven ace who can be the head of a championship pitching rotation. He’s a lefty with the mechanics built for a long career and just the kind of experience a young Cubs team needs. He has won two World Series, both with the Red Sox, and is a three-time all-star. He provides the kind of stability on the mound the Cubs have so badly needed, which will also take some of the pressure off their young bats every fifth game while they continue to grow.

But to me, more than what Lester brings to the field, this signing is the Cubs brass sending a loud message to the fan base that this Cubs team is ready to win – now. Both Lester and Maddon discussed it at both of their press conferences, as did Epstein. Lester is by no means young. Entering his tenth season, this signing was much more about the present than it was about the future.

Some have compared this deal to the one the Cubs gave Alfonso Soriano in 2006, an eight-year, $136 million contract. But the biggest difference to me is that when they signed Soriano, the Cubs were not focusing any energy on their farm system. There wasn't a young bat waiting in the wings preparing to take over once Soriano began his decline, which also started way sooner than the Cubs predicted. But this is a new era, and while Lester is helping the Cubs win now, he is also allowing youngsters like Kyle Hendricks and CJ Edwards develop at their own pace.

This is the first time in almost a decade that I've been truly excited for baseball season. Regular season baseball games on the North Side will actually matter in 2015. Since Theo Epstein was hired back in 2011, the Cubs have preached patience. And I don't care what Back to the Future II says, I am not expecting a World Series next year. But now we can finally start to see the fruits of our collected suffering over the last seven years.

As long as we remember to continue tempering our expectations and understand that the growing pains are still far from over, we are in store for an extremely entertaining baseball season - words that I'm hoping to become more and more comfortable using in reference to the Cubs for many years to come.

Have you ever been an accidental spy? There you were, just minding your own business when suddenly, people around you start talking about you – your people – without knowing you are “one of them?”

I had been invited to a fundraising luncheon through a friend, who had been invited by a friend of hers. Neither of us knew much about the organization we were breaking bread with, but we went in the good Jewish spirit of “either way, we’ll get to eat.”

We arrived to an explosion of elaborate decorations and live music. This was quite the shindig for the middle of the afternoon. The people were friendly, the check-in folks were very organized and we easily found our assigned seats boasting fancy tableware. I was immediately offered wine and I started to feel a little bit special having such an unexpected, swanky experience.

As the room filled with folks dressed in their Sunday best, a young man approached the microphone and began singing “Amazing Grace.” He was a very handsome kid and his voice was absolutely beautiful. While others around me teared up with sentiment, I was thinking to myself, “he must get all the girls,” while furiously texting my husband under the table that along with bagpipes, someone must sing “Amazing Grace” at my funeral.

When I looked up our singer had been replaced by a man of the cloth. Suddenly, we were saying Grace. The entire room was a sea of bowed heads. We were the only Jews! I looked nervously at my friend and then at my hands that were clenching my telephone. I took a deep breath. Realistically, no one was looking at me and no flashing “she’s a Jew” arrow was pointing at my head. So I waited it out, head bent respectfully toward my lap.

The main speaker followed – a plucky, well-spoken and clearly passionate person. In the speech, however, when giving examples of the hurdles that had been jumped for the mission of the organization to be realized, there were references to Jewish people and Jewish practices – and they were not positive. We were portrayed as a sexist people who don’t take women in business seriously without a man’s hand and that when the rent is due with a Jew, you better pay it or end up on the street. We were also perceived as self-congratulatory, proclaiming, “no one will outdo the Jews!” in our generosity.

I became lightheaded. My lunch began to bubble up in my throat. What was this person talking about? Why was this a part of the story? If the speaker knew there were Jews in the mix, would the speech have been different? In a lucky coincidence, we had already planned to leave early. I was sweating as I pulled on my coat.

I felt faint in the parking lot. When I got into the car I collapsed into the seat, my heart heavy with a combination of shock and sadness. How? How could someone say these things? When I got home my hands were a blur on the keyboard. I wrote what I considered to be a very impassioned email that concluded with:

“…You have hurt, offended and saddened me. In a world that has so many hurts to heal, it is beyond disappointing that you used your time with a captive audience to fan the flames of division and anti-Semitism.”

I received an almost immediate response. It was a combination of authentic shock and remorse. The speaker genuinely seemed to have no idea that what had been said could have been heard or interpreted the way it had been in my ears. I received a sincere and authentic apology, and the speaker said they would never, ever, use those words again as the intention was never to hurt or offend anyone. They concluded by saying the Jewish people are their brothers and sisters and thanked me for my courage in coming forward with my experience.

Call it courage, but I could not be silent on this one, nor do I believe we should we ever be silent.

We have the luxury of hiding our Jewishness – being able to conveniently tuck in our Chai necklaces, not reveal our last names, or be vague around what kind of G-d we believe in. But the times when we feel most inclined to hide, those are exactly the times that we should proclaim our presence. We cannot take the easy road as a minority and camouflage ourselves amongst other white folk. We ARE a minority. We need to take courage in our Judaism and the responsibility to educate those who for whatever reason don’t know the power of their words to hurt, however unintentional they may be. We must stand with other minorities that are unable to “hide” in a crowd. No one should suffer in silence. We should thrive in our collective humanity to ensure “never again” for us and for all people.

Parshat Vayeshev is the story of Joseph, and whenever I think of Joseph, I think of his amazing technicolor coat given to him by his father, Jacob. This very special coat was a sign of greatness.

This concept of technicolor equaling greatness isn’t something that we should just strive for in our wardrobe, but also on our plates. Food comes in all forms of colors, and each color has a specific benefit that can help prevent disease, keep us strong, and assist us in staying healthy.

According to Chinese medicine, red foods such as goji berries help build blood. Tomatoes, which are rich in lycopene, are good for our heart and blood. Also, red foods contain a phytochemical called anthocyanins, which is an antioxidant that helps control blood pressure and protects against diabetes. Other red foods such as cranberries help fight urinary tract infections, and as you already know “an apple a day can keep the doctor away.”

Eating a diet rich in orange and yellow foods is good for the whole body. Oranges, lemons, and other citrus fruits have vitamin C. Vitamin C is said to prevent colds, flus, and scurvy. Other orange foods such as carrots, and yellow foods such as squash, contain beta-carotene which may prevent cancer and protect our eyes.

However, there are other nutrients in yellow foods, for example bananas are packed with potassium, which helps eliminate cramping. In general, yellow foods are also a good source of antioxidants and help maintain healthy skin and teeth.

From a young age we were all told to eat our greens, and in reality, everyone should. Foods like broccoli may reduce the risk of cancer, arthritis, and aging. Leafy green vegetables are actually a much better source of calcium than any dairy product. Kale, chard and other leafy greens are chock full of folate, fiber, and antioxidants. If we eat more green foods, we might not have to fortify our food anymore, because green vegetables have all the vitamins we need.

The blue and purple colors in foods are formed by anthocyanins, an antioxidant that fights inflammation and even cancer.  Blue and purple foods also help prevent age related memory loss, are good for the heart, protect the gums, eyes, and urinary tract. Blue foods such as blueberries can help fight the “blues” because they give your brain the boost it needs for the week.

Purple foods such as cabbage are loaded with vitamins A, C, and K. Also, elderberries can be applied to the skin to help cure wounds, or can be eaten for respiratory health (please do not eat any uncooked or unripe elderberries). Eating foods that are blue and purple will not only make your plate pretty, but they can also make it more nutritious and delicious.

 Jacob gave Joseph a technicolor coat because Joseph was truly special and destined for greatness. Let’s try to keep this in mind the next time you are thinking about what to eat. Try to imagine the greatness of Joseph’s technicolor coat, and make sure your plate is as colorful as his coat, because remember, what is on your plate is destined for your stomach and body. The more colorful your meals are the better; just make sure it is from natural colors and not dyes or preservatives. 

If you’re like me, you probably get a ton of emails and countless mailed letters asking you to donate or to give to an organization. Many of them come around this time of the year, when the holiday spirit and the spirit of giving seem to collide in a frenzy of toys, appliances, gadgets and monetary donations. We hear the high-pitched jingles of the Salvation Army’s bell as we walk past our nearest grocer or pharmacist, or encounter people on street corners asking for spare change for organizations such as Misericordia or the Boys and Girls Club. Most of us do not ask for these seasonal solicitations, and probably do not give many of these a second thought.

Personally, I’ve collected close to 60 separate pieces of mail since Thanksgiving, and they still keep coming and probably won’t stop until the New Year. How do you not feel overwhelmed or lost among all the choices and solicitations for your donations? How do you choose which organizations to donate to or volunteer time?

The topic of tzedakah and its connection to the holiday shopping and gift-giving season really make me think more carefully about what it means to me. More particularly, it makes me wonder about how I can give as a Jewish person and how I can better understand how my decisions for tzedakah help shape the world around me and impact other people’s lives. I didn’t just want to give to a popular charity or organization, and I didn’t want to just write checks and click “Donate Now” on a website. I wanted to search for something a little more, and what I found surprised even myself.

Believe it or not, it all started with a group of sixth graders ...

Last year, my sixth grade religious school class had a special lesson on tzedakah organized and run by the American Jewish World Service. It was part of a series of lectures preparing the students for their bar or bat mitzvah. Included in the morning’s activities was a very interesting exercise that involved a little Torah study. The students and their parents were asked to look at eight different charity scenarios and decide how high or low that act of charity ranks on Maimonides’ Eight Degrees of Tzedakah.

The students were given eight slips of paper, one corresponding to each degree of tzedakah, and then asked to rank them to see how it matches up with Maimonides’ own list. Most of the groups were able to get the highest and lowest degrees, but there was some disagreement over the middle degrees. This was the first time that many of the students saw this list and didn’t even know that one could rank charity into different degrees. Isn’t all charity the same? Why does one type of giving get a higher rank than others? Isn’t all charity and giving a good thing? Why should we compare how we choose to give?

I was wondering the same questions myself. Personally, I hadn’t really given much thought to my own feelings and decisions on tzedakah. Up until I graduated college, my parents would donate around this time each year and make donations on behalf of me and my siblings. Since then, we have all been responsible and accountable for our own charitable actions: my brother found UJA-Jewish Federation and AIPAC in New York and discovered his passion for Jewish volunteer work and philanthropy. My sister, through her medical school program, worked at a facility that assisted abuse victims and their children, and would spend her summer days playing with the children instead of opting to go to the beach or on a road trip. For me, I’ve been involved with JUF attending Israel Solidarity Day and YLD events and engaging in opportunities for tikkun olam.

I learned above all that giving tzedakah needs to come from the heart. As long as it’s sincere and meaningful, and as long as it’s helping others to live and survive, it counts. Some years, I’d set aside clothes that wouldn’t fit and drop them off at a resale shop. A couple of years ago, rather than giving gift cards or writing checks to friends and family, I began to plant trees in Israel and give them as gifts.

While I shared these experiences with my students, I couldn’t help but think to myself that, while these were thoughtful and meaningful ways to give to charity and to help out those in need, was I being complacent? Was I, according to Maimonides, taking the easy way out and choosing a lesser degree of tzedakah than I was capable of doing? Was I capable of doing more?

According to Maimonides, the highest degree “is that of a person who assists a poor person...by putting him where he can dispense with other people’s aid ... [to] strengthen him in such a manner that his falling into want is prevented.”

This was difficult for many of the students to understand, so I told them a true story that another teacher recently shared with me so they could understand, and even imagine and visualize themselves performing this act of kindness themselves.

A man was wrongfully jailed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, hanging out with some shady people one moment and charged with murder the next (get the full story on WBEZ). Eventually, after three years of legal battles and pro bono work from generous lawyers, a jury found him not guilty and he was acquitted. I explained to the students that they lawyers saw through the financial expense they were poised to endure and decided that helping a wrongfully accused stranger get out of prison – a place this man never imagined he’d go or even belong in – was the right thing to do. They saw an opportunity to give without expecting anything in return, to free an innocent man so he could go on living his life.

After I finished the story, the students barraged me with questions. Of course, many of us don’t get the experience or opportunity to perform this very high degree of tzedakah, so it generated lots of inquiry. What came over these lawyers that motivated them to provide this ultimate act of kindness? Did they have any expectations that he would pay them back in some way? Did the man have to promise to be good and stay away from bad people or bad things? Did they ever catch the real bad guys, and were they punished?

It turns out that this innocent man is now enrolled in college and fixing computers for a living, and the lawyers who sacrificed their time and energy to help a complete stranger for 10 long years still keep in touch with him on a regular basis.

So this season, and for the future, I encourage everyone to find their own path of tzedakah, to embrace the culture of giving freely and selflessly, and to pay it forward in whatever way works for you. The sixth graders taught me that it’s never too soon or too late to start giving, and to give thoughtfully and meaningfully.    

Anyone else out there a foodie? Food is a great metaphor for relationships. If a person gets in the habit of eating cakes, cookies, and candy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, it will be very difficult for that person to create a new reality of healthy eating.

Relationships are no different. If a person is dating in an unhealthy way, having “fast-food relationships,” then when it comes time to be in a healthy relationship, they will have created deeply entrenched negative patterns that are difficult to break. Just like eating healthfully requires knowing the rules of nutrition, so too, we need some guidelines for developing “healthy” relationships.

Dr. Sue Johnson, world-renowned relationships expert (and one of my personal mentors), ascribes three pillars to a healthy relationship. Let’s examine those three factors and then look at how Judaism approaches the establishment of a healthy relationship.

Factor #1 – Accessibility

This refers to the ability to connect emotionally with one’s partner even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when I feel insecure in this relationship, I will stay open and accessible to work through it together with you. Guess what? There will be times when the marriage feels uncomfortable. And you will have to apply good ol’ stick-to-it-ism and be there for your partner through the tough and challenging times too. But in the online dating world of several dates with several different people already set up for the week, if the date goes sour for a minute, the relationship is dropped. Hey, wait a minute! Where are you going? Don’t click off this blog yet! Hey … wait … Exactly.

Factor #2 – Responsiveness

This means that a partner is able to hear, understand, and respond on an emotional level to the needs of their significant other. Deep within all of us, we carry fears, loneliness, insecurity, and a need to be loved and cared for. Can you give me what I need? Can you enter my world, different from your world, see my needs, and provide them for me? Our generation struggles in the realm of relating to another person. One of the number one challenges of today’s technologically advanced communications world is the lack of eye contact. I do not really see you. Through emails, messaging, and texting, we dull the muscles needed to reach out and see what’s really going on inside of another person. Those skills are needed to create and deepen a healthy relationship.

Factor #3 – Engagement

A relationship that is engaged is a relationship in which both partners feel special to the other. It is where both share a special place in their heart for each other, willing and wanting to give a unique place in their lives for time, space, and attention to the other. It’s kind of like going to the movies with someone, but there’s no movie. Instead, all the anticipation and attention is given specially to your partner. Painful to many, this means turning off one’s phone figuratively, or sometimes when unable to fight that “gotta-answer-it’ reflex,” – literally. This will allow a couple to feel important to one another – a key ingredient in a successful relationship.

Sue Johnson created an acronym to remember these three relationship pillars: ARE. “ARE you there for me? ARE you with me?” Accessiblility, Responsiveness, and Engagement are the three factors that support a healthy thriving relationship.

The first step in establishing an ARE relationship is to see the other. You have to be able to see outside of yourself. There has to be the ability to acknowledge another person with potentially a completely different paradigm and experience of life. Second comes listening. This means listening intently to what’s going on inside the world of the other and caring. It means focusing intently and earnestly to each other’s deep vulnerable feelings. The third step is to connect. In this deep vulnerable place of sharing and understanding each other, connecting means to feel safe and secure, understood, and accepted. Finally, the goal is to reach a place of profound appreciation of each other and the precious relationship you share together.

These four steps: Seeing, Hearing, Connecting, and then Appreciating are actually alluded to in the first four names of the tribes of Israel: Reuben, Simon, Levi, and Judah. Reuben comes from the Hebrew word reiyah to see. Simon, or Shimon in Hebrew, comes from the word shemiya, to hear. Levi comes from the word leviya, to attach or connect. And Judah comes from the Hebrew word hoda’ah, to give thanks or appreciate.

When a husband can see what his wife is experiencing and listen to her share her feelings about it, he’s being Accessible. If he can then take that in and connect with her in that deep vulnerable place, he’s being Responsive. And when he then shows her how much he appreciates her for who she is at the core, how much he enjoys her sharing and being a part of his life, that is true Engagement. And it’s the same from her to him. These four steps: Seeing, Hearing, Connecting, and Appreciating are what construct an A.R.E. relationship of Accessibility, Responsiveness, and Engagement.

My mom always made a big deal about Chanukah, and she instilled in our family a love for the holiday, too.

I know, I know. Chanukah's considered a "minor" holiday on the Jewish calendar, just trying to keep up with the commercialism of a Christmas culture that has us hearing the Mariah Carey Christmas song in our sleep for two months straight.

But in our house, Chanukah was a major holiday. We'd deck the place out in blue, gold, and silver metallic Chanukah décor worn from years of usage. The smell of frying latkes would waft through the house, we'd play dreidel for pennies, and exchange eight token gifts like Huey Lewis cassettes and Hypercolor T-shirts—ah the 1980s. But it wasn't about the gifts.

The centerpiece of the holiday in my home was lighting the Chanukiah (menorah). No matter what each family member was doing on those eight nights, we'd drop everything to go light the candles together.

I loved the special blessing we sing, and the smell of the Chanukah candles—a different tune and aroma than at our weekly Shabbat celebrations. I loved the glow of the lights in the window that passersby would see. And I loved to watch the colored wax melt down into abstract art until the final cinder would burn out, all in a matter of minutes.

We loved Chanukah so much that my mother even wrote a song about it, dedicated to my sister and me, called "The Maydel with the Dreidel." I've been singing that song eight nights a year since I was barely old enough to talk.

What resonates for us is that Chanukah celebrates not losing our Judaism to the larger culture—then and now. We're told that back in the days of the Maccabees, the oil lasted eight nights. And all these years later, through all the darkness—the peril, persecution, and turmoil—the Jewish people are still burning bright.

When we watch the news today, it's hard not to be overwhelmed by the poison: the evil of ISIS, Hamas rocket attacks, reports of anti-Semitism abroad and on our own college campuses, and the sale of swastika rings.

Yet, we've never let the dark extinguish the light, and we never will. In fact, our light—the light of the Jewish people—shines brighter than ever. That's the real miracle of Chanukah.

"The miracle," my mom would tell my sister and me growing up, "is you."

The miracle is every Jewish child. The miracle is all of us, the Jewish people, who endure and glow.

The miracle is all around us.

The miracle is in the handwritten notes tucked inside the Kotel (Western Wall).

The miracle is in the pages of the 317,000 books Chicago's PJ Library has mailed to homes of Jewish children for the last five years.

The miracle is the scientific and technological innovations that are coming out of Israel all the time.

The miracle is the songs sung around a bonfire at Jewish camps every summer.

The miracle is on the faces of the little kids who get up on the bimah (pulpit) and sing Adon Olam at synagogue every Shabbat.

The miracle is in the pantries of The ARK that feed people in need.

The miracle is at Independence Hall in Tel Aviv, where Israel first became a Jewish state, where last summer I sang "Hatikvah" with 170 Jewish peers from around North America.

The miracle is in the hands that bless our daughters and sons on Friday nights.

The miracle is the joy of dancing the hora at a Jewish wedding.

The miracle will be the more than 2,000 young Chicago Jews who will give together and laugh together at the YLD Big Event Fundraiser later this month, as we have for the last seven years.

The miracle is all of us—the Jewish people. Am Yisrael Chai!

May your Chanukah be filled with peace, joy, and light.

One of the best things about traditions is that they stay the same. This familiarity brings comfort and nostalgia. But even a holiday that’s thousands of years old – or maybe especially such a holiday – needs some new ideas every now and then so it doesn’t get stale.

Since eight is the official number of Chanukah, here are eight ways to re-brighten your Festival of Lights:

1. New candles

Sure, the birthday cake-type ones are easy to get, but there are so many really pretty ones out there that burn much longer and don’t cost that much more. Some are beeswax. These are a bit pricey, but just look at ’em:

2. New menorahs

There is nothing wrong with – and even something heartwarming about – using a traditional style of menorah. But artists today have had a ton of fun with styles, shapes, and themes. And what better Chanukah present to give than something you get to use for Chanukah right away? I mean, there is probably a cat person in your life who needs this:

3. New latkes

Since the miracle was about the oil – and since the Maccabees had never seen a potato in their lives – it kinda doesn’t matter what you fry in your festive fritters. Sweet potatoes, yams, squash, carrots, zuccini, peas… there are all sorts of ideas. Also, you can use them as the base for dozens of toppings.

4. New desserts

The frying fun doesn’t have to stop with the meal. Aside from traditional Sephardic/Israeli sufganiot (jelly donuts on steroids), there are all sorts of fried desserts: fritters, zalabia, churros … deep fried delights from bananas to Oreos to ice cream. Dial the first two digits of 911 before indulging, though.

5. New gift-giving traditions

The “eighth gift” is a great idea for kids. Instead of eight gifts, they get seven, and the eighth gift is the one they shop for specifically to donate to a kid in need. It’s a great way to introduce the idea of tzedakah to small kids and remember the less fortunate in the midst of your celebration.

6. New music

There is ton of great Jewish music beyond the (uggh) Dreidel Song and Adam Sandler. Some of my favorite Chanukah albums are listed here… and they don’t stop at klezmer. They range from alt-rock to reggae to … Woody Guthrie. (His wife was Jewish, and so were his kids, so he wrote them great Chanukah songs, because he was Woody Guthrie.)

7. New dreidel games

Have you ever spun a dreidel upside down? Played Bey Blade-style demolition-dreidel bout with them? Held contests to see how many you could keep going at once, or who could spin theirs the longest? Dipped them in (washable) paint and spun them on paper? Since dreidels are a mash-up of spinners and dice, you can use them instead for games like Parcheesi. Challenge the kids at your Chanukah get-togethers to get creative! Oh, and for the grown-ups, No Limit Texas Dreidel.

8. New “Chanukah.”

This year, resolve to spell the holiday’s name the way Judah the Maccabee, one of the Chashmona’im intended – with a “Ch” and not just an “H” – and learn how to chh. We have two letters in the Hebrew alphabet that make the sound, and speaking Yiddish takes chutzpah, too. You chh when you eat challah or charoset or chrain… you use it when you see a choson under a chuppah at a chasanah… or when you tell your chaver the chazan you like his chai necklace.

Enjoy working some, or all, of these ideas into your Chanukah this year … and Chag same’ach! (There it is again!)

I realized something the other day: I cannot remember the last time I felt bored.

It’s often said that “only boring people get bored.” Maybe that’s true, but maybe not. Quite possibly, being bored has nothing to do with being boring and everything to do with being busy. Whatever the case may be, I haven’t felt bored and I’ve most certainly felt busy, personally, professionally and mentally for quite some time now.

When I was younger, I always wanted to be busy. I was never really a “me time” person. Although most people who know me would’ve (hopefully) never really noticed that I yearned to constantly be occupied, I felt uneasy when certain things were unplanned and if I didn’t have something to look forward to each week.

Now, some of the things I look forward to the most are the nights where I can take a break, turn off my computer, relax on my couch, and decompress. If you would’ve told me a year ago that I would be thrilled to spend a Saturday night on my couch watching the Bulls and eating Pad Thai straight from the container, I would’ve told you that you’re losing it. However, nowadays, few things sound that ideal, which is most definitely part of growing up.

Weekends are essential for me now, but not in the way they used to be. Gone are the days of going out every night and getting minimal sleep only to binge on caffeine in order to get through the next week. Of course, I am still binging on caffeine, but now it’s more so because of insomnia and an inability to sleep in. Oh, “adulthood” … My free time is now so much more important because it’s much needed time to regroup and revamp.

I sat on my couch for a few minutes before starting to write this as I thought about my to-do list when all I really wanted to do was close my eyes and take a nap. My upcoming responsibilities ranged from urgent matters to trivial things and projects that should’ve been done months ago, but were somehow put on the back burner:

1. Write this post

2. Wash my hair

3. Clean the bathroom

4. Put away my laundry

5. Finish the things I didn’t finish at the office today

6.  Make a birthday picstitch

7. Actually go grocery shopping

8. Actually cook things with the food that I purchase

9. Call my friends who I owe a call 

10. Hang up the pictures that have been sitting on my window sill for almost two years

11. Build my shelf

12. Clean the kitchen

13. Sort the mail

14. Grade papers

15. Paint my nails

16. Stop making a to do list and actually write this post

Go ahead and laugh because the things I have to do aren’t actual responsibilities in the grand scheme of things. Sure, they are all important in some sense, but they are also such “20-something problems.” It’s not like I have to raise a child or buy a house or even cook anyone dinner (besides myself). I truly just need to do the day-to-day things to take care of myself and somehow it’s more exhausting than anyone would ever think.

So, as I string together a bunch of jumbled thoughts while snuggled under a cozy blanket on a winter night in Chicago, I can assure you of a few things: there’s always something you can be doing, never a reason to be bored, yet always a reason to give yourself some must needed rest and relaxation. Some things can wait until tomorrow. I know I often need to take my own advice, but at least I now have checked one thing off my to-do list.

There is no shortage of bad training advice online. I see it all the time: some writer jots down the best moves for torching fat and one of those moves is a bicep curl. I’m not against the bicep curl, but the bicep is a small muscle, and if you’re only listing the four “best” moves, I would not include the bicep curl.

Like selecting a trainer, you need to be picky with what advice you follow online. Many of the self-proclaimed experts are excellent writers, but not trainers. Distinguishing between good and bad advice can be tricky; I’ve been fooled a few times. The best advice I can offer you? Check the source. Review their background, other articles they’ve written, and when all else fails – ask a trainer friend.

A few of my favorite resources are listed below. I want to warn you, however: I do not agree with 100 percent of what they say. These guys are pretty hardcore. When I steal ideas from them, I usually adapt the workout to make it easier.

Ben Greenfield - I listen to his podcast because it’s entertaining and his advice is really interesting. I will never follow all his suggestions because many ideas, such as buying a squatty potty and bathing in a cold lake, are a little too out there, even for me. I do though enjoy learning about the benefits of bone broth and cold showers, however. http://www.bengreenfieldfitness.com

Eric Cressey - I receive Eric’s email newsletter. I also have a few of his videos. I like his approach to an active warm up. I also like how he analyzes exercises. If you are interested in seeing examples of how to warm up and other functional exercises, check out his site http://www.ericcressey.com and look at his videos.

Mike Boyle - I’ve seen Mike speak a few times and really like his approach, he’s a straight shooter. He says from experience what has and has not worked. He trains hockey and baseball players. He worked with the Boston Red Sox when they recently won the World Series. He then promptly quit because he missed training his “kids.” The best way to check him out is through his podcast, called the Strength Coach Podcast.  There is also a lot of information available on his site: http://www.bodybyboyle.com 

Gray Institute - The sound quality of their workout DVDs might not be the best, but it’s a great workout that gets you moving in a lot of directions. I’ve taken classes and purchased videos from the Gray Institute. The workout videos have great content, the technical videos for trainers are very technical: http://www.grayinstitute.com 

Dave Schmitz - I saved the best for last. Dave, a.k.a. “the band man,” has an amazing video library collection on YouTube. All the above listed names also have video channels. What’s different about Dave, however, is all his workouts are with bands you can get on his site. The workouts are easy to follow and fun. I started watching them for my bootcamps, but all of my home workouts include band work. Check it out: http://resistancebandtraining.com

Do you have a favorite fitness resource? If so please send it my way!

I want Chanukah this year to be a WOW! I am potato-ed out and frankly the thought of another sweet potato latke is as about as exciting as last year's Thanksgivukkah. HO-HUM!

I want a crunchy, crispy, and elegant Chanukah. Sure, I love latkes and apple sauce. I am crazy for sufganiyot. But this year, I want stylish food for my Chanukah gathering.

I am thinking of beautiful plates of golden-brown, fried delicious root vegetable ribbons, and cups of flavorful dips and sauces and sauces and all sorts of goodies waiting to be sampled. 

Don't fret and worry your pretty little head that crispy fried treats are a kitchen nightmare and a Gordon Ramsey fright scene in your own home. My Chanukah party requires few tools, few ingredients and allows you, the host, to attend your own soiree. 

The menu I have designed can be a part of larger party and these items used as starters or these items can be served as a casual or elegant cocktail party. 

This year I am doing simple peeled root vegetables fried to a golden brown, finger licking green beans coated in delicate tempura batter, and-for dessert—I have golden fried fritters with the jelly on the outside! Skip the gooey pastry bags and drippy countertop. These fritters are a snap to prepare.

Root vegetable chips with spicy smoked salmon and wasabi mayo  

1 medium carrot, sliced about 1/8 of an inch thick (I use a vegetable peeler to yield thin delicate ribbons) 
1 large parsnip, peeled and sliced about 1/8 of an inch thick (I use a vegetable peeler to yield thin delicate ribbons) 
Several large Jerusalem artichokes,* peeled and sliced about 1/8 of an inch thick (I use a vegetable peeler to yield thin delicate ribbons) 
1 medium yucca, peeled and sliced about 1/8 of an inch thick (I use a vegetable peeler to yield thin delicate ribbons) 
2-3 cups canola oil 
Sea salt and freshly cracked pepper 

1. Heat the oil in a medium saucepan until it is 350 degrees. Line a jelly roll pan with paper towels or a brown paper bag will also absorb the oil. 

2. Fry the vegetable chops/ribbons, in batches, until they are crispy and brown, about 1-2 minutes per batch. 

3. Transfer the fried veggies to the lined pan and sprinkle with sea salt and pepper. Continue until all veggies are crispy. 

4. The vegetable chips can be fried up to 1 day ahead and can be stored, once cool, covered at room temperature. 

*The name Jerusalem artichoke is actually a misnomer. These bumpy tubers have nothing to do with Jerusalem, nor are they a member of the artichoke family. In fact, they are actually the root of the sunflower plant, which is why they are also known as sunchokes. They have a nutty, earthy flavor similar to an artichoke. Jerusalem Artichokes are in season twice a year, in the late spring and again in the fall. 

For the aioli 

4 ounces best quality smoked salmon 
2 heaping tablespoons wasabi powder 
2 teaspoons lemon juice 
2 tablespoons prepared horseradish 
½ teaspoon freshly cracked pepper 
2 cups homemade or purchase mayo 

1. Pulse the salmon in a food processor. 

2. Stir all the ingredients together until well combined.  

3. Serve the dip with the vegetable chips. 

4. Any leftover dip can be stored, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. 

Crispy green beans with sesame, ginger soy dipping sauce  

⅓ cup all-purpose flour
⅓ cup rice flour
¾ cup club soda
Pinch of cayenne pepper 
½ teaspoon kosher salt
1 pound green beans, stem end cut off 
2 cups canola oil 

1. Fill a large bowl with ice and a small amount of water in it. Place a smaller bowl in the ice water and whisk together the tempura batter.  

2. Heat a medium sauté pan with 1 inch of extra virgin olive oil in it over medium high heat. 

3. Dip the beans into the batter and allow the excess batter to drip off. When the oil is at 350 degrees, gently place the dipped beans into the batter and fry it until it is crispy and golden brown (about 1-2 minutes). Turn the beans and fry the other side. Transfer the beans to a paper towel lined baking sheet.  

4. Sprinkle with salt and serve.

Sesame, ginger-soy dipping sauce  

This is a great all-purpose dipping sauce for any Asian delicacies. The sauce can be stored in the refrigerator for up to
5 days. 

½ cup good quality soy sauce
2 teaspoons grated fresh ginger-I use my microplane to grate the ginger
2 large garlic cloves, grated, I use my microplane to grate the garlic
1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil
½ teaspoon sugar
Garnish: chopped scallions, thinly sliced hot chilies

1. Whisk all the ingredients for the sauce together and garnish with scallions and chili rings 

Fritters with cranberry conserve

These fritters are a snap. There is no dough to make or roll out. I use a simple and rich chocolate pound cake that is sliced, fried to a golden brown and served with tart and ruby-red cranberry conserve. Delish! 

1 cup all-purpose flour 
½ cup best quality cocoa powder (I only use Valrhona)
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate (I only use Callebaut 71%), melted
3 eggs
½ cup brewed coffee
1½ cups packed brown sugar
½ cup canola oil
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350 degrees 

1.  Lightly grease a loaf pan with canola oil and then dust it with cocoa powder.

2.  Whisk the dry ingredients together in a large mixing bowl. Set aside

3. Mix the chocolate, eggs, coffee, brown sugar and vanilla together in a small mixing bowl. 

4. Mix the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients. Be careful not to over-mix or the cake will be tough. Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan and bake in a preheated oven for 50-60 minutes until a toothpick can be inserted and will have moist crumbs on it.

5. Place the cake pan on a cooling rack and allow to cool for 1 hour. Run a knife around the edge of the cake and unmold onto a plate.

For the fritters

1 pound cake
2 cups canola oil
½ cup Powdered sugar

1. Cut the cake into 2-3 inch cubes and set aside.

2. Heat a small saucepan with the oil.

3. Once the oil has reached 350 degree, add the cubes, a few at a time and fry until crispy and dark brown on each side.

4. Transfer the cake to a plate lined with paper towels. Dust with powdered sugar and serve.

Cranberry conserve

3 cup fresh or frozen cranberries
½ cup orange juice
Zest of 2 oranges
1 cup sugar

1. Cook the ingredients together in a small sauce pan, over medium heat.

2. When the cranberries start to pop, turn down the heat to low.

3. Once the berries begin to "gel" (the berries will be very gooey and look like jelly), turn off the pan and allow to cool

4. Serve the conserve with the fritters. Any remaining conserve can be stored, covered in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks or frozen for 2 months.

Maccabi's Hammer 

Crisp, bubbly apple cider is refreshing and only made better and more complex with rosemary and smoky, molasses-rich bourbon. *For an alcohol free version, omit the bourbon.

Serves 4

1 lemon, cut into slices
1 rosemary sprig
1 teaspoon sugar
12 ounces sparkling apple cider
6 ounces bourbon
Garnish: apple slices

1. Place the lemon, rosemary, and sugar into a glass and muddle the mixture for a minute to get all the juice out of the lemon and to infuse the juice with rosemary.

2. Divide the apple cider between 4 glasses. Add 1½ ounces of bourbon to each glass. 

3. Strain the lemon juice and top each cocktail with the rosemary-lemon juice.

4. Garnish with fresh apple slices. 

The baseball season might be long over, but the excitement is just beginning. While the White Sox and Cubs have made some really solid moves so far (Zack Duke and Adam LaRoche are coming to the South Side, while manager Joe Madden heads to the Cubs), Jewish ballplayers have been on the move as well.

Kevin Youkilis - After a year in Japan, Youkilis has announced his retirement. While he probably will not see the Hall of Fame, Youkilis had a very productive career, mainly for the Boston Red Sox. It will be nice seeing him on the ballot in five years.

Josh Zeid - After showing promise with the Houston Astros and then struggling through an injury, Zeid is on his way to join Jewish manager Brad Ausmus and second baseman Ian Kinsler in Detroit. This is a very solid move for the Tigers, who need some young pitching in their bullpen.

Ike Davis - After breaking out of the Minors as a solid player, Davis has hit some bumps in the road over the last few years. The Pirates sent him to the minors, then quickly traded him to the Oakland A's.

Gabe Kapler - The former MLBer will take over the Dodgers’ farm system. He was tapped by fellow MOT Andrew Friedman, who is the news President of Baseball Operations.

Craig Breslow - The Red Sox have allowed the veteran lefty to test free agency. The New York Mets have shown interest. He’s expected to sign with a team soon.

Aaron Poreda - Poreda's Major League resurgence landed him with the Texas Rangers, but he is taking his talents overseas and joining the Yomiuri Giants.

Josh Satin – The Mets infielder, who struggled this season after a strong rookie campaign in 2013, is staying in the National League, signing with the Cincinnati Reds.

Stay tuned for more possible moves: With the A's signing Billy Butler, what will that mean for Nate Freiman? Will Matt Kemp get traded to make room for Minor League phenom Joc Pederson? Can Jason Marquis continue his comeback?

You know how sometimes there are dishes that conjure up memories buried somewhere deep inside you? These potatoes do that for me.

These little perfect golden beauties are not new to my blog. They have been posted on my blog since I started blogging oh so very long ago…when my blog was here, complete with horrible pictures and all. I have come a long way since 2008.

That was also my very first year living in the house with the hubs. And that was the year I decided to undertake Thanksgiving for 20 people at our brand new house …

I started planning my menu a month in advance. Trying to figure out the best turkey (mine is still the best, by the way), the ultimate sides and the most unique potatoes. Hubs thought that no table is complete without a potato dish. How Russian of him.

Truth be told, I had to agree. But it could not just be any potato, it had to be gloriously delicious and unique, and these were most definitely them …

It was my mother-in-law that introduced me to these golden beauties. We happened to be at her house for one of the High Holidays when I noticed her removing the most gorgeous golden puffs out of the oven. They were resting right on the racks. “Strange,” I thought, and made a mental note to buy the woman some baking sheets, poor thing.

And then she brought over little ramekins of fragrant and warm garlic butter. My brother-in-law immediately grabbed two of them for himself and started dipping his bread into it, chomping down loudly and smacking his lips out of pure enjoyment after each bite. No he is not a toddler, he’s in his 30s.

His mom came by toting a platter of those beautiful little puffs and smacked my brother-in-law on the back of his head. “That’s not what the butter is for!” And she immediately placed three of these golden puffs on his plate. “Here, dip these into the butter.”

To say that he was happy was an understatement. He continued chomping away on the golden puffs and raised a few toasts to his mom’s golden hands, exclaiming that this is the only thing he needs to eat that night. I begged to differ. And we began one of our many arguments of the night. We both loved to argue …sometimes over food, sometimes over movies, always ending in a good laugh or me smacking him upside the head.

As we argued I proceeded to take one of these puffs and dipped them into the warm garlic butter. And I stopped dead in my tracks.

These weren’t puffs! They were potatoes! OMG … these round little golden nuggets were potatoes! And combined with that garlic butter … they were magic.

“Ella, there are potatoes?” I asked my mother-in-law.

“Da,” she said simply, with a proud smile on her face. “Amazing aren’t they?”

I am rarely speechless, but I was. How does this happen without deep frying them? What could possibly happen to make these tiny balls of tater sunshine? I stared at it in my head, rotating it around to inspect for any secrets. And as if reading my mind, my mother in law goes, “Salt, the secret is salt.”

Funny, I didn’t see any salt on them … well, with the exception of the salt that I had just doused them in.

She then explained that you simply parboil the potatoes in very salted water. Once they are fork tender, you pour them right over your baking rack from the oven and stick them into the oven until they are golden and deliciously crispy, about 20 minutes.

Naturally, I went and created these for Thanksgiving and they were so perfect, so elegant, so gone. Seriously, I think I made at least 40 for 20 people and there was not 1 left. Not one. I served them as an app and my family just devoured them, dipping them into my glorious chive and garlic butter, begging for more.

The coolest thing about this recipe is that you can make it ahead of time. I boiled these babies up a few hours before service, drained them, and left them in a pot covered with a towel so they stayed warm and moist. Then, once I was almost ready for the course, I placed them onto the oven rack and baked them off at 450 degrees.  

They really were perfection, and no one you serve will know how very easy they are.

Golden Potatoes with Garlic Chive Butter
From Girl and the Kitchen

For the Potatoes

1.5 pounds small-medium white potatoes or Yukon Golds, NOT red potatoes (just make sure that they do not fall through your racks) 
1 tbsp kosher salt 
1 gallon of water

For the Garlic and Chive Butter Dip

1 stick of butter 
4 cloves of garlic, minced 
3 chives, finely sliced 
1 pinch of red pepper flakes 
Salt and pepper

Instructions

1. Take out two of your racks from the oven and THEN preheat it to 450 degrees.

2. Peel the potatoes and make sure they are no smaller than a golf ball and no bigger than a small tennis ball.

3. Place the potatoes in a pot full of water and for every gallon of water use 1 tablespoon of Kosher Salt. The salt is why the potatoes brown so beautifully in the oven , so make sure you put it in

4. As soon as the potatoes reach a boil, dump them into a colander and then line them up on the racks. (This was the reason not to peel them too small, we don’t want them falling through the racks.)

5. Place racks CAREFULLY back into the oven into the oven for about 15-20 minutes.

6. While the potatoes are roasting, place butter, garlic, chives and seasonings into a small pot.

7. Over low heat, allow the butter to melt slowly and let all the flavors infuse into the butter. This should take about 5 minutes.

8. Once the potatoes are golden brown, remove and serve immediately with the garlic butter dip.

9. Please note, if you are making these ahead of time, just take them out of the oven once they are ready and let them stay on the racks. Right before service, stick them back in the oven and allow them to crisp up again and they will be ready for you!  

I tend to believe that there are lessons to be learned in the world, and that most of them eventually connect within Jewish life. This is even the case in the social media world.

Twitter, for example, is great for getting the word out when you have some earth-shattering news to spread or pearls of wisdom to share. The only challenge is getting that message to fit into 140 little characters. The result, as most of us know, is that we either end up not saying everything we want to say or we throw grammar out the window. But what I totally like about Twitter is that it really forces me to think about exactly what I want to say.

There was a Jewish leader who lived in Poland named Rabbi Israel Meir Kagan (1838-1933). He was famously known as the ”Chofetz Chaim,” which means “seeker of life.” This is because one of the many books he authored was a called Chofetz Chaim. It's a digest of laws of speech and gossip or, in Hebrew, lashon hara.

During his lifetime, the Chofetz Chaim was all about teaching people why Judaism is against using words to harm others. He even had some pretty impressing sayings like, “Once you speak lashon hara about someone it is as difficult to take those words back as it to collect the feathers from a pillow that have blown in the wind.” When the telegraph was invented and he learned people were charged by the letter, he observed that the machine will help people understand the cost of what they say (no pun intended).

This brings me back to the value of words. Back when cell phone plans only charged per text message (thank God for unlimited texting) I understood the “cost” of a message in literal terms. Having to conform to Twitter's rule of 140 characters helps me be mindful of what I say, how I say it, and even the responsibility (or consequences) of spreading it.

The groove in the middle of a human’s upper lip is called the infranasal depression, or a philtrum. There is a Jewish myth, stemming from the Talmud (Niddah 30B) that explains the infranasal depression’s origin as follows:

When a baby is in the womb, he/she learns the entire Torah from start to finish. Upon seeing light for the first time at the moment of birth, an angel comes down, taps the baby on the mouth, causing the baby to forget everything that was learned. The tap is the cause of the infranasal depression. According to the legend, Jews are urged to spend the rest of their lives trying to learn all the Torah that was forgotten at birth.

This past summer, my wife and I were blessed to welcome our son into the world. Like any baby, he was born, seemingly helpless, without any knowledge of anything, Torah or otherwise. In an effort to be the best parents we can be, we naturally tried to care and protect him. We certainly comfort him when he is in distress and love him for the special person he is. We also have already begun teaching him everything we have learned, know and love about life, including Jewish life.

Granted, as a child that is not even six months old, he is not spouting Torah texts and Talmud tractates just yet. At the same time, he has been hearing the songs and prayers at home and in synagogue, chewing on holiday-themed board books, and accepting our blessing for children every Friday night since he was born. We are doing our best to lay the foundation for him to pursue a lifetime of Jewish learning.

Over the course of my lifetime, my parents have probably taught me more than anyone else I know. They were each instrumental in laying the foundation for me to take in a world of Torah knowledge. I owe a lot of what I know about what it means to be Jewish to them. As I celebrate Thanksgiving this week, I wanted to take a moment and thank my parents. Thanksgiving is not a Jewish holiday, per say, but I think we can all agree that gratitude is an important Jewish value. I have the deepest gratitude for what I have learned from them and hope to be as good a teacher for my children.

Though I’m sitting here at my computer, I very well could have written this blog post from the shower.

For my birthday this year, I received a unique and amazing gift: a waterproof notepad and pencil, designed for the shower.

I had requested this gift from Michael and Rachel, my brother and sister-in-law. “I’d like a dry erase board for my shower,” I told them. “I don’t know if it exists, but I figured if anyone in the world could find it, the two of you could.”

So, they presented me with these packs of waterproof notepad paper and pencils.

I stuck the notepad and the pencil to the wall of my shower using the attached suction cups, and I was ready to write.

Why do I want this unusual product? I thought you’d never ask.

My best ideas come while in the shower. With the warm temperature and the sound of calming water, my mind is clear, allowing me to let the creative juices flow without distraction. Many of the ideas for posts on my blog originated in the shower.

To-do list items. When I’m not thinking of exciting, creative, fresh ideas, my mind wanders to my stress level and things I need to accomplish. My brain is filled with “Oh no, I forgot to email my advertising rep at the newspaper about an ad we’re running,” or “I need to buy stamps,” or “It’s been a while since I’ve had dinner with Kayla.” I’m a much happier Lia when my thoughts are on paper (or on pixels), and this will allow me to never be more than an instant away from a pen. To my journalism, English, and writing teachers, who taught me to keep a journal and a reporter’s notebook nearby: you’ve again ruined me.

Memory issues. Upon seeing this gift, my dad said, “Lia, either your showers are too long or your short-term memory is not functional. Can’t you just remember these ideas and items until you get out of the shower?” Both may be true, but … what was I saying? Oh yeah, memory issues. I find myself making up a song so as not to lose my new thoughts — see how long you could survive singing “Contact solution, e-mail Rachel, blog about the vegetable aisle in the grocery store” to the tune of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance.”

So, I’d like to thank Michael and Rachel for this great gift — and actually, maybe I’ll even write their thank you note while shampooing my hair.

In the heart of downtown Chicago, a large party room was filled with young Jewish professionals. Candles were radiating, wine was poured, homemade challah was savored, and the communal companionship was felt by all. My wife and I were relieved that Shabbat had begun and the hours of preparation in the kitchen (and on social media) had come to a close. It was now time to disconnect, to stop and savor the moment. It was a beautiful occasion, and it was time to take the occasion to the next level.

I found myself thinking about a story regarding three construction workers who were interviewed at the same construction site. The first interviewee was a boy about 19 years old. When asked why he was there, he responded that he doesn’t have the money for a membership to a gym; construction work is a great work out, he gets paid to get ripped, and the chicks dig it. The second worker interviewed was in his mid-20s. When asked why he was there, he responded that he doesn’t have the money to get through college. He works as a construction worker by day to pay for his college courses that he’s taking at night. This way, he’ll be able to eventually make a living to support the family he dreams of having. The third worker was in his late 50s. When asked why he was there, he responded that he saw an article in the newspaper that they were building a children’s hospital in this location. He wanted to be a part of that.

We can’t help but feel there’s a difference between their experiences, each one taking us another layer deeper into the significance of the work. Although Shabbat is the opposite of work, this particular Shabbat was unique in that 1 million Jews throughout the world, with 1 million different stories and reasons for participating in Shabbat, were celebrating together as part of a new initiative called The Shabbat Project. And I wanted our piece in Chicago, the Downtown Shabbat Experience, to reach that deeper level.

At the meal, everyone had their share of challah and matzo balls. That was level one: sustenance and delicious food. And then as they ate, everyone was enjoying the company around them, and we were already getting to level two. The third level took a little more effort. Each table was given a different insight about our heritage and was asked to discuss their topic and then to choose a representative to present the table’s insights to the entire group. Amazingly, everyone in the room gave each table their full attention, listening to all the insights and wisdom. One hundred young professional Jews sitting around the Shabbat tables sharing words of Torah and our heritage: we were taking our Shabbat to a deeper level.

But we didn’t stop there. Around dessert time, each table was given a list of typical items found in a Jewish home including candle sticks, a Kiddush cup, a book about the Holocaust, matzoh balls and challah, a Bible and prayer book, and more. They were tasked with ordering each item from most to least important in making a Jewish home. Each shared their three most important items – you can imagine how the room filled with debate! There was laughter, zero agreement (we’re Jews, right?), and lots of thought-provoked faces. We were tapping into the deeper meaning of our lives as Jews.

The festivities continued throughout the entirety of Shabbat. We were blessed with the last sunny day of the year to have our Prayer in the Park workshop on Shabbat morning, with chocolate cake and all. (What’s a Prayer workshop without chocolate cake?) That was followed by a luncheon replete with good food, good company, and meaningful conversations. Many people stayed to play games, chill out, and relax for the rest of Shabbat. As Shabbat concluded with guitar and song, we said goodbye to each other and Shabbat with a hope to reconnect with both again soon.

The Downtown Shabbat Experience was a project of Chicago YJP in partnership with JCC 20s & 30s, Masa Israel Journey, The Center for Jewish Genetics and Jewish Singles Social. A special thanks goes out to Becky Adelberg, Tovah Goodman, Leah Steinberg, Elisha & Jordana Fried, and Tehilla Fried for all their help in putting this event together, and to a number of YJPers who helped finance the event, especially Louie Whitesman for hosting. To find out about the next Downtown Shabbat Experience and other upcoming events with Chicago YJP, you can like Chicago YJP on Facebook.

My grandpa has no patience for impatience. He’s usually a pretty excitable person, but he positively boils over when it comes to the subject of how my mother and I need to control our tempers.

“I have never raised my voice in my LIFE!” he declares, his voice gradually rising to a shout with each word. As he’s speaking, he cracks his cane against the floor and stamps his foot. In fact, I’ve hardly ever heard him speak without raising his voice. But in his eyes, he has a perfectly patient and calm personality.

To tell the truth, I’ve never been much of a patient person either. I’m hardly even able to pop a Lifesaver into my mouth without immediately sinking my teeth into it like a stick of gum. And although he suffers from the same problem I do, my grandfather is completely right. Being impatient and losing my temper has only made me, and the people around me, miserable.

There’s an old anecdote about patience, regarding Hillel and one particularly pesky student. This student agrees to a bet to put Hillel’s renowned composure to the test. He shows up to his house and begins firing off round after round of useless questions. He leaves, only to return with a new batch of dumbfounding queries. Hillel calmly answers each one, until the student erupts and blames Hillel for making him lose the bet. Hillel responds, as tranquil as ever, that it’s better that the student lose his money than Hillel lose his temper.

Recently, I’ve been teaching English at a Jewish primary school in Buenos Aires. After two months on the job, it’s pretty clear that I’m no Hillel. I always imagined that while I might not have patience for people in general, I’d scrounge up some sort of tolerance for a group of kids who are just trying to learn. But to my utter dismay, it’s been harder than I imagined.

The other day in fifth grade, 9-year-old Dara strolled up to me with a question. ¨Que significa ‘size’?” she inquired, pointing to the word in her workbook.

“Tamaño,” I translated. She nodded and walked off.

A few moments later, she appeared at my side again. “Size?” she asked, her brow furrowed in consternation. “Que significa?”

“Tamaño,” I repeated, a little baffled that she was asking again, and went back to helping another student.

Several minutes went by. I felt a tap at my shoulder. It was Dara. She was pointing at a word in her workbook, completely lost on its meaning. The word was “size.”

``Tamaño,” I replied, unblinking, resisting the urge to flip a table. Tamaño. Tamaño. TAMAÑO! Why couldn’t she understand?!

Of course, my skewed, heavily accented version of the word “tamaño” probably meant as little to Dara as the word “size” itself. But I couldn’t help it. My impatience, which is usually simmering beneath the surface, was dangerously close to bubbling over.

In truth, I know that my temper is always much more my fault than whatever is bothering me. After all, why am I getting worked up about someone walking slowly on the street in front of me? Maybe they sprained their foot earlier this week and every step is a strained and concerted effort. Why do I get irritated when my mom drives over the curb? I do that sometimes, too. As for Dara, she wasn’t even trying to irritate me. She was just asking a question.

My mom and I almost always get annoyed when my grandpa accuses us of being impatient. The fact is, patience is something all three of us need to work on. Maybe next time Dara asks me for the definition of “size,” I’ll just calmly respond instead of developing an eye twitch. If nothing else, my grandpa will most certainly be proud. 

This feels all too familiar. Coming off of his second major knee surgery in as many seasons, Derrick Rose is having trouble staying on the court yet again. Two ankle sprains and now a hamstring have kept Rose out of half of the Bulls’ first 10 games this season. The buildup of minor injuries such as these is exactly what led up to Rose eventually tearing his ACL during the 2012 playoffs.

When Rose has been on the court he has been good, showing flashes of his former MVP self. He’s put up averages of 18 points and 5.5 assists per game, and displayed the same speed we always remembered. While the Bulls are taking a much more conservative, cautionary approach to his injuries this year, I cannot help but wonder if we are watching the beginning of the end for what was once a very promising NBA career.

An all-star caliber player with a unique skill set, an NBA lottery pick out of Memphis with potential to be one of the greatest point guards ever. Sound familiar? That’s because we’ve seen this before.

Anfernee “Penny” Hardaway was selected third out of Memphis in 1993 by the Golden State Warriors and later traded to Orlando for the top pick, Chris Webber. During the 1994–95 NBA season, the Magic won a franchise record 57 games while Hardaway averaged 20.9 points, 7.2 assists, 4.4 rebounds, and 1.7 steals per game. He started in his first All-Star game and was named All-NBA First Team. The next season, Hardaway and Shaquille O’Neal led the Magic to the Eastern Conference Finals, only to lose to Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls. O’Neal left Orlando for the Lakers the next season; Hardaway was finally the lone star and leader of the team but failed to lead the Magic to another playoff win.

The very next year, Hardaway suffered a devastating knee injury and was never the same. His unique size and ability helped him still achieve some success, but his numbers dropped drastically. Hardaway couldn’t stay healthy for a full year after that, battling foot and ankle injuries causing him to miss time until two micro fracture surgeries put him out for the season. He battled back and returned again, but he was a shell of the player he used to be in stints with the Suns, Knicks and Heat. Yeah, it’s starting to sound like the Derrick Rose story.

But could Rose’s story have a different ending, perhaps a more positive one involving the NBA title Hardaway never received?

The similarities of a year-by-year stat comparison of the two players in their first four years are mind-blowing. The fourth year for both players was strike-shortened and they both missed most of the following year with a career-changing knee injury.

Are we seeing another story of a potential NBA star’s career cut short? The similarities are eerie and hard to ignore. For Bulls fans, you just have to hope this is not the case. The Bulls this season could be special and make a real run at an NBA title – but I don’t believe that’ll happen unless Rose is on the court, something we’re starting to see as more of a challenge than I think he, or anyone, expected.

It’s hard to imagine Rose ever returning to MVP form, and while Hardaway did develop into a quality role player, his career arc was riddled with injury. Maybe these little early season nicks are nothing, dealing with the rust of sitting out two years in a row. But it’s hard to ignore that Rose’s style of play is not built for a career of longevity. Players who move like he does and hit the lane with that amount of power and quickness don’t play very long without making significant adjustments to their games.

Then there is the mental aspect, which is clearly starting to take a toll on Rose. A constant hot topic in the media, and understandably so, Rose is becoming more defensive all the time. On top of the fact that he has to continue playing knowing that any wrong turn on the court, any awkward landing, could spell the end for him.

In this week’s parsha, Toldot, we learn that Esau sold his birthright to Jacob for red lentil soup. He was famished from working all day and he needed food so Jacob tricked Esau into selling his birthright for a hot meal. We also learn that Esau was a hunter and Jacob a learned young man. Another way of looking at this is that Esau was yang and Jacob was yin. Yang represents physical strength and yin mental strength. Esau was easily tricked because he needed his physical strength to survive, while Jacob could be patient in order to achieve dominance through his wits. Jacob probably knew that lentil soup can make a person feel fuller in a shorter amount of time and used that to his advantage. I am assuming that Esau also knew that lentils made him feel stronger. So what is in lentils that makes them so good for us?

Lentils are legumes and they are packed with folate. Folate is an important nutrient because it may help prevent Alzheimer’s disease, depression, and osteoporosis. It also helps promote healthy red blood cells to prevent anemia. Most commonly, folate is put in women’s prenatal vitamins to prevent neural tube defects in developing babies. One cup of lentils contains 89.5 percent of the recommended daily intake of folate.

Legumes get some negative attention because they make people gassy. Lentils are no exception because they contain soluble fiber, which slows down digestion, keeping a person fuller longer but also causing gas. Lentils also contain insoluble fiber, which allow a person to be more regular. In general, fiber helps us clean out our colons the natural way. A cup of lentils contains 62.5 percent of our recommended daily intake of fiber. The trick to avoid passing gas from lentils it is important to soak the lentils in warm water at room temperature for at least 48 hours before cooking and eating them. This process will allow the lentil to sprout, which will make it more digestible. Sprouting also increases the vitamin and mineral content of a lentil.

Lentils also contain iron, protein, zinc, and vitamin B6. A cup of lentils is basically a little multivitamin that doesn’t taste like a fake fruit and isn’t hard to swallow. The iron in lentils can help replenish energy especially after a long day, so it is understandable that Esau craved the lentil soup after a long day of hunting. Also, because they contain protein, Esau was able to stay fuller longer and build muscle. From lentil soup, Esau was able to get everything he needed to stay strong.

Esau and Jacob were a yin and yang symbol during delivery. Jacob held onto Esau’s leg perfectly intertwining yin and yang. Their differences led them to needing different things to survive. Esau needed strength and Jacob needed to lead the Jewish people. Lentils were a way for both of them to get what they needed. I understand; I would give up my birthright (as the younger and cuter sibling) for some of my cousin’s tomato-lentil soup.

This year, as the festively familial holiday known as Thanksgiving comes closer, I know I’ll have a Turkey Day unlike any other I’ve known. I know this because I will be spending it with my baby daughter, Emma.

Now, while she does manage to spit up all over the place and make weird noises – I mean, alien-type weird – I can’t help but think about how unbelievably blessed I am. The nice thing about being Jewish is that I’m used to thinking about all the things I am thankful for nearly all the time. It’s mostly because of all the prayer hours I’ve logged, but it’s also because my parents chose to raise me to show gratitude, that there’s always something to share with those that are less fortunate than us.

When I look at my baby daughter’s beautiful blue eyes, I can’t help but think about the staggering multitude of events and experiences that led to her miraculous deliverance into this world. Suddenly, being thankful for a plasma HDTV or a brand new car doesn’t cut it, nor does it even seem right to hold these things in such esteem. People are right about the world changing around you once you have a child, or is it your view of the world that changes? Or both, simultaneously? Everything is put into perspective once you become a parent, not because you’re getting older (which is true), but because it’s tough to see the world with just you at the center.

Now bear with me while I get a little philosophical and existential: A little while ago, I was teaching a group of students about Maimonides’ Eight Levels of Charitable Giving. I know, I know, I am not a rabbi and I’m not about to give a d’var, but hear me out. One of the lessons the students learned was that the highest level of charitable giving was, “... to support a fellow Jew by endowing him with a gift or loan, or entering into a partnership with him, or finding employment for him, in order to strengthen his hand until he need no longer be dependent upon others ...” One of the students thought for a bit, then asked me, “if this were to happen to me, how could I ever reciprocate this thankful act? And if I wanted to give charitably like we are commanded, how could I ever repay this person for what they’ve done for me? It’s almost impossible to measure.”

I thought to myself, Wow, he’s got a point. That’s when even I began to understand how the impact of giving and of gratitude can profoundly affect us and the lives of those around us – strangers, brothers, sisters and more. In that moment, I truly learned that we are all connected to each other in such a special way, that when we do good deeds for others without expecting a “reciprocal act” we begin to realize the beauty that we’ve just delivered into the world.

This is what I truly believe G-d did for me when Emma was born. My wife and I were given this precious, beautiful, sacred miracle that we could never fathom to repay or reciprocate. How could we ever repay our very lives to our parents? I know I’ve tried to show them how much I have appreciated everything they’ve ever done for me, how much they’ve sacrificed of themselves. For me, it’s amazing to think that we have the power within us to not only be thankful in a meaningful way, but to profoundly affect others in such a way, they feel the gratitude that we ourselves have acquired. I cannot begin to put into words how grateful I am for Emma; I only hope to pass this very idea along to her someday.

So, wherever you may be carving the big turkey, shoveling stuffing, sweet potatoes and pies past those pearly whites, and getting those cheeks pinched, remember what brought you there in the first place. Look around the table and I’ll bet you can feel the thankfulness in the air. Now, I dare you to take that good feeling with you when the inevitable food coma has past, and pay it forward to someone else. Who knows what might happen?

L’Chaim and Happy Thanksgiving!

^{Nelly Tagar as Daffi in Zero Motivation}

It took me five years to finally get to another screening at the annual Chicago Festival of Israeli Cinema. Talk about Zero Motivation.

In 2009, I made the mistake of going too heavy for my first CFIC experience when I saw Ronit and Shlomi Alkabetz’s Shiva. Zero Motivation proved infinitely more accessible, especially as a young adult. When it stops playing festivals and gets wider distribution (I hope) in the U.S., it’s can’t-miss stuff, especially for young adults who have connected with Israel or Israelis at some point in their lives.

The film focuses primarily on two young women in the IDF who work in the administrative office at a military base in Southern Israel. They are essentially pencil-pushers and coffee-runners put in charge of oddly specific mundane tasks, such as paper-shredding or snail mail. Daffi (Nelly Tagar) dreams of being reassigned to Tel-Aviv, whereas her best friend, Zohar (Dana Ivgy), aspires to set Minesweeper records on all the office PCs and lose her virginity to the next willing soldier. As they try and maneuver around the annoying girls in the office and their rigid commander, Rama (Shani Klein), a few brushes with reality test their friendship to the extreme.

^{Dana Ivgy (left) and Nelly Tagar play best friends at odds in Zero Motivation.}

The best way to describe Talya Lavie’s film to American audiences is to imagine if Juno writer Diablo Cody wrote a movie about the Israeli army starring Girls star Lena Dunham and Ellen Page. Lavie’s script is razor sharp and hilarious, but also a little dark and unsettling. It touches on a couple mature and heavy issues within the context of wit and satire, which though uncomfortable, is the good kind of uncomfortable, and it lends a certain gravity to the movie, which otherwise would be a noteworthy comedy but little more.

Neither Daffi nor Zohar are particularly loveable, but they are easy to identify with. Today’s American 20-year-olds might not have to go through the army, but they know plenty about doing dead-end work, pondering their direction in life and fighting their inclination to merely entertain themselves. That’s a universal sentiment, and what ultimately makes Zero Motivation worthy of its 12 Israeli Film Academy nominations, half of which resulted in wins, including Best Actress for Ivgy.

Balancing out the movie’s delicate fusion of satire and important issues is the friendship dynamic between Daffi and Zohar. It is this grounding, human component that helps the film resonate across cultures and languages. Even though the film is really about them reconciling their own personal desires with their friendship rather than the friendship itself, social dynamics really provide the emotional fuel of the story.

Could Zero Motivation hypothetically be remade in another country such as America, taking place at an office with interns instead of a military base? Perhaps, but the army is a rite of passage that most other countries don’t have, and it’s so formative of the identities of Israeli young adults. Anyone who has spent time with Israelis and met a few whose job in the army was not all that glorious can at least grasp the importance of this setting in Lavie’s film. There’s also clearly a much deeper layer of satire that will only play effectively to Israeli viewers, but you can sense the richness of the dialogue that could be had about the issues presented.

Although not approached head on, there’s an undercurrent that addresses women perceiving their self-worth based on their relationships with men. Anyone can enjoy this movie, of course, but the talking points for women are important ones that again, transcend cultural boundaries, even though there are sure to be nuances.

Films that are genuinely funny, relatable and thought-provoking are rare as it is, let alone when it conveys those things despite being in a foreign language. It’s unfortunate that Zero Motivation won’t be Israel’s submission for the Academy Awards because it would really play well here and probably spark dialogue with regards to the perception of Israel and its military in the West.

Zero Motivation is also a reminder that as the market for independent film grows in the United States, so does our ability to appreciate foreign films. The two go hand in hand. Young adults in Chicago should be aware of the quality of Israeli filmmaking and beret’s off to the Chicago Festival of Israeli Cinema for securing this newer movie for this year’s slate.                                      

Let’s talk about Bozo.

Just to clarify, I’m referring to the clown. So what is The Bozo Theory you ask? A very good question since the title really gives no good context clues other than Bozo is involved in some way.

Well, as we all know, Bozo was one of – if not the – most famous clowns. (Stay away from my blog post Ronald McDonald.) And a theory is a proposed explanation whose status is still conjectural, in contrast to well-established propositions that are regarded as reporting matters of actual fact. Putting those two ideas together, the Bozo Theory simply states this:

If you wait until the end, you will produce better results.

I can see you don’t entirely follow. So, let’s give you some back story.

I inherited this theory from my father, a lover of all things Bozo. When I was young, happy and full of no responsibilities (can you really be full of nothing?) my father would take me and the family to a recording of “The Bozo Show.” It used to be broadcast live back in the day, but alas, it became pre-recorded and worse – educational – by the time I was old enough to attend. However, after each taping was complete and all hope of competing in the Grand Prize Game (the infamous Bozo Buckets) was washed away (the kid next to me got picked and was too scared to play and they picked someone else and I’ll never let my frustration of that go!!!!), they provided everyone with a chance to meet and/or greet Bozo afterwards. All the kids would line up with their parents. My dad would line up with his kids. Everyone would have a brief moment to say hi, get a quick picture and then be promptly shuffled out of the studio to let the next kid get their chance. But not us. Ohhhhhhh no.

My dad, you see, was a clever one. We’d purposefully be the last ones to get in line, waiting patiently to get our picture taken. But instead of being shuffled out with the masses, we had all the time we wanted with Bozo given no one was waiting behind us. My dad, with his grand love of Bozo; me, with my grand love of my dad; and Bozo with his grand love of prize games, were able to stick around and talk, along with the rest of the cast without anyone shooing us out. We could take extra pictures, muse about past shows and in general, have some extra fun clowning around (see what I did there?) because the world was our circus. (See what I did there again?)

No one else got this chance. No one but us. And this, my always attractive and now increasingly educated Oy! readers, is the cleverness that is The Bozo Theory. We waited until the end – we got better results.

Now not only does this theory work when it comes to meeting Bozo, as that specific opportunity is sadly no longer available to us, but waiting until the end also has its benefits in other situations. In fact, it’s worked for me on a number of occasions – that number of occasions being 12. The theory in action, for example, may include but is not limited too when I wait for candy to go on clearance after a holiday is over. Or perhaps when I am at one my many Jewish family get-togethers where there is a cavalcade of food and by not leaving too soon I get a cavalcade of leftovers. Or a truly epitomous example is waiting until the end of the credits during a movie to find a delightful extra scene at the end. Marvel Studios has made this a more mainstream practice in recent years with their movies (Mom and Dad, those are the big superhero movies that keep being released like Iron Man, Captain America and The Avengers … yup I’m patronizing you), but the art of the post credits scene originally stuck with me because of the movie Airplane! A film I inherited a love for, again, because of my Dad. And while this is one contributing factor as to why I stay through movie credits, the rest of that idea may need to be explored in another blog. Oh yes, another blog is where this full explanation shall be.

Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Adam, can I use The Bozo Theory too!?” To which I answer, yes. Yes you can. Who knows? Maybe if you stay all the way through the end of this article, you’ll be rewarded.

Okay, here’s the end of the article. Enjoy being rewarded. It’s a tease for my next Oy!Chicago post.

See! Next time, on Adam Daniel Miller’s Oy!Chicago blog: Why I Stay Through Movie Credits Or: Alone At Last!

If you are anything like me, you experience an uncontrollable urge to feed people as soon as the weather turns blustery. Well, maybe the urge to feed isn’t entirely weather-dependent for us nurturing, over-bearing Jewish mother-in-training types, but there is definitely something special about feeding friends and family something warm from the oven this time of year.

But ugh! The calories! And oy! The food allergies! And enough already with the butternut squash! We need something a little spicy, crunchy, and begging for accoutrement. We need something that can be prepared for the crowds, inexpensively and easily. And we need our nut-free, gluten-free, vegetarian friends to be astonished by it. Enter the socca.

Socca is an Italian/Provençal flatbread that can be served with cocktails or even made into a meal of its own. It uses chickpea flour instead of white flour which makes it light, chewy, and earthy. Socca is also pretty healthy, especially considering the cheese/stuffing/potato/sugar-laden foods we typically see this time of year. And most importantly, it’s extremely easy to prepare and customize with toppings that thrill you. Serve socca for breakfast with a fried egg on it, as an hors d’oeuvre before dinner, or even as a light lunch with arugula salad piled on top. Socca is especially good for those of us who celebrate Chanukah because it’s baked in a glorious pool of oil. How charming! Consider socca to be your back-pocket, holiday-entertaining best friend.

Socca Flatbread
Makes about 4 10-inch flatbreads

2 cups chickpea flour
2¼ cups water
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 tablespoon sea salt
½ tablespoon cracked black pepper
¼ cup olive oil, divided
Topping suggestions (cherry tomatoes, parmesan cheese, fresh herbs, fresh arugula, garlic scapes, sliced red onion, scallions, capers, sliced chilies, pesto, fried egg, roasted garlic)

1. Mix together the flour, water, cumin, salt, pepper, and 3 tablespoons of the olive oil. Let batter rest at least 1 hour at room temperature.

2. To cook, heat the broiler in your oven (or turn your oven on as high as it will go). Liberally coat the bottom of an oven-proof non-stick skillet or a cast iron skillet with olive oil, and put the pan on the top shelf of the oven for 5 minutes. (*If you don’t have non-stick pans or cast iron, you can also use a non-stick baking sheet or tart pan).

3. Once the oil in the pan is hot, CAREFULLY take it out of the oven with an oven mitt or dry kitchen towel. Using a ladle, pour enough batter into the pan to cover the bottom. Make sure you are only using enough batter to coat the bottom of the pan, sort of like making a crepe. Swirl the batter around, add the toppings of your choice, then pop it back in the oven.

4. Bake until the socca is firm and beginning to blister and burn. The exact time will depend on your broiler, but it should take about 5-8 minutes. It’s important that you see the edges turning dark and crispy.

5. Take the socca out of the oven and slide the whole thing out onto a cutting board using a wide, flat spatula.  Sprinkle it with coarse salt, pepper, another drizzle of olive oil, and any other toppings of your choice. Slice it up like a pizza and enjoy! Cook the remaining socca batter the same way, adding a touch more oil to the pan between each one.

A year ago, for the month of Thanksgiving, every night before I went to bed I jotted down one thing I was grateful for each day. 

Here are some of the 30 blessings I recorded: 

- A warm bed.
- Airplanes that fly me to visit my family for Thanksgiving.
- A beautiful fall Sunday that included a walk on the lake, the Sunday paper, pancakes with friends, and a good movie.
- Going for the first time to a black Baptist church for a funeral where I experienced the love, music, and community of a place I'd never been before.
- Giving a small Chanukah gift to a friend's daughter, something I knew she would love.
- A tree ablaze in the palette of fall colors.
- Men and women who serve to protect our country. (On Veteran's Day).
- Family. 
- A sunset.
- A baby bundled in a puffy coat and a hat with teddy bear ears, toddling down the street with his parents. 
- After a bad day, remembering from past experience that "this too shall pass."
- Shabbat.
- Employing my three little nephews as sous chefs/marshmallow tasters as we made sweet potato casserole together on Thanksgiving.
- An old couple holding hands.
- Refuge from a snowstorm.
- A cheap dinner out with even cheaper wine shared with priceless friends.
- Cyndi Lauper (after I went to her concert).
- Laughter.
- The strength of my convictions. 

I loved the exercise, helping me to be mindful every day that month-and beyond-for how much I am grateful for. Even on the hard days, and even amidst a backdrop of a lot of pain in the world, remembering our blessings makes us appreciate the beauty, the wonder, the magic—the extraordinariness—of life.

It's funny—I didn't record any big, expensive stuff on the list. In fact, very few of the items cost even a penny. It's so often the small, fleeting moments that are the biggest, the most beautiful, and the ones we'll always remember.

Gratitude lies at the heart of who we are as Jews. We express thanks to God for waking up every day, for the souls we embody, for the bread we eat, for the wine we drink, for the illness or danger we survive, and for so much more.

And just as gratitude lies at the heart of who we are as Jews, mindfulness lies at the heart of gratitude. The great Jewish sage Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel talks about mindfulness in his famous quote: "Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement," he said. "…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."

Over the High Holidays, I read a slim and poignant book that matched my reflective Jewish headspace of the season. In the book The Extraordinary Nature of Ordinary Things, written by Rabbi Steven Z. Leder, he writes about appreciating all that's extraordinary in our ordinary, daily lives through a Jewish lens. As we get older, Leder said, we lose our sense of awe and wonder.

"When we look back at the calendar of our lives how many pages are worth saving?" Leder writes. "We schedule our business appointments—mastering the lessons of time management and efficiency. But do we really manage our time well? Have we celebrated with our children? Have we visited our aging parents and grandparents or made that phone call to the friend whose loved one is sick? Have we hugged each other enough? Do our children, our parents, our brothers and sisters, our partners in love and life, know what they mean to us?"

Leder references a Hassidic story, in which a rebbe asks his followers where God exists. "Everywhere," his disciples respond. "No," the rabbi replies. "God exists only where we let God in."

In the broader culture, various forms of meditation are hotter than ever, where we let go of our stresses and noise of the day-to-day, at least for a moment, and be more mindful and intentional in our lives.

In my favorite movie of last year, a sweet British love story called About Time, the protagonist possesses the power of time travel and is able to relive the same moment more than once. By the end of the film, he realizes that it's better not to relive moments, but to appreciate every moment the first time around.

Soon, we'll all sit down for Thanksgiving once again, a national holiday that seems like an extension of the High Holidays because it focuses on themes of gratitude so prominent in Jewish values. Let's all give thanks for the moments&—the extraordinary, ordinary moments—because we'll only live them once.

I’m not selling a fitness DVD or my training services – this is free advice to get in shape in less time. Who doesn’t want that?

Having a 3-year-old and a one-month-old, my workout time has shrunk. I have to squeeze in fitness into 20-30 minute increments. How can you do that and stay in shape? Depth training is the answer.

Depth training is basically doing many different exercises in whatever time you have with little rest. It’s similar to circuit training, for those of you familiar with that term. The goal is to fatigue your muscles quickly.

A depth training workout involves doing several exercises, such as pushups, lunges, jumping jacks, rows, squats, and planks – until failure. Repeat the list of exercises until you have to get back to work, child-rearing, your friend, your spouse – of course you will probably want to shower afterwards.

I like to select exercises that hit more than one muscle, such as pull-ups, squats and pushups. What’s great about those exercises is I do not need a lot of equipment to do them, and since I’m using multiple muscles, I burn a lot more calories. I also love to do a workout with a mini exercise band in between my knees.  This way I can blast my legs quickly with squats, and quickly mix in jumping jacks, shuffling, and mountain climbers with the band adding resistance. Stay tuned for a future video blog with exercises.

To form your own depth workout, use a balanced approach by working opposing muscle groups, such as:

- Chest and Back
- Quadriceps (muscles on the front of knee) and Hamstrings (muscles on the back of the knee)
- Biceps and Triceps
- Abdominals and Lower Back

If your goal is to gain muscle, you might want to pick only one group of opposing muscles and train another group during your next workout. If you are just trying to stay in shape or shed a few pounds, I recommend working the entire body at once.

For a personalized depth workout, email me at rkrit@fitwithkrit.com      

As the older of two siblings, I like to think my younger brother Bill looks up to me. Not just because I was literally taller for the 15 years before he got his growth spurt – but, you know, because I am so wise and worldly, what with my six additional years of life experience and all.

It doesn’t seem like so much anymore, but when we were kids, a six-year age gap was a huge deal. As a toddler, Bill (then “Billy”) used to follow me around everywhere, which I endlessly whined about but secretly found delightful. As we went through school, much to his chagrin (and my satisfaction), Bill was “Jessica’s brother” to all my former teachers, and as he hit each new milestone that I had already passed, I relished getting to share my infinite wisdom about what to expect on the first day of middle school, at the first Homecoming dance, first football game, etc. The VERY best was when he didn’t believe me about something, and then, of course, I’d turn out to be right and I’d get to say the most satisfying thing there is to say in the whole world: “Told you so!”

Then Bill took up running. To say he did not get the idea from me would be a massive understatement. As the girl who used to have my mom call me out of gym class, and who had a doctor send a note about my “exercise-induced bronchospasms” so I could get out of running the mile in freshman P.E., running has always seemed like a special kind of hell to me. I could not comprehend why anyone would want to subject themselves to that on purpose.

And yet, as Bill got faster and faster, and got more and more “likes” on Facebook photos of himself posing in race bibs at various 5ks … well, I guess I started to feel a little left out. So, after watching my baby brother triumphantly cross yet another finish line last summer while I sat munching on an energy bar from my perch on the sidelines, I decided to give following in his footsteps a try, literally, and – with his permission – signed up for the Make a Wish Foundation 5k last September.

Although running had come pretty naturally to Bill, whose advice for me was to “just, you know… run,” I knew I was going to need a little more preparation. With about two months to get into shape, I decided to do the aptly named “Couch to 5k” regimen, which gently starts you off in small running bursts mixed with super-long walking breaks.

To my great shock, the program actually seemed to work. By the end of the third week, I was up to three whole minutes running at a time – and feeling like a baller. Always one to get a bit ahead of myself, I immediately spent an absurd amount of money buying special running clothes and gear online, sure I would soon be surpassing Bill and his measly 5ks and headed straight for marathon championships.

Alas, Week Four, disaster struck. I woke up one morning with a sore throat, sniffles, and zero desire to get out of bed and pound the pavement. With WebMD’s blessing and a couple of loud, dramatically professed lamentations to Bill and anyone else who would listen that “my health just has to come first,” I took a few days off training.

And then something miraculous happened. My cold cleared up and I found myself wanting to get back out on the trails. I never would have thought it possible, but I missed running. In just a month, I had come to enjoy the feeling of accomplishment I got from watching my lung capacity improve with every session. I felt antsy without the release of running along the lakeshore, watching the waves crash and taking selfies in front of the skyline (what, they came out amazing). Maybe Bill was onto something after all.

With renewed resolve, I fell back into my rhythm of running three times a week. I even made it through the dreaded Week Six, when the program suddenly challenges you to run a full 20 minutes with no walking. I thought I would surely pass out and die, right up until the very last second, but I did it! (Does that make me a #legitimaterunner or what?)

To no one’s greater surprise than my own, when race day came, I was ready. It was a costume race, and Bill and I picked out the perfect outfits: Thing 1 and Thing 2 – with Bill as Thing 1, since, for once, we were doing something he had done first.

Clad in our DIY red t-shirts and bright blue wigs, we lined up side-by-side at the starting line. The horn blared, and we were off! I had been nervous that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the crowd, but with Bill literally running circles around me and good-naturedly taunting me to run faster the whole time (little brothers, amiright?), I managed to clock in at a slow-but-totally-respectable 35 minutes.

I still kind of can’t believe I’m saying this, but it felt amazing. After we exchanged a sweaty high-five for the cameras (aka our mom's iPhone), I turned to Bill and gushed how I couldn’t have done it without him, he was such an inspiration, etc. etc. etc.

And what did he have to say in response to my heartfelt, emotional sentiments, at the conclusion of my long journey to self-actualization on the race course?

“I told you so, I told you so, I TOLD you SO!! AHAHAHAHA TOLD YOU SOOOOOO!”

Fair enough – I guess he’d been waiting to say that for a while.

SoulCycle, the New York-based spin chain, recently opened a studio in D.C., where I live. For months, all I had been hearing from friends in other cities was how awesome SoulCycle was and how it was “so great” etc., etc., and frankly I was getting sick of it. I needed to try a class out for myself.

I should preface this by saying that I have taken multiple other classes and haven’t liked a single one. I tried core fitness in college and couldn’t walk; I tried kickboxing with a friend and kicked her straight in the face. I even tried yoga with my mom and couldn’t breathe. So my skepticism about SoulCycle was in full form before I even tried the class.

The SoulCycle locker room was white and clean despite the sweaty masses of girls pouring out. Other girls in yellow tank tops were abundantly available to help new riders, like myself, work our lockers and bike set up. I had gotten there 20 minutes early so I had ample time to survey the rest of the clientele.

There they were in their fancy brand name leggings and here I was upset that I was even in leggings. (Sofie shorts have been my work out attire since the tenth grade.) I scoffed at them, my skepticism of the $30 class growing alongside my nerves right up until 7:30.

Forty-five minutes later I walked out of the studio and knew that I couldn’t just go to one class. SoulCycle might have been the best workout I’d had since my high school soccer coach made me run suicides, and it was definitely the most enjoyable workout I had had, well, since ever.

Three months later I’ve become a SoulCycle enthusiast. As much as I would like to become a five-day-a-week junkie, I’ve had to control myself because while you might find your soul here, you’re definitely losing your cash. Here lies the downside to this fitness regime, unless you want to eat Eggo waffles for dinner (which I occasionally do). You need to draw the line on how much you’re willing to spend on this costly class.

I may as well be their spokeswoman when I tell you that you really need to try it out for yourself. As trivial as it may seem that I’m pushing for a spin class, ever since I started I have wanted to become healthier and exercise more. I’ve even started to occasionally eat salad. Salad!

Enticed? You’re in luck – SoulCycle comes to Chicago this winter.

^{The reigning IFL champion Tel Aviv Pioneers take on the Ramat HaSharon Hammers. Photo credit: Stas Ivanov}

It’s not fantasy football, but it is a football fantasy made real. Israel is going to the gridiron.

Meet Betzalel Friedman, the commissioner of the Israeli Football League. Some of you, myself included, played flag football while studying in Israel on the beautiful Kraft Field in Jerusalem. Well, things are taking off. I chatted with the IFL commish to talk about the kickoff of Israeli football.

^{Members of the Jerusalem Kings (purple) and Judean Rebels (orange) light Chanukah candles prior to playing in last year’s “Chanukah Bowl.” Photo credit: Rick Blumsack}

Please tell us a little bit about yourself.
I grew up in Indianapolis, and (was) moved to Israel when I was 10. I learned in the Gush and served as an officer in the paratroopers. Married plus three.

What is the IFL and how did it form?
The IFL was formed 8 years ago by a bunch of football enthusiasts who teamed up with Patriots' owner Robert (and Myra z"l) Kraft to start the league. Kraft is still the main sponsor.

Where are the players coming from and how do you recruit?
Most players (over 70 percent) are actually Sabras. Recruiting is mostly by word of mouth, but the teams also go out to universities/city centers/malls etc.

Is football growing in Israel? What cities are represented?
Football is growing all over the country. We have teams in the Galilee, Haifa, Ramat HaSharon, Tel Aviv, Petah Tikva, Mazkeret Batya, Jerusalem (three teams) and Beersheva. We also have eight youth teams, plus flag football for men, women and children.

Is football big amongst Israeli youth? Is it mostly American born interest or are native Israelis picking it up as well?
As I said, we're over 70 percent Sabra, and that's the goal. The sport will not grow if it's only a niche sport for Anglos.

Could you ever imagine a season like the Israel Baseball League had with former NFLers?
We pride ourselves on being a grassroots organization and growing the sport from the bottom up, in stark contrast to the IBL, which tried to start big and fizzled out quickly. I'd much rather see an ex-NFLer come to coach our guys than come to play.

What's next for the IFL?
We are trying to promote the sport in Israel and at the same time raise support abroad to help our efforts. We believe that football could and should be the third largest team sport in Israel behind soccer and basketball.  

Where can people follow the IFL?
Our website is www.ifl.co.il and our facebook is https://www.facebook.com/TheIflIsraelFootballLeague

Any last thoughts?
We've just started the Israeli National Team which will be quarterbacked by Alex Swieca and plan to compete in the 2016 Level C European Tournament.

Look out for the documentary called Touchdown Israel at Jewish Film Festivals soon.

The other night I was hanging out with a couple of my friends, lying on a couch with my feet hanging off the arm rest. Not the most comfortable of positions, but it was getting late and it would do the trick. While scrolling through my Instagram feed, one of my friends began to tug on two pieces of string that had been tied to my lower ankle for the past three months. My friend chuckled a little and asked me in a cynical tone, "Why do you have strands of yarn tied to your ankle?"

For me, the answer was simple, but at the time of questioning, I couldn't exactly put it into words.

See, these strands of yarn are from one of my favorite activities at Camp Firefly that had a large impact on both the campers and me. The activity goes a little something like this; you have a ball of yarn that needs to be unraveled but can only be undone through conversation.

You might be confused so let me try to explain further. The ball represents a conversation, comment, question, or topic. The ball can only be passed if someone else has something to add or share. So let’s say you’re talking about camp. The only way for the ball to be passed and unraveled is if someone else can make a connection and talk about that topic. The point of the game is to have a fluid conversation, which sometimes can be a struggle for anyone, let alone a camper with autism.

The orange and pink strings on my ankle represent a conversation I had with a camper using this activity that really illustrate his growth and improvement over the summer. He really struggled with interpersonal relationships and putting himself in someone else’s position. One day, this camper asked me a question; this was the first time that he had taken an interest in my life, or the initiative to ask a question. It was almost the end of camp and I could see his attitude toward talking and making relationships changing. Curiously, he asked his question and I handed him the yarn. We went back and forth, talking to each other and the turns started to grow into full-length sentences, including commentary, questions, and excitement about what we were saying.

When all of the string was unraveled, I asked him if he thought we should keep pieces of the string to remember our conversation and always have that as a reminder. He seemed to love the idea. From this activity, he gained confidence as well as understanding in having a conversation about someone else’s interests. Because I am so proud, I keep the string around my ankle and it remains tied there today.

So to answer my friend’s question, I keep it there not because I need it to remind me of my amazing experiences at Camp Firefly, but rather because it is a conversation-starter. It allows me to talk about my life-changing time at camp. The strings show off a camp that goes above and beyond all expectations and constantly influences these campers’ lives in such a positive way. To me, the yearn signifies my need to brag about a camp that compares to no other.

That being said, the staff at camp is so supportive of the campers and each other, but we also need support from you, the people who care about these kids and their summer adventures. Our fifth annual “Give for the Glow” fundraiser is at 9 p.m. on Saturday, Nov. 8 at Sluggers World Class Sports Bar, 3540 N. Clark St. Proceeds from the fundraiser go toward camper scholarships, as well as camp resources. It’s an amazing bar package with a fantastic raffle drawing. Please consider coming out and supporting the camp, because it would mean the world to me, my colleagues, and our campers. If interested in purchasing tickets, or simply making a donation, please visit our webpage here.

Ali Katz is a junior at Indiana University and a counselor at Camp Firefly, a camp for boys and girls ages 7-18 who have been diagnosed with social disorders. Camp Firefly is a program of Jewish Child & Family Services.

I started working at the Jewish United Fund in 1994, on Oct. 10, a day after my birthday. In that time, I’ve had two marriages, three kids, three pets, eight places of residence … and one place of work.

I could tell you the story of how I came to work here, or how I got my internship here when I was still in college even before officially becoming an employee. But these stories — funny as parts of them are — would only be interesting if you knew the people involved.

I could tell you about all the Jewish history I have witnessed while here — American, Israeli, European, even African. I was in our old office building — just blocks away from the Sears Tower — on 9/11. I was here when the Soviet Jews were resuced to Israel and America (and elsewhere). I have been here through war in Israel, and peace … and then war again.

^{Walk with Israel 2001}

I could tell you about all the amazing people I have met. Some were dedicated volunteers. Some were active philanthropists. Some were entertainers or politicians, and even the ones whose politics I disagreed with were completely in line with JUF’s mission of providing help and, admittedly, very personable and nice. I could name-drop enough A-listers I have heard, interviewed and shaken hands with to warrant its own article.

^{JUF's Communications department, that's me on the left}

When I had just graduated college, John, the foreman in my dad’s custom furniture shop, asked me a question:

“I never went to college,” he said, “So what did you learn? I don’t mean stuff I could look up in a book. I mean what did you learn?”

This made me think for a second.

“I learned that some people don’t want your help,” I finally replied, “And that sometimes even if you ask, the answer is ‘No.’”

He smiled wryly. “It was worth it. I wish I had known those things at your age.”

So in the spirit of John’s question, here is what I have learned in 20 years at JUF:

I learned that the capacity for human beings to hope is limitless. I have seen over and over, in my years here, natural disasters devastating a town, here or abroad. But every time, JUF raises money and sends volunteers, and Israel sends a field hospital and recovery crew. We don’t know these people. We just know that they are people, and that we can help.

I learned that societal acceptance and economic prosperity create a positive feedback loop. The more open a society is, the better off it tends to be financially. Openness leads to possibility and opportunity, which lead to inventiveness and adventurousness in academics, the arts, the sciences, and commerce. Once it’s OK to be who you are, you can become who you want, and bring everyone along for the ride. The opposite environment — oppression, intolerance, and just-plain-bullying — creates the opposite, negative result.

I learned that people will always surprise you. You never know how people will react, what they will say, or if their beliefs are consistent or predictable. So it’s best to be honest and give people the chance to be kind. It’s also best to really listen — almost every time I have mentally finished someone else’s sentence, I’ve been wrong.

I learned that everyone pretty much agrees on what the problems facing society are; they just have different ways of trying to solve those problems. They are coming at the same issue from another angle, and until you trace their beliefs and methods back to their sources, you are never going to appreciate that. You can’t ever argue people out of their beliefs, even with evidence. What you can do is find out why they hold those views so strongly (hint: it’s usually fear) and then work to remove that fear.

I learned that while individuals can inspire, it is groups that accomplish, especially big things.

I learned that all the good intentions in the world cannot feed one hungry person, but even one dollar can.

I learned that any excuse is good enough to avoid helping, and any reason is good enough to start.

I learned that hate is usually the result of ignorance, and that culture — including cuisine, music, and other arts — is far from inessential and dismissible. Experiencing another’s culture, distinct as it may seem from one’s own, is the best tool for forming friendships across barriers. With every “Oh! We do that, too!” the barriers are revealed to be much smaller than we’d imagined.

I learned that when you believe in other people, and say so, it helps them believe in themselves.

I learned that Judaism works. Something about this set of rules and rituals and stories and songs and judges and jesters — all swirled together in an alchemy of uncertain proportions — led to the creation of the Jewish people, one of the most productive and resilient groups planet Earth has ever hosted. Even with every empire throwing all its laws and armies at us, we are still here, and they are in museums (that we are on the boards of). And not just here, but thriving and contributing to the world well beyond what our percentage of the population would imply.

The title of this post, of course, also opens the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper album. That album contains the question: “Will you still need me when I’m 64?” I hope the problems that JUF addresses — poverty, persecution, passivity — are all solved by then. But in case they are not, I know that JUF will still be here, just as it has been since 1900 (and I think I know what longevity is), holding up the banner of hope.

Hubs and I are both huge fans of breakfast.  In fact, lazy Sundays are some of my favorite days.

On a rare occasion, the munchkin sleeps over at her grandparents’ house and hubs and I have our lazy Sunday mornings all to ourselves.

I relish those Sundays that we get to sneak away for breakfast together at one of our many local eateries.  I sip on my cream-loaded coffee while hubs asks the waiter about every single item on the menu and then decides he still needs a few more minutes.

It’s the kind of morning where I can relax, chat with hubby about all the latest gossip and not worry that I will have a crayon torpedoed at my head by the giggling munchkin.

When it finally comes to ordering, hubs is usually teetering between a skillet of some sort or the classic lox and bagel combination.

Typically the skillet wins and as he mops up the list bit of egg yolk with his toast he says, “You know what would be good with this?  Lox.  Lox would have been good.”

So on a Sunday that was not so lazy for me, after I spent the better part of the morning chasing after munchkin and arguing over what she is having for breakfast she had finally exhausted herself and was ready for her first nap.

Typically this is the time that I get to sit down and enjoy a cup of coffee in peace.  But then hubs woke up (he is late to rise) and he said he was hungry…and he wanted me to surprise him.

In no mood whatsoever for creativity, I glanced through my end-of-the-week almost empty fridge and sighed.  What’s a girl to do?

I stared at some leftover lox, a whole wheat English muffin, some veggies and 2 eggs.

No skillets were to be had today.  None at all.  We had better things to create.

Since hubs always wanted his eggs with his lox…I figured why not give it to him!

The smoky and salty salmon I had leftover was going to be perfect against a creamy egg.  And add it all on a whole wheat English muffin, I say we have some pretty tantalizing eats!  Not to mention clean eats!

And what better way to eat a salmon and egg sandwich then with the most delicate egg of all: the poached egg.

Smoked Salmon Eggwich

Ingredients

2 square foot sized pieces of saran wrap 
2 ramekins
a few drizzles of olive oil
2 whole eggs
1 whole wheat English muffin cut in half and toasted
4 oz of smoked salmon
2-4 large slices of beefsteak or heirloom tomatoes
a few rings of red onion slices
half an avocado, sliced
salt and pepper to taste
2 tbsp of vinegar

Instructions

1. First you need 2 foot size square pieces of saran wrap and 2 ramekins.

2. Place the saran wrap into the ramekins and dribble a bit of olive oil into it.

3. In the meantime, add 2 tbsp of vinegar to a pot of water with about 4 inches of water in it. Bring it up to a gentle simmer over medium heat.

4. Crack one egg into each ramekin. Now you see why we use the olive oil? It is going to help the egg from sticking. Feel free to sprinkle some salt and pepper on it now, or you can do so after. Up to you.

5. Gather all four corners of the saran wrap and tie it. You are creating little egg purses :)

6. Once your water is simmering. Drop in your little purses of eggs into the water and let them cook for 3-4 minutes. I like mine a little tighter so I let them cook the whole 4 minutes.

7. While those puppies are boiling away...toast your English muffin (I prefer the 100 calorie whole wheat ones). Slice up a nice juicy tomato. A few rings of red onion and just a few slices of avocado will do ya'. And you will need about 2 pieces of smoked salmon per piece of twist, so about 4 oz.

8. Remove the egg from the water with a slotted spoon and place it on a cutting board. Cut the saran open by snipping the top off.

9. Start making your sandwich by first placing the smoked salmon on the toasty bread, followed by your avocado slices, tomato slices and onion rings.

10. Slowly, place your poached egg on top and sprinkle with salt and pepper if you have not yet done so.

11. And let your eager hungry hubby break the yolk :) Liquid sunshine on a plate.

There’s something about the stories we share – from person to person, taking part in one of the world’s oldest traditions. A few weeks ago, I was reminded of the power stories have to captivate, to illuminate. What am I going on about? Let me start at the beginning.

Recently, I’ve constantly been hearing that the “live lit” scene is exploding in Chicago. I’ve been instructed more than once to, “Go to The Paper Machete at Green Mill!” My curiosity regarding the scene was piqued. Enter an invite from my trusty Oy!Chicago editors to check out a live lit/storytelling event entitled “Guts and Glory.” I didn’t know what to expect. A little inspiration, perhaps?

So on a Wednesday night I walked over to Schuba’s. As I enter it buzzes with a quiet energy. The dim, twinkly lights seem to say, “Fall is here, might as well partake in an amber-hued ambience.” I climb the stairs and take a seat. Over the next hour or so, the audience is treated to a treasure trove of stories running the gamut from humorous, every-day observations to deeply personal, wrenching tales with a little bit of everything in between.

The five or six Chicagoans (including Chicago transplants) sharing their stories light up the room with wit, live-wire energy, and a sense of thriving in the moment. Everything about it feels analog and present, a trip to a slightly different time. Though some participants read from their iPads, the gestures and intonation of each performance charm and entice the audience in the manner of  a live theater show. The event is a raw, unaffected display of heart, guts and glory (pardon the pun). I feel 16 again, sitting in playwriting class and taking in the creations of my fellow students. (And I mean that in the best way!) In the manner all possibilities can be explored, every idea can be expounded upon, every story is a jumping off point for thousands more. It’s that one-of-a-kind feeling live theater bestows on its audience.

Witnessing storytellers relay their creations in real-time, complete with wildly emotive facial expressions is something special. I quickly grew enamored of this “live lit” thing. As a spectator, my little writer/actress mind shook awake. What would I write? As the last reader takes the stage, she shares a story so funny, poignant, irreverent centered on one of the most universal topics around: a mother/daughter relationship. She commands the stage as she flips through the pages of her book and reads aloud. After the evening finished, I pondered quietly. How to create an experience, a story so multi-faceted, so real, so warm, so engaging? I’ll just have to learn by attending more live lit events.

In fact, Oy!Chicago is hosting a live lit event called “Oy! Let Me Tell You …” on Nov. 19. You should come! It’s at 7 p.m. at Matilda (3101 N. Sheffield Ave.) and I’m contemplating tossing my hat in the ring. What will be the story I tell? Will it be full of lively, well-refined pizzazz? A touch of sassy chutzpah? Will anyone learn anything from it? Who knows? I’m looking forward to putting pen to paper, and perhaps getting up in front of a live audience.

I know I’m late. I’m always late. (Heck – this blog post is late.) The High Holiday blogs have long since been published and Passover matzah but a dry and pasty memory, but and still, as someone who’s always late I am OK with my writing being slightly less in the news of the moment. (And I have no interest/ability in tackling the Ebola “pandemic.”)

So indulge me for a minute, as we go back in time, (literally/figuratively) to the High Holidays …

My parents were coming over for dinner to break the fast. During the High Holidays, my parents were (as usual) absent from temple services. The kids were angling (as usual) for future exemptions because, (insert annoyingly whiney voices) “Grandma and Grandpa don’t go! We never learn anything! Wah!” (Not factoring in of course the other grandmother, past president of the temple etc. etc.)

My kids have asked me several times why my parents didn’t attend services and they were very unsatisfied by my repeated answer of:

“Papa thought about being a rabbi, but became a psychologist instead, and Grandma felt she got a lot of mixed messages about Judaism when she was as a little girl, so she does it in her own way. They just don’t go to temple.”

I have to say as unsatisfied as they were with my explanation, I was kind of unsatisfied with it myself. But so many years had gone by; it seemed kind of late for me to bring up the topic. So, in turn, I decided to empower the kids and throw the Grandparents to the wolves. I mean, the big scary Book was already written and closed for the season; if I was in trouble with G-d, it was too late anyway.

I prompted the kids after we had all noshed a little.

“So? Don’t you have a question for Grandma and Papa?” I prodded. “Ask them.”

My parents perked up and braced themselves simultaneously. My kids are rarely focused enough to ask their grandparents questions (that are not horrendously inappropriate) and/or attentively listen to the answers. My second oldest (worst offender of inappropriate everything) surprised me when he simply asked, “How come you guys never come to services? Do you believe in G-d? I’m not sure.”

He then sat quietly and patiently for an answer. The siblings followed suit. It was unusual. They seemed serious about listening. The vibe in the air changed. Things got serious.

My dad looked at the eight pairs of young eyes staring expectantly at him and he took a deep breath. He then began a story – his story - about being young and hearing, seeing, and experiencing horrible things and wondering, “where was G-d?” He remembered asking two rabbis at his mother’s Shiva why G-d had taken his mother – who was so good and so kind – away from him? The rabbis, my dad said, gave the worst answer he could have possibly imagined. They simply both answered, “We don't know.”

In the process of finding his own way of believing and understanding the world and life, he found his way back to believing in G-d. He found that G-d was just a beginning and how humans lived their lives and made decisions – to be good, to be bad, to heal, to harm – were just that – human decisions in a world that G-d had made and given. He ended by saying that although he doesn’t attend services, he is still Jewish and he still believes in G-d.

It was very quiet. Then my middle guy said, “So really, G-d is a teacher – not a king.”

My dad teared up (hell, so did I) at my kid’s profound summary of a very difficult concept.

“Yes. A teacher,” my dad responded. “G-d is a teacher. Not a king.”

This may not bode well for next High Holidays (“Papa believes in G-d but doesn’t go to services!”) but I am so glad the conversation happened. It took a long time to happen and it almost never happened because so much time had passed. But an incredible thing came to fruition: an experience was passed, a perspective was shared and something was learned. It’s never, ever too late.

I was sitting in my career coach’s office, constantly adjusting from side to side. If I stopped shifting for even just a moment, my right foot began to furiously tap on the floor. I couldn’t make up my mind as to where I wanted my hands to go: in my lap, on the arm rest, on my chin. I kept switching positions without finding comfort in any of them.

My coach, Rita, was looking directly at me, searching for my eyes in order to make contact. My eyes were drifting up and to the left, focusing on the tiny window in the far corner of the room. We were at a pivotal point in the conversation about what my next career move might be. We had laid out all the facts, hashed out the past and speculated about the future.

“I just don’t know if this is the right decision,” I said. I was contemplating a plan to leave my job and go on to work completely on my own as a life coach.

Her response was, “What would you do if you could not fail? If you had more courage and less fear, what would be your next action?”

My foot stopped tapping. My hands rested gently on the arms of the chair. I slowly turned my head toward my coach and answered that I would quit my job in order to become an independent coach.

This was a conversation that took place over seven years ago. Today, I still find those two simple questions to be the most important questions a coach has ever asked me. In that moment, I was able to imagine there was no possibility of failure, which meant there was only the possibility of success. From there I saw a clear vision for my future. I saw the life I wanted, and if I was only courageous enough to take the first step, I believed I could achieve it.

I have probably asked this question at one point or another to every client that I have ever coached. For them, as it did for me, it always seemed to eliminate all the questions and revealed the answers. When the fear that leads to false expectations is removed, all that remains is the love that leads to truth.

To learn more about living a life with more courage and less fear, visit www.100reasonstowin.com or e-mail andy@100reasonstowin.com.  

^{My new standing desk. By the way, do you like my re-designed bulletin board?}

I’ve got some news. Are you sitting down?

Well, the news is that I’m not sitting down. I’m standing up!

For months now, I’ve been reading about the negative effects of what they call “sitting disease.” According to the experts, “sitting is the new smoking,” and the hours we spend each day are cutting our lives short. According to the Mayo Clinic, ‘If Americans would cut their sitting time in half, their life expectancy would increase by roughly two years, by reducing sitting to less than 3 hours a day.”

So a few weeks ago, I decided to buy myself a standing desk to use at work. After researching several options, including some pricey treadmill desks, I bought a Varidesk Pro. It’s an adjustable desk that sits on top of my current desk and raises and lowers my entire computer setup — both of my monitors, my keyboard, my mouse, and even my business cards, Post-It Notes, and Chapstick. When I want to stand, I pull the desk up. When it’s time to sit, I push it down. Each movement takes about two seconds.

I also bought myself an anti-fatigue mat to keep my footsies from aching too much.

The Varidesk comes with an app that pops up on my screen to tell me when to sit and when to stand. (Though, now that I think about it, it would be cool if it came with a Jewish version of the app that said “Please rise” or “You may be seated” in the voice of my childhood rabbi.) The experts say that sitting all day is not good for you, but standing all day isn’t either, so the combination of the two is the ideal. I set my app to tell me to stand for 30 minutes and sit for 30 minutes.

^{Left: My standing desk in the standing position. Pretty meta to see the picture of me composing this blog entry, right? (Excuse my mess of wires; I’m working on it.) Right: The adjustable desk in the sitting position.}

How’s it working out? I love it. Here are some of my favorite things about it:

1. Stepping. While I’m standing, if I’m on the phone or responding to e-mails, I might even get a few extra steps on my Fitbit. I can talk and walk; why not type and walk? It works great.

2. Better posture. I’m not including a picture of the way I sit at my desk in this post because, honestly, it’s embarrassing. I’m a bit of a sloucher, especially when I’m sitting; so when I’m standing, my back feels much more natural and comfortable. Sorry, Notre Dame, you won’t be gaining any hunchbacks from this girl.
 

3. More alert. You know the post-lunch “Why-can’t-we-be-like-Europe-and-have-afternoon-siestas” feeling? I won’t say that I’ve completely lost that feeling, but it has certainly improved. If I’m feeling tired, I’ll stand up, walk a little, and get back into my groove.

4. Burning calories. My Varidesk app, in addition to telling me when to stand and sit, keeps an estimate of how many calories I’ve burned on a daily basis due to standing. I’m not sure how accurate this actually is, but the app tells me I burn around 500 calories per day from standing. I don’t know about you, but that sounds to me like an extra couple of French macarons.

5. Helping others. My job often requires other people to come and look at my computer to edit a flyer or see something on our website. When I show them the computer in the standing position, I feel like I’m doing a small good deed by giving my coworkers a brief respite from their sitting. And hey, it’s fun!

6. It’s a conversation starter. I love icebreakers, and this is certainly a big one.

Alright, you’ve made it to the end of this post — I think it’s time to reward yourself by standing up.

I have an incredibly depressing confession to make: I’ve started preparing myself for winter. I can’t even believe I just typed that sentence, but it’s true.

Last winter was a doozy and the know-it-alls that put together the Farmer’s Almanac are saying that this year will be just as delightful. I don’t want to be caught by surprise this time around, so I’ve been forcing myself to prepare for the torture that is to come.

I recently made a trip down to my basement storage unit and visited my winter coat. There she was in her little plastic storage box waiting for me. I could have sworn that I saw her giggle as I pulled her out of her summer home and reluctantly put her back in my closet.

It sounds awful, doesn’t it? It gets worse. Once my coat was back I went into winter preparation overdrive. I put away my shorts, packed up my flip-flops and retired my straw hat.

All of that depression inspired me to try thinking positively about this change of seasons. I know we’re not there yet, but why not start trying to have something to look forward to this winter?

I’m food obsessed, so naturally I turned to my kitchen for sunnier thoughts. You know what I realized? I miss grilled cheese and tomato soup. But not just any old tomato soup, I miss Ina Garten’s fancy Pappa Al Pomodoro. What could be more comforting than a tomato soup recipe that has bread in it? Not much …

Ingredients

1/2 cup good olive oil 
2 cups chopped yellow onion (2 onions)
1 cup medium-diced carrots, unpeeled (3 carrots)
1 fennel bulb, trimmed, cored, and medium-diced (1 1/2 cups)
4 teaspoons minced garlic (4 cloves)
3 cups (1-inch) diced ciabatta cubes, crusts removed
2 (28-ounce) cans good Italian plum tomatoes
4 cups chicken stock, preferably homemade
1/2 cup dry red wine
1 cup chopped fresh basil leaves
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan

Directions

Heat the oil in a large stockpot over medium heat. Add the onions, carrots, fennel, and garlic and cook over medium-low heat for 10 minutes, until tender. Add the ciabatta cubes and cook for 5 more minutes. Place the tomatoes in the bowl of a food processor fitted with the steel blade and process just until coarsely chopped. Add the tomatoes to the pot along with the chicken stock, red wine, basil, 1 tablespoon salt, and 1 1/2 teaspoons pepper. Bring the soup to a boil, lower the heat, and allow to simmer, partially covered, for 45 minutes.

Well, one thing has stayed consistent at Soldier Field – the Chicago Blackhawks have still won more games on the lakefront in 2014 than the Bears.

The Bears’ inconsistent season continued as expected (or not) on Sunday with a pitiful 27-14 loss at home to the Dolphins. The Bears are 0-3 and minus 7 in the turnover battle at home this season, and 3-4 overall.

It was an overall lackluster effort on offense. For a group full of offensive weapons and firepower, it’s amazing to watch them consistently play with no urgency. They look relaxed out there, like they can just depend on their talent and assume everything else will just work out. Hell, we knew the defense wouldn’t be great this year, but at least they play with passion out there! I’d much rather watch a less talented group play with fire under their asses than a talented group play like they don’t need it – and that is exactly what the Bears have looked like on offense on multiple occasions this season.

Maybe we are starting to see that there is a reason Marc Trestman never got a head coaching job till now – like Thibs for the Bulls, sure he’s talented, but he’s close-minded. Yeah, Trestman is smart – the “Quarterback Whisperer,” maybe, but it seems he just can’t get it done, not as a head coach anyway. His game plans seem unprepared, he fails to make in-game adjustments, and he plays it safe, often to the Bears’ detriment.

I’ve asked all year for this team to define themselves, to create and harness an identity. But the truth is, this is who this team is – a middle-of-the-road, underachieving, .500 team. They’ll continue to give us false hope in certain games they aren’t supposed to win, (I’m predicting a win next week at New England) and let us down in easy ones like they have against Buffalo, Carolina and Miami.

They aren’t who we thought they were.

^{My dogs Ozzie and Zorro. I cannot lie – they are adorable.}

This weekend, we will read Noach, a Torah portion that is very dear to my heart because of its emphasis on animals. The people in the world became evil and G-d wanted to start anew, so he flooded the world leaving only Noah, his family, and two animals from each species (male and female) alive. More animals were saved than people because animals, unlike humans, can’t lie.  They aren’t evil. They might be animalistic when they are hungry, but animals just want to love and be loved.

I post articles about animals on my Facebook page every Sunday. Each post is called #AnimalSundays, and every article discusses the topic of animals receiving acupuncture. I have posted articles about a lion, elephant, dog, cat, camel, penguin, and even a komodo dragon receiving acupuncture. All of these animals get acupuncture regularly and are truly benefiting from each treatment. The lion was able to walk around without foot pain, the dogs and cats are living better lives with less pain, and the camel is living a longer life – all due to acupuncture.

But what’s most important is that these animals can’t lie about the results. They don’t feel better because someone told them they were going to feel better. They feel better because acupuncture works.

There are a lot of skeptics out there when it comes to acupuncture and I understand why. It’s because acupuncture is different. It’s because all we were taught our entire lives was Western science. In high school, we take biology, chemistry, and physics, not channel theory and acupuncture point location. It is very hard to think outside the box when we are taught one way our entire life. However, it is important to understand that biology, chemistry, and physics are all part of Chinese medicine too. We use biology to map out the human body and make sure that the channels flow correctly with their associated organ. Chemistry is used to examine Chinese herbs and figure out how they can help the body. Most importantly, we use physics to understand how our bodies should act in nature. Chinese medicine is also science; it is just viewed differently.

I often hear people say that they don’t believe in Chinese medicine or Western medicine. There is nothing to believe in; there is nothing mythical or spiritual about either medicine. Both medicines help people. Chinese medicine has helped thousands of people and animals for over 4,000 years. Western medicine is newer, but it has cured diseases and saved lives. We need both types of medicines to truly understand the human and animal bodies because we can help people with both types of medicines.

I am so happy G-d decided to save all the animals. They are adorable, loving, and sweet. My dogs will always tell me when they are happy, sad, or sick. As soon as they feel better, they get up and start running around again. They don’t milk or fake pain as a way to get what they want. Thankfully, that honesty helps prove the effectiveness of Chinese medicine.          

As I inch further into 5775, my thoughts focus on relationships. Specifically, how I connect to my family, friends, my Creator, and myself.

Most will agree that it's way easier to make connections with others in today’s age. It's as easy as the swiping of a finger or the click of a button to link, friend, and follow someone. It's a way to connect. It's not how our parents did it, but it counts.

This ease of connecting is probably an attractive advantage to social network relationships. If you don't reach out and make an effort, that's ok because effort isn't expected. A simple "like" or "favorite" speaks digital volumes. It's a very low-maintenance situation and we need that once in a while. However, applying that minimal effort into other relationships isn't optimal.

The strength of any connection is really based on the effort exerted. I know from experience. There are times when I don't put as much effort as necessary into those that I love and the connection ends up becoming a barrier. Then – and this is the crazy part – I end up using twice as much energy to break down the barrier just to start over again with building that connection.

As we take our first steps into a new, fresh, and happy year, I hope that we are able to strengthen the connections that mean the most to us.

So it’s fall. And everything is wonderful. You are wearing cute fashion boots and your lips are not yet cracked and bleeding from wind. You want to eat something cozy, but not insanely heavy like all of the casseroles and potato/cheese/cream-based dishes that are waiting for you right around the corner in winter vortex land. It needs to be hearty, but it also should be bright, relatively healthy, and it should include maximum condiment opportunity.

Here it is! It’s soup, which means it’s autumnal, but it’s squash without being orange. Never heard of chayote squash before? You’ve seen them. They look like little old green men hiding out in the produce section at the market. And they are delicious. And bonus, you don’t have to skin them like you do with other (totally over-played in my opinion) winter squash. Just make sure to remove the core!

^{Chayote squash have a core that must be removed before you add them to the soup.}

And the pepitas (aka, pumpkin seeds), well those are the crunch-factor that all good soups need, and they are also a playful take on using squash in two ways. Clever, right? I thought so too. Enjoy!

Chayote Soup with Spiced Pepitas
Serves 4-6
Vegetarian (but easily made vegan)  

For the soup

oil
1 large yellow onion, chopped
2 large carrots, peeled and chopped
6 cloves of fresh garlic, chopped
4 chayotes, core removed and chopped
1 jalapeno, chopped
3 tablespoons of salt
3 tablespoons of pepper
1 tablespoon of garlic powder
1 tablespoon of onion powder
1 tablespoon of dried oregano
2 boxes of stock (I use veggie, but chicken would work well here too)
½ stick of butter
Optional: sour cream. fresh cilantro, and lime wedges to garnish

Heat enough oil to coat the bottom of a large stock pot. Throw in the onion, carrot, fresh garlic, and jalapeno and cook them until they begin to soften. Add the chayotes, all of the seasoning, enough stock to cover the ingredients by about an inch, and the butter. Cover the pot and allow to boil for 10 minutes, or until the veggies are soft.

Use an immersion blender to blend the soup in the pot until it gets totally smooth. (If you don’t have an immersion blender, allow the soup to cool and ladle it in batches into a regular blender. Please, for the love of God do not do this with hot soup. Third degree burns are not a cute look. Return the blended soup to the pot).

Bring the soup back up to high temperature, use more stock until you like the consistency, and taste it! Continue to season with salt, pepper, butter, or spices until you love the way it taste and feels. Garnish with sour cream, cilantro, and limes.

For the pepitas

2 cups of pumpkin seeds
4 tablespoons of canola oil
1 tablespoon dried chili powder
2 tablespoons of salt (ONLY if the pumpkin seeds are not pre-salted)
1 tablespoon black pepper
½ tablespoon garlic powder  

Turn your oven on to 375 degrees. Pour all of the ingredients into a bowl, mix them around until the pepitas are coated, and throw them onto a baking tray (preferably lined with parchment paper so you don’t have to worry about cleaning up later), and bake them for 5-7 minutes, or until you can smell how delicious they are and see how lovely brown and toasty they have become.      

With Sukkot here, and a chill settling into the air outside, we're reminded of the warmth and peace of home, and the Jewish concept of shalom bayit—peace in the home.

But as news of domestic violence captures our attention in the media, we know not all homes are peaceful.

October marks National Domestic Violence Awareness Month, and ever since the second video tape surfaced of Ray Rice knocking out his future wife, Janay Palmer, in the elevator, as well as other allegations of abuse in the National Football League, our society seems to be finally focusing on intimate partner abuse. 

In a world where we glorify celebrities for how far they throw a ball on the field or how big their star power is on the stage, it's about time we take this issue seriously and call out and punish the perpetrators of abuse.

I recall my stomach turning as I watched a massive crowd of fans at a televised performance cheer and practically bow down to musician Chris Brown not long after he punched his now ex-girlfriend, singer Rihanna, in the face.

And for decades, the public has paid a hero's welcome to Mike Tyson, a convicted rapist, whose ex-wife Robin Givens has alleged spousal abuse for years. The heavyweight champion of the world slugging his wife never seemed like a fair fight.

It's easy to wag our fingers at the NFL and other celebrities, famous for the wrong reasons, and yet the Jewish community doesn't get a pass on this one. As tough as it is to admit, intimate partner abuse is an equal-opportunity offender, happening just as often in the Jewish community as elsewhere in society.

Regardless of race, religion, education, or socio-economic status, a staggering one quarter of women in this country will be in abusive relationships during their lifetime, but only a tenth of men will be abusers, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Why the discrepancy? Because the abuser does not see his or her behavior as the problem; it is the abused person's problem. Consequently, even if the relationship ends, the abusive person, often a serial abuser, continues abusive behavior with the next person he or she becomes involved with.

Jewish abuse was once hidden away, kept shrouded in darkness. Helping our community expose this secret is the mission of SHALVA—"giving voice to the unspeakable." SHALVA—which means "tranquility" in Hebrew and launched in 1986—is the oldest, independent U.S. Jewish services agency combatting domestic violence.

A beneficiary of the Federation, SHALVA aids abuse victims through advocacy, counseling, legal information, and other support services for no fee. Anyone who self-identifies with the Jewish community—even those who are not Jewish, but who have Jewish partners—may turn to SHALVA.

We're not just talking about physical abuse. Intimate partner abuse, according to Bobbie Gordon, SHALVA's director of Community Education, builds over time, but starts with controlling behavior—verbal, emotional, financial abuse, and/or isolation from family and friends. It's unlikely that the first sign of trouble between Rice and Palmer was a knockout punch in that now infamous elevator.

Why all the secrecy in our community? SHALVA says that, first, there's a positive stereotype that Jewish men make the best husbands. And in contrast, there's a negative stereotype that characterizes Jewish women as demanding and overbearing princesses. That's what makes some women hesitant to seek help, for fear of not being taken seriously. Plus, in a more tight-knit community like ours, women fear loss of privacy and confidentiality if they come forward. Some worry about creating a shonda, a scandal, if they disclose their abuse.

SHALVA not only helps victims of abuse, but it plays another key role. It empowers the Jewish community to combat intimate partner abuse through awareness, education, and prevention, teaching what healthy relationships ought to look like.

JCARES is another effort in the Federation system that educates and addresses abuse across the Jewish community. Rooted in Jewish values, the program offers a series of educational sessions for professionals and leaders to engage in conversations about abuse. JCARES also offers two other programs: Partnership for Safer Communities strives to build overall health and wellness in schools, synagogues, and camps, and Project Shield heightens awareness about child sexual abuse.

Whatever the program, we need to model healthy relationships for our kids from the time they're in diapers. Abuse is usually learned behavior-passed down through the generations-where abusers were once the abused.

If we can make our children feel empowered and loved, they will have taken the first step to peace in their own homes down the road.

Contact SHALVA at (773) 583-HOPE or email: info@shalvaonline.org. SHALVA is a partner in serving our community with-and a special grant recipient of-the Jewish United Fund/Jewish Federation of Metropolitan Chicago.

To reach JCARES Partnership for Safer Communities, call Jessica Schaeffer at (847) 745-5450. JCARES is a program of the Jewish Child & Family Services and is supported by the Jewish Federation of Metropolitan Chicago, the Jewish Women's Foundation of Metropolitan Chicago, Michael Reese Health Trust, and other generous donors.

Graduations, recitals, and sporting events are big moments parents don’t forget, but there are so many little things you want to remember too. With another child about to join the Krit clan, I wanted to share a few of my favorite Henry moments.

Henry’s Girlfriend

Henry has a girlfriend. They have been together for a year, and it’s super cute to watch them interact. Henry even openly talks about her as his “girlfriend,” so he’s clearly not in the embarrassed phase, like he will be when he reads this article. When they meet, hugs and kisses on the lips are exchanged (we’ve tried to discourage the lip lock but it’s pretty awesome to watch). This sweet little blond-haired girl bear hugs Henry, picks him up (no idea how) and then they smooch. Her father jokes that one day she will carry him over the threshold.

Mispronunciation

You want your child to speak well, you want to understand what they are saying, but when your child takes the word “truck,” like my nephew did, and turns it into a swear word, it’s hilarious. Henry never did that but he had a few cute speech mishaps. The best are not exactly appropriate for a blog, but it warms my heart when he says, “lello” for yellow and refers to superheroes as “superherlos.”

Expressions and Singing

Out of nowhere Henry sounded Canadian and I loved it. He would turn to you and say, “Here ja go.” I have no idea where he got that from but it always put a smile on my face and I of course adopted the phrase myself. At many meals, he looks at the table and his little face lights up and he says, “I love this,” even though he hasn’t taken a bite of his food. After tasting a nasty thai chili bar once, he curled up his nose and looked like he was about to puke, then said, “I love this,” and declined another bite. This happens with movies he’s never seen, toys he’s yet to play with, and exercise equipment the moment Amazon drops it off.

You have to be careful with kid expressions. It’s like a song; after a while it molds to you and all the sudden you are telling your coworker, “I not know,” which is not so cute coming from an adult.

Speaking of songs, it’s amazing how children remember lyrics. Henry comes home with a new song all the time. Hearing a little voice carry a tune, even off-key, is priceless. The other day I sang, “Steal My Kisses” by Ben Harper, and then I kissed Henry. After that, he started singing it and kissing me. We were in the grocery store, and he kept doing it – laughing, singing and smooching. I hope that lasts another few years.

Naming his Brother

Henry has been really excited for a sibling. When we told him that we were going to have a boy he asked, “and then a girl?” Eventually, he decided a boy would be great, and he informed us, “I will feed him with my muscles.”

He even named his brother. My wife was explaining to Henry that she was reading a book of names, to figure out what we’ll call the baby. Without much hesitation, Henry announced, “The baby’s name is Crocodile, or Crocodile Krit.” And because Henry has been so excited for his brother to arrive, he shared the name with his friends. Fast forward a few weeks, and Erika is picking up Henry from school, and his “best buddy” starts rubbing her belly and says, “You got a baby croc in there!”

We are looking forward to Crocodile Krit, interactions between the boys, and the crazy things that pop out of Croc’s mouth. 

Who doesn’t love that first smear of honey dripping slowly off a crisp apple slice? Well, this year I am saying, ‘Put down the Honey Bear and try the honey from Israel.’ I am not talking about honey from bees; I am referring to Silan or date-honey.

Biblical foodies and Torah scholars that have bandied about the notion that the land flowing with milk and honey refers to date honey, though beekeeping was an ancient practice.

Either way, I am in love with the rich sweetness and sophisticated, dried fruit flavor of date-honey.

While in Chicago, I can be in touch with my Israeli spirit by using some Israeli ingredients, and my favorite right now is Silan.  

Date-honey is a puree of dates and water. Easy to purchase at kosher stores and those that carry Mediterranean foods, I prefer to make my own. Sometimes the store bought products have added sugar which, in my mind defeats the point of date-honey. I am looking for the natural sweetness from the fruit and not from sugar. My son Jonah calls dates “nature’s candy.” He is right! And the puree is a perfect natural sweetener that is perfect for most recipes where sugar, maple syrup or honey is added.

Date-honey is commonly used in Israel and if I can’t be in Israel for the holidays, I can use the exclusive and delicious sweetener for my apple-dipping, cooking and baking.

Sweet and Sour Meatballs with Date-Honey

These are not your mother’s meatballs! Skip the cloying, overly sweet sauce and use subtle and stylish date-honey.

Date-honey adds a sophisticated sweetness that is rich and earthy.

This recipe is modern with no added sugar and you can easily substitute the ground chuck for turkey.

*Chef’s tip – I use a panade in my ground meat dishes. A panade is a starch and liquid mixture that adds moisture to meatballs, meatloaf and other dishes. It is not a way to “stretching” the meat. It is there because meat shrinks as it cooks, and ground meat, more so, and squeezes out moisture in the process. The panade is a moist “place holder” and keeps the meat from contracting so much as to be dry and flavorless. A panade can be made with soft bread crumbs, oats, cooked rice, barley or other cooked grains. The liquid can be wine, stock, beer, water or any flavorful liquid.

For the sweet and sour sauce

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, grated on a box grater
2 garlic cloves, grated on a box grater
1 15-ounce can tomato sauce or 2 ripe tomatoes, chopped
3 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
1/3 cup Silan (date honey)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

For the meatballs

1 cup soft bread crumbs (leftover challah works well for this)
1/2 cup chicken stock, white wine or water
2 pounds ground beef chuck
2 eggs
1 small onion, grated on a box grater
2 garlic cloves, grated
3 tablespoons chopped fresh flat leaf parsley
2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly cracked pepper

1. Heat a medium sauce pan, with the olive oil, over medium heat. Add the grated onion and cook, stirring occasionally until the onion is very fragrant and beginning to caramelize. Add the remaining ingredients and stir to combine.

2. Decrease the heat to low and simmer the mixture for 15 minutes.

3. Place the bread crumbs in a small bowl and add the stock or other liquid. Stir to combine.

4. Squeeze an excess liquid out of the bread crumbs. Transfer the breadcrumbs to another bowl and discard the liquid.

5. Add the remaining ingredients for the meatballs and gently mix together. With light and slightly wet hands form the meatballs. You can also use an ice cream scoop for this and then all the meatballs will be the same size.

6. Heat a sauté pan, lightly coated with olive oil, over medium heat. Brown the meatballs in batches until caramelized.

7. Transfer the meatballs to the sauce and continue cooking in the sauce.

8. Serve the meatballs with rice, potatoes, or favorite vegetable. Garnish with chopped parsley and pomegranate seeds.

Homemade Date-Honey

Homemade date-honey is easy and fast to make. Sometimes I keep it neutral without spices, but I like the added OOMPH of flavor cinnamon brings to it.

20 Medjool dates, pitted
1 cup very hot water
Pinch of cinnamon (optional)

1. Combine the dates, hot water and cinnamon, if using, and steep for 1 hour.

2. Puree the mixture in a blender or food processor until very creamy and thick.

3. Store the date honey, covered in the refrigerator for 1 month.

Root Vegetable Tzimmes with Date-Honey

This stylish version of the classic side dish takes center stage with rich fall root veggies and warm toasty spices. The date-honey compliments the vegetables without being too sweet. I serve this as a side for my favorite Pomegranate Chicken Recipe (my own recipe of course!), or with a large salad as a vegetarian meal.

Extra virgin olive oil
1 large red onion, sliced thinly
1 medium sweet potato, unpeeled, cut into large dice
1 medium butternut squash, peeled and cut into large dice
2 medium carrots, peeled and cut into large dice
2 medium red beets, peeled and cut into wedges about 1/2 inch thick
1 medium gold beet, peeled and cut into wedges about 1/2 inch thick
4 garlic cloves
1/2 cup date honey
1/2 cup golden raisins
1/2 cup dried apricots, chopped
1 cup water
1 cinnamon stick, or 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 star anise
1/8  teaspoon ground cloves
1/8 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
Kosher salt and freshly cracked pepper

Preheat oven to 325

1. Place a large Dutch oven or sauté pan, lightly coated with EVOO, over medium heat.

2. Sauté the root vegetables, in batches, until they are browned on all sides. BE SURE TO SEASON EACH BATCH WITH SALT AND PEPPER!

3. Add back all the vegetables to the Dutch oven or to a pan with a tight fitting lid. Add the date-honey, raisins, water, spices and salt and pepper.

4. Cover the pan and roast the vegetables about 45 minutes or until the vegetables are tender. Uncover the pan and continue cooking until all the liquid has evaporated and the vegetables are browned, caramelized and gooey!

5. Serve with chicken, brisket, fish, or as an entrée.

6. Garnish with fresh parsley, pomegranate seeds, and chopped dates

Crustless Pumpkin Custard with Date-Honey 

Special equipment – 8 3/4 cup ramekins
1 1/2 cups canned pumpkin puree
4 large eggs
2 1/2 cups coconut milk, or whole milk for dairy recipes
3/4 cup date-honey
1/4 cup cornstarch
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon sea salt

Preheat the oven to 350

1. Heat a tea kettle with water.

2. Whisk all the ingredients together and divide the custard into 8 ramekins.

3. Place the ramekins in a pan with high sides. Pour the hot water into the pan so the water level comes up about halfway up the ramekins.

4. Bake the custard for 45-555 minutes or until it is set but still jiggly in the center.

5. Remove the whole set up from the oven and allow the custards to cool for 30 minutes in the water before refrigerating.

6. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours or overnight before serving.

7. Garnish with pumpkin seeds, chopped dates, and pomegranate seeds.      

Bruce Pearl has certainly made headlines by jumping back into the college basketball coaching ranks. But he is not going in alone. He has brought aboard some excellent assistants to make sure the Auburn Tigers are a team to be feared. Meet Todd Golden, a former Israeli basketball player, an up-and-coming college basketball coach and maybe the next big thing in Jewish sports.

1. Tell us about yourself.
My name is Todd Golden, born and raised in Phoenix, Arizona. Just got married May 31 to my wife Megan Golden. We met in college at Saint Mary's (California) where we were both athletes (basketball for me, volleyball for her).

2. When did you love of basketball begin?
My love of basketball began at a very early age. I am pretty sure when my parents brought me home from the hospital there was a Fisher-Price hoop already up in the family area. My father played freshman basketball at the University of Massachusetts and remembers scrimmaging Julius Erving when they would play the varsity team. My father and I really bonded because of basketball, as it gave us a great opportunity to spend a lot of time together. I was playing organized basketball by the age of five at the Jewish Community Center in Phoenix.

3. When did you realize you wanted to coach college basketball?
I realized that I wanted basketball to be a part of my life after my playing career was done during my senior year at Saint Mary's College. I simply realized all the relationships I had cultivated from the game, and the different opportunities that became available to me because of basketball. There was a time when I thought I might want to create a life outside of basketball to create the illusion that I was a more well-rounded person, but that didn't last long when I had the opportunity to go work for Kyle Smith at Columbia in 2012.

4. Was it hard to switch from player to coach?
It has been a relatively easy transition for me going from player to coach. When I finished my second year playing professionally in Israel, I was very content with my career as a player. I went from a high school senior with no Division I scholarship opportunities to a three-year starter on an NCAA tournament team who ended up playing  two years overseas. I was very content with that ending. The transition to coaching was easy as well because I always considered myself a “coach on the floor” during my playing days. I generally gained advantages over my opponents by out-thinking them, or being one step ahead. Now I have to articulate that mindset to the players I'm working with today.

5. What is it like working with Bruce Pearl?
Coach Pearl has been really great to work for, believe it or not. He definitely expects a lot out of the members of his staff, but they are fair expectations. Also, he is really good about praising his staff for work well done. He's an incredible motivator and understands the value of “team.” He's been able to gel this staff together over the first few months’ way closer than anyone could have anticipated, and it all starts at the top with him.

6. Can this Auburn team make a run at a title? What do the new Auburn Tigers look like?
This Auburn team is not built to win the championship this year. We have some good players, but I think a more realistic goal would be to shoot for a post-season tournament (NCAA or NIT). You will see a team that will play fast, and play from baseline to baseline. We will press after makes and misses, fly the ball up in transition, and really try to put pressure on our opponents. We might not be as talented as some of our opponents, but we will not back down, and we will really compete on both ends of the floor.

7. Who is the best Jewish player you have played or coached against?
The best Jewish player that I have ever played against would probably have to be Omri Casspi. I played against Omri my first professional season in Israel. He was playing for Maccabi Tel Aviv and I was playing for Maccabi Haifa. Now Omri is enjoying a successful NBA career.

8. What does the future look like for Todd Golden?
My ultimate goal is to become a Division I head coach. At this point, I am trying to learn something new every day. I had a great experience working for Kyle Smith at Columbia whom I've known since I was 18 years old. Working for Coach Pearl will give me another valuable mentor, and will also give me another perspective to learn the game from. I am really excited for the future here at Auburn, and I'm hoping we can build this program back to where it belongs, at the top of the SEC.

As I grow a little bit older, a little bit wiser and unfortunately a little bit wider, I‘ve learned something about my friendships. I haven’t always done great with them. And more often than not, it’s my fault.

I’m one for reflection on this Highest of High Holidays, as I’m sure are most of you attractive Oy! readers, but far too often I blame my introversion as a scapegoat. This upcoming Yom Kippur, I’m realizing that I need to forgive my younger self for the friendships that have gone and focus on the friendships that have grown.

First and foremost, some friendships are meant to dissipate over time and that is okay. As we grow older, our schedules and priorities change. It took me a long time to see that the friendships I am keen on keeping, however, take work, and I need to make a conservative effort to maintain them.

A lot of my epiphany stems from my friendship with Jessie, who asked not to be mentioned by name. Long story short, we were friends from high school and throughout college we didn’t speak to each for three years due to an incident involving a large amount of immaturity and bad communication, almost entirely stemming from me. It’s one of the few regrets in my life. Another being that I tried the cottage cheese in my fridge with the expiration date smudged out.

The actual incident in question is so muddled these days that I can barely even understand what incited the three-year break, I just remember the feelings I had leading up to it and right after. In all fairness, I remember that a lot was due to me being a bit of a pushover (I fear standing near railings) and letting my friends dictate plans and sometimes me, even when I was truly uncomfortable. This all came to a head when, instead of dealing with my feelings or explaining how I felt, I basically straight up abandoned the friendship.

Man, I was a jerk.

Over the years, Jessie kept reaching out to me and I finally came around to my three-years-more-mature senses. This friendship today is now one of my strongest, important and special. We even humorously call those years “The Hiatus,” noting how our friendship is a ship that can never sink – just occasionally blow up. This experience has helped me to understand that it’s important to never burn bridges, but instead, if you have to, just put up an easily removable “Do Not Enter” sign.

That’s just one instance of a friendship in fault, though the best faulted friendship (what great irony) is one in which neither of us really talk to each other for a while, maybe a month or possibly years, but never feel for a seocond that the friendship is over. I’m sure many of you have these as well. I forgive these friends for not trying to get in touch with me because it is usually as much my fault as it is theirs. We might actually get together and catch up if one of us would stop being a fool and pick up the phone – or to rephrase for my generation – we might actually get together and catch up if one of us would stop being a fool and pick up the Facebook.

Some faulted friendships have always been there but have just needed some time to evolve. Take my friendships with my Cousin Ted and Cousin Toni, for instance, who both also asked not to be mentioned by name. I’d always been friendly with Toni, but it wasn’t until I had worked with her for a year that we truly got to know each other. No regrets there, just wanted to mention I’m happy about that … but with my Cousin Ted, it’s a different story, because he’s a different person.

Ted and I basically grew up together, but from high school through college, we weren’t as close as we are now. I wish I had known as kids how much our future selves both liked craft beer. We became great friends once I moved to the city and even though he doesn’t live in Chicago anymore, we talk just as much if not more and revel in the times we get to spend together (drinking craft beer of course). Our friendship even got to the point where I stood up at his wedding. This made me appreciate Cousin Toni that much more because at her wedding, she at least provided me a chair.

A lot of what I have learned about forgiving myself for my imperfect way of handling friendships comes from understanding what it means to be an introvert. These days, I’m very busy, and I treasure my free time for myself; I’m absolutely horrendous at reaching out to people to make plans. Having said that, I recognize there may even be a few unfairly neglected friends nodding their heads while reading this. By the way, thank you friends I’ve unfairly neglected for reading this! But to them I say that I do apologize. It’s not you – it’s everyone. I hope you can forgive me as I have forgiven myself for a being a fool and not picking up the Facebook.

To read more posts in the “Oy! Forgive Me!” blog series, click here.

One of the most poignant moments in couples therapy work is the “Reframe.” That’s the moment when they have an epiphany – in the midst of all their anger and frustration – that they are both longing to be close to each other. Behind all the painful words on the surface is a craving to be close. All the hurtful comments are actually “reframed” as intense cries for help, love, and connection. This deeper understanding of each other and their dynamic is a very powerful moment. The Reframe is the beginning of the relationship healing.

This therapeutic platform was actually taught to the world over 3,000 years ago by the leading marital therapist of all times, a man by the name of Aaron the Cohen. It is written that two friends or a couple were in a quarrel which had reached the point that neither was willing to talk to the other anymore. Aaron sought them out. Known as the Pursuer of Peace, Aaron spoke with each of them individually. As he met with the first and counseled him, Aaron told him, “I saw your friend/spouse yesterday. She is so sad! She misses you so much! Oh how she regrets so much what she said and did to you. She wants so much to be close and connect with you again!” And he would say the same to her about him. By the time Aaron was through, they were in tears about what had happened, and they were out looking for their spouse to make amends. When they finally reached each other, they embraced and poured out their hearts sharing how much they had missed the other and how happy they were to be reunited, not ever wanting to be apart again.

In couples therapy, we also hope to tap into this underlying reality. We will even softly conjecture with them that perhaps the bantering, criticism, and even the yelling, is really a cover for a soft cry of loneliness and wanting to be loved. With the couple, we work through the mess of the conflict with the goal of hopefully revealing a purity of the heart and its untainted desires for closeness underneath it all.

But there’s one baffling piece to this insightful story. Aaron the Cohen didn’t know! How could he be so sure they were deep down in love with each other, feeling these yearnings to be close? They never told him their feelings. Aren’t we a people of truth? Doesn’t he want to confirm his conjecture before so boldly running after them to save the friendship/marriage?

There’s a beautiful answer to this quandary, and I think it sheds great light on our lives. The answer is, simply, Aaron actually knew. Without having to ask them, he could see the truth. He could see beneath all the mess of fighting, arguing, and distancing from each other. Aaron saw beyond the exterior angst. His vision penetrated their emotional worlds. He could see beyond the facade of their harsh reactions tapping into their deep longings for each other, their needs to love and be loved. He was not lying to anyone when he told them how their spouse/friend felt. He was just sharing with them what he saw. With his profound vision and insight, he rightfully earned his title, the Pursuer of Peace.

We have moments in our lives where we feel conflict. Often, it occurs with the ones we are closest to – our spouse, parents, friends, or other relatives. Do we want to be in these heavy painful moments? Of course not. Most often, deep down, we’d like to resolve the conflict and feel close again with them. But how do we get ourselves out of it? How can we forgive when we feel so much pain? How do we let go of the hurt we feel? These are moments where we must be a people with great vision, like Aaron the Cohen.

Our tradition teaches us that forgiveness is much more than letting go. The truth is, deep down, our loved ones are crying inside to be close to us, as are we to them. We do not try to get around the conflict; rather we go straight to the core of it. And at its core, conflict is most often a longing to be close.

Imagine if the husband could see that his wife’s anger for arriving home late is really a cry for him to spend more time with her, to connect, and how much she longs to be near him? What if the wife could see that her husband is distancing from her because he’s afraid she doesn’t see him as a good husband and how much he longs for her to appreciate him but is ashamed to tell her? What if the close friend who never calls actually cherishes the friendship and is really scared to be seen as a nag fearing to end up unwanted? We all desperately desire connection, to be loved and cared for, especially by those we feel closest to, and especially when we feel hurt or judged by them.

The time for forgiveness is here. With effort and vision, we can expand our perceptions and see beyond the surface level confrontations. Perhaps we can follow in the footsteps of the great Pursuer of Peace, Aaron the Cohen, and we will see the love, the longing, and the yearning for connections between us and those around us. May it be a year of peace, forgiveness, and true love for all.

To read more posts in the “Oy! Forgive Me!” blog series, click here

Joshua Marder is a rabbi and licensed marriage and family therapist. He is the Director of Chicago YJP, a division of The Lois & Wilfred Lefkovich Chicago Torah Network: Home for the Wondering Jew.

Editor’s note: We chose to run this piece anonymously out of respect for the author’s privacy as they continue to go through the process of self-repair and the rebuilding of relationships. If you think that you or someone you care about has a problem with alcohol, visit www.chicagoaa.org or call312-346-1475. A sober alcoholic is on the other end of the line 24 hours a day. The Jewish Center for Addiction also has resources to help and can connect you with the Chicago Jewish Recovery community.

Three memories stand out when I think about High Holiday services at my childhood synagogue:

1. Mrs. B’s mesmerizing South African accent during responsive English reading

2. The final shofar blast on Yom Kippur, captivating and heart-stopping as everyone waited to see which congregant could hold the longest tekiah gedolah

3. The choir director’s booming bass as he sang, U’teshuvah, u’tefilah, u’tzedakah ma’avirin et ra ha’gezirah during Unetaneh Tokef

Little did I know that my subconscious was indelibly imprinting those moments into my soul, and the words of UnetanehTokef would decades later become a daily meditation for me as a recovering alcoholic working the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous.

In the days leading up to Rosh Hashanah this year, I had the great fortune to mark 33 months of continuous sobriety. My drinking days were riddled with thoughts and actions that caused physical, financial, emotional, and otherwise tangible and intangible harms to my family, friends, colleagues and myself. Some of these actions and their consequences were evident to anyone within a mile radius of me. Like the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous says, I was a tornado roaring through town. Other actions and harms were more insidious – a carbon monoxide leak that no one detects until damage has already been done.

Unetaneh Tokef is a Jewish liturgical poem sung during the High Holidays, and the booming words etched into my mind as a child translate to, “But repentance, prayer, and righteousness/charity avert the severe decree.”

For me, this “severe decree” refers not to being sealed in the Book of Life on Yom Kippur; it may as well be active alcoholism, for when I’m drinking, I have no life. In order for me to stay sober and live a happy and meaningful life, I need to pray, act righteously in service to others, and make amends for my behavior.

Making amends is the Ninth Step in AA. It is a process I have undertaken in the past two months (they suggested, of course, that I complete the first eight steps first). As I spend more time at work than anywhere else, the most egregious of my harms were in the workplace. And therefore, the first amends I made were to colleagues and supervisors, past and present.

But how do you approach a woman toward whom you acted with such hostility, including occasional bouts of profane ranting, that you were required to have mediation?

How do you look your former boss in the eye, the one who once asked you point blank whether you had a drinking problem, and to whom you replied with an adamant "no" only to repeatedly text them during 3 a.m. blackouts in the final months of your drinking?

How do you work up the courage to mention once again the unmentionable in your past? How do you quiet the squirrels in your brain that busily attempt to convince you that you had a right, a reason, a justification to act the way you did? How do you swallow your pride, your fear, and everything in between?

Fortunately, there is a somewhat standard script for making amends:

1. Tell the person you’re aware that you caused them harm and outline what the harms were

2. Express regret that you acted in these ways and that they were hurt

3. Tell them how you’re planning to make things right

4. Give them a chance to tell you about any harms you omitted or other ways you can atone for your behavior

5. Follow through on what you said, showing them through your deeds and not just your words that you mean business

The Big Book tells me that if I am painstaking about making these amends, I will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. I will comprehend the word serenity and I will know peace. All sorts of fears will leave me. I didn’t at first have complete faith that the promises would come true, but I did know that anything would be better than the hopelessness, shame, loneliness and despair of my final drinking days. So I shut my eyes and leapt in, embracing the idea that my past was my greatest asset.

And fortunately, everyone I have approached so far has graciously accepted my apologies. All have expressed that the past is water under the bridge, that I am forgiven, and that they are simply thankful that I took the time to talk with them. I hoped for, but certainly did not expect, such compassion and immediate forgiveness. I am truly grateful for this.

Even more powerful and unexpected than the forgiveness from my colleagues has been the forgiveness I have experienced for myself. I’ve learned that telling the truth and admitting when I am wrong, no matter how painful and scary, and no matter the potential consequences, is a freeing experience. And it was, in fact, my past—both the internal mantra UnetannehTokef and all that I had to atone for—that turned out to be an unexpectedly valuable asset. My past is what has brought about this new wealth of freedom. 

To read more posts in the “Oy! Forgive Me!” blog series, click here.

Between the High Holidays, many of us are reminded to apologize to our loved ones for our wrong-doings. This fall, I also find myself ruminating over whether we, women, should apologize less in our everyday lives.

After Joan Rivers passed away, I began pondering how a woman so outspoken—and oftentimes offensive—was loved and respected by so many. Rivers’ persistent, unapologetic and humorous approach transcended generations. In the end, we all respected Rivers, no apologies needed.

While Rivers began her career by paving the way for female late-night talk show hosts during the 1960s, many young people today will remember her as a sassy old Jewish lady with enough shtick to say whatever was on her mind. Rivers was like an amplified and funnier version of the Jewish relatives we know and love. She made us laugh, but more importantly, she also taught women everywhere that it’s OK to speak their minds.

“Sometimes apologies come too easily and too frequently,” said Juliana Breines, a UC-Berkley psychology Ph.D. and author of the PsychologyToday.com article “In Love and War.”

“We apologize for things that are clearly not our fault, not in our control, or otherwise unworthy of an apology,” Breines said. “Examples include apologizing for being hurt by someone else’s offense, apologizing for being over-sensitive, apologizing when someone else bumps into you, and apologizing for apologizing.”

I often find myself guilty of these “unworthy” apologies and witness many other women behave similarly in acts of over-politeness.

Breines went on to cite a study in her article, which found that women may be more prone to over-apologize than men. Similarly, the study found women reported committing more offenses than men. In her research, she also found that men might have a lower offense threshold than women do.

“Women may sometimes be over-attuned, apologizing for perceived offenses that other people do not find offensive or even notice,” Breines said.

I could write a novel about how women are socialized to cooperate and men are socialized to compete—and many books have already been written on the matter. Evidence of these gendered socializations can be found in the minutia of our everyday lives.

A couple of weeks ago at work, I was standing and talking with my coworker and she suddenly sidestepped and apologized as another coworker crossed into her path. She then shook her head disappointedly and explained to me that she had resolved to stop apologizing for the space she’s occupying.

This moment was so simple, but it gave me reason for pause. I apologize constantly: I move aside when I’m already occupying a space someone is entering; I rush to apologize when I nearly bump into someone as we cross paths; I apologize during meetings; I apologize during large-group discussions when I have a point; I apologize when someone stubs their own toe, isn’t feeling well, having a bad day, or even when someone else has treated them badly; and sadly, sometimes I apologize even when the other person has treated me badly. Generally, I apologize too much for everything, and when examined more closely, the word, “sorry,” has lost much of its meaning.

In a June 2014 Forbes.com article titled “Why Are Always Apologizing?” contributor Ruchika Tulshyan examined Pantene’s “Not Sorry” commercial , which plays on the stereotype that women over-apologize and should go forth proudly. Of course, the commercial is about hair, but it’s also a commentary on how women behave.

The commercial opens with various scenarios, in which women apologize for asking questions at meetings, for asking the time, for bumping into someone, etc. The commercial replays itself without apologies to send the message that women should stop apologizing.

“Saying sorry doesn’t necessary equate to showing weakness,” Tulshyan said. “But, the commercial makes social commentary on how women, more than men, feel apologetic about sharing their ideas, or their space, or … everything, actually.

“This commercial specifically highlights moments where women apologize when they’re not in the wrong,” Tulshayn added. “Handing over your child to your partner because you have other things in your hand? Asking a question in a meeting? An apology doesn't seem to fit. And yet, I’ve lost count on how many times I’ve heard a ‘sorry’ in precisely these places.”

I’m starting to think “I’m sorry” should not be a catch-all for expressing regret, empathy, sympathy, remorse, and so on. While women don’t intend for it to be a “tell” of weakness, it certainly isn’t making us stronger in its overuse.

Breines offers alternatives and solutions to blurting out “I’m sorry,” which I found useful. She suggests thanking another person, rather than apologizing for receiving a favor; she advises to save the “I’m sorry’s” for when they count; avoid repetitive bad habits when possible; apologize for your share of the conflict and no more; embrace your own imperfections and don’t apologize for them; and seek support when needed.

With the Jewish New Year upon us, I challenge myself and women everywhere to strive to own the space we occupy, stand behind our opinions and offer them freely, take ownership over our faults and our strengths equally, and apologize in a manner that is proportionate to the problem at hand without compromising our self-worth.

May this New Year give us strength to trust ourselves more and truly make our “sorries” count.

Just remind yourself: WWJD—What would Joan do? 

To read more posts in the “Oy! Forgive Me!” blog series, click here.

As we speak, Jewish housewives all over the globe are getting out their finest china, their crispest tablecloths and their oldest recipes, all in preparation for the Jewish High Holidays.

It’s these holidays that bring some of my fondest memories with my family. Golden chicken soup with fluffy matzo balls, tart apples with sweet honey and the star of the dinner: the oh-so magical, dreamy, melt-in-your-mouth brisket. Like many Jewish recipes, brisket gets its roots from the need to use up some of the least expensive pieces of meat and transform them into tender deliciousness. As the brisket cooks low and slow, connective tissue breaks down, leaving a tender piece of smothered meat.

Growing up, my aunt always made the brisket in our family. Every year she tried a different recipe and every year her malnourished-looking niece (me) licked her plate clean. Much to everyone’s surprise, brisket was this picky eater’s favorite dish.

It had become a ritual, I always came into the kitchen and tore off a piece of the sacred meat and my aunt always asked me, “So, Mila, is it good?” And every year I nodded in agreement as I sloppily licked the remains of the sauce off my lips. My aunt’s brisket may not have been perfect, but it was hers and it was always good.

As an adult and a graduate of culinary school, my love for brisket has remained the same. I made hundreds of briskets throughout my career and I was constantly searching for my recipe. I wanted a recipe of my very own, and I tried hard to find it. I made smoked briskets, crock pot briskets, French-style briskets and the very worst – dry briskets. I took an idea or two from each recipe and moved on to create my brisket.

This has become my no-fuss, no-muss brisket recipe that I go to year after year.

If there is anything I have learned from the hundreds of briskets I have made over the years, the technique is one of the most important aspects. Go low and slow: low temperature, slow cooking. This will allow the connective tissue to break down and the fat to melt slowly, leaving you with that ultimate melt-in-your-mouth brisket.

There must also always be an acidic component. I use both tomato acid (ketchup) and wine to allow for a deeper and richer flavor in the meat and the sauce.

The best thing about this brisket is that it is one pan and FREEZER ENCOURAGED. Make it ahead of time, freeze it, and let it warm up in a 350-degree oven the day of service. It will be perfection. Something magical happens when you freeze foods like brisket, or my amazeballs. It just works! And it could not be easier!

You can also do it in the crockpot, but my brisket never fits in there when I cook for the holidays. I have 16 people coming over – lots hungry Russians to feed. I like to use foil pans for this because I hate cleaning roasting pans … as do you I am sure. Plus, because I end up freezing it anyhow, it makes more sense to just do it in one pan.

When you purchase your brisket, do not purchase it cleaned. Purchase it whole with the fat still on it. And place the fat side UP when roasting. NOT DOWN.

This year I made it two weeks in advance. Again, 16 hungry Russians and a Russian-style dinner is not an easy task. I take all the precooking help I can get.

I promise people will rave, plates will be licked clean and eager fingers will try and get a slice in before you do. And you will be the ultimate host, with a few less dishes to clean. Perhaps this time, I will even get a chance to sit down and have a slice.

Melt-in-Your-Mouth Brisket
From Girlandthekitchen.com

Ingredients

7-8 pounds of brisket 
1 bottle of ketchup 
1 1/2 cups of dry red wine 
1 1/2 cups water 
1.5 tbsp chicken base (I find it milder than beef base) 
1/4 cup dehydrated onion flakes 
6 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped 
2 onions, roughly chopped 
6 large carrots, cut into large chunks 
Salt and pepper to taste 

Instructions

1. Combine ketchup, water, dehydrated onion, garlic and chicken base and mix to combine.

2. Slather this beautiful mixture onto the brisket sneaking it into each nook and cranny.

3. Let stand in refrigerator for 24 hours.

4. Preheat oven to 275-degrees. Place brisket in the roasting pan FAT SIDE UP. Place remaining ingredients over brisket and tightly seal pan before putting in the oven.

5. Cook for 6-8 hours. Typically, the rule of thumb is an hour a pound. But the true test is when it pulls apart with two forks.

6. Place in refrigerator overnight to cool.

7. Remove fat with a spoon. Slice the meat. Cut against the grain NOT with the grain using the length of the knife.

8. Place in pan FAT SIDE DOWN and pour sauce over sliced meat. Put into 350-degree oven, covered, to warm the meat and sauce. About 45 minutes.

I was already sweating when we walked into the yoga studio. We had been running late, as usual, and I had double-timed it from the car to the building. Just before walking in, I remember hesitating. Did I really want to go to Mommy and Me Yoga?

The truth is that I did want to take him there. He had been going with his mom during the last couple weeks of her maternity leave. She had been raving about how much fun he had in the classes. I also knew this firsthand because she had talked me into going with her to one a week earlier. Now, Mom was back to work and I was staying home part-time to take care of the little guy. There was still a week left of yoga classes on the package and I wanted to make the most of the investment. More than anything, I wanted to make the most of my time spent at home with him.

As I walked into the room, staring back at me were eight new moms and their little babies. I was the only dad in the class and was having trouble making eye contact with anyone. I shuffled to an open corner and laid out the mat, the baby and the blanket as quickly as possible. Everyone was sharing their name, their baby’s name and age. I can’t remember any of the other names because until it was my turn, I spent the whole time rehearsing what I was going to say in my head.

It was my first time attending a “baby and me” event all by myself. I was feeling so vulnerable and judged. Did these women think I was creepy? Had they ever seen a dad at one of these classes? What about the other babies, how were they stacking up to mine? That other boy looks about the same age as mine, why is he moving more? Those women are breast feeding, should I signal to them somehow that my bottle has breast milk too? It’s not my milk, of course … I just know that some people can get judgmental of others who use formula.

Then the music started and the teacher calmly directed us into all our poses. My baby laughed when I did a cat-cow and released a huge breath right into his hair. His giggles and smiles melted my anxiety away; we spent the next 45 minutes breathing and stretching together. At the end of the class, the teacher said that she hoped that I would come back. I hope that I will too.

I’ve always been a bit of a synagogue hopper.

Right now, when asked where I go to synagogue, I say, “I go to five.” I work at Temple Jeremiah, and I love my community there – meeting all of the congregants has been one of the best parts of my job. I enjoy attending synagogue with my family where I grew up, at Beth Hillel Congregation Bnai Emunah in Wilmette. I attend two synagogues in Lakeview, the neighborhood where I live – Anshe Emet Synagogue and Anshe Sholom B'nai Israel Congregation. And I co-lead Windy City Minyan, a monthly Friday night minyan in the city.

I love Jewish communities. I love the diversity of customs, melodies, faces, teachings, architecture and emotions.

So it’s no surprise that on Yom Kippur last year, I found myself in three different synagogues in one day. I spent the morning humming the melodies of the High Holy Days while greeting congregants and meeting new faces at Temple Jeremiah; in the afternoon I sat with my mom, listening to my dad, brother, and sister-in-law sing in the choir at BHCBE; and I spent the evening Neilah service with my friends at Anshe Sholom.

That day, I experienced a cross-section of our larger Jewish community, splitting my time between the Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox synagogues. During Neilah at Anshe Sholom, I found myself not paying so much attention to the words on the page, but reflecting on Jewish peoplehood. The Jewish community – our kehillah – is made up of so many different kinds of wonderful, dedicated, intelligent, interesting, and friendly people.

Our beauty is in our diversity.

We Jews are a tiny percentage of the world’s population. I pray that we can come together as a larger Jewish community to be enriched by the uniqueness of our brothers and sisters.

On that Saturday afternoon in September 2013, driving back and forth between Northfield, Wilmette and Lakeview, I had the chance to truly feel the richness of our people; to me, it was like seeing the face of God.

“So he has dyslexia.”

This is what I had surmised after an hour-long staffing of a bunch of big words and adjectives being thrown around in an effort to explain why our bright child was struggling so much with reading in school.

“Well, yes. But we don’t call it that anymore,” they said.

“OK. But that’s what it is, right?”

“Basically.”

Phew! I felt an enormous sense of relief and gratitude. Relief that his struggles had been noticed and pinpointed with a workable diagnosis and gratitude that qualified help was on the way. What I didn’t factor in was the ripple effect for me.

I’ve written before that I struggled in school, without any explanation as to why, until 7th grade when a math teacher told my parents I was stupid and lazy. (I guess you could do that back then without losing your job.) To be honest, the wicked lady was half right. I had become lazy – as a smokescreen. If I didn’t try, mediocrity and failure didn’t feel so humiliating and it explained quite simply why I had done poorly.

So when my own diagnosis of learning disabilities revealed itself, (outdated term again apparently, but I earned it so I’m keeping it), I felt that same sense of relief I felt for my child. I knew something was funky – for me, for him – and when I was right, I felt vindicated.

Although I could always see that my child was bright and struggling, as a learning-disabled kid myself, I felt differently about my own struggles. I believed when my parents told me I was bright, creative and intelligent, that they were blinded by their love for me. (Translation: “My parents don’t want to admit they have a dumb-ass for a kid.”) But when objective, outside forces and people (with Rorschach pictures, stats and everything!) revealed I was in fact a highly intelligent and capable child, my world changed. I could suddenly hear that. My diagnosis was truly that significant and I began to believe the good stuff.

I am hoping my child feels this way. I’m hoping that the early diagnosis for him may have been so primary, that all the self-doubt, shame and fear around school learning that I felt, didn’t have a chance to nick him.

This whole process reopened a tremendous amount of reflection for me. And like I said earlier, relief and gratitude were the emotions at the top of my list. Also, somewhere in there, I have experienced a tremendous amount of compassion for the young girl I used to be, who spent so much time feeling inadequate and incapable, trying so desperately to cover up my imperfect tracks in hopes of just getting by.

I read this post to my son in hopes he would be okay with publishing my thoughts on his journey. His response?

“I really liked it. I thought it was really good.”

And this girl is left feeling like she’s on the honor roll.           

Being hungry is a funny thing. By funny, of course, I mean crazy. Is there a more apt way to describe the raging forest fire that controls your every move? There really is no better way to qualify it. Hunger is funny. Your last-minute decision to have Arby’s for lunch, the attitude you gave your mother this morning, those salads you’re force-feeding yourself – hunger did all of that. I don’t know about you, but food can make me bark like a dog and cluck like a chicken any old time she wants.

Nearly every day, hunger reminds me that I am not yet a grown up. I regularly have to talk myself out of walking down the candy aisle at the grocery store. Those negotiations sometimes fail and when they do I can be found looking like a third grader who has just returned home from trick-or-treating. The evil 8-year-old in control of my brain often has other plans.

My most recent run-in with my inner child involved an incident with Girl Scout Cookies. In addition to having little self-control, I’m a bleeding heart. I want everyone to win, so when a friend called to tell me her daughter was selling Girl Scout Cookies … I bought a whole case.

A case, like I’m Oprah. As if the way to save the world is by purchasing 24 boxes of Samoas. I am a 38-year-old, grown-ass man. Why do I need 24 boxes of cookies? Why couldn’t I just be a normal person and offer to buy three boxes? Three is a nice sane number. No, I couldn’t do that. I needed 24 boxes. That’s 360 cookies, in case you’re wondering. I bought 360 cookies at one time with no intention of sharing with anyone.

Maybe you’re one of those positive people, and you’re picturing me carefully packing away my loot in a freezer. Twenty-four boxes, that’s a lot – surely he has a plan to ration those cookies for a whole year. Well, thank you for believing in me, but you’d be incorrect. What? I’m supposed to eat a cookie a day for a year except on Yom Kippur? That’s ridiculous. Who has that kind of willpower? Not to mention: cookies can’t go in a freezer; they don’t wear coats. That’s cruel and unusual punishment.

At first I was mostly responsible. I had a cookie or two after dinner. I’d have a cookie as a random snack. Then my crazy inner 8-year-old lost his tiny little mind and declared war on that case of cookies. I couldn’t control myself. Here a box, there a box, everywhere a box. I had a box for breakfast. I ate a couple boxes of Samoas while watching TV. Three boxes for dinner. I was off the rails. I had cookies as a midmorning snack, cookies in the car, cookies in the bathtub. I was a hot cookie-addicted mess.

I’m not sure how hunger works for most people, but mine definitely has a split personality. The 8-year-old is absolutely in control more often than he should be. When he isn’t sitting in the driver’s seat ordering fried chicken and eating bags of Smarties, it’s the princess of kale, Gwyneth Paltrow, who’s in charge. The two sides duke it out on a regular basis, which I think means I have a bi-polar eating disorder.

Gwyneth had been sitting quietly in a corner waiting for the Cookie Monster to do some serious damage. It wasn’t until she noticed that my pants were fitting a little tighter that she sounded the alarm. Gwynnie went into full-blown “captain of the Titanic mode.” She was raising her eyebrow and wagging the stinky finger of judgment in the face of all of my cookie-filled thoughts. Once I finished the case of cookies, and yes, I ate an entire case of Samoas without any help thank you very much, Gwyneth began enforcing very strict rules. She apparently has no respect for goal-oriented eating.

Of course, agreeing to cut back on cookies wasn’t enough. I had to go completely wackadoodle. Our first order of business was to completely rid my life of sugar. The princess of kale is evil. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but they don’t make cookies without sugar. At least not any cookies that you would actually want to eat. This was going to be very hard. I had been subsisting almost exclusively on Samoas and Diet Coke and now I was in Girl Scout Cookie rehab.

Paltrow dragged me kicking and screaming to Whole Foods and forced me to stare at their lush produce. After gawking at piles of dead plants for what felt like an eternity, GP challenged me to prepare a vegetable that I had never cooked before as a way to get my health back on track. I reviewed the options and decided to give beets a try. I choose them because they seemed harmless and when you’ve been deprived of sugar they look like giant balls of chocolate. Challenge accepted.

I whipped out my phone and turned to the queen of the kitchen, Ina Garten. Ina taught me how to roast a Thanksgiving turkey; beets would be a piece of cake, or cookie, depending on where your politics lie. I gathered the beets, fresh thyme, raspberry vinegar and a large orange per the recipe’s instructions and rushed home.

I got right down to work the moment I walked in the door. I peeled and sliced the beets and cut them into quarters. Those little suckers should have come with a trigger warning; they bled all over my kitchen. Beet juice was everywhere. My house looked like the set of slasher film. I tossed the horror scene onto a baking sheet and into the oven for 40 minutes. I spent most of that time scrubbing my hands like a surgeon and performing Lady MacBeth’s sleepwalking scene. “Out, damned spot! Out I say!”

The beets were delicious! I felt like a magician turning those purple mud balls into something worthy of eating. I had eaten beets several times before and loved them but this was different. I guess food that doesn’t come from a can really does taste better. I missed my cookie diet, but I was proud of myself for expanding my menu.

The morning after roasting the beets I got up to go to the bathroom as usual. Apparently taste isn’t the only difference between canned and fresh produce. I had the most gorgeous fuchsia urine the world has ever seen. At first, I was certain that I was on death’s door and immediately blamed the Girl Scouts and their disgusting Samoas. It took me a few minutes to calm my panic attack and realize that the beets had given me this little present. Then later, on my way to work, I get this text message from my husband: “I have purple pee and poop, disturbing yet beautiful …”

So consider yourself warned: Beets, much like hunger, are a funny and sometimes unpredictable thing. The real lesson here is moderation. Life should be 40 percent cookie and 60 percent beets, or is it the other way around? I never can remember.

Roasted Beets

Ingredients

12 beets
3 tablespoons good olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves, minced
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons raspberry vinegar
Juice of 1 large orange

Directions

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Remove the tops and the roots of the beets and peel each one with a vegetable peeler. Cut the beets in 1 1/2-inch chunks. (Small beets can be halved, medium ones cut in quarters, and large beets cut in eighths.)

Place the cut beets on a baking sheet and toss with the olive oil, thyme leaves, salt, and pepper. Roast for 35 to 40 minutes, turning once or twice with a spatula, until the beets are tender. Remove from the oven and immediately toss with the vinegar and orange juice. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and serve warm.

If before the season started someone told me the Bears would be 1-1, I’d say that sounded about right. But I’d assume that meant a win at home against Buffalo and a loss in the new stadium against San Francisco.

But even after losing in Week 1 the way they did, I did not count the Bears out on Sunday night. Going into Sunday, it didn’t look good for us – Alshon Jeffrey and Brandon Marshall were still questionable on the injury report, the defense was coming off a pathetic performance against an underwhelming offense, and the 49ers were prepared to run all over us on the opening night of their new digs. The script sounded like it had already been written. And as the game started, it sounded pretty accurate. After a “just don’t ‘F’ it up” three-and-out drive, the Bears’ punt was blocked and the 49ers very quickly made it 7-0. Yup. I rushed home, avoided all social media and normal human interaction for this? The hazards of being a Bears fan.

The Bears were playing not to lose. Partially paranoid about making some of the bad mistakes they made last week, and partially because of their injured receivers, who, even though they played, looked slow and allowed the 49ers defense to focus on stopping the Bears’ short game. But despite the tough start, the defense was actually keeping them in the game.

The turning point came with under two minutes left in the first half, when Jay Cutler took a helmet cannon to the sternum that left me short of breath and clenching my chest. But there was something about Cutler’s face when he got up that struck me. I said out loud at that moment, “this is the turning point.” The next play was one of the most incredible catches I’ve ever seen: a one-handed grab by Brandon Marshall that looked like it could only have been made with “Stick ‘um” like Rashid “Hot Hands” Hanon from Little Giants.

From that hit to the sternum on, Cutler went 15-of-16 for 138 yards, four touchdowns and zero interceptions. But it wasn’t just that. The Bears defense grew some cahones and ultimately kept the Bears in this game. Willie Young was outstanding; Chris Conte made an interception flying through the air; rookie Kyle Fuller had two picks; Jared Allen was pressuring the quarterback. This was the defense we hoped to see. Not great, but forcing turnovers and doing enough to keep them in the game.

Now, we cannot talk about this game without at least acknowledging the fact that the 49ers accumulated about 800 yards in penalties. That didn’t hurt. They got some big breaks. But a win is a win, the Bears are now tied at 1-1 with everyone else in the division, and it’s all about what you learn. I do think they learned some things this week. But I still have concerns. The special teams are atrocious on both ends; injuries are starting to get out of hand on both sides of the ball – most recently with the report that Charles Tillman will be out for the rest of the season. And the Bears still have a really difficult schedule ahead of them where the margin for error will be non-existent.

The Bears have an extra day off this week to recover, and then are back on the road and in primetime again on Monday night. I still don’t know what to expect from this team week to week. They have yet to establish an identity. But for at least the time being, they have given us all permission to take our collective heads out of our ovens.  

It is not a secret that holding onto something — an idea, an object, or a person — isn’t healthy, but we all seem to do it. People often tell me that they have unexplainable pain, and after we talk they start to breathe and the pain magically disappears. As so perfectly quoted from the movie Frozen, we all just need to “Let it Go.”

We are about to approach Shabbat Tshuvah, the Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, when we ask for forgiveness. However, we also need to forgive. In the movie Frozen, Elsa, the eldest sister, can never forgive herself for hurting Anna, the younger sister. If Elsa would have forgiven herself she wouldn’t have turned everything into snow and ice.

There are many ways to work through emotional pain and stress. We can exercise, sing, dance, paint, or even get acupuncture. Acupuncture is an ancient Chinese medical treatment used to help all kinds of problems, including stress. It is based on channel theory, where each channel relates to a different organ, and each organ correlates to a different emotion. Acupuncturists ask their patients a series of questions to find out which organ seems to be the source of a problem.* Acupuncturists will then feel their patient’s radial pulses (the pulse on the wrist closest to the thumb) and look at their tongues to help clarify their diagnoses, and then they will treat their patients. Tongue and pulse diagnoses are acupuncturists’ x-ray machines. They are the primary indicators of how their patients’ bodies are working.

How does acupuncture treat stress? Everyone’s stress is different, but acupuncture can help build you up if you are weak, calm you down if you are anxious, and even relax your muscles, which will help you let it go.  

To further explain how an acupuncturist heals, I am going to compare your body to the movie Frozen. Oh, yes.

Imagine your body is Arendelle, the kingdom in Frozen. At the beginning, the town is beautiful, people are happy, and the king and queen are alive. As time goes on, the town starts to fall apart. The king and queen die, the princesses don’t know how to act, and eventually the town becomes frozen. Our bodies go through the same thing. We start out with a clean slate and as time goes by we become more rigid and life becomes harder. Eventually, Elsa decides she is going to be okay and she belts out “Let it Go,” but she isn’t better and the town is definitely not better. Throughout the movie, Anna looks for Elsa to try to save her, and just when we think Arendelle is ruined forever, the town is back and it’s blooming. The situation improved because the root of the problem was fixed. Elsa accepted her powers, and Anna realized that she didn’t need a man to be happy. That is what acupuncture does. It works on the root of an issue and fixes it.

An acupuncturist strategically places needles in acupuncture points to help nourish and strengthen the patient’s body. Each point belongs to a different channel, and each point has different benefits. Usually, this will allow an emotional release and help a person heal. People are often stuck, and something within them needs to be moved. Acupuncture points help stimulate the needed movement within the body and people start to feel better. The only way to truly understand acupuncture is to consider it as a means to allow the different parts of the body to work well as a unit.

In order for us to really feel good and be able to belt out “Let it Go” on top of a beautiful ice castle, we need to relax and find what makes us healthy. It could be, as in Frozen, accepting the fact that you have gifts, or that the man you once loved is not all he’s cracked up to be. Whatever it is, it’s about acceptance so that your whole body can be healthy.

This Shabbat Tshuvah just, “Let it go! Don’t hold it back anymore!”

*Note: When an acupuncturist talks about an organ they are referring to the qi, or energy of the organ, rather than the organ itself. Please do not worry that you have a problem with your spleen if your acupuncturist says you have spleen qi deficiency.

With the Jewish New Year creeping upon us, I thought I would provide some thoughts on how to change your money mindset for 5775.

Take a minute and think: have you ever asked yourself if you had time to brush your teeth before bed or run to the bathroom before leaving for work? Most likely not. You don’t evaluate whether you have enough time to brush, you don’t add brushing your teeth into your daily schedule. You just do it. If I asked you, “How do you manage to find time to brush your teeth every night?” you would look at me like I was crazy. You don’t have an alarm that goes off to remind you (or maybe you do … ) – you just do it.  Why should your money be any different?

My New Year’s resolution for you is to answer, “I just do it,” when someone asks you about how you handle your money.  How can you get there?  Pretty simply – change your mindset.

Start by telling yourself five simple things:

1. Financial success is possible

Many individuals start off their financial journey thinking pessimistically. Don’t! Start yourself out with a positive attitude. Don’t whine, complain or talk badly about your finances. If you want to build a positive attitude, start thinking with one!

2. Good things come to those who act

It is not thinking, but acting that creates change. No matter where you are in your financial journey, keep taking the next step, day after day, year after year. Automate your savings. Pay extra on your mortgage. Seek opportunities to increase your income. Stay active and financial success will become foreseeable.

3. There is enough to go around

The money supply is growing. Your money is yours to use in the way YOU want. Donate to a charity, save more for a vacation … use your money your way. Don’t feel bad about splurging on that shirt you always wanted, the restaurant you have been dying to try or the play you have been dreaming of seeing. Just because you have more does not mean someone else has less.

4.  Act like a millionaire

In Thomas J. Stanley’s book, The Millionaire Next Door, he describes the average American millionaire – his total income is $131,000 per year, he never received an inheritance and he didn’t go to private school. He drives a 5-year-old Toyota and wears inexpensive clothes. He’s a homeowner who has lived in the same home for over 20 years. He is a meticulous budgeter who invested nearly 20 percent of his household income over the course of his life. Act like this millionaire.

5.  Be curious about money

Educate yourself.  Make money matter to you. Stay curious and never stop learning and growing.

L’shanah tovah – may 5775 be a sweet and prosperous one for you and your family.  

On September 27, 2014, I turn 10,000 days old. That’s a lot of days of Adam. Lucky you, you didn’t have to spend all of them with me.

My life has been full of ups and downs, left and rights, backwards and forwards, especially while I’m in a car trying to navigate out of a parking garage. To say the least, it’s been a wild ride and my name isn’t even Mr. Toad. (Whoever gets that reference is amazing.)

My almost 10,000 days equates to 27 years, 4 months and 15 days, for those counting at home. And for those counting at home, you should probably get a calculator.

I have had quite the multitude of memorable days, but what follows doesn’t even begin to hit the tip of the iceberg. Because it’s a list – it has nothing to do with ice. Berg, perhaps, since that sounds slightly Jewish. Anyway,  now I submit to you an abbreviated account of the important days that have occurred for me over the last 10,000 of them. Enjoy!

Day -1,297: My parents were married, thus embarking on the greatest conquest of all time to have the most spectacularly breathtaking, intelligent and incredible child the world has ever seen! Instead they had me.

Day 0: I was evicted from my rent-free studio apartment. However, given I was born at 11:57 p.m., it was only three minutes later that it was …

Day 1: The only day I could use the excuse that I was born yesterday.

Day Time: Usually about 7 a.m. to 8 p.m.

Day 8: I don’t want to talk about it.

Day 9: My first mitzvah. Organized and executed a huge philanthropy for incoming Jewish baby boys on the truths, myths and horrors of an event I don’t want to talk about.

Day Man: Fighter of the Night Man.

Day 1,181: My brother was born, and I was no longer the favorite child.

Day 2,494: My sister was born, and I was back to being the favorite child.

Day 3,479: I tried out for Home Alone 3, but instead was put on Oprah for a brief moment doing an impression of Jim Carrey from The Mask. This is absolutely true and quite possibly the peak of my acting career.

Day ?: A night to remember.

Day 4,082: The day I ran away from camp, was caught by the police and became a hero to my fellow inmates at daytime sports camp for fighting the man. Unfortunately, the man in this case was an actual human and looking back on that the thought that I made adults not know where a 10-year-old child was must have been terrifying. I was a jerk kid, man.

Day 4,757: The day I became a man. Also the day of my Bar Mitzvah. It was one of my FAVORITE days. Heh heh. (My theme was “favorites.”) At this age my theme would be not to have a theme and appreciate the Bar Mitzvah.

Day, Doris: Popular actress from the ‘50s and ‘60s.

Day 6,670: My first alcoholic drink.

Day 7,671: My first legal alcoholic drink.

Daisy: A pretty flower.

Day 8,989: The day I discovered how to open a banana properly. From the “bottom.” My mind was never so blown. And I once stuck a hair dryer straight in my ear.

Day 9,002: The ten best consecutive days of my life began. That’s right, it’s the day I left for Birthright Israel, because it was my birth right to go on birth right ever since I was birthed, right?

Daybreak: D……….a…y.

Day 9,051: My first Oy! Blog was published. Of course I talked about my trip to Israel….and money.

Day 9,182: The day I officially moved out. Perhaps the most significant day of my life from the standpoint of never having to wear pants at home. Ever again.

Dog Day Afternoon: A great crime drama film from 1975 starring Al Pacino and directed by Sidney Lumet.

Day 9,249: The day of Adam’s Appendectomy Adventure, captured beautifully and hilariously in this incredible piece of bloggism! Found exclusively on Oy!Chicago!

Which brings us to …

Day 9,983: The day you are reading this. Well, the day this was posted at least. I don’t know. You could be reading this in 2032 or something. By the way Adam, stop reading your old posts. Stop living in the past!

But now I come to the question about what is going to happen in just over two weeks, when I hit that landmark of life that most people fail to realize even passes. So what are my plans? Well, I’ll tell you.

Day 10,000: A celebration the likes of which have never been …eh, who am I kidding? I’ll probably have a beer. 

So many people look back on their college experience and say, “those were the best four years of my life.” Why? It probably has something to do with whatever caused me to pay $25 for a water bottle with my school’s name on it just so people would know what school I attend when I go to the gym; the same thing that gives me a little flutter of excitement when I happen across someone else wearing a shirt or hat with my school’s name on the street. This “thing,” is the sense of belonging and devotion to a place that shapes the rest of our lives in just four short years. It is our affiliation, not to what our parents believe is a school they are sending us to, but a cult.

A “cult” isn’t just a term for fanatics of a certain belief system, it is by definition “a situation in which people admire and care about something or someone very much; a great devotion.” Some characteristics include: unquestioning commitment, elitism, polarized us-versus-them mentality, encouragement or requirement of membership to live and/or socialize with other group members and recruit new members.

Many of us who attended or currently attend schools with enormous alumni networks and national followings, such as the University of Michigan (hypothetically … of course) have likely experienced one or more of the above. Unquestioning commitment to the “winningest” football team in the NCAA (even when they don’t win) – check; elitist theory that we are the “leaders and the best,” – check; living and socializing with other group members, be it freshman dorms or at the local Michigan bar – check; polarized us-versus-them (the infamous Michigan-OSU rivalry – check; and efforts to recruit new members – well, the Michigan Wolverine baby onesies speak for themselves.

Every college is its own little (or big in some cases) community, one with its own language and customs that are completely perplexing, and sometimes unknown, to the outside world. All joking aside, however, our affiliation to “college cults” isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Our unconditional love for our schools teaches us loyalty, while living alongside our fellow classmates and peers produces lifelong bonds (or learning to tolerate and be respectful of others). And as for elitism – a little confidence never hurt anybody (especially during those post-undergrad job interviews). Our affiliation to a place and to an institution that lasts far beyond four years not only shapes us, but also gives us another place to call home, a friendly face at the office or in a new city, friends and colleagues that will always support us.

Only once do I recall someone saying something anti-Semitic in my presence.

At a high school summer program away from home, a new acquaintance was speaking casually about shopping when she mentioned someone "Jew-ing" down the price. Her words stunned and stung me. I knew the word "Jew" has often been used as a verb in reference to being cheap, but the derogatory term had never been used around me. 

Except for that moment, my only experience with anti-Semitism was learned from history and stories told to me by my elders.

For older generations of Jews, these sorts of encounters were par for the course. But for younger American Jews, many of us have experienced little to no anti-Semitism, especially in metropolises with large Jewish populations. 

I thought we were moving past a lot of other "-isms" too. We have a black president, a woman has all but announced her candidacy to take his place, and we've witnessed one of the fastest shifts ever in the public embrace for same-sex couples.

On the whole, we seem to be morphing into a more open, tolerant society. 

Until now.

As the war in Gaza exploded this summer, we've seen a surge in anti-Semitism and it's one of the first times many people of my generation and younger have faced this demon head on.

Anti-Zionism today is anti-Semitism dressed up in sheep's clothing—he two are one and the same in my book. People who want the Jewish state wiped off the map don't, as they claim, merely hate Israeli policy—they hate us and they hate that there is a place in the world where every Jew is able to become a citizen.

At the same time as the war in Gaza, we've seen a resurgence of anti-Semitism on the streets of Paris, Brussels, Berlin, London, and around the world—images that my contemporaries and I had seen before only in black and white film footage and in history books on Nazi Germany.

And anti-Semitism has reemerged in America too. While the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions movement has poisoned our college campuses from sea to shining sea for more than a decade, anti-Jewish and anti-Israel sentiment is stretching beyond campus walls these days.

For instance, in a Chicago cab recently, when my friend's driver got lost, and she asked him not to charge her for the extra minutes, he called her a "Jew" for being cheap.

Now, ugly episodes like that are becoming more commonplace. And, it's hipper than ever to speak out against Israel. Anti-Israel sentiment in Hollywood and on social media has reached a fever pitch.

There's no doubt, here and abroad, the year 5774 is ending in an anxious time to be Jewish. All the more, we should be grateful to ring in a fresh start in 5775, praying for peace and blessings as we prep for a new Jewish year.

In dark times, let's be mindful that despite thousands of years combatting hatred, persecution, and tsuris, most of us wouldn't trade our Jewish identity for anything. 

After all, we're a people who know it's how we treat others that's core. We're a people who belong to a country that is a gift, whose defense forces are first responders on the scene worldwide, bringing their expertise when disasters like hurricanes and tsunamis hit. And we're a people who value family, community, education, deed, good noodle kugel, and laughter.

We've been through worse and we know that, ultimately, we will make our way out of the dark and into the light.

Wishing you and your family a new year filled with joy, good health, and peace.

In 2009, I compiled a list of kosher stands at sports stadiums. Recently, I went to Atlanta to see Turner Field and the Braves and I was disappointed that they lacked a kosher hot dog. So below is an updated list of kosher stands (some unconfirmed) at various baseball stadiums, their supervision, and products. I did not include ice cream stands, prepackaged goods, drinks, etc. I am hoping to work on other sports in the future, but in the meantime, happy eating (or not eating)!

Arizona Diamondbacks Chase Field – None

Atlanta Braves Turner Field – None

Baltimore Orioles Camden Yards – All-beef hot dogs, all-beef sweet Italian sausages, all beef pastrami dogs, potato knishes, pretzels, tuna wrap, turkey wrap, chicken caesar wrap, chipotle chicken wrap, crispy chicken sandwich, sliced steak sandwiches, pastrami sandwiches (Star K)

Boston Red Sox Fenway Park – Pizza, baked ziti parmigiana and mozzarella sticks in addition to of course the hot dogs, knishes, onion rings, and vegetable cutlets (Hot Nosh Kosher Vending Machine)

Chicago Cubs Wrigley Field – Hebrew National hot dogs (Unconfirmed)

Chicago White Sox U.S. Cellular Field – None (used to serve Best Kosher hot dogs)

Cincinnati Reds Great American Ball Park – None

Cleveland Indians Progressive Field – Kosher hot dogs (Not sure if they are still there)

Colorado Rockies CoorsField – Hebrew National hot dogs (Unsupervised)

Detroit Tigers Comerica Park – Hebrew National hot dogs (Unsupervised)

Houston Astros Minute Maid Park – Hot Dogs (HKA) (Unconfirmed)

Kansas City Royals Kauffman Stadium – None

Los Angeles Angels Angel Stadium – None

Los Angeles Dodgers Dodger Stadium – Hebrew National hot dogs (Supervision?)

Miami Marlins Marlins Park – Kosher Korner features hot pastrami sandwich, kosher dog, hamburger, potato knish, french fries (ORB)

Milwaukee Brewers Miller Park – None

Minnesota Twins Target Field – Hot dog stand (MSPKosher)

New York Mets Citi Field – Kosher Grill hot dogs, knishes, pretzels (Star K)

New York Yankees Yankee Stadium – Hebrew National hot dogs (Supervision?), kosher stands with hot dogs and knishes (OK)

Oakland Athletics Coliseum – None

Philadelphia Phillies Citizens Bank Park – None

Pittsburgh Pirates PNC Park – Kosher hot dogs (Listed, unconfirmed)

St. Louis Cardinals Busch Stadium – Kohn’s Kosher Korner Hot Dogs, pastrami and corned beef sandwiches, knishes, pretzels (Va’ad Hoeir of St. Louis)

San Diego Padres Petco Field – Hebrew National hot dogs (Unsupervised)

San Francisco Giants AT&T Park – Kosher hot dogs (Listed, unconfirmed)

Seattle Mariners Safeco Field – Kosher meals upon request from catering

Tampa Bay Rays Tropicana Field – None (there is a Jewish Wall of Fame to check out, but no kosher food)

Texas Rangers Ballpark in Arlington – Hebrew National hot dogs (Unconfirmed)

Toronto Blue Jays Rogers Centre – Curly fries, fried onions, all-beef hot dogs, Coney Island hot dogs, sausage (Olde Spadina COR)

Washington Nationals Nationals Park – Kosher Grill kosher hot dogs, knishes, falafel and shawarma (Rabbinical Council of Greater Washington)

Who tells you not to eat the last bite? Who forces you to split a dessert instead of eating your own? And who makes you work out when all you want to do is watch television and veg?

According to my wife, that person is “the most annoying husband, because sometimes you want to eat your own piece of cheese cake.”

Ok, not quite the answer I was looking for when I told her what this blog post would be about, but she has a point. Sometimes that voice is an outside voice, but most often it has to come from within.

When I want to skip the gym, hit a food truck with a coworker, and follow it up with a delicious (warmed up) Specialty’s Cookie, I use self-speak. That might sound crazy, like I’ve read too many self-help books, or watched too much Oprah, but that inter dialog, or mantra, helps.

You do not always have the benefit of a trainer or husband annoying/motivating you to be healthy. In those situations, I channel my inner Tony Robbins, and tell myself:

1. I can’t be the fat trainer
2. I already had Peanut M&Ms
3. Exercising wakes me up
4. Desserts are made for sharing

I remember in high school my friend would pound his chest before each set. It was a little extreme, but it was a catalyst to work hard. I recommend creating your own motivators, like thinking about being healthy for your family, and visualizing them when you want to skip your workout. Have a few mantras in your back pocket. No one has to know you are telling yourself:

- Kings don’t eat candy bars
- Warriors workout
- Fight fat

Your expression does not have to be an alliteration. It can even be a song. Many athletes listen to music to pump themselves up for a workout or game. Numerous studies have shown that listening to fast-paced music while exercising increases the intensity of the workout. It’s impossible to listen to “Eye of the Tiger” without getting energized. I don’t care if you are using vinyl, 8-track, or cassette tapes – find some motivating music. When I need some music motivation I turn to the following artists:

- Eminem
- Notorious BIG
- Jay Z
- Beastie Boys

You can even Google workout music. There are tons of free soundtracks to get your muscles moving. Your homework is to figure out what motivates you, and use it to stay focused and achieve your goals.

And remember, if you really want an entire piece of cheese cake, call a friend, or me.

^{Excerpt from The Bleeding Tree, by Shane Kirshenblatt. Copyright 2014 Alternate History Comics Inc.}

I last visited the subject of Jewish graphic novels in 2009. Well, guess what? They went and wrote more. Also, I found even more that I somehow missed the first time (in my defense, there are a lot…).

Someone also went and made a real study of the Jewish graphic novel and started anthologizing it. And they did an exemplary job. The Jewish Comix Anthology is not just a labor of love, but of lust. The colors are rich and vibrant, the paper is thick and glossy, and the book as a whole is weighty and substantive. I don’t usually gush, but then I don’t usually see anything this gush-worthy.

The theme of Volume 1 is “myth,” so its stories are collected from 40 years of graphic-novelizing on Jewish folklore, fairytales, legends, and midrash. The work of giants of the genre such as Art Spiegelman, Will Eisner, and Harvey Pekar are included; even a Torah tale by friend-of-the-Jews Robert Crumb is among the 40 artists collected herein. Readers will find several takes on the Golem saga, Chasidic and Chelm tales – stories from the Levant to the Lower East Side. The care lavished on it shows in the curation of its content, too. The Jewish Comix Anthology is takeh a mechaya.

Steven M. Bergson, its editor, ran a chapter of the Association of Jewish Libraries, and has a master’s in library and information science. He clearly knows and loves graphic novels, and wanted to make something you’d want in your library. The Jewish Comix Anthology succeeds in giving graphic novels the kavod, the gravitas, they have earned.

Other recent contributions to the Jewish graphic novel bookshelf deal with, naturally, the Holocaust. Reinhard Kleist’s The Boxer, as its subtitle explains, is “The True Story of Holocaust Survivor Harry Haft.” It is the tale of a scrappy kid who learns both the ropes of survival in Hitler’s Europe and the ropes of the boxing ring. The book concludes with capsule stories of other Jews forced to fight each other in the death camps by bored, sadistic Nazis.

We Won’t See Auschwitz is a post-Holocaust story about two French-Jewish brothers – one, the author, Jérémie Dres. Rather than see where their ancestors died, they decide to see how they lived. The brothers visit Poland, but instead of Auschwitz, they see their grandfather’s native village of Zelechow, their grandmother’s hometown of Warsaw, and a major Jewish festival in Krakow.

Berlin, however, is a pre-Holocaust trilogy, told as the sun sets on the Weimar Republic. In the first volume, City of Stone, Jason Lutes introduces us to the journalist and artist whose stories we follow. The second volume, City of Smoke, details tensions brought by the May Day demonstration of 1929 and the relief proffered by American jazz. Book Three is not out yet.

Another graphic novel is set even earlier, at the turn of the twentieth century. Leela Corman’s Unterzakhn, Yiddish for “underthings,” is about twin girls in the Lower East Side, circa 1910. They learn about the options that exist for women of their time, most of which are not that attractive. We follow them up to adulthood, when they discover the consequences of their earlier choices, often made in the name of self-preservation. The drawing style is reminiscent of Persepolis.

Jewish history is a rich trove of material for Jewish graphic novelists. Still, let’s hope some turn their attention to the events of today… or even try to imagine Jewish life in the future.

Further Reading:

I erroneously stated in my earlier piece that Jews and the Graphic Novel by David Gantz was the earliest long-form analysis of this genre. An astute reader corrected me; The Jewish Graphic Novel: Critical Approaches, edited by Samantha Baskind and Ranen Omer-Sherman, was published first.

However, I can reasonably assert that the most recent, as of this writing, is The Quest for Jewish Belief and Identity in the Graphic Novel, which came out in June. 

www.ahcomicsshop.com is running a 20% off sale on the book through Sepetember: promo code JCASDCC14

A few weeks ago, my wonderful, hilarious, sassy grandma reached the incredible milestone of 90. Nonee Ethel has always been an integral part in all of our lives, “our” referring to my sprawling extended family. Like most grandmas, she is infinitely special to us. As spring turned to summer and August 13 rapidly approached, the family got to planning a surprise birthday party no one would soon forget.

It started a few weeks after my sister returned from Birthright Israel. Regaling my grandmother with her experience of being bat mitzvah-ed on Masada, Nonee waxed poetic: she would have loved to both visit the Jewish homeland and to formally become a bat mitzvah, but didn’t have the chance in her nearly 90 years. One thing led to another and before we knew it, we had a birthday theme.

Shortly, a family email chain of epic proportions began, and what started off as a funny idea tossed out as a possible party theme took on a life of its own.

A myriad of ideas were discussed, responsibilities delegated and pictures for a very special bat mitzvah montage were shared. Not only would there be a montage, but there would be a “trip to Israel,” complete with “The Wailing Wall” (a display of the great-grandchildren’s building blocks), “Masada” (a poster of the Birthright highlight placed fittingly atop a flight of stairs) and other little touches. We crafted the perfect candle-lighting ceremony, complete with speeches, and set up a little bimah to make it all “official.” Everyone took to the project with so much creativity and love.

The day of, all of my aunts and cousins feverishly decorated the party house, making sure all of the creations and little touches were just so. We had some pretty fun birthday ideas to live up to from the past, after all. For example, we celebrated Nonee’s 85th by renting a party van and transporting the crew to Superdawg, one of our favorite places. Anyway, as the clock struck a quarter to six, we all found a place to hide and prepared to surprise our most favorite 90-year-old lady in the world.

Needless to say, Nonee was incredibly touched by the Israel trip and subsequent bat mitzvah. We gathered together and said the shehecheyanu to really commemorate her special day. I especially enjoyed writing a candle-lighting speech just for her. How often is it that you get to share your feelings in such a way? How do you even begin to say how grateful you are for someone who has been such a big part of your life, a cheerleader present at every concert, play, you-name-it from the time I was born?

Thank you, Nonee. For leading the way, for sharing your love, advice, delicious baked goods and more. I hope you had fun at your 90th birthday and I hope you know just much you are loved and appreciated. Mazel tov!

Years ago, I tacked a blank piece of paper onto the wall above my computer at home. Since then, I’ve covered its every inch with names of cities from around the world, cities I chanced upon during mindless hours of Google scrolling.

Mykonos, Rio, Madrid.

Zanzibar, Varanasi, Granada.

All I’ve ever wanted to do was travel.

Currently, I’m not traveling. In fact, I work downtown, in the Aon building. For those of you familiar with Chicago, you’d recognize it as that tremendously tall, glaringly white structure looming over Millennium Park like a pillar in the sky. During lunchtime, people pour out of the front doors in waves. There are at least fifty elevators. It’s enormous.

Every once in a while, from my cubicle facing a wall on the 36th floor, I sneak a glance back to Google. Sometimes it hits me unexpectedly. I’ll be innocently writing up an industry update when — before I know it — I’m Googling South American hostels on the Pacific coastline with vacancies for unpaid North American receptionists.

But, putting aside dreams of glittering beaches or windswept desert sands for a moment, what is it exactly about travel that is just so addictive? Sure, it’s a break in the monotonous cycle of waking and working. It’s a way to learn a new language, or try an exotic food directly from its source. It provides a new perspective, the ability to switch out the customary lens that filters and fogs our experiences, in exchange for a new — and potentially higher — vantage point.

But I think that underneath it all, the real reason we travel is to meet other people. Even the most stalwart introvert would be pretty disappointed if she crossed the globe and never spoke to anybody but her flight attendant. Talking to people from around the world, with experiences entirely different than our own, is what makes travel great. You gain a better sense of the world through empathy, and return home with a newer understanding of everything that’s always been around you.

Before this article begins to sound like the prelude to a travel blog, I’d like to point out — you don’t always need to hop on the plane to have the same experiences. Becoming more empathetic can be as easy as taking a closer look at the people around you.

Anyone who has seen Spike Jonze’s futuristic, computer/human romance Her, might recall a few quotes about empathy. In one scene, the mopey Theodore Twombly (Joaquin Phoenix with an impressive mustache) meanders through a crowded carnival recounting the people who pass by to Samantha, his personal operating system. A young boy vigorously munches on popcorn next to his brooding grandpa. A quiet, elderly gentleman sits alone on a bench. A nervous-looking man is introduced to his lovely girlfriend’s children.

“Sometimes,” Theodore admits quietly, “I look at people and try to make myself try to feel them as more than just a random person walking by. I imagine how deeply they’ve fallen in love. How much heartbreak they’ve all been through.”

Theodore is a little fixated on love, but he still has a pretty good point — what if during our busy days of shuffling through our commute, we paused to actually take a look at the people around us?

Each day that I walk downtown muddled in a swarm of urbanites, I rarely take a moment to consider who’s beside me. The woman who’s chattering away on her phone to my left? She’s likely experienced heartbreak, loss, moments of enlightenment. An epic story line.

There’s an old Yiddish proverb that claims, “We live in a world full of small worlds.” We each have our own stories, red herrings, and central characters in the plots that fill up a lifetime. Of course, traveling is an excellent way to learn about other people. But exploring other “small worlds” could be as close as the person you sit next to on the train.

At this particular moment, the person sitting next to me on the train is a bulky, middle-aged man, with short-trimmed brown hair, pink skin and a plastic cup of wine in his hand, which he’s sipping at through a narrow black coffee straw. It’s 6 p.m. on a Wednesday, so I suppose that’s understandable. Are any of these houses that blur past us on our commute his? Does he have children, maybe a pair of kids toddling by the front door, eagerly awaiting their dad’s arrival? A frail, elderly aunt whom he works overtime for in order to support?

I’ll never know. Maybe one day our small worlds will gently tap each other again, or I’ll meet someone else whose small world will merge into my own. Either way, glimpsing another person’s reality is the beauty of travel, whether or not a physical distance is crossed. In the meantime though, I’ll keep sneaking peeks back at Google Maps.

One Friday a few weeks ago, hubs called me with a long, breathy sigh … it had been a bad day. A very bad, horrible, day. And on those days I know my hubby needs comfort food. 

For him that is anything crispy and savory. So off to the fridge I went to grab some freshly butchered chicken cutlets and some lemons. And as my little toddler whipped circles around me chasing the tortured cat, I went on a scavenger hunt in my pantry trying to find the perfect crust for my cutlets. But my pantry had failed me. I had no breadcrumbs. And it hurts me to say it, but I only had a few tablespoons of flour. It was a sad, sad day in this girl’s house. And then I saw a container that looked somewhat promising to me. It was from the last time I made matzo balls.

Classic Manischewitz matzo meal! And right there on the box was golden fried beautiful chicken cutlets! How have I been so clueless all this time! OF COURSE this would work! To hell with breadcrumbs! I’m using matzo meal! So I chopped up some parsley, scraped off some lemon zest and went to work. About 25 minutes and several beautifully crisp chicken cutlets later, I was pleased.

Hubs walked in right when I had placed my finishing touches on the platter of beauties. And I plated him one with a simple side dish of our favorite Avocado and Feta salad.

He sat and chewed the crunchy chicken and let out a sigh of relief. The munchkin sat right next to him in her high chair happily gobbling up every last crumb. Licking her fingers and making a satisfying “mmmmmmm” sound with each bite. I swear no one enjoys food more than this munchkin. Look at those food smears on the side of her mouth! Such a ham! She is smiling that big because she just ate an entire chicken cutlet.

For the first time in the past hour, hubs let out a loud laugh as the little munchkin burped unexpectedly and then pointed to the cat in blame. This one will be trouble.

His so called very bad day … not so bad anymore. With a few pieces of his favorite chicken and some much needed comic relief from the munchkin, hubs was once again my happy love bunny. And my Friday was complete.

Crispy Matzo Lemon Chicken
from girlandthekitchen.com

Ingredients

2 cups matzo meal 
2 pounds chicken cutlets 
4 egg whites 
zest of one lemon 
3 tbsp of chopped parsley plus more for garnish 
1 lemon sliced thinly 
2 tbsp garlic powder 
1 tbsp paprika 
salt and pepper to taste 

Instructions

1. Measure out about 2 cups of matzo meal. Add in salt, pepper, garlic powder, paprika and lemon zest.

2. Then whip up 4 egg whites and add the Italian parsley.

3. Set up an assembly line. Egg white plate, matzo meal plate and an empty plate.

4. Dip the chicken cutlets into the egg white mixture first. Making sure to cover both sides. Do this with your LEFT hand.

5. Then with your RIGHT hand dip into the matzo meal mixture. You want to do this with different hands or else you will have what I call mummy hands.

6. Place about 2 tbsp of butter in a large pan over medium high heat and let it come to a sizzle. 

7. Cook it on one side for 3-4 minutes until nice and golden brown. Then flip it and cook it for another 3 minutes until crispy and golden brown.

8. Lay them on paper towels so they drain any access butter that may be on them. Also, feel free to change the oil/butter out with each batch if you have too many burnt bits in the pan.

9. Garnish with a few lemon slices and some parsley. Dive in! 

Notes

If you are using this for the Jewish holidays, you can use coconut oil or olive oil to make it truly Kosher.  

Almighty benevolent God in heaven, if there is such a god, and if there is such a place, I have one small request. One simple favor for which I pray. On behalf of all humanity, to you I reach out today.

Please, God, let maxi dresses stay in style for at least one more year.

I’m not normally one who is current on the latest fashion trends. I remember distinctly in middle school thinking that capri pants were ugly and I’d never wear them — but sure enough, a few years later, there I was, sporting the three-quarter-length pants. I was all about the glitter on my eyes and the butterfly clips in my hair, but not until the popular girls did it first. And I wore my jean jacket long enough past middle school that it almost stretched to its comeback last year.

The fads come and go — which is unfortunate for my wallet — but usually I quickly get over their loss and move on to the next fashion trend. But if maxi dresses are out of style next year — one short year after I purchased five long, beautiful, flowy maxi dresses and skirts — then I’m not sure why it’s worth even attempting to believe in You.

These dresses look great on everyone — they make the tall look taller and the short look slightly less short. Maxi dress wearers need not worry about shaving their legs, or, in my case, showing the world their ghostly white legs. They pair well with the aforementioned jean jacket, a sweater, or even just a beaded necklace. They are casual and comfortable, both for walking and for sitting cross-legged on the floor.

My beloved maxi dresses have this uncanny way of filling a social ambiguity, when you’re wondering if you should dress up, dress down, wear nice pants, wear jeans and heels, or just skip the event altogether because you’re completely clueless on what to wear. What do you wear? You wear a maxi dress.

Ruler of the Universe, I just started appreciating these maxi dresses recently. If this becomes one of those fashions — the fad that just fades — I won’t know what to do with myself. Now that I’ve lived in a world where I can go from a street festival to an engagement party to a religious service without changing clothes, I just don’t think I could bear to go back to how it was before.

I need more time. It doesn’t have to be forever. Of course, that would be great, but I don’t want to be a greedy devotee. All I ask is for at least one more year of maxi trendiness, and then maybe two to three subsequent years of everyone understanding that the trend is on its way out but is still tolerated.

Because right now I have a yellow maxi skirt and a blue one, two teal dresses, and a gray one — and I think that I might want to buy a black one. And possibly a purple one.

Thank you for hearing my prayer, O Lord of Fashion. And let us say: Amen.

The High Holidays are around the corner, and with them comes an opportunity to share many meals with friends and family. Holidays in general remind me of the importance of taking the relationships that we keep online through social media, offline. We come together face to face and break bread with those that are important in our lives.

The people are a big piece of what makes holiday times special. There is no doubt about it that the food plays a major role in making memories too. I think another more subtle force at play is that, by and large, holiday celebrations take place at someone’s home. When I think of holiday celebrations of the past, I recall the smells, sounds and sights of my Bubbie’s home just as much as I do the taste of her brisket and the faces of those seated at the table.

Judaism considers welcoming guests to be one of the most important mitzvot that we can perform. The custom is said to date back to the time of Abraham, who stood at the entrance of his tent on hot days in the hopes that he might see someone passing by to invite into his home. In today’s world of big city living, I don’t know of many people who would stand on their balconies looking for hungry people to call up to their apartments for lunch, though I have been a part of many communities where organizing meals and potlucks in the homes of friends is the norm.  

Many of us regularly meet friends and loved ones for coffee, drinks, or dinner in public places, but the dynamic changes when we meet in someone’s own personal space. Instead of meeting on neutral ground, we are allowing someone to see us in a more vulnerable and intimate space. This creates a more intimate experience, a deeper conversation and a more authentic sharing of what our lives are really like.

For young adult Jews, organizations such as Moishe House and programs such as Birthright NEXT Shabbat have been helping young Jews come together to share in meals. Local synagogues, JCCs and chavurah communities also provide opportunities to bring people together in this way. In my experience, the magic of inviting others into our personal space to share conversation, ideas, thoughts and feelings is the root of the magic formula that makes these ventures so successful.

This year, I invite you to consider being a host to or allow yourself to be hosted by someone new in your life. It is a practice as old as Abraham for making your relationships deeper than any Facebook post would ever allow. May you have a Happy and Sweet New Year!    

The thing I love most about summer is how it’s the opposite of winter. Maybe that’s too basic, but after last winter, can you blame me? I’ve been doing a little happy dance every time I walk outside and see the sun shining and realize that we’re not in a polar vortex.

There are other things I love about this time of year: longer days filled with extra sunshine, beach visits, bare feet and Chicago’s many street fests. Those are all fine and dandy, but I think it’s time we recognize the one true king of summer—the summer tomato.

Sure, tomatoes aren’t all that hard to find any time of the year, but that’s because we’re spoiled brats. We can have any old thing we want to eat any time we want it. We’re lucky to be alive when out-of-season produce can be shipped all over the place. You can have a peach in January or asparagus in November. The old days of only eating foods that are in season are gone.

While that is amazing, we shouldn’t forget that there’s a difference. A tomato is a tomato is a tomato, right? Well, no, not exactly. Nothing can compare to the taste of in-season tomatoes or other produce that didn’t need a passport to get to your grocery store. So, friends, prepare your taste buds, summer tomatoes are coming.

What will you do with this season’s tomato bounty? I’m looking forward to tomato sandwiches, sliced tomato with a sprinkle or two of salt, and caprese salads. While large tomatoes are delicious, we shouldn’t forget grape tomatoes. Those little guys are like nature’s candy. I recently discovered a new way to eat these little mini treats of summer. It’s quickly becoming my most favorite way to enjoy them. You really must give this recipe a try – it’s sure to knock your socks off.

Tomato Shortcakes

Ingredients

1 can of biscuits (I use a Southern-style)
1 small container of soft herbed spreadable cheese

Tomato Salad

1 tablespoon olive oil (I use garlic infused oil to add a little zip)
1 1/2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1/8 teaspoon salt
pinch of sugar
freshly ground black pepper
1/2 pound grape tomatoes (mixed colors, if you can find them)

Directions

Prepare the biscuits according to the directions on the package.

For the tomato salad, whisk together the olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt, sugar, and freshly ground black pepper in the bottom of a bowl. Quarter the tomatoes lengthwise and add them to the bowl with the dressing, tossing them together gently.

To assemble the shortcakes, split each warm biscuit in half. Smear a bit of the cheese on to the biscuit halves. Generously spoon each half with the tomato salad and its dressing. Eat!!

^{Annice and her kids in Seattle (after being “rescued” by her husband).}

I’ve had a lot of help in my life. I have a very dependable husband who fills in my various deficiencies quite nicely. I have a wonderful family and friends that pinch hit for me when I’m late, lost and overwhelmed. I have kids who intuit my (in)capacities and forgive my imperfections. When you’re surrounded by a net, it’s hard to remember what it feels like to stand alone.

Every summer we take a family trip with my parents. They rent a house; we beach it every day, head out to a county fair or two, cook, play board games and watch movies. It’s an easy week of four kids to four adults where we just show up and enjoy. And every winter, my mother-in-law takes us somewhere warm and exotic that leaves no time for complaining and insists my husband and I take a few nights to ourselves while she manages four kids with room service and a smile. I have been very, very lucky.

I have also been very, very clueless. This is the only way I can explain my decision to fly to Oregon and vacation with my four kids for five days with no additional help. It seemed manageable; my hubby would be waiting for us afterward in Seattle, where we would stay for a week as one incredibly well-adjusted (ahem) dual-parented family.

Well, kinda.

The day my solo journey began, I somehow forgot some things. Like, my hairbrush, my shampoo and conditioner and oh, anything whatsoever to entertain/feed my kids on the plane. Part of that I will blame on a 6:00 a.m. flight that required a 5:00 a.m. arrival and a 4:00 a.m. wake up. The second we sat down it was a cacophony of:

“I’m hungry!”

“I’m bored!”

“Is there a movie?”

“She’s/he’s touching me!”

“Are we there yet?”

I will admit my family is given a lot of leeway from strangers. They dig/are horrified by the mohawks and are curious as to Fray’s origin and are amused by her moxie with her three brothers. I cash in on that a lot. This plane ride was no exception. I got away with “feeding” them gum and renting portable movie players (for an outlandish fee) while passengers smiled sympathetically at the frazzled, clueless mother travelling with her mini gang of thugs and a princess. This graciousness allowed me to pass out for a few hours and dream that I was Martha Stewart (and her only child is grown, right?)

The first serious hitch in our trip beyond the immediate Maslow hierarchy of needs came when our rental car pick-up turned out to be downtown and not at the airport as I had thought. Having to negotiate four kids, two suitcases and two backpacks onto a train in a strange city made me tear up a little – not gonna lie – but the tears of terror turned to joyful ones when we successfully hit that Hertz counter and nothing and no one got left on the train.

I don’t want to mislead you. This baby bird didn’t jump out of the nest and fearlessly freefall. I have family in Oregon (plus “Shark Week” babysat a few hours every night) and I had help with city navigation from my cousin until she left and Google maps took over. But I did successfully pick activities, outings and food that were well-received. The hardest part for me was serving as 24-hour negotiator of disagreements/driving/navigation and as WWF referee without having the company of another adult for sanity check-in. (“The kid’s being an asshole, right? It’s not just me, right?”)

So? Would I do it again? Yup – in a heartbeat. Next summer? New Mexico! (Locals, consider this ample warning!) As my kids get older it’s easier all around to do things (and they actually remember all the stuff you drag them to.) I like that I had the opportunity to show them a part of the country that was new to them. I tell my kids all the time the world is a big place and I’m happy to be their (albeit neurotic) escort as they realize – at least on occasion – mom might be right.

You know its baseball season in Chicago when we start getting excited to watch Bears Pre-Season games. With the dust settled from the crazy NBA free agency period, I am ready to dive headfirst into Bears football. And there is a lot to watch for the Bears entering their second season under Marc Trestman. So let’s take a look at the good, the bad and what I’d like to see in Friday’s pre-season game against Seattle.

THE GOOD  

So far the first team offense has looked really good. It is the best quarterback Jay Cutler has looked and the offensive line, even without Jordan Mills, has given Cutler all the time in the world in the pocket. Cutler looks really comfortable in the system and doesn’t appear to be forcing anything. I love the very recent addition of wide receiver Santonio Holmes, who is a low-risk signing at the league minimum, but could be a huge upgrade as a number three receiver. We haven’t seen much from Matt Forte, but, if the Bears can take another step forward from last season, this offense could be one of the best in the NFL.

THE BAD

The defense was historically bad last year and so far I have not seen any signs of that changing. Granted, it is only the pre-season and the Bears are a team with a lot of veteran players who understand not to go all-out and avoid injury before the season starts, but I feel like we should have seen more improvement than we have. Last week they let the Jacksonville offense do whatever they wanted drive after drive. The middle of the field still appears to be a huge hole and they are still not getting to the quarterback, even with the additions of Jared Allen and Lamarr Houston to the line.

The safety position is still a big question mark and with Kyle Fuller tweaking his ankle, we really haven’t gotten a chance to see what he can do yet. The special teams appear to be an issue again too. Coaches have underplayed the problems, citing a lot of new pieces learning the system, but it cannot be denied that the Bears still have big issues in that phase of the game outside of kicker Robbie Gould. Luckily, the offense is good, but it would be better if they can start with a shorter field and put less pressure on the defense.

WHAT TO WATCH FOR

In this third pre-season game with the starters going three quarters, I want to see multiple quality scoring drives from the offense. I want to see them avoid third and long situations and I want to see more from Matt Forte in the run game. I’d like to see what Holmes can do if they can get him up to speed and see if he clicks with Cutler and this offense.

I need to see the defense prove they can get stops, and what better way to do it than up against the Super Bowl champs. If they can get to Russell Wilson a few times or at least pressure him and limit the run, I’ll be really happy. And close those gaps over the middle of the field – I need to see more from the linebackers this week. We should see safety Chris Conte for the first time this week and he has a lot to prove to everyone.

No big lapses from special teams. No big returns given up and better protection for whoever they have back there returning kicks and punts, whether it’s newly signed return specialist Darius Reynaud or someone else.

The Bears front office made all the right moves to improve this team. And this is a great way to see what they are made of because if they want to make it far in the playoffs this year, that road will no doubt go through Seattle.  

I love laughter. I love laughing. I love making others laugh as well as watching others make others laugh. To me, there’s nothing better than a good, hearty guffaw when things seem blue, or a side-splitting howl, all doubled up on the floor, completely in stitches.

My earliest memories are those of laughter and joy, the warm and fuzzy feeling that comes with it, the soreness that develops around your cheeks and eyes. It could be an image, a joke, a sound, or an action that triggers this often uncontrollable response that leaves you feeling better than before.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not what you would call a “rule-breaker,” but when I had my partner in crime, we were meant to cause trouble. This is why I think my father nicknamed us “Rockheads.”

One of my earliest memories is at my grandparents’ apartment on my mom’s side when I was around five or six years old. My younger brother and I were being given a lesson on how to make paper airplanes from our fun-loving uncle. Upon securing some multicolored paper and sequestering it to our HQ in the den, I got very excited and imagined myself, my brother and uncle in a hangar, designing future Air Force fighters and stealth bombers. My brother and I are very competitive, so we challenged each other to see who would build the best flying planes. We were so engrossed in our airplanes that we weren’t even the slightest bit aware of what our uncle planned to do with them next.

I looked down at my fingers after a while and noticed they were tired and achy from folding and bending, so I darted out of the den and headed to the living room, where my family was hanging out. They were completely oblivious to our nefarious behavior and I was loving every moment of our act of espionage. My face, however, would not contort itself into the passive, nonchalant mask that was necessary to pull this off, but I couldn’t help myself. Seeing the glee on my face, my parents and grandparents asked what we were doing in the den. I shrugged and said, “I dunno ... yet. But I’m sure when we are finished you’ll see.” That line was followed by a muffled giggle and a quick dash back toward the den.

After we assembled our fleet, I turned to my uncle and smiled at our accomplishment. But he was too busy to notice. He and my brother had already carefully balanced as many colorful airplanes as they could fit in their hands, and were turning to leave the den. Careful not to be noticed by our family, we snuck down the hallway toward the balcony at the rear of the apartment. The door was already open because it was a gorgeous day, but the screen door was up and we had to find a way to slide it open quietly without being noticed. My brother and uncle both looked at me and stared at my hands, which were not so full of airplanes. I quickly understood the cue, and so very carefully and slowly, I pulled open the screen door. Suddenly, we were all peering 16 stories down to Lake Shore Drive.

Our first flight was merely a test run to ensure the aerodynamics were correct. My uncle took wind and trajectory into account before carefully releasing the first plane. At first, it looked like it was going to take off soaring into the atmosphere, but the wind sharply took hold of the flaps and violently steered it into a nosedive, heading straight for the doorman’s unsuspecting cap. We watched and held our breath as it veered this way and that, turning and tumbling, until it found its final resting place on the asphalt driveway. We saw the doorman’s cap suddenly jerk to the left toward the paper airplane and we pulled ourselves back into the apartment.

That’s when my brother and I could not contain ourselves any more. We laughed and squealed and hopped around like we had just won the lottery. Pretty soon, we were taking turns launching the rest of our noble fleet into the afternoon skies and watching them twist and turn in the wind, each one taking its own unique path to the ground below.

When our parents and grandparents found out, they weren’t so happy with us or our uncle, but one thing was for sure: we were having a great time. Sure, you could claim that we snuck around, disobeyed and littered, but we didn’t hurt anyone.

I learned a lot that day. I learned that breaking the rules isn’t necessarily a fun and laughable experience, but following the rules all the time isn’t either. I also learned that I could not do practically anything as a child with my brother without getting into some sort of mischief. But most importantly, I learned that life is too short to miss opportunities to laugh, love, and build memories that last a lifetime. I have my own family now to begin building those memories, and I smile and chuckle at the thought of building paper airplanes for my nieces and nephews when the time comes.

So what are you waiting for? Go share some laughs with someone!

L’Chaim!

I wake up 20 minutes early every day just to swish coconut oil around in my mouth. During those extra, should-be-still-sleeping-in-my-comfortable-bed 20 minutes, I am actually helping both my health and my business.  

Oil pulling, the process of swishing oil in your mouth, is an Ayurvedic tradition, originated in India, that has been around for centuries. Coconut oil contains lauric acid, which kills bacteria, fungi and viruses. This swishing cleans out my mouth and prevents infection.  

This is not some gimmick; it is science-based. Studies have shown that oil pulling helps fight plaque and gingivitis. Since I started oil pulling, my teeth have never felt smoother and my breath feels fresh all day.  

Oil pulling can also help fight acne by getting rid of the unwanted bacteria in your mouth, which never re-enters your body. Other benefits of oil pulling are more restful sleep, fewer headaches—especially migraines, and relief of allergy symptoms and eczema. I can personally attest to the alleviation of eczema symptoms. I have not had one eczema flare-up in the four months that I have been oil pulling.  

I have made oil pulling part of my morning routine, not only because of the health benefits, but for the emotional benefits as well. The first 20 minutes of each of my days are spent in silence. I wake up, swish, answer e-mails, and post on my business Facebook and Twitter pages. If I have a few extra minutes, I reflect on the day before, and meditate on the day ahead of me. I can’t talk, so I am forced to get things done or reflect. It has a calming effect and has helped my business. It is a wonder drug to me, and it only costs $24.99 for two 54 ounce tubs at Costco!  

You should be eating coconut oil, too. When coconut oil is digested, it forms a monoglyceride called monolaurin. Monolaurin with lauric acid is even better at fighting infection and for many it can help prevent disease. Coconut oil is one of the medium-chain-triglycerides, which are fatty acids at medium length that can reduce hunger. Some athletes eat a spoonful of coconut oil before they exercise to ensure that they don’t get hungry during their workouts. You can also use it in cooking as a substitute for olive oil. Besides adding flavor, it can improve your health.  

If you are swishing coconut oil, eating coconut oil, or cooking with coconut oil, you are helping yourself. Growing up, I always associated coconut with unhealthy sugary bars with coconut slathered over them, or in candy covered with chocolate, but the health benefits can’t be overlooked. My friends, family members, and patients who have started oil pulling with me know how good their mouths feel. Start taking care of your oral health and start oil pulling now. Your pearly, white smile will be all the thanks I need!

Need-to-Know Facts about Oil-Pulling

1. Do not swallow the oil. Spit it out because the bacteria you pulled out of your mouth will be in the coconut oil.

2. Never spit coconut oil down the drain or in the toilet. It solidifies very quickly and will clog up your drain. Spit it in the garbage.

3. Buy organic, unrefined coconut oil to pull out bacteria, viruses, and fungi from your body without adding toxins.

4. Yes, oil pulling may sound unappealing at the beginning, and you may gag the first time or two that you try it, so start out small. Try three minutes, and work your way up to 20 minutes.

5. You can also oil pull with sesame oil. However, coconut oil has more anti-microbial properties and is the better choice. 

Have you ever noticed how improvisational actors need to accept whatever is offered to them on stage? In order for a scene to flow, the actors take whatever arises and continue on. What if we did that in real life as well?  We just took what was handed to us and went with it.

There is overwhelming evidence that saying “yes” can help you in almost every aspect of your life. In the 2008 movie Yes Man, Jim Carrey’s character transforms his life by saying “yes” to any and all offers put before him.

Building a business in the financial industry, I feel like the “Yes Man” (I guess I should say “Yes Woman”). Anytime anyone asks me to do something, I just say “yes.” The quickest way to get someone to say “yes” seems to be to say it first. It is natural for people to match the communication of others, so if they hear “yes” they will say it right back. “Yes” – I will go with you. “Yes” – I need your help. “Yes” – I will support XYZ.

Now, not all the experiences I have had from my “just say yes” mentality have been remarkable successes – at least to the naked eye. For example, I said “yes” to help an individual sort out piles upon piles of insurance and annuity contracts acquired over the years. I spent hours spilled over the contracts, evaluating the benefits and establishing a plan for the future. I struggled to come up with a solution, but I learned, I grew and I said “yes.”

It is natural to want to say “no” when you are not an expert in the field someone wants you to talk about, when you are normally in bed before the event someone wants you to join them at is beginning, when you see yourself as a poor writer and someone wants you to co-author an article, but what’s the worst that can happen? You struggle. You learn. You grow. Is that a reason to say “no?” I think it is a reason to say “yes.”

We all have dreams and goals we want to attain but most of us build obstacles so we can’t reach them, we say “no.” Even when people say “yes,” the majority of time they are thinking “no.” It is time to change.

I have a challenge for you. For one day, just one day, keep track of every time that you say “yes” and every time that you say “no.” Tally them up. See the results for yourself. Most likely you will see that you need to tweak your mindset and just say “YES.”

In the wake of the tragic loss of Robin Williams, I once again turn to writing and humor as a way to find solace. So thank you for humoring me as I attempt to humor you.

I was originally going to write about something more light-hearted. Like how right now I have to be scared of Ebola again. But that’s not happening anymore. Well, the Ebola thing is actually still happening, I’m just not writing about it.

In the immediate moments after hearing about a celebrity I cared about passing, I often find myself reflecting on what this individual meant to me, how their work influenced me and how I truly appreciate everything I have taken away from this someone I never met. Sadly, this is often unrealized until after their death, when I unenthusiastically yet poignantly look at the whole picture, much like I did with Roger Ebert’s passing. But when it occurs too soon, without warning and simply uninvited, it forces a solemn, unexpected moment to admire the one we lost.

Robin Williams’ passing reinforces in me the spirit of making others laugh. Making others smile. Being inspired while inspiring others. I’ve always loved putting the smallest joy into someone else’s day by providing them with laughter. As we all know and experience far too often, there is enough sadness in the world, so I figure I should do what I can to balance it out a little, even with only one bad pun, silly joke, or humorous story at a time. Actually, I’m not that great at telling anecdotes. It’s why I call them anecdon’ts.

So unlike everyone else, instead of watching some classic Robin Williams masterpiece the other night, (read: RV), I decided to watch the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from 1990. Not the first movie you’d think of, right? Well, it was my original plan for the evening, and even though I was shaken up, I strongly felt that I shouldn’t let death stand in the way of my plans.

But here’s the thing. I discovered a random piece of trivia after watching it that involved way too much coincidence. Apparently, Robin Williams was a big fan of the Turtles, and provided actress Judith Hoag, who played April O’Neil, with information about her character while the two were co-starring in the movie Cadillac Man, right as Turtles went into production. This simple and truly trivial piece of trivia makes me feel like I picked the right movie on a night I had no idea I was supposed to be making such a decision. Robin Williams was an influence in places I didn’t even know existed, which shows, among other things, the true power of his character.

The more I think about him, the more I realize just how powerful of a presence he truly was for me growing up. He was the actor I pointed to more than anyone else to succeed in a debate about comedians making the strongest dramatic actors. Most importantly, to me he was one of my earliest voice acting influences, whether I realized it or not. Williams was actually one of the first “major” celebrities celebrated for his voice acting. For better or worse, his involvement in animated movies begot the idea of celebrity power in animation.

As a self proclaimed voice over enthusiast, I can’t even begin to express what his contribution to my childhood has done for me in my adult life. Many people, of course, think of him as the Genie in Aladdin. But for me, I hold an exceptionally special place in my heart for his voice acting prowess as Batty Koda in Ferngully. Mostly for this:

For a man that has had more influence and inspiration on my life than I have ever known, Robin Williams, you will be missed, never forgotten and always appreciated for showing me time and time again that laughter is the very best medicine because you can’t OD and the refills are free.

I have barely even scratched the surface of his career, (seriously, go to YouTube and look up Mork and Mindy, his stand-up, his improv, his television appearances, everything) but I’ll leave you with one of my favorite moments showcasing Robin Williams’ knack for being incredibly fun and his incomparable ability to “do voices.”

In Jewish tradition we have a special greeting for a genius. Upon meeting such a person, we say, Blessed are You, Eternal God, Source of Life, who has given from His wisdom to flesh and blood.

Had I ever met Robin Williams, I would surely have said it.

Williams was a singular genius. He brought joy and comfort to so many. Yet, that same joy and satisfaction continued to elude him.

That’s one of the reasons his death strikes us so sharply. He seemed to have it all. Yet, he suffered from a horrific illness that many continue to speak of in shadows and soft tones.

As a child of a psychiatrist, I know how serious depression can be. Yet, as his wife urged in a statement released yesterday, let us remember Willilams for the laughter and joy he brought so many.

Even though he was not Jewish, his comedy brims with the tones of traditional Jewish comedy. They include the following:

1. Humor to undermine pretension and pomposity: Robin Williams managed to be lovable and irreverent at the same time. He did not fear offending anyone.

As one of his obituaries reported, he once called out from a London Stage, “Chuck, Cam, great to see you.” Charles, Prince of Wales, and his wife, Lady Camilla Bowles were in the audience. He continued, “Yo yo, wussup Wales, House of Windsor, keepin’ it real!”

2. The Power of the Voice: Judaism is a religion of the ear more than eye. We hear God’s words, as it says in our central prayer, the Shema.

This emphasis on the ear over the eye carried over into modern Jewish comedy. If you watch the Marx Brothers, for example, you don’t even have to see the action to appreciate the humor.

The same was true with Robin Williams. His voice as the genie in Aladdin was instantly recognizable. It conjures up the character of the genie in all its dimensions. And who can forget the powerful voice proclaiming “Gooooood Morning Vietnam!”

3. Comedy as Healing: Jewish history is filled with destruction. Hatred and persecution have plagued us for so long, and they continue to do so in the Middle East and Europe.

One of the great healing balms of Jewish life has been humor. It has helped us maintain perspective, seeing possibilities for joy amidst pain, for sweetness amidst the harshness of life.

Robin Williams’ humor—along with his many acting roles—helped heal so many. His life mirrored the role he played so beautifully of Patch Adams, the doctor who used humor to heal his patients.

4. Comedy as a way of poking fun at ourselves: Robin Williams knew his own foibles. He did not shy away from admitting his struggles with addiction and relationships.

And he would turn those struggles into brilliant one-liners. Indeed, he once described cocaine as“God’s way of saying you make too much money.”  

Williams’ apparent suicide is a tragedy. We can never known the pain he felt and struggles he underwent. What we do know, however, is that his life was a blessing.

He fulfilled the definition of a successful life captured so brilliantly by Ralph Waldo Emerson: 

"To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded."

Rabbi Evan Moffic is the rabbi of Congregation Solel in Highland Park.

I have been feeling powerless lately.

And I know I'm not alone.  

We're powerless to stop the heartbreak and turmoil in Israel.

We're powerless to stop the gang violence in Chicago.

But then, on my way into the office the other day, I saw a guy in casual Friday attire hand a guy on a street corner a dollar--and I looked at things a bit differently. I remembered that we're not powerless.

In our little corner of the world, in small ways, we can take a bit of the power back. By doing mitzvahs, we can move the needle, and shift our despair into hope.

That's what my dear friend Stephanie did. Her infant son passed away in December and—being the incredible human being Steph is—she transformed her pain into something positive, by launching projects to help make other people's lives better. She did all of this in her son Rylan's memory, so that his short life would always have purpose.

One of the projects Stephanie created is a website for people to post kindnesses that they have committed or been shown by friends, family, and strangers. Even through that website, Rylan has left a beautiful legacy, creating ripple effects of kindness in the world.

So I thought we could all take a cue from Stephanie and Rylan, and each do a mitzvah this week:

Say a prayer for Israel and help our Israeli brothers and sisters through the JUF Israel Emergency Campaign. Buy a homeless person a sandwich. Give your seat on the bus to someone who had a harder day than you. Call up an old friend who you know could use a phone call. Invite an acquaintance who may not have a place to go for Shabbat dinner. The list goes on and on.

I'm not equating ending global terrorism with buying a guy a sandwich—because if only it were that easy. But I also think we can't just throw our hands up in exasperation.

As Pirkei Avot teaches us: "It's not incumbent upon you to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it."

So let’s stand up for Israel. Stand up for that person on the bus. Shift the balance of power and energy off some of the bad stuff and add some more good stuff into the world.

Because--man--does the world need it.

^{My grandma and me in Israel}

“So when are you moving back to Israel?"

Taken aback by this assumption by a group of Israelis I had just recently met—complete strangers—I responded hesitantly, “Hopefully I’ll visit soon, but I don’t think I’ll be moving back.”

Apparently, that answer wasn’t satisfactory.

“You’ll be back soon enough,” they assured me.

To these Israelis, there was no simple or compelling reason for permanently residing anywhere but the Holy Land, the land of milk and honey, while I couldn’t think of a reason I should.

Although I’m an Israeli native, my family moved to Chicago before I could even walk, and I was raised in the city. Despite my dual citizenship, Israel was always a land containing a people and culture that seemed distant and even unrelated to me or my life in Chicago. This distance was somewhat bridged by the Israeli food my mom cooked, the Hebrew spoken fluently at home, and the Israeli music my parents listened to.

When we finally returned to Israel for the first time since immigrating to the U.S., I was eight years old. Seeing my extended family for the first time in years, some for the first time ever; seeing my parents’ childhood homes and friends and seeing everything Israel had to offer that I had missed out on growing up was one of the strangest, yet most enjoyable experiences I’ve ever had. After our first visit, I couldn’t wait to go back again and awaited each visit with more excitement than the one before – that is, until our next trip became a permanent one.

When my mother informed me that we would be moving back to Israel halfway through my freshman year of high school (I had just started at a new school), I sulked for days. I had always loved visiting Israel, but could never imagine living there and adapting to a culture that I had barely been exposed to growing up. Israeli kids my age had grown up a world apart from me, and the thought of this culture gap was terrifying.

Luckily, I had the opportunity to attend the American International School, where I could safely meld my American and Israeli identities while living in an American “bubble.” Within my bubble, you could incorporate “sababa” into an English conversation and you could be worshipped for bringing your friends EasyMac after visiting the States. Living in Israel and attending an international school allowed me to restore my connection to my Israeli roots and to adopt a new, third identity – a combination of both my American and Israeli identities.

^{Celebrating Thanksgiving in Israel with my friends} 

When I returned to Chicago to finish my senior year of high school and to attend college at the University of Michigan, I realized what a gift it was to have discovered this “third culture,” and I realized something else too: my generation has a very different connection to Israel than those before us.

Many Jewish kids, born and raised in the U.S. don’t consider Israel a home, or place high importance on living there someday. They go on Birthright Israel, have an amazing two weeks and then Israel becomes a fond memory somewhere in the back of their minds – a place they would visit again, but never move to. But the thought that Israel will always be there for us to visit is comforting.

That’s what makes the recent escalated attacks from terrorists and those who wish to eliminate Israel’s and the Jewish people’s existence so discomforting. I do not feel comforted by the thought of my grandparents and friends remaining in Israel running to bomb shelters on a daily basis. I do not feel comforted whenever I see the names of IDF soldiers, most of who were barely out of high school, who lost their lives to protect our people. And it is not comforting seeing hateful words about Israel on social media, coming from people who understand little to nothing about the conflict in the Middle East, and feeling like they understand little to nothing about me.

For so long, as an Israeli that grew up in America, I have identified with American culture and given little thought to Israel. But each day the conflict continues, I feel a stronger sense of national pride, Israeli national pride, and a stronger connection to the country that I was lucky enough to call home for two years.

The way I look at it now, I will always and forever be an American and a Chicagoan, but Israel will always be more than just that place I was born and lived in for two years in high school. Will I return to live in Israel? Probably not. But will Israel always be my second home? Definitely.

In case you didn’t catch my first post on the Jewish origins of common English interjections, check it out here. The main source is the book Zounds! by Mark Dunn.

L-Z

Lord have mercy
Dunn lists several variants, from “lord-a-mercy” and “lordy mercy,” to just “lordy,” but does not credit it to the Jews. The Catholic Encyclopedia, however, confirms: “A more obvious precedent for Christian use was … the Old Testament,” and cites five Psalms and the prophet Isaiah. This note is under its entry for the Latin version of “Lord have mercy,” which is “Kyrie Eleison”… although in Mass, they likely don’t sing it like Mr. Mister did.

Mazel Tov
I gotta feeling that we all know how this one is used: as “congratulations.” It’s often translated as “good luck!” but it means not “I wish you good luck,” but “You had good luck.” “Tov,” of course means “good”… but a “mazel” is a “constellation.” This verbal pat on the back is, at base, quite superstitious. It implies: “The stars must have been aligned in your favor.”

Nu
From the Russian “Well?” but turned into its own vocabulary in Yiddish, says Dunn: “from fondness and warmth to outright hostility.” It’s the second most frequently spoken Yiddish word, says Yiddish linguist Leo Rosten, after “Oy.” Also a common punchline.

Oy (vey)
Dunn: “‘Oy’ without the ‘vey’ in Yiddish means simply ‘oh.’ From pain and grief to anger, annoyance and simple weariness. ‘Vey’ means ‘woe.’” So it’s, “Oy! Am I glad I ran into you!”… but “Oy vey! I can’t believe I ran into him!”

Phooey
Dunn explains that this was popularized by Jewish gossip columnist Walter Winchell in the 1930s, and that “it probably comes from the Yiddish ‘feh!’ or ‘fooy!’” It conveys “contempt, disbelief, or outright disgust,” and it certainly sounds like spiteful spitting.

Selah
The Psalms were meant to be sung, so it is thought that “selah”— found 71 times in Psalms—is a musical instruction, perhaps a crescendo, coda, or rest. It’s now a town in Washington State, the title of a book of poems and the name of a Christian rock band, a Belgian singer-songwriter, and the daughter of a Jewish friend of mine.

Shalom
Really? You need us to tell you what this word means? Shalom!

Shazam!
This is a Jewish thing on the Internet, so of course we were going to get around to comic books. When young Billy Batson says this magic word, he turns into an adult superhero, Captain Marvel, a.k.a. Shazam. The word itself alludes to the inspiration of his powers: the wisdom of Solomon, the strength of Hercules, the stamina of Atlas, the power of Zeus, the courage of Achilles, and the speed of Mercury. As you can see, these are all Greek figures – except the first one, a Jewish king of Israel. (You see, the Greek figure of wisdom was Athena, a goddess. Shazam in a man, so that wouldn’t work … at least back in the day.)

So long
Dunn says this expression, not popular in the U.S. until 1850, comes from late 18th century British sailors stationed in the Middle East, who misheard “salaam.” If so, that makes it a cousin to “shalom.” (Again, not the song you expected? Fine…)

Tui! Tui!
Dunn lists this as “Toy! Toy!” but who says it like that? When you want to shoo away the Evil Eye, you spit at it with a “tui.” You don’t promise it a plaything or a “toy.” Another variant is the triple-spit of “Poo-poo-poo!”  

Maybe we should have stopped with “So long.”  

“I’m not eating carbs this week, I feel so fat,” says your friend who is – by most definitions – skinny. And you want to scream, because there are people who really need to lose weight and can’t.

Well, one of the reasons that skinny friend can’t lose that last five pounds is the same reason the guy that needs to lose 30 can’t do it – stress. I’m not going to talk like an infomercial touting some wonder pill that blocks cortisol (stress hormone), but I do believe in the cheesy line that’s also a book, “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff.”

If you want to have success in wellness, peace of mind helps, and sometimes comes in the form of a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. They are amazing, even better a cookie from Specialty’s Bakery Shop, or the fried goodness of a Donut Vault Donut.

I know these are not the words a personal trainer is supposed to utter. The truth is trainers LOVE treats. Some bury that love so deep inside their rock hard core, that they miss out on an amazing, decadent, delicious life. And that is no way to live.

I’m not suggesting you splurge daily on a brownie, but once in a while you should have a cupcake. Maybe don’t eat the entire bag of brownie bites, but have one. Here’s a very typical situation for someone trying to lose weight:

1) Avoids the cookie they want
2) Eats too much fruit and rice cakes instead of eating cookie
3) Ends up eating the cookie anyway

This cycle is unhealthy for your psyche. Treat yourself occasionally. If you are craving a cookie, split one with a friend. If all you want in life is ice cream, go and buy one scoop in a cup, rather than a whole pint from the grocery store when you know you’re the one who will finish it. The same thing goes for fries: have a fry if you want one – just don’t eat the entire serving, which is usually way too many. I am lucky, I usually do not order fries but my wife always does, so I can always have a few but know I won’t gorge on the salty fried fun food.

The more you stress about every bite, the less you enjoy life, and depression and weight gain go hand and hand. Don’t use me as your excuse to eat a dozen Munchkins from Dunkin Donuts, but one is fine. And for the love of G-d don’t talk about it 24/7. It’s not healthy to worry about your weight all the time and lie about how you don’t even like chocolate and carbs. Make smart eating decisions 85 percent of the time, exercise most days, and the weight will gradually fall off.               

Side dishes have never been my forte. I am more the main entrée type of gal – that is where I sparkle.

But last summer I was at my friend Tanya’s house when she was whipping up a last minute BBQ – a typical weekly occurrence – and in between taking sips of her sauvignon blanc and putting band-aids on her son’s knees, she whipped up a salad that is nothing more than sheer genius.

You see, my friend Tanya and her husband Bo are my favorite type of chefs, because they really are not chefs, just real people who love to cook and love food. Their BBQs are rarely planned ahead of time but also end up being some sort of organized chaos that ends in laughter echoing from their backyard at three in the morning.

Tanya is one of the only people who I can actually stand next to in the kitchen and feel like we are actually creating a dish together rather than me dictating a recipe and her attempting to execute it. Bo is the so-called foodie of the two, constantly whipping up savory concoctions in his kitchen and on his grill and experimenting with new flavors. He uses fresh herbs from his own garden and random other ingredients he picks up at one of those Asian stores we all love but fear going to due to the unusually strange aromas billowing out of it.

Ahhhhhh, but I digress, back to the salad. While the men grilled brontosaurus-sized meats outside, the girls all huddled around the kitchen island and sipped wine while sharing stories, recipes and anecdotes. I noticed Tanya peeling freshly grilled whole eggplants, tomatoes and chopping cilantro. She then combined all these ingredients in a square dish, sliced them roughly with a knife and added some salt and cilantro and placed it on the kitchen counter for the girls to munch on. I took a bite and was instantly hooked. Holy Julia Child!  It was amazing! This salad was so purely Tanya. Simple, satisfying and delicious.

In her usual humble manner, when I went to compliment her on it she claimed the recipe was not hers. Whether it is hers, his or someone’s from a land faraway, recipes are meant to share, and so this one is for you  A simple and savory salad to go along with any of your favorite meals!

Grilled Eggplant Salad
From Girlandthekitchen.com

Ingredients

5 Large Eggplants 
5 Medium Sized Tomatoes – Roma Tomatoes work great for this 
1 Large Onion – Paper Skin Removed 
2 Large Red Bell Peppers 
4 Cloves of garlic, minced on microplane 
1 Bunch of Cilantro – very roughly chopped 
Olive Oil 
Salt and Pepper to taste 

Instructions

1. Roast all the vegetables on a grill turned to high or in a 450-degree oven. Making sure to rub them all down with olive oil. And prick the eggplants with a fork to keep them from exploding.

2. The tomatoes and peppers will cook the fastest so keep an eye on them while cooking. They should take about 15- 20 minutes. The eggplants take about 20-25. But again keep an eye on them turning them every 7 minutes or so.

3. Once the tomatoes, eggplants and peppers are charred, throw them in a bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Allow to stand for 15-30 minutes. This makes the skin come off easier. Place the onions on the side.

4. Peel the skin off of all the vegetables except the onions and toss in a square dish. Cut all the vegetables very roughly in the dish.  Since they are all so soft they will cut easily.

5. Cut the onion into small dice, roughly and combine with vegetables.

6. Add cilantro, garlic, season to taste and enjoy  

^{Julian Edelman} 

It’s been a busy summer of trades and signings for Jewish athletes. Here is an update of the comings and goings around the sports world:

Gal Mekel is coming off a solid Summer League. He was plagued by injuries last season but with the Dallas Mavericks unloading some of their back court, Mekel will have a good opportunity.  

Two other Jewish basket-ballers are headed west. Omri Caspi has been waived after a recent trade with the Houston Rockets. He has signed a one-year deal with his original team, the Sacramento Kings. Jordan Farmar has inked a two-year deal with the Los Angeles Clippers.  

In baseball, Sam Fuld is headed back to Oakland. Fuld began the season in Oakland, but was claimed off waivers by the Minnesota Twins. The trade helps the A's with their bench depth down the stretch as they gear up for the playoffs.  

Danny Valencia is also on the move headed to Toronto. He was on ESPN recently with a great web gem.  

Is New England Patriots wide receiver Julian Edelman headed to NASCAR? Well, he is staying in pro football, but he has recently been seen on the racetrack serving as the pace car driver for Camping World RV Sales 301 Sprint Cup race.  

In hockey, Jason Zucker has resigned with the Minnesota Wild and hopes to be 100 percent after his injury; Mike Cammalleri signed a five-year $25-million deal with the New Jersey Devils; Mike Brown signed a two-year extension with the San Jose Sharks; and Carter Camper signed with the Ottawa Senators.

I remember my first impression of Israel vividly.

It was almost sunrise when my mother and I pulled up to my cousins’ apartment in Petah Tikva. We were disheveled and weary from travel, laden with overflowing suitcases and discombobulated from the time difference. As I yanked my suitcase out of the elevator, a quick beam of light flickered from the balcony to my side. Gently abandoning our luggage in the hallway, my mother and I stepped out into the warm morning light.

It was about 5 a.m., and the sun was just rising. It cast a warm glow over the chalky white apartments, illuminating laundry strewn on clotheslines, flapping gently in the breeze. Hilltops flowed like soft waves in the distance, and the creeping sunlight lit upon packs of stray cats howling in the streets. It looked so authentically Middle Eastern, and unlike any city I’d ever seen before.

To this day, Petah Tikva is known as one of the ugliest cities in Israel. It’s ridiculed on Israeli TV and my teenage cousin repeatedly moans about how boring it is. Still, at that moment, it seemed like the most beautiful place on earth to me.

From that day forward, I spent years fantasizing about Israel, Googling cities from Netanya to Eilat and picking up scraps of Hebrew that I gleaned from synagogue. At age 15, I was even researching real estate in Jerusalem. You could say that I fell in love with the country.

Earlier this week, Alison Benedikt — senior editor of Slate magazine — published an article titled, “Did Birthright Kill Max Steinberg?” Since then, the title has been changed to something a little less preposterous, but the point remains the same — Benedikt, a former Israel advocate and now a rather bitter critic, seems to believe that a largely donor-funded trip to Israel is actually a trick masterminded by the Israeli government to ensnare foreigners (Americans specifically) into the IDF.

Of all the problems in the Middle East — Sudanese refugees, civil war in Syria, the dismantlement of Iraq as a country —  and Benedikt takes a moment to tackle the issue of … Birthright?  

Several responses have cropped up to Slate’s inflammatory piece, citing statistics that show just how unsupported Benedikt’s claims are — the percentage of Americans who join the IDF as a direct cause of Birthright is insignificant.

But since Benedikt’s article was pretty much all anecdotal, I’ll insert an anecdote here myself. I, too, went on Birthright. I tried to take it for what it was — a highly enjoyable, but cursory glance at a country much deeper and multi-layered than camel rides in the desert or a sunrise hike up Masada.

On one particular night, our group visited the graves of fallen Israeli soldiers. In the past, I’d played with the idea of what it might be like to join the IDF (though, with my feeble muscles and weak nerves, I can’t imagine they’d want me very much). But as the Israelis in our group stepped forward one by one, tears forming in their eyes as they described the loved ones they’ve lost, I realized the gravity of the decision to enlist.

To put it bluntly, seeing the agonized faces of my Israeli friends as we hovered over the graves definitely did not make me want to sign up. I shouldn’t speak for anyone else — this was just my experience. But I’ve never known anyone, not in my group or any other group, who joined the IDF for no other reason except Birthright. It feels ridiculous even just typing that out.

Overall, of course Birthright is pro-Israel. The program did not take us exploring through the West Bank or peeking at Gaza City. The issue of a Palestinian state is an enormous topic in Israel, but the purpose of Birthright is not to wrestle weighty political issues with packs of tourists. The purpose is to offer a quick glimpse of a beautiful country often pictured in the media as a bombed-out and hopeless minefield.

It’s important to remember that, as a Birthright participant, nobody is knotting a blindfold over your head. You’re welcome to enter Israel with an open mind and look at its society with a critical eye — as you should in every place you live in or visit. No one will prevent you from doing research and forming an opinion of your own. No one will beat you with a stick for asking questions.

In her article, Benedikt was clearly baffled that a young, American boy such as Max Steinberg, with his whole life ahead of him, would choose such an unlikely route as an IDF soldier. After all, she argues, many young Americans barely even know Hebrew when they enlist— the implication here being that soldiers like Steinberg could just as easily have chosen China or France or any other foreign nation to serve in. Why fight for a country you weren’t even born in?

Maybe Benedikt, in her multiple trips to Israel, never felt at home there. Maybe she never dreamed about Israel, or never yearned to go back, craving that slice of Middle Eastern land more than her own hometown. And that’s very understandable.

I didn’t fall in love with Israel during Birthright. Don’t get me wrong, I had a great time. But the most unforgettable moments are those when Israel amazed me in the smallest of ways — Jerusalem vendors belting out prices for cucumbers, the smell of fresh challah mingling with with the floating aroma of shawarma, narrow Old-City alleyways flowing seamlessly from the Arab to Jewish Quarters. From the moment I first saw it, Israel touched me. Since then, the impression it made has never left.

The fact that Benedikt never had these feelings does not mean that she somehow dodged Birthright’s secret agenda; it just means that everyone’s experiences are different. That’s all. Birthright may have its own purposes, but if its agenda solely involves enlisting American soldiers, it doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job.

The other night I was enjoying a delightful date at a great pizza place in the Loop. In between sparkling conversation and stellar food (shout out to Pizano’s), something other than the cute guy across the table stole my attention. Flickering on big screen TV screen were the latest dispatches from Gaza.  

My demeanor shifted as I continued to stare at the reporter outfitted in sand-colored fatigues, trying to make out the specifics of what he was reporting. I quickly realized my faux pas and diverted my gaze away from the television. You’ve only been seeing this guy for a little while, I thought. Be true to yourself, but be cool.

So, delicately, I let loose what was running rampant through my mind. I shared that I am deeply pro-Israel, a little bit of my family’s history with the country, my feelings on the latest conflict, and so on and so forth.

He took a breath. A Chicago transplant via the Pacific Northwest, he said that I was the first Jewish girl he’d ever dated. I took the liberty of briefly going over the latest news and what I knew about the conflict escalation, emphasizing how important it is to read articles from various, qualified sources to make an informed judgment. I felt myself getting long-winded, but as I pieced together my thoughts, feelings and insights on this critical moment, I felt a sense of pride rising up that prodded me to continue explaining. Great date conversation – who knows? But Israel is an important part of me – I’m going to talk about it.  

I will never claim to be the perfect spokesperson, but I try my best to keep up on what’s going on, keep a cool head, while holding fast to my belief in Israel. It wasn’t really a test – but he passed with flying colors, so there.

Also, this is not the first time I’ve been on this end of a “you’re the first Jewish person I’ve met/dated/traveled with” conversation. I find the prospect of being someone’s first Jewish fill-in-the-blank incredibly interesting.  

I grew up in a very large Jewish community (Northwest Chicago suburbs, represent). When I was younger, I vaguely knew that growing up with so many Jewish friends was an anomaly. Studying abroad and later living in France introduced me to some amazing people – people who had never met or shared a close friendship with anyone Jewish. These friendships continually teach me not only more about other religions and perspectives, but they also encourage further exploration of what aspects of Judaism mean the most to me. Sharing Jewish traditions with others and discovering more about of Christianity, Islam, Buddhism and more is enriching in so many ways.

I’ll never forget the conversations I had with my friend Abed, a Syrian living in France. We shared open and judgment-free discourse on issues in the Middle East rooted in honesty while remaining respectful. Our views could not be more diametrically opposed, but we share an overarching desire for peace and that is what matters most.  

Regarding anti-Semitic attacks in Europe and elsewhere, my heart aches profoundly. There’s simply nothing more to say. However, on both sides of the conversation, it is my deepest hope that the majority of citizens are searching for peace during this incredibly trying time.

During my undergraduate years, online dating was in its relative infancy and I thought a person would have to be crazy to answer a personal ad via a newspaper, let alone online. I knew a couple of bold friends who had tried meeting fellow students through local personal ads and I figured they’d be dead somewhere in an alley if they kept up these shenanigans. (Not to mention, I couldn’t understand why they were using such seemingly drastic measures to meet people when we were on a campus full of singles.)  

I never could have guessed that a mere few years later, I’d find my future roommate of four years on a site like Craigslist.  

Whereas Facebook, which arrived on the scene while I was in college, changed the Internet landscape from a somewhat creepy world of Internet strangers into one of socially acceptable, voyeuristic, semi-strangers, Craigslist has maintained a somewhat sketchy persona, with the “Craigslist Killer” and other creepy stories trailing behind it. That said, it’s a practical site for buying crap, getting rid of crap, and finding a place to store your crap—a.k.a. an apartment.  

I gave Craigslist a chance, not once, but twice, in my post-collegiate years when I needed a roommate, and neither situation was the nightmare I anticipated after hearing other friends’ horror stories. Many 20-somethings find themselves a bit stranded after returning home from college, as I did. Most of my college friends were spread out throughout the country, and various high school friends were as well.  

My first Craigslist roommate was not very friendly. I moved into her domain as a sublet, and she began plotting her departure and condo purchase after I occupied the room of her long-time BFF. I can safely say I knew this girl as well on the day she moved out as I did the day I moved in. I had come into that apartment hoping to find a new friend, and perhaps a new social network in Chicago. My first Craigslist roommate had no interest in such matters. We said “hello” in passing, and politely bumped around each other in our small kitchen, but otherwise she kept to herself. It was disheartening because despite our random meeting, we had both attended the University of Wisconsin together and were even in the same sorority pledge class (though I later deactivated from that sorority).  

When I returned to Craigslist for roommate No. 2, I’d given up on the pipe dream of a friendly roommate-soulmate. At a certain point after college, I just wanted someone who wouldn’t keep me up on a work night and would pay her bills on time. I had formed my own new network of friends at the time, and so could she.  

Hesitant to take that plunge again, one girl who read my ad was determined to burrow herself into my Roscoe Village abode. After interviewing various candidates, she appeared, like a rush of wind, and was ready to call in the moving truck. This first meeting, unbeknownst to me, was a preview of our relationship dynamic: she, the restless and decisive go-getter; me, the restless and indecisive (eventual) go-getter.  

This energetic and quirky Southern girl with an Orthodox Jewish background and a corporate job threw me at first, particularly once she revealed her intermittent Southern drawl. According to her Southern handbook, all sodas were “Cokes” and real gentleman were supposed to hold your hand on the first date. I was born and raised in the Chicago area and had a writing career under way, and both corporate life and Southern Jews were foreign concepts to me.  

In our first meeting, the Southern belle and I realized we might have a foundation for a good bond based on three criteria: 1) We were both Jewish. 2) We both loved the Gilmore Girls and Bravo. 3) We both were longtime fans of Ingrid Michaelson.  

As trivial as these commonalities might seem, they wound up being part of the glue that held us together as roommates for four years. Our common TV preferences kept us from fighting over the remote, except when we diverged away from Bravo, and I wanted to watch the Vampire Diaries (embarrassing, but true) and she wanted to watch Duck Dynasty (equally embarrassing).  

More importantly, while originating from different states, our Jewish commonality meant we had similar upbringings. Although she was more religious, we found a way to make it work with separate cookware. She also managed to more actively pull me into Jewish life in Chicago, attending more events and meeting more people. We built Jewish traditions with each other by attending some holiday services together and even hosting annual holiday parties.  

She also taught me about Costco, proper winter shovels, and the value of good tequila after a hard day; I decorated with each coming season and holiday, populated our kitchen with crazy gadgets and stress-baked while she reaped the sweet benefits. Together, we survived our mid-20s, job transitions, heartbreak, our crazy Jewish families near and far, Snowmageddon, and the Polar Vortex.  

This Southern tour de force forced me out of my comfort zone in ways I didn’t expect and also proved to be one of the kindest and truest friends I’ve known during my time living in the city. Friendship among roommates can go two ways: It can either grow, or shrink and become toxic. My Southern belle and I had a slow-growing friendship, but we eventually let each other in, in ways only matched by relationships I have with my sisters. We challenged each other to self-examine, grow and start again. I believe her deep faith in Judaism and her religious background colored her perspective during our late-night talks. I also think her good heart, selflessness and nonjudgmental nature made her a unique, admirable and rare soul.  

Two neurotic Jews from different regions of the country were able to come together via a creepy medium and make it work—a technological success story in the modern age. My Southern belle and I parted ways this summer, with her moving long distance, and we’re each figuring out what it means to forge ahead on our own. I’d like to think we’ve taken a piece of each other with us on our new journeys. If nothing else, we’ve learned a valuable lesson: A stranger who likes the Gilmore Girls is “good people.”

Becoming a new parent comes with a whole list of new challenges and experiences. Leading up to the birth of our son, John, my wife, Rose, and I tried to prepare as much as we could. We read books, downloaded apps and watched videos to make sure we had all the right skills and had purchased all the right supplies. We were so exhaustive in our search for knowledge that at one point we fell asleep while watching a video on how to put the baby to sleep.  

Despite all this careful preparation, I found there were so many things that still caught us off guard and threw us for a loop. Below are five of those peculiarities of parenthood that I managed to jot down between diaper changes.  

1. Everyone you see has advice for you  

Oh yes, everyone is some kind of parenting expert. Most of the advice will start with the phrase, “You are going to get a lot of advice … oh and what worked for me is …” All advice from one person conflicts with the next person’s advice. The challenge here is you really don’t want or need any advice. You really just want to take a nap. This, of course, leads to the next unexpected reality:  

2. The only question anyone will ask is “Are you sleeping?”

The only true answer to this question is no. Anyone who has a newborn baby and answers yes to that question either has already secured 24-hour childcare or is lying. New babies need to eat every 2-3 hours, and at least one or both parents need to get up to make this happen. Asking this question is like asking someone that just went swimming if they got wet.

3. Your day slows way down

Most days, the biggest choice that you get to make is to sleep or shower. One morning, we noticed how nice the weather was outside and decided it would be a great day to take the baby out for a walk. By 8:30 that night we finally had made it out of the house for our walk. I have no idea what happened during those 12 hours because it literally felt like we spent the entire day getting ready to go for this walk. I understand that I have to lower my expectations for what it means to have a “productive” day.

4. You will get peed on

I had heard about this and always assumed it was because people were careless. This was the one that I was sure I could avoid. But John found a way to pee on us anyway. The first time involved watching one of those special covers, called “pee-pee teepees,” go airborne. At that point I wasn’t even mad, I was just impressed. After that, I considered moving the changing table away from the curtains, but have yet to find the energy to deal with it.

5. Poop is now a central part of your life and it doesn’t even gross you out any more

When your child is born, the hospital will give you a chart and ask you to start keeping track of how many times your kid poops. From that moment, you will become consumed with the need to know anything and everything about your child’s poop. You will scour the Internet for information about what colors are normal. You will ask the doctor over and over again to confirm that there is not a poop problem. You will ask the following questions several times each day:  

 “Did the baby poop?” “When was the last time the baby pooped?” “Is that poop on your shirt?”

Eight weeks in, all I can say is that a big part of parenthood is about facing these surprises and so much more. It’s a window into the world of a psychotic person. Having a baby was the biggest disruption to my life that I have ever experienced, but I am not even mad about it.  

That’s the crazy part. I am not one bit mad at the little person who caused all of this. How could anyone be mad at this kid, just look at that face!      

You’re now looking at the newest member of the Global Entry program, offered by U.S. Customs and Border Protection. After a thorough investigation of my background and determining that I’m a relatively nice person, I now have access to quickly cut through security lines and customs lines when coming into the U.S. from abroad. So, here I come, world! Or, more accurately, after exploring other countries, I’ll get to enter back into “Sweet Home Chicago” a little faster.  

But this isn’t the funny part.  

The funny part is that when I received my letter in the mail with my new Global Entry card, here was the return address:

Was it absolutely necessary for the return address to indicate that the Global Entry office is next to McDonald’s?  

First, are letter carriers not as smart as they used to be? Suppose the Global Entry office sent me a letter, the address turned out to be incorrect, and the postman had to return the letter to its sender. Would he really get so lost that he’d need a physical landmark to direct him?  

Second, when I think of the people who protect our country from the bad guys from abroad, I like to think of neat, clean offices with people wearing badges sitting at organized desks with white walls. I don’t like to think of greasy cheeseburgers and M&M McFlurries. Though, then again, McDonald’s might be the most American thing in our country, so maybe it is appropriate to pay homage to the symbol of our country’s obesity on my Global Entry letter.  

Third, if you’re going to mention McDonald’s, please note the proper spelling of your beloved neighbor: M-c-D-O-N-A-L-D-apostrophe-S.  

Maybe I should start addressing my own letters with landmarks.  

You can write to me at:  

Lia Lehrer
One of the highrises on Lake Shore Drive, across from the dog beach
Slightly south of the Clock Tower
Near the intersection that becomes a swimming pool in rainstorms
Two apartments to the right of the apartment that always smells like Indian food  

You’d have no trouble finding me, right?  

It’s been said that within each pomegranate there are 613 seeds, just like there are 613 commandments. This is why the pomegranate is one of the seven species of Israel. I haven’t actually counted the seeds (it’s on my bucket list!), so I don’t know if it’s true. However, I do believe that the pomegranate is a perfect symbol for Israel. A pomegranate isn’t large, but it’s filled with powerful seeds, which is fitting for Israel – small but strong.

A pomegranate has an outside peel to protect the inside of the fruit, plump seeds to eat, delicious juice to drink, and oil to help us glow. Each part works in unison to give people substantial amounts of vitamins and nutrients. We need the whole pomegranate to keep our bodies healthy in the same way that we need every part of Israel to keep the country strong.

In addition to protecting the seeds of the fruit, the peel of the pomegranate, which is edible if cleaned properly, has antioxidant properties. Antioxidants prevent free radical damage, which is harmful to our health. The peel represents the land of Israel. Jewish people feel safe in Israel in the same way that the seeds are safe inside a pomegranate.

Pomegranate seeds are small, but packed with nutrients such as B vitamins, potassium, fiber, and iron. Pomegranate seeds also have Vitamin C and antioxidants that keep us from getting sick. The seeds are thought to protect against breast and prostate cancers, help lower cholesterol and reduce one’s risk for heart disease. I find the seeds symbolically comparable to the people of Israel. The population may be small, but each citizen fights to protect the heart of the Jewish people, Israel.

From the seeds, pomegranate juice can be extracted. The most nutrient dense and potent properties of the seed make the juice, which is similar to the Israeli army. In Israel, men and women are required to join the army at the age of 18, the time at which most people are at their physical best.

Pomegranate juice has been compared to other antioxidant juices such as blueberry and grape, as well as red wine, and outperformed all of them in heart health. Pomegranate juice helps fight atherosclerosis and inflammation, and lowers LDL cholesterol. It also supports the synthesis of nitric oxide, which is needed to prevent fatty deposits from sticking to the walls of our blood vessels, and promotes the vasodilation, or expansion, of our blood vessels to allow blood to flow freely throughout our bodies. This is similar to the Israeli army that assists the people and the government of Israel to run a free and democratic society.

The oils of pomegranates are used in beauty products. They help keep our hair, nails, and cuticles strong and beautiful and give them a certain glow. The oils represent the children of Israel. Each unique child is part of Israel, but these children have not made an impact yet. They will grow and one day be recognized, but when they are young they are the bright shiny lights that represent Israel’s future.

The pomegranate could represent the 613 commandments, or the fruit, juice, seeds, and oil might signify Israel and the Jewish people. Throughout history, the pomegranate has also signified fertility, with each seed representing a life that has the potential to blossom. We can only hope that the pomegranate continues to symbolize fertility of the people of Israel, and within the nation itself.

I have secret delusions of grandeur. I fantasize about a lot of things. If I look up from my computer screen I can see my daydreams strewn about my apartment. There’s my treadmill, my enormous and endless mountain of a reading list on my desk and my dining room table whose top I can’t seem to get clean. I have others; most of them are far too embarrassing to share. My latest? I want to be your grandmother.  

Don’t be alarmed; I know that sounds completely ridiculous. I don’t want to actually be a Bubbe. What I want is to be the sort of person who can whip up treats without breaking a sweat.  

My granny-daydream mostly involves baking pies that pop magically from the oven 3.4 minutes after you arrive at my apartment. The buzzer on the oven will go off and you’ll give me a questioning look. I’ll laugh to myself and then say, “Oh, this old thing? I threw it together from some stuff I had in the fridge.” You know, like grandmas often do.  

I had a couple of friends over this weekend and I decided to put my inner granny to the test. I bought cherries from the grocery store and a few other ingredients including a pre-made piecrust. Yes, pre-made crust because Bubbes don’t waste time. I was beyond excited. I was planning to make a day of it. I’d take my time and create the most magical and tasty cherry pie my friends had ever seen. I imagined my friends arriving to the thick and delicious aroma of cherry pie. It would smell like, well, your grandmother’s house.  

I cannot lie. It was a disaster at the start. Daydreams are dreams, after all. The pre-made crust was frozen. There was no time for it to thaw. I held it to try to warm it up. I put it in a zip-lock bag and ran hot water over it. I glared at the crust hoping the death rays from my eyes would help bring it to room temperature. Finally, I gave up and removed the dough from the packaging. I warmed it by kneading it with my hands and forming it into a ball. So much for saving time!  

But wait! There’s more!  

News flash! Cherries have pits. I suppose I knew this somewhere in the very deep, dark corners of my mind. The pits have to be removed. How do you remove cherry pits when you don’t have a cherry pitter? At first, I sliced the cherries in half and pulled at the pits. I guess that’s a fine way to get the job done, but it’s very tedious. Thanks to Google, I learned that all you need is a set of chopsticks. You push the stick through each cherry and the pit pops right out.  Crisis number two averted!  

For all of my stress, worry and panic, my pie came out perfectly. I’m not sure I’ve ever been more proud of a dessert and the house did smell incredible. So everything worked out. Maybe this is how it starts for all grannies? Maybe the measured calm that your Bubbe seems to ooze is something that she’s had time to practice. Or … maybe we just don’t get the see the part where she’s standing in the kitchen Googling how to pit cherries and shaking her fists at the sky. I guess we’ll never know.  

Sweet Cherry Streusel Pie
(adapted from The Four & Twenty Blackbirds Pie Book by Emily and Melissa Elsen)  

Cherry Filling

1 small baking apple
5 cups sweet cherries, pitted
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
¾ cup packed light brown sugar
3 tablespoons potato (or corn) starch
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground cardamom
2 dashes Angostura bitters  

Preheat the oven to 425.  

Peel the apple, and then shred it on the large holes of a box grater. Combine the shredded apple with the cherries, lemon juice, brown sugar, potato (or corn) starch, cinnamon, cardamom, and bitters in a large bowl and toss until well mixed. Pour the filling into the refrigerated pie shell and evenly distribute the streusel on top.  

Bake for 20 to 25 minutes. Lower the temperature to 375 and continue to bake for 30 to 35 minutes longer.  

Streusel Topping

1 cup all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons packed light brown sugar
4 teaspoons granulated sugar
¼ teaspoon kosher salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into ½ inch cubes, at room temperature  

Stir together the flour, brown and granulated sugars, and salt in a large bowl. Sprinkle in the butter pieces and toss to coat. Rub the butter into the dry ingredients with your fingertips until the butter is incorporated and the mixture is chunky but not homogenous.  

Pie Crust

Seriously. Unless you’re an actual granny who has a pie crust recipe memorized and can make a pie crust in your sleep…buy a pre-made crust! Get a pie crust from your favorite grocery store and follow the directions on the box. Make sure to give yourself enough time to manage this piece of the project! The dough needs to thaw before you bake it!

Ask anyone why a Jewish camp is important and you’ll get a bunch of answers involving words such as identity, continuity, community, friends, and informal education. For many, the word “camp” is a trigger that magically transports people back to their glorious days attending summer camp. I am not one of those people.  

Growing up in Wichita, Kansas, there were a few kids that went to Jewish sleep-away camps. I was never into going away because of two things: air-conditioning and cable TV.  

I did spend two or three years during my elementary school life attending a local Jewish day camp run by the Mid-Kansas Jewish Federation called CAMP SHALOM. I don’t remember much, except the camp brought the kids from my Traditional congregation together with the kids from the Reform Congregation. Oh, and we had rocking sailor hats we were allowed to decorate and had to wear on trips. That stunk.  

Now, like I wrote, I wasn’t so into camp. However, I totally loved being a camp counselor. I think, in the summers before 9th grade and before 11th grade, I was a counselor at CAMP SHALOM. I don’t remember much about working at the camp, except that my “bunk” listened to the Beastie Boys’ first album, “License to Ill,” and The Clash’s “London Calling” (a double album) most that summer. The rest of my summer days and night during high school were spent doing camp-esque things like hanging with friends, staying up late, drinking bottomless cups of coffee, diving out of the windows of various homes and apartments when law enforcement types would break up parties due to crazy loud music blasting. You know, normal stuff.  

During my summers in college I also was a counselor at a camp in Baltimore. It was a sports camp marketed to Jewish boys between the ages of 13-18. In the morning there were laid back clusters of campers studying Jewish texts with counselors and in the afternoon there were sports leagues, with trips at night. From a counselor’s view, most of those kids had a good time.  

I was also a camp counselor last summer. I ran a camp for my 13-year-old son and two of his friends. They were already out of school, but their real camps hadn’t started yet. I was in between jobs so it made sense to keep the boys occupied as much as possible for as little money was possible. Now that was a great camp. We spent the days checking out cool places around Chicago that were off the beaten path (maybe our destinations will be my blog topic next month).  

Now, as a parent whose kids attend Jewish camps I see why it’s so important, even if your kids attend a Jewish day school. All the buzzwords above are true. My kids get to reinforce the Judaism they have at home and that they learn in school. It gives them opportunities to be involved in art, drama, gymnastics, and ga-ga. They get to do cool things like take trips to water parks, make shelters in trees and learn to work as a team.  

Just this past Monday, 600 children from the Chicago Jewish community did something that I doubt any of them had done before. Kids from local day camps in the West Rogers Park area gathered together at a congregation and said a few chapters from the book of Psalms (in Hebrew, Tehillim). They did so to show unity and support for the safety of those living in Israel. Not exactly an activity that any of us thought our kids would be doing this summer, but a powerful experience. I wish I had been one of those counselors.

Fresh off the Spurs’ NBA Championship, I wrote about how their win over the Big 3 of Miami signified that teams can still win with teamwork over grouping stars.

We were on the cusp of the off-season and the Bulls were tight on the trail of Carmelo Anthony and Kevin Love. And I’ll be honest, while my expectations were low, I was obsessed with this free agency period. Checking Twitter every few minutes, keeping SportsCenter on while I worked at all times, checking every NBA rumor site. I was hooked. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. The thought of having our current roster along with Carmelo Anthony was making my basketball brain explode.

But alas, this free agent period ended like all free agent periods in Chicago. We came up short.

Carmelo stayed in New York, Love stayed in Minnesota (for now), LeBron went to Cleveland, Bosh and Wade stayed in Miami and Stephenson went to Charlotte. The Bulls made some moves, which I’ll focus on a bit later, but I think the best moves for the Bulls were those made by other teams. Carmelo stayed in New York on a team that is rebuilding instead of teaming up with LeBron somewhere, and LeBron James went back to a young but talented Cleveland team, officially ending the Big 3 era. The East has become spread out for the first time since 2009 and as a result, is wide open.

The moves the Bulls made focused on depth, something they haven’t truly had since the 2010 season where they went to the Eastern Conference Finals. They added, Pau Gasol, Nikola Mirotic, Aaron Brooks, Doug McDermott, and re-signed Kirk Hinrich. The Bulls are 11 deep if you count Tony Snell, who is having a very good Summer League, into the equation.

Obviously the biggest factor in their success this season is Derrick Rose—will he play for an entire season and will he return to form. But assuming he does, because for our own mental health we have to, the Bulls have given Thibs reliable options off the bench so he doesn’t run the same six players into the ground the way he did the last two years. Hopefully he’ll be able to follow the Spurs’ model and take advantage of his depth to allow his top players to be fresh come playoff time. Here is my take on the new Bulls.

Pau Gasol: Veteran, great passer, scorer and rebounder. Takes Boozer’s spot, should have numbers about as good as Boozer at his best, with fewer bonehead plays and screams for Jo to “get that.” I’m interested to see how much he has left in the tank, but Pau strikes me as the kind of guy with a skill set that can last him well into his later years if his minutes are managed (which is no guarantee with this coach). He creates a really exciting 3 man big rotation with Jo and Taj, and should be lethal running the pick-and-roll with DRose. He has championship experience and is obviously highly respected by the Bulls.

Nikola Mirotic: Honestly, a big fat question mark, and the best bet is probably not to set expectations too high for him for a while. However, a stretch 4 as your 8th or 9th man with the potential to be a solid shooter and a matchup nightmare is great to have. As long as he isn’t depended on to heavily early on, and my guess knowing Thibs is he won’t be, he could be a really interesting piece. And after waiting on him for three years, I’m just excited to see him out there. 

Doug McDermott: I watched a little of him in Summer League, and while I agree with the qualifier “its summer league,” this guy could be really, really good. He is an incredible shooter – the comparisons to Kyle Korver are dead on. Moves well without the ball and has a very quick release. But he is big and can get to the hoop as well, which is something Korver never did. Thibs tends to “red shirt” his rookies, but I can see this guy very quickly eating up Dunleavy’s minutes.

Aaron Brooks: I think this is a great signing. Not only as the Nate Robinson, DJ Augustin, etc. DRose insurance plan, but as a legit 1 who can come off the bench and score. He can give Rose some rest and also allow Hinrich to move over to the 2 in some lineups. Also gives the Bulls a very interesting option to go small and fast with he and Rose together. A trusted veteran who Thibs can trust now allows this team to go a legit 11 deep.

What exactly makes a movie Jewish? Does it have to revolve around Jewish characters doing Jewish things? Does it champion Jewish values? Does it need Jewish actors or writers/directors? And what does it even mean to be a “Jewish movie?” Should we even try to label movies as Jewish in the first place?  

Whoa. Overload. And it just gets more complicated with comedies. Do a few Jewish jokes count? Where’s the line between reinforcing our stereotypes and spoofing them?  

You Don’t Mess with the Zohan, for example, features a Jewish actor (Adam Sandler) playing an Israeli character, yet is it any more Jewish than the family movie Holes, which on the outside appears to have nothing Jewish about it, but has a cast full of Jews, was directed by a Jew (Andrew Davis) and was written by a Jewish author (Louis Sachar)? You have to do a little digging (no pun intended) to find out Holes is a Jewish movie, but does that make it any less Jewish?  

I think the true litmus test for whether a movie can be considered “Jewish” has less to do with meeting the aforementioned criteria and more to do with the audience consuming it. And for this reason, Wet Hot American Summer might be the most Jewish movie ever.  

I’m sure people who aren’t Jewish have seen Wet Hot American Summer, but I’m willing to bet a Jewish friend was the first person to recommend it to them. I first saw it in high school at the urging of Jewish friends and I’ve only ever talked about it with other Jewish friends. To me, it stands out as Jewish, but not in the same way that similarly labeled Jewish comedies do.  

Director David Wain’s debut film (he’d later go on to make Role Models and Wanderlust) never reached public consciousness, getting a tiny release and grossing below $300,000 at the box office in the summer of 2001. It has emerged as a cult classic since, because anyone who has ever been to overnight camp that watches it loves it, especially if they went to Jewish summer camp. I can’t stand quotes that begin with “there are two kinds of people in this world,” but the truest version I ever heard was, “people who went to overnight camp, and people who didn’t.”  

“Wet Hot” recounts the last 24 hours of the summer of ‘81 at Camp Firewood, a fictional Jewish overnight camp (sleep-away camp, if you prefer) in Maine. Everyone is looking for that last hookup or shot at romance, campers and counselors alike, and the story focuses particularly on Gerald “Coop” Cooperberg (Michael Showalter), who has a crush on Katie (Marguerite Moreau), but she has been hooking up with the obnoxious hot guy, Andy (Paul Rudd), all summer.  

The cast list of “before they were famous” actors in and of itself should tip you off that “Wet Hot” is a hidden gem. Rudd, Elizabeth Banks, Amy Poehler, Bradley Cooper, Michael Ian Black, Joe Lo Truglio, Christopher Meloni and Ken Marino are just a handful. So it’s no surprise that Netflix has a deal with Wain to make a new series based on the characters. But I digress.  

Very little about Wet Hot American Summer is explicitly Jewish. You can count the obviously Jewish references on one hand. Yet everything about this movie feels Jewish to me, from the oft-irresponsible counselors down to the singing of “Day by Day” from the Christian-themed musical Godspell at the all-camp talent show toward the end of the movie (ask your Jewish mother who came of age in the ‘70s if you’re confused).  

Jewish overnight camp is an experience that many of us share, and the way we, as Jews, connect to others Jewish people, is through an understanding of our shared experience, such as Jewish holidays, Jewish foods, etc. This is true of all religions and cultures. So when a movie can tap into that shared experience, that’s what really makes it – in this case – Jewish.  

Wet Hot American Summer is without question a gross exaggeration of overnight camps, but all great comedy comes from truth, and David Wain clearly had an authentic Jewish summer camp experience, or else the movie would’ve fallen flat on its face.  

But we don’t tend to claim movies like “Wet Hot” as Jewish, at least in the comedy world. We seem more inclined to claim films that are indiscreetly Jewish, that play off stereotypes (we’re a people who enjoy laughing at ourselves) and wear them proudly. There’s a place for that humor and those comedies, but we too often overlook the more implicitly Jewish ones. It’s not that Jews don’t see or like these movies, it’s just that we don’t celebrate them; maybe because it’s not obvious, maybe because we want them to be “our little secret” or maybe because we feel more comfortable hiding behind stereotypes of who we are in the public sphere because it’s comfortable.  

Find the movies out there that speak to your Jewish identity and experiences and claim them as Jewish. What makes a comedy Jewish should not always be how much it pokes fun at what makes us unique and different from others, but what makes us similar to each other.                                  

You would think that fundraisers and finance professionals would get along. I mean, they both speak in terms of numbers, they both focus on amounts raised and they both obsess over what is done with it. However, when the two collide it is as if a translator is needed in order to communicate. I just don’t get it! Don’t we all speak the same language?

Both fundraisers and finance professionals may speak in numbers, but those numbers are extremely different. Throughout my career in the fundraising world, I was focused on the number of people who would come to events, how much each person would donate, the total we would raise and of course the impact we were having on the cause. In my career in the finance world, those numbers changed to how much someone has, how much their money is growing and what the impact is that they can make with it. We all have the same end goal, so why can’t we understand one another?

I believe that it all comes down to what is behind the process. In my last article, I talked about how we all need a process in order to succeed. The steps of the process may be the same in finance and fundraising, but how we view those steps are drastically different. Let me show you what I mean.

Step 1 – Research: For finance this means statistics, past results, crunching numbers, but for fundraising this means collecting information, talking to donors.

Step 2 – Romance: Okay, romance may always mean love, passion and desire, but are you romancing the person the way they want or the way you want them to be romanced? In fundraising you find what makes the person tick, what do they want to see and then you show it to them. In finance you find out what they should see, what has been successful and then show the person why they should want it.

Step 3 – Request: This is a bit tricky as this is when, in a sense, the tables turn. In finance we are requesting trust (which will then lead to money) while in fundraising it is often times money (which will lead to trust). In both cases, we are requesting that the person think about the future and what they can do to improve it, for themselves or others.

Step 4 – Recognize: Do we recognize with stellar returns? Thank you notes? Success stories? Yes and yes. In this case, we ALL speak the same language. What is good is good, not matter what field it is in. Recognition is great, no matter what language we speak!

The Big Apple, The Big Easy, The Big Cheese. These are all words with the adjective “Big” before them. They also happen to be nicknames for cities. Except the cheese one. That’s just a phrase about an abundance of cheese.  

Now, having lived in Chicago for over two years, (A fifth of a decade!) I’ve learned a few things about our glorious city that needs an adjective like “Windy” to describe it. Because I’m talking, of course, about The Windy City. You (probably) saw that one coming. It’s in the title of the post after all. Well, Chicago is in the title, not the nickname so technically…eh, you get it. So what follows are some facts (sort of) about Chicago that you (probably) don’t know about. More title references. I’m very clever.  

1. I got a new buzzer system in my apartment building that connects directly to my phone. See? You (probably) didn’t know that.

2. It turns out Chicago is not The Windy City because of the wind. Or because of the politicians blowing hot air. It’s the Windy City because of all the Cubs players swinging and missing. Like this joke.

3. Apparently during big storms, like the one we had a few weeks ago, my toilet takes it upon itself to do a great impression of Buckingham Fountain.

4. When it’s a really hot day, The Bean gets very warm to the touch. On those days, I am the only one who appropriately calls it, “The Refried Bean.”

5. It’s incredible that we are getting the George Lucas museum. Because by putting him on display, this should prevent him from ruining any more movies.

6. Tom Skilling is not a fair weather fan.

7. There’s a hidden tunnel to the Red Line underneath Macy’s. All you have to do is bring a few sticks of dynamite.

8. Talking on public transit between the hours of 7:00 AM and 9:00 AM is a crime punishable by death (stares).

9. Becoming a Chicago pedestrian has made me a passive-aggressive walker because I aggressively pass people as I’m walking.

10. I have to watch out for places that say they are open 24 hours. Sometimes it’s not in a row.

11. If a CTA bus doesn’t come for a long time, fear not citizen, because eventually the choice of two buses at the same time will be made available. And what’s great is that when I opt for the second bus, it’ll pass the stop anyway!

12. We have Public Transit Stunt Trains!

13. When Wrigley Field opened in 1914, the only beer they served was Oldstyle. Back then, they just called it Style.

14. The Taste of Chicago is a lie. I got arrested for licking all of the buildings.

15. My parents still live in the suburbs.

16. Playing dodgeball has become incredibly easy for me; living in Chicago I have to dodge traffic and pedestrians.

17. In the city, I measure distance by time, not miles. And then I measure my gut by not measuring it, because I don’t want to embarrass myself.

18. I no longer have a fear of public restrooms. It only took 20 years to get over because I was attacked by one when I was seven.  

If you (probably) enjoyed this list of 18 things, why not check out my other ones so you don’t have to go back to work for another few minutes?

18 Reasons I’m Finally An Adult
18 More Reasons I’m Finally An Adult
18 Honest New Year’s Resolutions
18 Things I Did not Write About For This Blog Post 

Goodnight everybody! (Probably)

Summer is both the best and the most challenging time of year to cook. Everything is in season and readily available (yay!) but it’s all so beautiful and ripe that the idea of futzing with it in any way seems sinful (boo!). For real, when there are ripe tomatoes and technicolor peppers and fruit so sweet it’s basically crystalizing on your countertop, who needs recipes, or ovens, mixing bowls, or skillets? Cut open a mango and spoon it directly into your mouth. Boom. Dinner. Done.  

But if you miss being in the kitchen and absolutely need to get your little chefy paws on the gorgeous produce you bring home, here is a way to enhance it without screwing up a good thing. Take a lesson from the Southeast Asians, the Mexicans, and the South Americans and sprinkle summer time fruit with salt and chilies. Because salt and spice make fruit taste even … fruitier. 

Here is my recipe for chili and lime salt. It’s pretty basic, but you can also add things like fresh herbs and even a little sugar to balance things out a bit. All you need is some perfectly ripe fruit to sprinkle it on and you will be the hit of the party/summer/your own personal summer oasis in front of the air conditioner. Best part is that you can make a big batch and put it in the fridge for up to a month.

Chile Salt

2 red chilies (I like Fresno, but red jalapenos work well too)
2 limes
2 cups kosher salt
A bunch of cut up fruit (I cannot think of a fruit that wouldn’t be delicious with this salt on it, but my favorites are pineapple, melon, and papaya)
Optional: a bunch of fresh herbs (cilantro, mint, tarragon, basil, etc…), and sugar (in case you would like to balance out the salty/spicy with some sweet.  

Slice the chilies. It doesn’t really matter how big or small your slices are because they are about to be pulverized in the food processor, but if you aren’t so much into super spiciness, this is a good time to remove the ribs and seeds.  

Use a vegetable peeler to remove the zest from both of the limes. Be careful and take your time. This recipe does not call for human skin.  

Throw the chilies, lime peels and salt into a food processor and blitz until everything comes together in a beautiful red sand. If you are using fresh herbs, throw some of those in too (about half a cup). Typically, I would tell you to dip a finger into anything you are processing and taste it for seasoning, but this shit is spicy and you might want to use a cut piece of fruit instead. Feel free to add more of any of the ingredients to balance the flavor as you see fit.

^{Cindy Sher (far left) and the Chicago contingent of the National Young Leadership Trip to Israel.}

We stood together in Independence Hall on the first day of our journey together, the space where Israel first became the Jewish state.

The music began and then 169 of us 20-, 30-, and 40-something Jews—34 of us from Chicago traveling with the Jewish United Fund/Jewish Federation—on our Jewish Federations of North America’s National Young Leadership Trip to Israel, sang the Israeli anthem “Hatikva” together. I had been trying to make a cool first impression in front of my peers, but I couldn’t stand it anymore.

Tears welled up in my eyes for Israel, home to every person in that room, home to every Jew in the world. “Hatikva” means “The Hope,” and this is a place that has always brimmed with so much hope for our people. We are family.

After saying the Shehecheyanu as we embarked on our journey together, we did what any gathering of young Jews would do—we partied. We’d barely yet met, but we were all tied through the thread of our Jewish narrative, brothers and sisters, each of us filled with so much hope for our week and, in a grander sense, hope for our future as a people.

We returned to our hotel rooms that night where our phones alerted us to the news that the three missing Israeli teen boys—Eyal Yifrah, Gilad Sha'ar, and Naftali Frenkel—were no longer missing. Their bodies had been discovered, murdered by Hamas.

I’d visited Israel several times over the course of my life. I’d climbed Masada, I’d floated in the Dead Sea, I’d prayed at the Wall, I’d hiked through the Negev, I’d sipped Israeli wine, and I’d bitten into the world’s juiciest, reddest tomatoes.

But only now, mere miles from where those boys had been found, did I feel it—this place called Israel in my bones. In a few years, those three boys could have been three of the guys on our trip. Those boys are us. We are family.

I’m a big believer in beshert and I think we were destined to be there that week. It meant so much to us that we could stand not just in spirit, but in physical proximity to our Israeli sisters and brothers when they needed us.

During the trip, a small group of us ate lunch on a moshav halfway between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. We shared one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever had in my life, prepared with love by a Moroccan immigrant named Bat Sheva Gabai. During lunch, Rebecca Stern, a Jewish Agency for Israel representative, and an observant Jew and vivacious native New Yorker who madealiyah a couple decades back, told us what it meant to the Israeli people that we were there, especially at a heartbreaking time for Israel. “Thank you,” she told us. We’re all connected, no matter what our level of observance, whether “we wear hats or no hats, sleeves or no sleeves…we are all family.”

I flew back to Chicago the day the rocket attacks escalated. And now, every time I hear Israeli news, which is pretty much around the clock, I feel like I left a piece of myself, my heart, behind.We are family.

There was this moment on the trip, a favorite for many of us. Our group was headed to the Wall to pray on Shabbat, and stopped near the entrance to prepare for the momentous visit. There, we linked arms and started a chorus of the Jewish hymn “Hineh Ma Tov.” And, all of a sudden, from up above, we saw a group of Orthodox men link arms too, and join in on our singing. We knew the same words, the same tunes. We sang in perfect harmony. We may have never met, but we are the same. We are family.

I’ve been singing that song since preschool and yet I never stopped to think about the words until now. “Behold, how good and how pleasant,” the hymn says, “it is for brethren to dwell together in unity.”

If you are not from St. Louis or Kansas City, you probably don’t think of the Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri as a destination for Jewish kids to spend their summers. But dating back over 40 years, Camp Sabra has been the summer spot for campers from not only St. Louis and Kansas City, but also Houston, Dallas and hey, even a family from Chicago here and there. Sabra held a special place in my family’s heart as my mom went there, and it was only inevitable that my sister, my brother and I would end up there eventually.  

Maybe it’s not for everyone, but sleep-away camp to me was such an important part of my childhood and something I looked forward to every summer. My first true time away from home, the first time I kissed a boy, rafting and camping out in Colorado my last year as a camper, and then becoming a counselor for the next generation, camp was truly with me as I grew from a young girl to a woman. And it has unexpectedly continued to play a part in my life many years later.  

A few years ago I was walking to meet a friend in my neighborhood one day when I spotted a guy on the street wearing a Camp Sabra shirt. It’s not every day the Sabra logo appears around Chicago, so I had to make sure it wasn’t a rack buy from the local thrift shop! With no shame at all, I stopped to ask him about the shirt and if he in fact went there. Sure enough, Camp Sabra boy had both attended and been a counselor there, but we only overlapped the summer of 2002, so we never crossed paths.  

About a year later, my sister told me Sabra was putting together a mini reunion for Chicago alumni and suggested we go. I have to be honest, after a long workday (not to mention recently becoming single), I wasn’t really feeling it. But my sister convinced me and we made a deal that we’d make an appearance and leave shortly thereafter.  

At the reunion, I caught up with some counselor friends that I hadn’t seen in a while and then found myself playing Jewish geography with a guy who seemed to be a few years older than me given we didn’t run in the same camp circles. Then, out of nowhere, he said, “Hey, I think you’re the girl that stopped me on the street when I was wearing my camp shirt.” From there we realized we still lived in the same neighborhood, so before leaving I gave Camp Sabra boy my phone number thinking at the very least, we should reminisce sometime about being young again back in the Ozarks.

^{The day we "re-met"}

Three days later he called and two years later we are now living together. And the best part is that Jeremy doesn’t mind when I randomly break into a Sabra-favorite John Denver or James Taylor song and will even join me in a chorus of “Leaving on a Jet Plane” when one of us is heading off on a trip. While our families, college and city life have no doubt helped mold us into who we are today, I do truly believe a bit of who we are as individuals can always be traced back to camp. Being confident, social and independent is all about meeting new people, having the guts to go on the ropes course or waterski for the first time, or even asking a boy to the Sadie Hawkins dance. For us, camp is not just a childhood memory, it is a language and bond we both share that has served as the building blocks of our relationship. I’m sure the alumni of other camps around the country and world feel the same.  

So you never know, one day there may be a new group of Chicago kids who have to explain to all their friends how they GET to go to the Lake of the Ozarks for their summer!

^{Our housewarming party after moving in together!}

Stephanie Callahan is a public relations manager in downtown Chicago specializing in the food industry. She also writes a food and recipe blog called “Stephanie Eats Chicago” for the Chicago Tribune. She enjoys reading in the park, puppies, running and stalking restaurant menus. 

This one time at Jewish overnight camp . . . I realized what the world had to offer.  

I have lived in the same house for my entire life. Yes, my family has taken vacations to Florida and Arizona, and now that I’m older we have ventured outside of the country. However, up until I was about eight or nine, I really had no idea the world expanded outside of my small rural hometown of Rock Island, Illinois.  

I hailed from a small Jewish community; my Sunday school class numbered about six students and that was considered big in my town. At eight years old, my parents offered me a life-changing opportunity: four weeks of overnight summer camp. I had no idea what I was in for, but my journey began in the Waupaca woods of Wisconsin.  

I remember going to camp and thinking, “Wow, I never knew there was this many Jewish people”. That was my first realization in the world; little did I know there would be many more to come.

After that summer, I grew up living the ten others months of the year waiting for the other two. Starting at Camp Young Judaea Midwest and then in high school transitioning to Tel Yehuda in New York, I learned more at summer camp than I did sitting at my school desk.

^{Author and camp friends at Camp Tel Yehudah in New York}

Camp teaches you a lot. When you’re stuck in the woods with a bunch of Jewish adolescents with no cell phone service and your only guidance is counselors who still pretend to be Jewish adolescents, you figure out a lot on your own and with your peers. You flourish with a Jewish community.

I will never forget the summer that I transitioned from my quaint Midwestern camp to the big dogs in upstate New York. It was quite the ordeal. Unpacking my clothes and putting them away I heard a girl in my cabin talking about Israel and what her views were. I was only a teenager – I didn’t have political views unless you counted what I heard from my parents. Whenever politics or Israel came up in conversation during group activities, I would pick at the grass around me, wondering if it was swim time yet. I had never truly paid attention to the news or my Israeli friends’ Facebook statuses.

I eventually became best friends with that girl in my cabin. She taught me about the terrors facing Israel and showed me that if advocated for what I believed in, I could make an impact in this world. That was when I learned there was more to life than frugal gossip.

And she was just one example. That summer I met kids from Texas who were into indie rock music; Californian kids who advocated for gay rights; Israeli kids who competitively mountain-biked. Any type of personality, I guarantee I met them, and I sharing in a camp experience with so many different Jewish peers was the best education money could buy. (Thanks for sending me to a giant educational sleepover Mom and Dad!)

At age 15 I could tell you what advocacy, Zionism, pluralism and secularism were; at age 16 I lobbied against domestic violence in Washington D.C.; at age 17, I was a reflective practitioner on issues in society; and at age 18, I was well prepared to bid a farewell to my parents as I departed to the University of Illinois, ready to begin my adult career.

Don’t get me wrong – I believe school is important, but I think camp teaches you to look at the world differently. I wasn’t learning about Israel from my textbook, but from my peers, which is much more powerful. Camp has no desks, no textbooks; it allows you to take a different perspective on the world and it allows you to see it from a different light. Camp inspired me, my values and my education and continues to every day of my life.

^{Author and camp friends at Camp Young Judaea Midwest in Wisconsin}

Mia Kavensky is currently a marketing/design intern for Spertus Institute for Jewish Learning and Leadership. She will be a junior at the University of Illinois this fall, where she wears the yellow tea rose proudly as a member of the Sigma Delta Tau sorority. She wishes she could go back to camp every day of her life.

I suppose it was a first date. It started as just a walk – a continuation of a conversation we started hours earlier. I was surprised that someone I thought was so handsome could have such depth, let alone want to spend his free time talking to little old me. We found ourselves sitting with our backs to the barn, taking in a meteor shower that rained shooting stars down on us for hours while we talked. I felt that heart-pounding, sweaty-palmed anticipation that comes in the moments before a first kiss with a new person. I was 17. And I was in love with camp love.

What started as a walk at summer camp became a four-year relationship, and put someone into my life that I still consider chosen family. What I gained from my relationships at camp shaped who I am as a youth worker, a Jew and a person.

Buzzfeed recently published 24 Reasons Dating at Camp Is Better Than in the Real World, which got me thinking – like every stimulating Buzzfeed list – about the uniqueness of relationships at camp. In the “real world,” where dating sometimes feels like a social experiment (Can I get him to eat Ethiopian food with his hands? Is it too soon to wear my Star Trek T-shirt?) and at other times feels like torture (What does it say when the bartender with the excellent beard feels the need to give me love advice? How soon can I get home to my roommate and overanalyze over wine?), I’ve found myself missing the simplicity of camp love.

There’s something to be said for dates that require no more than the sounds of teva (nature) and a clear sky for stargazing. Without the distractions of technology, elaborate foodie menus, social lubricants and people-watching, there’s no choice but to focus on the conversation (and maybe a little K-I-S-S-I-N-G, likely in a tree). It’s why a month-long camp relationship feels like a year – you reach a greater depth faster when you spend all of your waking hours with your person. You find out the things that matter more quickly than in the real world: How do they handle stress? Are they a morning person? Are they willing to apologize after a fight? Do they put enough chocolate chips in your pancakes?

At camp you’re stripped down to the real you. It’s impossible to spend hours getting glammed up at summer camp, because there are 12 children (sometimes in a communal shower) asking you how long until dinner, when tryouts for the talent show are, and why you’re shaving your legs if it’s not Shabbat. The things we see as our flaws, the things we spend so much time putting makeup over or avoiding in conversation, become part of the whole package of ourselves. We allow ourselves to be loved even when we’re covered in acne, mud, tears and sweaty color wars face paint.

We think of summer camp as a place for children to learn and grow into independent people, but it has the same effect on the young people and adults that spend weeks at camp as counselors and mentors to them. Maybe it’s them following us around like ducklings watching our every move that helps us to be and accept our better selves. Maybe it’s the freedom of loose schedules and work disguised as play (or is it the opposite?) that allows us to let go of what we “should be” and be as joyful as our campers, soaking up every moment because camp is finite.

If we could pack that feeling into our duffels and bring it home with us, what would our relationships look like? I suspect if we could bring more of summer camp into real life, we could be our real selves – love ourselves as we are, play more often, and put less pressure on our online dating profiles.

The next time you meet up with a potential b’sheret from JDate, remember – be you. And order the bug juice.

Logan Zinman works as the Director of NFTY’s Chicago Area Region with the best teens a gal could ask for. She has spent more than a full year of her life at URJ Camp OSRUI watching for shooting stars and hoping someone makes her farm-fresh refet eggs for breakfast. If you miss summer camp and would rather be at a campfire than at work, tweet @loganzinman to let her know if you think baked potato bar is a meal or a side dish.

On a cool April morning when I was in fourth grade, my family packed up our car to go to the Wisconsin Dells for a weekend. For some reason, my parents decided that April was the perfect time to go to the water park capital of the world. My dad was a CPA and could rarely take a break around spring break, so we often took excursions in the weeks following Tax Day. I didn’t know what we would do on our trip, but I was told we would spend a portion of the weekend seeing the camp that I would attend for the first time that summer, Camp Chi, which is surrounded by the Wisconsin Dells.  

I don’t really remember much about my first time on the grounds of Camp Chi, but I remember stopping when we got to the rock walls. At that time, camp was situated on three old rock walls near the lake. Close to these walls, there was an old-fashioned swing. My brother and I played on it for a bit, and after we were done, my family decided to take a picture there.

A few months later, I went to camp for two weeks and I was hooked on the spirit, activities, traditions and camp life as a whole almost immediately. I came home only to ask if I could go straight back (this request was not granted because in a typical chain of events, I had to go to the dentist and was told I had to wait until next summer). In 2000, I returned for four weeks. Eventually, my four weeks at camp grew to eight weeks and my days as a camper grew to days on staff, and the rest was history.  

As I said, from the first time I stepped off the bus, I was truly hooked on camp. I remember the Staff In Training (SITs) cheering around camp my first summer, the inflatable trampoline on the lake, and lots of programs filled with music, dancing and more. Beyond that, I can’t tell you much about my first summers at Camp Chi except it just felt right. It felt safe, it felt comfortable, and I somehow just knew that was where I was meant to be. It was almost as if I subconsciously knew that this was home before I’d ever been here.  

My family doesn’t have many great pictures of the four of us: me, my brother, Brian (who is currently spending his 11th summer at camp training this year’s Staff In Training class), my mom, and my dad – who passed away a few months after my second summer. There is something serendipitous about the fact that the best picture we have as a family ended up being at the location that my brother and I can only describe as our favorite place in the world.  

We all have hurdles to leap over throughout our lives; many of mine have occurred earlier in life than they’re supposed to. Some years were better than others, but even with the years that seemed grim, there was always a light at the end of the tunnel: there was always camp to look forward to.  

When I learned about this blog series, I didn’t even know where to start because most of my posts end up being about camp. I think that is because when you are a camp lifer, everything leads back to camp. (I think I can still use the term “lifer” because even though I am spending just my second summer away from camp since I started going there, it is where I always would choose to be). Many of my closest friendships, best memories, favorite stories, struggles that I’ve overcome, and so on, have all either happened at camp or because of camp.  

I started a new job last week, where my supervisor is someone I have known for years because of camp. Camp not only builds the leadership skills that you need to succeed professionally, but it also builds you an unbelievable personal network. I can’t tell you how many times I mention Camp Chi professionally (granted I work in the Jewish world), but even so, I know most of my friends have spoken significantly about camp during interviews and expounded on experiences that have led them to where they are today.  

When my family took that picture so many years ago, I had no idea what camp would mean to me more than 15 years later. The impact that camp has had on my life is almost indescribable. Camp is something that will always be a part of my life and I know will continue to change the lives of those who are a part of it. I am extremely thankful for Jewish camp. We live in a crazy world, filled with many things out of our control. To have a bubble, a safe place, a home away from home – that is something truly irreplaceable.  

As I sit and look out on the beautiful Chicago skyline, I am counting down the days until I am walking back down gravel roads with the fresh smell of grass in the air, stars in the sky, and undoubtedly, the biggest smile on my face, because I’ll know that I am home and ready to create even more memories at this place that I love.    

This one time at Jewish overnight camp … I discovered my calling.  

No, I am not a rabbi. No, I am not a teacher. And I am not a social worker either. Instead, it was at Camp Ramah in Wisconsin that I realized I wanted to work in the health field.  

Today, I am a licensed acupuncturist practicing in Northbrook. Being an acupuncturist is about helping people to be at their healthiest, and there was never a time when I felt healthier and more spiritual than when I was at Camp Ramah, and to me, being healthy and spiritual are synonymous.

At Camp Ramah, you are required to take classes. Now, before you start to roll your eyes at the notion of spending time learning over the summer, think about how much more peaceful it is to learn while getting your daily recommended dose of Vitamin D. These “classes” included art, woodworking, basketball, softball, boating, Hebrew, and yes, some Torah. Although I had been receiving Jewish education my entire life, nothing had more of an impact on me than a class at Ramah that lasted just two weeks about the connection between Judaism and science.  

The main “connection” that we focused on during the two weeks was how the ten plagues can all be explained through science. The blood in the river can be explained as red algae, which caused the fish to die. The weather conditions weren’t the best at the time, which led some to believe that a set of storms came through, including hail. The final plague, the death of the first born, was caused by a fungus on the grains, and since the firstborn males were the first to eat, they were more susceptible to being affected by the fungus. My teacher pointed out that the miracle wasn’t that all of these incidents occurred, it is that they happened when the Jewish people needed them the most.  

I spent the rest of that summer finding little connections between Judaism and science/health. As I walked around the beautiful Ramah camp grounds in Conover, Wisconsin, I started to believe that all the fruits and vegetables given to us were also miracles. These foods give us our essential vitamins and minerals but, just like with the plagues, the most important aspect is the miracle that they exist. As this became clearer to me, I knew that I needed to devote my life to health and wellness.  

I continued to learn about science after camp and I went to graduate school for Chinese medicine. Coincidentally, Pacific College of Oriental Medicine is located in the very same building as the Camp Ramah office in downtown Chicago. Maybe this was fate!  

While I was in school I found many fascinating connections between the 4,000-year-old practice of Chinese medicine and Judaism, which is also about 4,000 years old. I wanted to share these connections, which I would not have made were it not for Camp Ramah, and help Jewish people become healthier.  

As an acupuncturist, I help people to balance their bodies. Balance is the key to health, and is the basis of Chinese medicine. Looking back to my time at camp, I realize that campers are perfectly balanced throughout a summer at Ramah. Little miracles harmonized our summers, like a rainy day when we needed a break from running around, or an opportunity for puddle jumping when we needed some good cabin bonding. We might see a bolt of lightning at the same time we saw the boy or girl we had a crush on, or experience the most beautiful sunny day when an outdoor basketball game was scheduled. All of these natural occurrences balanced us throughout the summer.  

Jewish camp is a place where many people become more religious, learn to pray, or meet their soul mates or lifelong best friends. Some campers go on to become rabbis, cantors, or teachers, while others pursue professions not directly related to their camp experience. I chose to take the spirituality that Ramah instilled in me to feed my love for science.      

When I graduated college two years ago, I thought the worst had happened. No seriously, I thought the world was ending. And in a way it was; I didn't believe all those people who told me things would get better, I didn't even believe that anyone was actually happy in the real the world – fakers.

And here I am two years later, living in the (semi) real world alive and well.

If year one is for aimlessly wandering through life, year two is most certainly for figuring it out – or at least part of it. So maybe you don't find your life's ambition or discover your passion in two years, but maybe you're not meant to. Maybe down the line we discover instant gratification isn't actually as gratifying as working towards something.

Two years and two months later I'm nowhere close to where I thought I'd be. I don't think most people are. We're all still grappling with the concept of life but somehow it seems less enormous. Maybe some people feel established in a job, a relationship or even a city. One down and life to go.  

College has now become a past life, a memory that's vague and vivid all at once that you tuck away for safe keeping. You no longer live with your best friends, or even in the same city as them. People are getting married. Work or graduate school is reality. Instead, as a two-year-olds (in real world years) there are now mountains that need climbing and epiphany's that need having.  

And now we're ready for them.  

Ok, so this is not the usual fitness/wellness piece, but the lessons learned can be applied to reaching any goal.  

My objective was to potty train my almost 3-year-old son. Many people wait until their kid is older, some when their child is younger, but with daycare, our deadline was creeping up. Also, Henry has been peeing every night before bed for months and he usually wakes up dry, which is a good indicator that he’s ready.  

After researching many different options, we went with a friend’s suggestion to do a three-day boot camp. There were no pushups or burpees, but definitely some running. With this method, you basically stay home for three days and ask your toddler every few minutes if he has to go. When accidents happen, you make no big deal about it and continue to re-iterate, “do you have to use the bathroom?”  

The first day was the worst, but still not horrible. Henry peed when he woke up with no problem, proudly sticking out his stomach as he stood up on his stool and aiming mostly in the right area. “Great job! I’m so proud of you,” I cheered as we walked down the stairs. He received an Angry Birds Star Wars sticker and seemed very happy. He knew that with 10 stickers he would earn a treat.  

Motivation tactic: Recognize a job well done.  

With this annoyingly wet summer, I thought I heard more rain while loading the dishwasher. While Henry was still at the table I asked, “Is it raining again?” He had a huge smile on his face and answered yes, though what he meant was, he made it rain on the floor. With cleaner and one of many towels used, I cleaned up the floor and said, “Henry, let me know when you have to use the bathroom.”  

Motivation tactic: Don’t harp on accidents or slipups.  

The rest of the day went pretty well. We played with building blocks, ran around the house pretending we were super heroes, and he had a few No. 2s in his pants. He was very scared to poop on the potty, which I hear is common. With more cleaning supplies we had a wonderful afternoon running around outside (our house only).  

As we moved further along with the process, my wife and I started giving him little presents for peeing on the potty. I’m going to call it rewarding good behavior, but it might seem like bribery. To get him to poop, we asked him what he would want as a reward. With a lot of excitement, he said, “a vanilla cake pop from Starbucks!” And then he added, “I don’t like the chocolate cake pops.”  

Motivation tactic: Reward yourself for successes along the way.  

Henry has, for the most part, mastered peeing in the potty. He will only do it standing up, which proves difficult at public restrooms with no stools, but we figure it out. I usually have him step on my feet and that helps. He is super excited to wear underpants. He loves his superhero underwear and shows them to friends. We continue to reinforce days he does well with little treats, and then there is the big bribe: being able to sleep in his big-boy bed, which is of course outfitted with super hero sheets, making it an even more attractive prize.  

Motivation tactic: Celebrate achieving your goal.  

We did learn a few things that didn’t work, like threatening to put him back in diapers. Although that thought really upset him, it did not motivate him to go. And forcing him to go when he wasn’t ready was also a big fail. However, saying, “before we get your treat, before the movie, before we get you lunch…you have to potty,” works very well. Like all other goals, it’s just a matter of keeping at it, staying positive, having great support, and in my case, extra cleaning supplies. 

When I had my restaurant in New York, I would take a break outside on 55th street and Madison Avenue. I watched, day after day, 2 hot dogs carts at lunch time. One cart was a kosher cart and one was not. I saw long lines form at the kosher cart as people would wait traffic light changes just to get to the kosher cart.

I almost felt bad for the non-kosher cart as the lines were miniscule compared to the kosher cart.

I asked a cook in my kitchen who was a native NY’er and he told me that the perception was that the kosher dog was better/healthier.

Better? Maybe! Healthier? Probably not! Unless those dogs were nitrate and coloring free there are basically the same other than the whole kosher part.

Observant Jews know that keeping kosher does not necessarily equate with healthy eating and living.

Indeed the Jewish calendar is a minefield of dietary disasters waiting to happen. Jewish Holidays are food-centric and the norm and let’s face, we are food people! With us cheesecake and dairy goodies on Shavuot, fried potato pancakes during Chanukah, an eight-day eating fest during Pesach and Shabbat with its long leisurely meals and some Jews even feeding their neshama yeterah (extra soul on Shabbat), it’s no wonder many Jews are loosening their waistbands and are concerned about their health.

Eating to excess and high cholesterol foods are unhealthy regardless of whether they are kosher or not. Jewish dietary laws are not laid down as health laws, but religious laws, but there is no law for the quality of the food, nor for the amount eaten, just that it be kosher.

As a chef, I cannot offer advice on diets and weight loss; I can however tell you that the quality of food does matter. I work with food all day long. I read labels and understand ingredient function and I can tell you that the best tasting and most satisfying food is that food made from whole ingredients.

We hear over and over again to limit processed foods. Most packaged food products are made from inferior ingredients, loaded with salt and sugar and cheap fats. Unfortunately many of them are kosher and widely purchased and served. As a chef, I am going to say that everything you make from a box, jar or package can be made better at home.

We are also told to eat seasonally. Seasonal food is cheaper, better tasting, and easier on the environment. I am going to go one step further and tell you that seasonal food is exactly what your body needs at the time it is in season. Ever notice how citrus fruit season peaks at cold season? Here in the Midwest we don’t grow citrus but we do have long storing hard shell squash like acorn squash, butternut, and pumpkin. These versatile fruits (yes they are fruit) are loaded with vitamin C, folate, and other vitamins just at the peak of cold season and just what your body needs to make it through the winter.

But how do you know what is in season? My best advice is to visit a Farmer’s market. Get to know the farmer, visit their farm, and learn to cook with local and seasonal foods. It is exactly what your body needs.

I have been cooking professionally for a long time and I still get excited when I see gorgeous ingredients at the peak of their season. I spend hours cooking and experimenting with delicious foodstuffs only to watch people SNARF up their meal in minutes.

Hey! I want you to enjoy the food, but maybe enjoy each bite? Slowly and carefully, really enjoy the food I just made. Doctors and nutritionists are right when they say that our stomachs need time to signal the brain when they are full. If you eat slowly, you will be in sync with your body. I will never forget my first dinner service at my former restaurant. I was sitting at the bar (resting my weary body!) when a customer came up to me and gave me a thumbs up for what she said were NICE PORTIONS!

Maybe if she ate slower and more mindfully, the flavor and perfectly seasoned food would have been the thumbs up?

Eat well my friends and enjoy your food. Abi Gezunt!

Cumin-Brown Sugar Dusted Sock-Eye Salmon, Harissa Spiked Coconut Yogurt, Toasted Farro and Mustard Seed Roasted Carrots  

This easy to prepare but flavor packed salmon dish takes advantage of wild salmon. Sustainable and heart healthy salmon has natural sweet brininess that is enhanced with a brown sugar and cumin crust.

For the Salmon

4 6-ounce Wild Sock-eye Salmon Filets, skinned and boned
EVOO (extra virgin olive oil)
2 tablespoons light brown sugar
3 teaspoons ground cumin
Kosher salt
Freshly cracked pepper  

1. Lightly pat dry the salmon filets. Season the salmon with kosher salt and pepper.

2. Heat a sauté pan, lightly coated with EVOO, over medium high heat. Place the salmon filets, presentation side down (non-skin side) in the pan. DON’T FUSS WITH THE FISH!! Allow the fish to caramelize and brown.

3. Turn the salmon, remove from heat and cover the pan to finish the cooking process.

For the Harissa Spiked Coconut Yogurt  

Coconut yogurt is lightly coconut flavored and has a lusciously decadent texture. Zesty harissa adds a toasty heat with complex spices and garlic.  

1 cup coconut yogurt
3 tablespoons purchased or homemade harissa (or favorite hot sauce)
2 teaspoons lemon juice
½ teaspoon kosher salt
Pinch of freshly cracked pepper

Toasted Farro  

My new favorite old grain! Farro has been farmed since Neolithic times and is grown almost exclusively in Italy. The chewy, nutty flavored nuggets are perfect with meat, fish, and veggies. High in fiber, protein and vitamin B3, farro packs a nutrition and flavor punch with undertones of cashew and earthy cinnamon.  

1 cup farro
2 cups water
½ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon freshly cracked pepper
2 teaspoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons chopped flat leaf parsley
1 tablespoon chopped cilantro
1 tablespoon chopped basil
3 tablespoons EVOO

1. Toast ⅓ cup of farro in a sauté pan, lightly coated with olive oil, over medium heat. Toast the grains until they are medium brown and smell like popped corn.

2. Simmer the water and all the farro, covered, over medium heat until the water has been absorbed and the farro is tender (about 20 minutes).

3. Add the remaining ingredients to the farro and combine. Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper.

Mustard Seed Roasted Carrots  

1 pound baby carrots, peeled
EVOO
2 teaspoons mustard seeds
1 teaspoon fennel seeds
Kosher salt
Freshly cracked pepper  

Preheat oven to 350 or grill to medium  

1. Toss the baby carrots with the oil, spices and salt and pepper.

2. Spread the carrots on a parchment lined sheet pan or on an oiled grill.

3. Cook the carrots until they are fork tender (about 15 minutes).

Homemade Harissa  

Like everything else, homemade is always best! Harissa is quick to whirl up in a blender or food processor.

This recipe is only a guideline. Make it your own by adding roasted garlic, fresh herbs, additional spices and even fresh hot peppers.  

½ cup crushed red pepper flakes
½ cup boiling water
2 roasted red peppers
3 cloves of garlic
1 large lemon, zested and juiced
1 teaspoon cumin powder
⅓ cup EVOO
½ teaspoon kosher salt  

1. Rehydrate the crushed red chili flakes in the boiling water until they are quite mushy (about 10 minutes). Drain the water and discard.

2. Process all the ingredients in a blender or food processor until the sauce is smooth. Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper

Place the farro on a serving platter, arrange the salmon on top of the grains. Place the carrots on the platter and drizzle with harissa spiked coconut yogurt.

Garnish with chopped fresh herbs and lemon slices.

_{New Cleveland Cavaliers head coach David Blatt, who recently coached Maccabi Tel Aviv.}

The Cleveland Cavaliers decided to draft Andrew Wiggins with the No. 1 pick, but they are waiting to hear whether King James would be willing to come home. In either case, the man who will really need to help this team get to the playoffs is their new head coach, former Maccabi Tel Aviv coach David Blatt. This is a great moment in Jewish sports. Blatt is the only current Jewish head coach in the NBA. Former NBA Head Coach Lawrence Frank is hoping to catch on as an assistant with the Los Angeles Clippers.

In baseball, pitcher Jason Marquis, who is coming off Tommy John surgery, has signed a minor league deal with the Philadelphia Phillies, while former White Sox player Kevin Youkilis’ Japan playing days have been cut short due to injury. Toronto Blue Jays outfielder Kevin Pillar was sent back down to Triple-A after having a temper flare when he was pulled for a pinch hitter. On the good side, Ian Kinsler is making a strong case for the All Star game with a .308 batting average and 10 HR for the Tigers.

In this year's MLB draft, it appears there were six Jewish ball players taken including Michael Fagan, Julian Brazilli, Nate Irving, Bradley Wilpon, Keith Weisenberg, and Kyle Ruchim. Ruchim played for Northwestern and Irving for the Virginia, which made it to the College World Series final last month.

At Wimbledon, Camila Giorgi (Italy) lost to Alison Riske in the second round, Michael Russell lost to Julian Reister and Duda Sela (Israel) lost to Mikhail Kukushkin. In Doubles, Scott Lipsky's team and Jonathan Erhlich's team were barely beaten. So there goes a Jewish Wimbledon!

In NFL news, Chicago Bears coach Marc Trestman has gone on the record backing quarterback Jay Cutler saying he is bigger and stronger than last season. Trestman will have fellow MOT Brian De La Puente on his offensive line this season.

Hey! Remember the Schoolhouse Rock video about interjections? These are expressions like: “whoa,” “yow,” “ouch,” “oh,” “hooray,” “aww,” “eek,” “rats,” “darn” and “wow.” Or even “oy!” as in some blog or other.

There is a whole book of them, called Zounds! by Mark Dunn, and I recently rediscovered it on my shelf. Leafing through it, I found a surprising number of fairly common ones such as “oy” that stem from Hebrew, Yiddish, and Yinglish. Well, maybe not all that surprising, considering the number of movies, TV shows, stand-up bits and songs with Jewish writers. Anyway, here some English interjections with— gevalt!— a Jewish history (linked to songs, bands, movies, TV shows, etc. that use them). 

There are lots, so rather than overwhelm you, here are letters “A” through “H” for starters. Stay tuned for the rest.  

A-H  

Abracadabra

This magical mumbo-jumbo is probably from the Aramaic (the language of the Talmud and the Kaddish) for “I create as I speak,” with the vowels changed to make it rhyme with itself.  

Aha!
It predates Chaucer, but was popularized by Jewish comics to the point of being able to stand alone as a punchline: “Waiter, taste my soup.” “All right… where’s the spoon?” “Aha!” Dunn says: “In Yinglish, [it] expresses emotions from subtle understanding to triumphant exultation.”  

Ai-yi-yi
Dunn: “Found in both Spanish and Yiddish … from stopped-dead-in-one’s-tracks to anguished regret and dismay.”  

All right, already
It means, “I still disagree, but will go along to stop your kvetching.” Dunn: “First heard in the Bronx …  since the late 19th century, but did not become really popular until after WWII.”  

Amen!
We Jews respond to a blessing with this word, which comes from the same root as the Hebrew word emunah or “faith.” But everyone uses it to mean, “Indeed!” or “And how!” Dunn: “According to the Talmud, the word is to be enunciated with power and conviction, thus helping to open the doors of paradise.” Amen to that!  

Gesundheit
A response to a sneeze, it means “good health.” As it happens, almost all cultures respond to sneezes with a verbal get-well card. It may have been one of the earliest forms of a public health policy!  

Gut Shabbes
On Shabbat, it means, “hello.” But what about the rest of the week? Dunn: “a sarcastic or ironic affirmation or statement of incredulity.” He compares it to “Good grief!” (A more emphatic version, which means something else, was coined by no less than the Hebrew Hammer).  

Hallelujah
Found throughout the Psalms, it is a compound word: hallel, meaning “praise,” plus one of the Holy Names. A holiday prayer comprised of Psalms, called “Hallel,” and the great rabbi Hillel also take their names from the same root word. Dunn: “Used both within and without the house of worship to express joy or jubilation.” (OK, we’ll link to the sad Leonard Cohen song, too.)  

Hip-Hip-Hooray
This was coined not by Jews, but by our haters. “Hep! Hep!” was a cry used to round up goats, and so by goons— calling themselves “Hep Hep Squads” to initiate pogroms. There was even one international “Hep Hep Riot” in 1819: “The attacks on Jews and Jewish property spread from there to the whole of Germany … the rioting reached as far as Denmark and Poland.” This is not from Dunn, but the Jewish Virtual Library. (Dunn traces “Hip” to “Hep” also, but relates it to the jazz usage— as in “hep-cat”— and “hooray/hurray/hurrah” back to “huzzah.”)

Hoo-ha!
This is not the Al Pacino catchphrase from Scent of a Woman. It is a Yinglish catchall. Here, Dunn cites Yiddish linguist Leo Rosten as finding “no fewer than 17 meanings: surprise, envy, scorn, confusion” and also “Oh, big deal!” “Like hell,” “Imagine that,” “Don’t be silly,” and “I don’t believe it.”

Hoshanna
“Save us, please!” is the literal meaning of this pleading prayer, found in the above-mentioned Hallel. A cycle of Hoshanna prayers for Sukkot culminates in Hoshanna Rabbah, the “Great Hoshanna,” in which all seven of these are recited while circling the bimah with the lulav and etrog. Then the word showed up in the gospels, and then in Christian liturgy and song. Now, Merriam-Webster has it as any “cry of acclamation and adoration.”

I once read that the University of Wisconsin-Madison, 15 percent of the campus population is Jewish — meaning that about every sixth bleary-eyed, sleep-deprived student you bump into on the street is statistically a Jew. Outside of Israel or Brooklyn, this is about as good a ratio as it gets.

Overall, UW had ample opportunity for me to meet lovely Jews from either the suburbs of Chicago, the suburbs of Milwaukee, or the suburbs of New York — a fact that causes my elder relatives to curse at me for not grabbing the first Jewish boy I met by the throat and conniving him into becoming my husband.

Despite this apparent gold mine of fellow MOT, I didn’t take to Jewish student life right away. I didn’t have any Jewish friends, and crowded Shabbat dinners intimidated me, even with the glowing promise of four-course meals. In fact, I didn’t find a Jewish niche in Madison until I traveled across the globe to Jerusalem, ensnared a couple of fellow Badgers into my friendship, and then sheepishly forced my way into their Jewish circles back at school — all in all, it was a process, and a lengthy one at that. 

Because of this, leaving my comfortable and warm nest at Madison was doubly painful when I realized I would have to recreate my Jewish social life from scratch. After years lingering outside the Hillel building like a bashful pup, finding a new Jewish community seemed almost as daunting as the dark and morbid job search. 

As much as I would love to escape to Israel again and find more friends to fling open the doors to Jewish social life, I realize this is neither a mature nor feasible approach. So, I’ve thought about where I can turn to:

1. My local, suburban synagogue. A logical choice, as it’s close in proximity and I already have several connections there. The flip side of this particular coin, however, is that these decades-long connections have seen me progress through each painful, awkward stage of puberty — essentially, hefty chunks of my life that I’d like to slough off like a heavy winter coat in June. Sitting at Shabbat dinner alongside the ghost of my sulky, sweater-clad 16-year-old self is definitely something I was hoping to avoid. Forever.

2. A Jewish interest group. Unfortunately, I’m sorely lacking in hobbies, which is another, separate issue I should probably confront.

3. The city Chabad house. But here we encounter the same problem that tormented me and countless other college freshmen – how do you muster up the courage to make the first fateful step to enter?

The simple choice here is just to stay at home. I’m not all that religious, and in all likelihood would not feel a moral vacuum at neglecting services. Most of the friends I’ve ever made have not been Jewish. I can barely even mumble along to a prayer. 

Yet, I still find myself drawn to the idea of community.

Long, long ago in biblical times, Abraham was known for being quite the party host. He would famously drop whatever he was doing (herding, chatting with God, etc.) to scrounge up a meal and clear some room for every traveling nomad approaching from the horizon. As one of the fundamental characters in our religious history, even his core tenet was the mitzvah of hospitality.

From a spiritual point of view, Judaism has always been community-based. Throughout the Torah, we’re constantly reminded that we are never alone — we have a responsibility to help others, and have a network of people with a responsibility to help us. From its emphasis on finding a life-partner, to glorifying not just the study of Torah but also its teaching, Judaism is fundamentally centered around community.  Ultimately, as humans, we cannot thrive if we’re utterly alone, and Judaism seems to take this fact into account. An enormous chunk of our religion is based simply on bringing people into the fold.

Whether it’s to find a Jewish soul mate, experience gloriously never-ending meals, or to reflect on spirituality, everyone has a different reason for wanting a Jewish community. And while the practice of hosting weary travelers is a little less applicable now than it was in Abraham’s day, the idea remains.

For now, I’m not exactly sure how my Jewish community life will pan out. What I do know, is that while I probably don’t qualify as a “weary traveler” and am not a nomad, there’s an empty seat at a Shabbat table out there somewhere, and I’m determined to find it. 

Waiting in bumper to bumper traffic, our car creeps towards O’Hare. It’s the first weekend of summer, but it doesn’t feel like it. We are collecting my little sister (though I don’t know if I can call 24 “little”) from the airport after her Birthright Israel adventure. As she sleepily launches into her trip details, the better part of me intently listens while the daydreamer within wakes right up. Hearing her recall little moments at the Wall, at the beach, in the desert, stirs my memory in that particular way. Suddenly, six years ago (the time of my Birthright trip) feels much closer. I feel the weight of old fond memories come to the surface in my mind. And all of a sudden, the travel bug bites.

After a begrudgingly long winter, summer is finally here! When anyone from out of town asks about Chicago, the phrase “amazing summer city” comes out of my mouth more often than not. As I write this, I peer over my balcony onto the Chicago River. Even without Rahm’s supposed plan to light up the river to turn it into an otherworldly tourist attraction, it’s so perfectly pretty. I’ve lived next to the river for two years and never once has the view of the twinkling Marina City Towers gotten old. I am a Chicago girl, born and raised. But sometimes, wanderlust tugs at me with great urgency.  

I find myself thinking of a new journey to take or wondering why I haven’t hopped on a plane in a while. I fixate on the possible logistics of another trip to Europe, to Asia – anywhere. But, like I said, summer is starting up in these here parts. Maybe it’s time to channel some of that travel-hungry energy into discovering (and rediscovering) my home city. So I’ve put together a mini bucket list for the summer comprised of places I’ve been, places I want to go and places I look forward to checking out for the first time.

1. Events at Millennium Park
Easily the number one perk of living in the Loop is the proximity to Millennium Park. I’ve been enthralled with the park since my first visit, dating back to high. It’s chock full of tourists, locals and fans of bean-shaped architecture alike, and the mixture allows for some of the best people-watching in the city. One of the key attractions of the park in the summer is its fantastic lineup of free concerts (“Downtown Sound”), featuring acts spanning many different genres like My Brightest Diamond, Joe Pug, Maps & Atlases and a whole host of other fantastic acts. Another series I want to check out is “Millennium Park Presents”, a showcase of theater, symphony music (what is the Pritzker Pavilion if not a magical venue for a little night music?), dance and other fine arts spectacles. Full schedule here.  

2. The Low Line Farmer’s Market
For the past two years, I’ve called the Loop home. Later this summer, I’m moving up to Lakeview and I’m definitely ready for the change of pace. The other day, I was taking a walk in my new hood and noticed a little farmer’s market just under the Southport stop, the Low Line Farmer’s Market. Do I secretly want to make friends with all of the vendors and carry home flowers every Thursday from my neighborhood market, European-style? But of course. 

3. Concert at Northerly Island
The summer after graduating college, it felt like every few weekends or so my friends and I would make a trip to Northerly Island to see a show, my personal favorite being John Mayer circa 2009 or so. The years have flown by and I haven’t made it back in quite some time. While the summer lineup is definitely college-friendly (ahem, Dave Matthews Band), the view of the city from the FirstMerit Bank Pavillion is simply stellar. Watching the sunset over the skyline while listening to live music—that’s what I call a quality summer night in Chicago.

4. Adler Planetarium
Talk about a tourist attraction with a view. The Adler Planetarium building and its surroundings jut out into the lake, and the view from the front lawn is just priceless. Looking up at the “stars” in the auditorium, daydreaming about the world around us is a fun experience that’s slightly different from the every day. A trip to the cosmos is needed sometimes, just to get away from it all, don’t you think?

5. Trying New Restaurants
Chicago’s catalog of new and exciting restaurants is robust, to say the least. Finding the newest place for this great dish or another can be a fun summer game. Little incentives help, like A La Card. I bought A La Card last year on a whim at a craft fair or fest. It’s a deck of cards comprised of 52 restaurants, each with their own $10 gift certificate – quite the steal. At 20ish bucks (I believe I bought my deck on sale), it’s incredibly worth it. So, I will hit the city with my A La Card deck and take advantage of the great independent restaurants the Chicago has to offer. I can’t wait!

Most of the time, dinner in our house needs to be quick and easy. Like most other supermoms out there, my days are long and I usually have about a two-hour window to cook and prep for the week.  

That being said, I do my very best to keep our meals high in protein and loaded with healthy, nutritious veggies.  Asparagus is one of those veggies that I absolutely cannot get enough of. When I take a pan of this lemony asparagus out of the oven, I usually munch on it until I realize that I have consumed half the pan myself and have ultimately become a vegetarian for that night.

This asparagus is super versatile! In the cold months I roast it in the oven for a few minutes, and in the gorgeous summer weather, I throw it on the grill for a quick sear along with some chicken or steaks and ring the dinner bell (or in my case, text the hubby to get his dinner on).

Lemon Parmesan Asapargus
By Girl and the Kitchen

Ingredients

1 pound of asparagus 
juice of one lemon 
2 tablespoons of olive oil 
2 tablespoons garlic powder 
salt and pepper to taste
Parmesan cheese as desired

Instructions

1. Just grab your asparagus, which is typically tightly bound with rubber bands, and place it on a cutting board. You are going to want to cut off the woodsy ends. To know where that is, just take an asparagus spear and hold two fingers on one end of the asparagus and two fingers (from the other hand) on the other side, now bend it. Where it naturally snapped is the woodsy end. Use that one asparagus as a measuring point for the rest of the asparagus and cut off the woodsy ends. You can discard those, unless you are planning on throwing them into a soup for flavor.

2. Wash the asparagi (hmmm is that a word?) thoroughly and then towel-dry it. Place it into a roasting pan (a foil pan works perfectly fine). Drizzle olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper and garlic powder.

3. Place it into a 400-degree oven for 5-7 minutes or grill it on high for about 5-7 minutes. It should be tender to the bite but not mushy.

4. Now is the fun part! Take some good nutty Parmesan cheese and grate it all over the asparagus. Make it as cheesy as you want... 

There’s a section of Craigslist called Missed Connections. In that section, people can write classified ads to others with whom they shared a glance on the subway, or shared a quick chat in the parking lot, but weren’t able to get contact information.

For example:

Walgreens-Broadway & Waveland
We both happened to be looking to purchase the same item, chatted in line for a bit. Tell me what we both bought. Maybe a coffee?

I’m not sure how many people really make use of this section, but it gives me an idea.

We need a website for Potluck Missed Connections.

Do you ever go to a potluck meal, eat something delicious, and then never discover who brought it or what it was? That happens to me surprisingly often. I need this website to connect with strangers with whom I have shared the bond of food.

Broccoli Cheese Quiche
I met you at the Friday night dinner at Sarah’s house. You were a broccoli cheese dish cut into small squares. Were you a quiche? Were you made of mozzarella cheese or cheddar? Who made you?

Flourless Chocolate Cake
You and I shared a wonderful evening at the synagogue’s women’s seder. I’ve had other flourless chocolate cakes, but none like you; none as light, fluffy, moist, and chocolaty. Who could have brought you? Message me the flavor of rugelach that were placed next to you and I’ll know it was really you.

Noodle Kugel
You came highly recommended to me when I visited your home synagogue, while I was in from out of town. Topped with a cinnamon crumble canopy, it was love at first bite. Do I have to join your Minnesota synagogue in order to see you again?  

When I first found out I was pregnant, I was sweet on the name Jake. I have loved that name ever since dreamy high school senior Jake Ryan discussed his growing affection for flat-chested freshman Sammy Baker Davis Junior. In my world, after “Sixteen Candles” there was nothing but love for a sweet boy named Jake. However:  

“There are so many boys named Jake nowadays.”  

“Don’t you have a nephew named Blake? Blake and Jake? I don’t know about that…”  

And some just simply said,  

“I don’t like it.”  

Well who asked them? Apparently I did. Because many people seem to think when you share something, you are in turn, asking for an opinion.

While I will admit to ultimately not having a son named Jake, I will also argue I didn’t completely chicken out. Having kids named BJ (capital B, capital J – no periods), Ryder, Phoenix and Fray (last name Moses-Rosenthal no less), clearly people could have had a plethora of opinions. But, I waited to share our name choices until it was too late. Not a word until the ink on the birth certificate was dry. Anyone who offered an opinion after that was going to look like, well, a complete jerk. And so, this is why I have been keeping a super-secret, Scooby Doo mystery-reveal all to myself. But I’m ready now! I’m ready to pull that rubber mask off of Old Man Jenkins.

No, I’m not having a baby. I’m having a kitchen! And it’s about time. As my family has gotten bigger, my kitchen has gotten undeniably smaller.  Two melted cabinet fronts (a result of my overly enthusiastic cooking of Ethiopian food) have mocked me for years.  And finally, I’m rehabbing! And it ain’t gonna be beige.

In my kitchen fantasy, (I know it’s a fantasy because it’s clean), I have room, I have light and I have … oceanic teal cabinets with bead boarding. Yup. Oceanic teal. And the deposit is down. No turning back. Come July 7, the fantasy will be realized.  

But when the kitchen demo started, mum was the word. I took the “don’t share the name till it’s born” position.  

“So? What are you doing?”  

“Kitchen.”  

“…?”  

“…”  

I have heard a lot of “resale value” talk when it comes to kitchen rehab. Neutral colors, “inoffensive” (again read neutral) backsplash tile, white walls. But this was not to be the destiny of my fantasy kitchen. My fantasy kitchen would be a kitchen for me. Not a kitchen for just any person who walks through my home with a realtor.  

I chose red, blue, green and yellow backsplash tile (it’s recycled from reclaimed toilets. For real!); my kitchen walls will be yellow and I’m painting the corner built-in red. And although my kitchen might quite possibly be a neutrally dressed realtor’s worst nightmare, I’m OK with that – because it’s mine.  

Feeling nostalgic while writing this, I looked up some bio information on the actor who played Jake Ryan. He has two kids. Their names are Zane and Scarlett. Sounds to me like Jake wouldn’t have a neutrally decorated kitchen either. Maybe I can have him over for dinner sometime…    

Have you ever seen an almond and thought that G-d was with you? Or that the little brown beauty was a sign of a divine presence?    

In this weekend’s Torah portion, Korach, Aaron’s staff sprouted almonds. In Numbers 17: 23, “And on the following day Moses came to the Tent of Testimony, and behold, Aaron's staff for the house of Levi had blossomed! It gave forth blossoms, sprouted buds, and produced ripe almonds.” The fast growth of the almonds proved that G-d intended that Aaron become a high priest. Almonds were the sign? Almonds?  

According to Rashi, almonds blossom quicker than any other fruit (Yes, almonds are considered fruits, called drupes!) and that is why almonds were chosen as the fruit that connected Aaron to G-d. I have a different take on it, however. Maybe almonds were chosen because they’re packed with vitamins and nutrients, and that the almond itself was the miracle, rather than the time it took them to blossom. That Aaron was able to produce something so healthy so quickly was a sign that G-d was with him.  

Almonds are a great source of biotin, magnesium, and vitamin E. Biotin helps control your blood sugar and keeps your skin looking healthy. Magnesium also controls blood sugar, but is more widely known as a mineral that protects our bones and fights inflammation. Vitamin E, which makes up 40 percent of the nutrients of an almond, is an antioxidant and helps fight heart disease.  

Another way that almonds help fight heart disease is through the fat they contain, but it’s the good kind of fat--monounsaturated. Monounsaturated fats help lower your LDL cholesterol, which is your bad cholesterol.  

In recent years, almonds have become more and more popular. We find them in salads, covered in chocolate, and as an ingredient in the crusts on chicken, fish, and meats. Adding almonds to your food is smart. About 23 almonds have 6 grams of protein which, along with magnesium, can help make your body stronger.  

Almond milk is an excellent substitute for people with dairy allergies. Not only is it delicious and nutritious, but it can help reduce the stomach aches that some people get from dairy products. If you are allergic to any type of nut, be careful and consult with your doctor before switching to almond milk, but if not, go nuts. Pour almond milk in your cereal, use it in your smoothies, or make ice cream with it.  

For years people jokingly asked health professionals if there was anything high in fat, delicious, and easy to find that they could eat to stay healthy. There is no need to kid around anymore – we have almonds. They are found at every grocery store, and if eaten raw, which is the healthiest way, they are always kosher. We don’t need Aaron to make them quickly; stores have them right at our fingertips.  

Aaron’s staff sprouted almonds and everyone was amazed. People instantly knew that Aaron had some sort of connection with G-d when they saw a cluster of almonds. We should feel the same way. Every time we see an almond we should thank G-d for making something so little and perfect for us to nosh on.                   

Living in Chicago is difficult. Well, yes, there is winter, but aren’t you past that by now?  We have bigger issues than a silly Polar Vortex. I’m talking about the various (mostly unspoken) rules that pit us against each other. Each of these “Chicago Commandments” and how you approach them says a lot about the kind of Chicagoan you are. Are you for the Cubs or Sox? Do you secretly put ketchup on hotdogs? How do you feel about the Blue Line? What about a playoff beard?  

These little idiosyncrasies are endless, but the king of them all will get a true Chicagoan riled up faster than the Crosstown Classic. I dare you to ask this question to a group of people:  Where do I find the best pizza?

It sounds innocent enough, but if you ask that question you’re likely to find yourself in a wrestling match. When I’m asked where my favorite pizza comes from, I like to throw gasoline on the fire by saying that I prefer making my own. I know. Who says something like that? Who do I think I am, Gwyneth Paltrow? What a disgusting and revolting thing to say. I make my own pizza. Why can’t I just say Lou Malnati’s and move on with my day?  

Lou’s does get me more excited than just about anything, but I really do prefer the magic of making my own pizza. I like the idea of putting ingredients that I select from the grocery store onto my pizza. I know, there I go with my Paltrow face again.  I discovered the recipe listed below during one of Chicago’s freeze outs this past winter.  I wanted pizza. I also wanted a way to entertain beyond reruns during those negative temps. I felt guilty ordering delivery and I try to avoid weird processed foods when possible, so frozen pizza was out too. The solution? DIY pizza.

I give the recipe for pizza dough below, but if that sounds like the most annoying and time consuming thing you’ve ever heard there are other options. Trader Joe’s has pizza dough that you can roll out if you want to skip a few steps and save a bit of time.  It’s delicious and gives a thicker chewier pizza crust. If you like a thinner pizza, Jewel offers a ready-made pizza crust that is shaped and ready to go.  If you’re as lazy like me, you should totally use one of these options. Just follow the instructions on the packaging. Enjoy!

Ingredients:

For the dough:
1 1/4 cups warm water
2 packages dry yeast
1 tablespoon honey
olive oil
4 cups all-purpose flour, plus extra for kneading
Kosher salt
4 cloves garlic, sliced
5 sprigs fresh thyme
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

For the topping:
3 cups grated Italian fontina cheese (8 ounces)
1 1/2 cups grated fresh mozzarella cheese (7 ounces)
11 ounces creamy goat cheese, crumbled

1/2 cup good olive oil
1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
Freshly ground black pepper
8 ounces baby arugula
1 lemon, sliced

Directions  

Mix the dough: Combine the water, yeast, honey and 3 tablespoons of olive oil in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a dough hook. When the yeast is dissolved, add 3 cups of flour, then 2 teaspoons salt, and mix on medium-low speed. While mixing, add up to 1 more cup of flour, or just enough to make a soft dough. Knead the dough for about 10 minutes until smooth, sprinkling it with the flour as necessary to keep it from sticking to the bowl.

Knead by hand: When the dough is ready, turn it out onto a floured board and knead it by hand a dozen times. It should be smooth and elastic.

Let it rise: Place the dough in a well-oiled bowl and turn it to cover it lightly with oil. Cover the bowl with a kitchen towel and allow the dough to rise at room temperature for 30 minutes.

Make garlic oil: Place 1/2 cup of olive oil, the garlic, thyme and red pepper flakes in a small saucepan and bring to a simmer over low heat. Cook for 10 minutes, making sure the garlic doesn't burn. Set aside. Don’t want to make this?  You can buy garlic infused olive oil at any grocery store…

Preheat the oven to 500 degrees.

Portion the dough: Dump the dough onto a board and divide it into 6 equal pieces. Place the doughs on sheet pans lined with parchment paper and cover them with a damp towel. Allow the dough to rest for 10 minutes. Use immediately, or refrigerate for up to 4 hours.

Stretch the dough: Press and stretch each ball into an 8-inch circle and place 2 circles on each sheet pan lined with parchment paper. (If you've chilled the dough, take it out of the refrigerator approximately 30 minutes ahead to let it come to room temperature.)

Top the dough: Brush the pizzas with the garlic oil, and sprinkle each one liberally with salt and pepper. Sprinkle the pizzas evenly with fontina, mozzarella and goat cheese. Drizzle each pizza with 1 tablespoon more of the garlic oil and bake for 10 to 15 minutes, until the crusts are crisp and the cheeses begin to brown.

Make the vinaigrette: Meanwhile, whisk together 1/2 cup of olive oil, the lemon juice, 1 teaspoon salt and 1/2 teaspoon pepper.

Add the greens: When the pizzas are done, place the arugula in a large bowl and toss with just enough lemon vinaigrette to moisten. Place a large bunch of arugula on each pizza and a slice of lemon and serve immediately.  

It's funny how we tend to see things through the eyes of what we value and appreciate. My father (of blessed memory) had a keen eye and appreciation for architecture. When he would visit me in NYC we would walk through different neighborhoods and he would point out small details that I, as a pedestrian, would miss. Of course, Frank Lloyd Wright's homes and buildings were a favorite of his. Growing up in Wichita, Kansas, our own Wright claims to fame consisted of the last "Prairie House" (the Allen-Lambe home) and also one of his last buildings (the Corbin Education Center at Wichita State University).

Living in Chicago, with a casual sensitivity to Wright's designs, I am constantly seeing how one person can affect a landscape. When I drive around the city, I can't help but see shadows of his designs (yeah, even outside of Oak Park). When I participated in "Bike the Drive" last month, I saw lamps on the bridges that were made based on Wright’s designs. When I pass through neighborhoods, go into medical offices, see front porch lamps, it's all about his Prairie House designs. He was gifted, brilliant, and revolutionary. That's why his homes sell for millions of dollars.

Having only lived here for eight years, I am fortunate that the neighborhoods and surrounding suburbs are a sort of treasure map of classic residential homes Wright designed. You can look online and find dozens of guided tours of Oak Park and the North Shore, and purchase tickets to tour the inside of Wright-designed homes. 

Of course, those tours only show you the famous residences. I was searching online recently and found a series of small apartment buildings that were built in 1895 and designed by Wright when he was 28 years old. Located about a mile northwest of the United Center, at 2840-58 W. Walnut Street, are four out of five original four-unit apartment buildings called the "Waller Apartments" (named after Edward Waller, who financed their development). These were actually the first low-income apartments in Chicago. 

When I drove to the apartments and stopped to look at them, I was greeted by a resident at 2840 W. Walnut. He asked if I was lost (I guess the yarmulke sort of gave the impression that I wasn't from his neighborhood) and I told him that I was just looking at the buildings. He proudly told me that his grandfather owned the one that he lives in. It seems that people stop by every so often to see these long-forgotten gems. It was a bittersweet excursion, since the buildings are currently not in the greatest shape.

I felt sure that Frank Lloyd Wright put as much thought, attention, and value into these apartments as he put into the Robie House, the River Forest Tennis Club, and maybe even the long-demolished Midway Gardens. Wright probably had no idea at the time that his home and studio was become a profitable tourist attraction or that his homes would become showplaces and status symbols. I'm pretty sure that he didn't think the "Waller Apartments" and surrounding neighborhood would become victims of neglect.

I often wonder if I am sensitive to the innate value of what I do, to the conversations I have with people, the casual exchanges with my wife and kids on a daily basis. I know that there is value to them, but it isn't at the forefront of my mind. Like most thing that I tend to do by rote, the meaning seems to slip away unless I make a conscious effort. So I'll try to take a page out of Frank Lloyd Wright's drawing pad and put value into it all, for value's sake.  

Over the last couple weeks, I’ve thought a lot about writing about how this trend of stars teaming up is not good for the NBA. How I missed the old days when the best players wanted to play against each other.

And we felt the same way as fans. I wanted to see MJ vs. Magic Johnson – not with Magic. That’s what the Dream Team was for. Players were competitors who didn’t become friends until long after their playing days were over. Now they’re all friends.

At some point I started to think, as a Bulls fan, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Let’s not choose between Melo and Love, let’s get both Melo and Love. Super teams are apparently the only way to win now.

And then I watched this year’s NBA Finals, which concluded with the San Antonio Spurs completing a 4-1 series win last night over the Miami Heat. The Spurs are the antithesis of the new age super team. They are a team with a core built from the ground up through the draft, with role players from free agency filling gaps. They are not flashy and you won’t see them in commercials, but you will see them play fundamental basketball the way it was meant to be played.

So to see this team beat the “Big 3” so handily helped restore my faith in the NBA. I wasn’t just happy that the Heat lost, but I was thrilled that the Spurs were the team that did it. I’ve always been a fan of the way they play from the days of David Robinson to the present. Tim Duncan is my favorite non-Bulls NBA player of all time. And I love the way they run their organization – just look at the team they’ve put together. They are filled with late first round or second round draft picks, free agents picked off the slush pile, and international players. No big stars teaming up, no max contracts, no celebrity status. And it doesn’t escape me that the Spurs won because their defense just flat out shut down the Heat.

So this brings me back to the Bulls, and the thought that they should be modeling their team after the Spurs, not the Heat. They have the smart, defensive-minded head coach. They have a solid core of home grown players. So what is missing that will put this team over the edge? They need to be able to score. They aren’t just missing one player – they need more of a “pick your poison” team. Players like Danny Green and Patty Mills need to fill out their bench, guys that are a threat with the ball. They don’t need to be stars averaging 30 points a game, just guys that scare you if their left open. The Bulls don’t have that guy. Derrick Rose is the closest thing they have, but who knows what he’ll be like when/if he comes back for a full season. Maybe that player is Carmelo Anthony or Kevin Love, or maybe it’s someone we haven’t talked about yet.

But the Bulls aren’t as far from elite as we think. They need to stay healthy, and Tom Thibodeau needs to take a page out of Pop’s book and learn how to evenly distribute his minutes and allow his players to be at their best come playoff time. These are potentially easy fixes, and watching the Spurs in this finals has me off my thought that the Bulls needed to just clean house and find stars. NBA championships can still be won the right away. The Spurs proved it, and the Bulls can too.  

How many of you know your neighbors? Are you friendly with them, and they with you? Do you have things in common? Have you actually thought about your neighbors, seen them or spent any time with them?

I grew up in the city where the majority of my friends lived with lots of neighbors. I was fortunate to have been raised in a townhouse in a condo complex, allowing for both family privacy and public social interactions with both town home and condo owners, so I had lots of friends to play with and lots of fun. We even had a small play-lot built in the back of the property where we could play pick-up basketball games or HORSE, or see who could fly off the swings and land the farthest in the sand, like Olympic jumpers.

But the place to be in our complex was the courtyard. I loved the courtyard! Surrounded by the town homes and condo building, the courtyard was (and still is) a giant, oval-shaped area where all town home owners and some condo owners had a patio facing the center. The courtyard was many things to us: it was our track where we would race around the perimeter for TV privileges and have water fights; it was our community gathering place, where many summer birthdays, holidays and milestones were celebrated and shared; and it was also the place my dad snuck me my first sip of beer at the ripe old age of 9 – or something. The versatility and potential was as limitless as my imagination, and I was blessed with an enormously active one.

In addition to accumulating my share of cuts and bruises there, I learned a lot in that courtyard, like how to rollerblade, how to ride my bike and how to play catch and pitch accurately, since the walkways were so narrow. When I got older, my dad taught me firsthand how to plant and take care of his flowers and herbs, maintain a clean patio and outdoor space, and clean and use the grill properly. When I was in college and home for the summer, the courtyard became legendary for my awesomely fun outdoor barbecues. The memories there are so vivid, as if they happened just the other day.

But the most valuable lesson I learned there was how to be a good neighbor. For instance, whenever the ball would sail onto another patio while playing catch, we were all taught to quietly and carefully retrieve the ball but remember to shout, “SORRY, (so-and-so)!!” even if they weren’t home. If we disturbed anything we would carefully put it back in its place. Fortunately, we never broke any windows, but plenty of plants were uprooted and patio furniture overturned. It was in these situations when my mother and father saw the opportunity to teach me how to be a good person by being a good neighbor, and I never forgot it.

I heard a story earlier this week from one of my old bartending acquaintances that really illustrates the power of the human connection and our effect on others, even when we don’t even know we are exerting any influence, like ripples in a pond.

He told me he spent an hour talking to someone he did not know well. The man seemed depressed and he just wanted to put a smile on his face. Months later, this man sent him a card to thank him for listening. He said the act of giving him a bit of his time stopped him from committing suicide, that he was planning on going home and doing something horrible to himself. In that hour that they spoke, had he not asked him how he was, a warm and gentle soul would have been erased from the earth.

After hearing that story, I thought a lot about what it means to be a good neighbor. Clearly, my bartending buddy had no pre-established connection or an ulterior motive - he wasn’t out to “fix the world” or change people. He just saw someone in need and reacted and responded.

They didn’t live close together or even know each other like you typically think of when you think of neighbors, but if you look carefully at the dictionary definition of neighbor – the one taken from the biblical interpretation – it says, “any person in need of one’s help or kindness.” That’s exactly what my friend saw in this situation and reacted in a way that is so admirable and sensitive.

In a world that grows increasingly inward and isolated from others, acts of kindness like this should be exalted and celebrated. As a Jew I have known since I was a little boy that treating others with kindness and respect will serve me well into my adulthood. If only more people made an effort to be a good neighbor, imagine the good that could be spread and the positive vibes that could be shared. It’s paying it forward, enhancing someone else’s life for the better. To that end I am immensely proud of my friend for what he did and the courage it took to reach out to a stranger, become his neighbor and leave such a lasting impact.

Other than wanting to share that story, the  reason I am writing about this now is because my wife and I are making the brave move to the suburbs. In a few short days we will be living in a single family home with a yard and – you guessed it – neighbors. Ever since we started looking I haven’t stopped thinking about what it would be like and how living in this new neighborhood with new neighbors will bring new and exciting opportunities for my family. I’m actually looking forward to being a neighbor and having the opportunities to pay it forward and establish the same atmosphere that my parents worked so hard to create for me. I have great neighbors now that my wife and I will miss, but they will still be our friends.

You know the State Farm jingle, “Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there,” but just this once, put yourself in it and see what it’s like to be on the giving end. You might be surprised with the experience. 

L’Chaim! 

You need a process in order to succeed – we all do.  Almost every field of business requires one, fundraising and finance included.  It is the process that enables you to perfect, hone and master your skills while you continue to grow and build. There are four steps in a basic process that can be used in a multitude of industries – research, romance, request and recognize.  Let’s dig in a little more:  

1. Research  

The first step of the process is to do your research. Who is your target market? What will you ask them? Do your research and know them inside and out. This may seem obvious, but without the people, you don’t have a business! The more you know in advance, the easier it will be. 

2. Romance

Put the person first … the person should always come before the wallet. You have to develop the relationship, engage the person and prepare them for “the ask.” Whether the ask is for money, business or referrals, don’t just focus on the end result, but the person involved in getting you there. What do they like to do? What event did they last attend? What adventure did they recently take?   

3. Request

The ask, or request, is the third and most difficult step in the process. It doesn’t matter what it is for, the ask is never easy. I have solicited thousands of people for donations, and each time right before I make my ask, my heart starts racing. It doesn’t matter if it was my first ask or my three thousandth, I still get nervous. Just remember, you will never get something if you don’t ask!    

4. Recognize 

Just as important as the ask itself is your response to the answer the person gives. You must be prepared to quickly respond, no matter what. This is critical to building a relationship and planting a seed for the future. Say thank you, thank you and thank you once more. Keep the person updated on the business, news, personnel, etc. Recognition is all about maintaining and evolving relationships. If done successfully, it will ensure the person knows they are valued and continue to engage them in a positive manner for years to come.  

Research, romance, request, recognize.  Seems easy enough, right?  If that process is the key to success, then why aren’t we all killing it you may be asking?  Simple: you have to stop reading this and get out there. Go! (You can recognize me later!)  

I'm a bit of a dork, but I love graduation season. 

I tear up at montages on the news of commencement speakers serving up their most sage nuggets of advice to senior classes. I smile at stuffed animals at Hallmark dressed in caps and gowns. And I gravitate toward Dr. Seuss-type guides empowering grads on their future journeys. I find grad season synonymous with hope and possibility. After all, graduation is the time when students are given a fresh start at life, eager and anxious to take on the world. And whether you're the class of 2014 or you graduated—ahem—a few years back, it's a great time to reenergize, take stock of all you have, and dream big.

With that, Jewish grads, here are 10 tips for the road ahead…Mazel tov!

1) Catch more flies with honey.

That Russian Jewish proverb whispered to me by my mother throughout my life and passed down from her mother and her mother's mother applies to everyone we encounter in life. That includes everyone from the major players in our lives to the people making cameo appearances, like our morning barista or the person who sweeps the sidewalks. Try to keep in mind that we're all just striving to leave our imprint on the world, to know that the world is a better place because we're
in it. 

2) Figure out what you want.

I recently attended TribeFest, a Jewish Federations of North America-sponsored conference of Jewish Gen X and Yers, where we were asked to partner up with someone we'd never met before. Each partner was asked to share with the other answers to two questions: What do we want most in life? And what are the obstacles standing in the way to us getting that thing we want? We each had two minutes to share our responses, and the other person could only listen, rather than chime in with questions or comments. What I loved about this assignment is we were asked to cut through all the noise and get to the heart of what we really want out of life. There are a lot of distractions and naysayers in the world that keep us from doing the things we want in life and the things we know to be right. Go with your gut—what you truly feel in your bones. 

3) Be a little Zen. 

Meditation is hot these days and I can see why. We're all trying to find that perfect job, to go on that perfect JDate, or to raise that perfect Jewish baby. But you know what? It ain't easy. So let's just all breathe, shall we? You can find your nice Jewish husband tomorrow.

4) Repair the world. 

Do your part to mend our very broken world. That could be by serving meals at the JUF Uptown Cafe, doing service work in Africa, or making a gift to a good cause like—I don't know—JUF.

 5) Be present. 

Put this column down. And put your phone down. Whomever you're texting will still be there when you get back. Now, feel the ground under your feet, listen to the birds chirping, smell the aroma of the nearby pancake house wafting through the air. Don't think about your regrets of the past or your 120-point plan for the future. Just for a second—be in the moment.  

6) Find your people.

I'll admit it. It took me a long time to get that not everyone in the whole wide world is going to like me, and that's okay. You just have to surround yourself with people—that includes your friends, mentors, and potential significant others—who make you feel like the best version of yourself, who share your same values and your same weird sense of humor. The people who really get you.

7) Go down your own Jewish path.

We're all on our own Jewish journey. There are so many ways to strengthen our Jewish identity—culturally, spiritually, and religiously—and no two Jewish paths are exactly the same. Go to shul, host a Shabbat meal, watch a Seth Rogen movie, bake challah, or all of the above. Even along our own path, the road will wind. I'm a different Jew now than I was when I was a kid or even last year. And I won't be the same next year either. We're evolving in all kinds of ways, and our Jewish path is part of that evolution. 

8) Recognize how good we've got it.

Every day we're alive is a good day. That's why Jews say a blessing every morning, "Modeh Ani," where we thank God for sustaining us through the night. Don't forget that there is always someone out there who has it worse than you, and to appreciate all the blessings in life. 

9) Screw up every now and then.

We're all fixer-uppers and hopefully morphing into the best versions of ourselves all the time. We make a whole lot of mistakes as we walk through life, which is how we learn. As the just-passed famed and wise poet Maya Angelou once said—"When you know better, you do better." So don't be too hard on yourself for something you did in the past. It's what you do today that counts. 

10) Tell the people in your life what they mean to you. 

Why 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 have lunch with the people you care about, and tell them why they matter to you. 

Marketing terms like “beach body ready,” start popping up in April, making everyone feel guilty for their winter indiscretions. The moment T-shirt and shorts weather hits, people are hounding me for advice and sessions. The good news, summer is the best time to get in shape. The excuse “it’s too cold out” does not apply, and the days are longer.

There are a few things to be careful about exercising outside during the summer. The general rules are below:

1. Speak with your doctor before starting a new routine

2. Apply sunscreen

3. Avoid extreme heat

4. Drink lots of water

5. Avoid peak times of day when sun is the hottest

6. If you feel faint, light-headed, dizzy, etc…. stop immediately and seek medical attention

The cheapest and easiest form of exercise is walking. Walk before or after work, so you avoid the heat. I love working out at lunch, but combining the hot weather and dress clothes does not make for a comfortable afternoon. Make sure you have comfortable and supportive shoes and bring a water bottle with you. You can make your walk more intense by walking up hills or simply increase your pace for a minute every several minutes.

Other obvious summer workouts are biking, swimming and running. My favorite thing to do in summer is boot camp workouts. If you cannot find one you in your area, create your own! Look for a park where you can place a band on a swing set or other jungle gym equipment. With a few bands that you can buy at any sporting goods store or online (I buy www.resistancebandtraining.com bands) you can create a great full-body workout. Here’s a sample routine, mixing in running, body weight moves and bands:

- Run side to side for 20 yards.

- Attempt as many pushups as you can in 45 seconds (if a regular push up is too hard, try them on your knees)

- Squat down like you are sitting on a chair, then stand up quickly, aim for 20 squats

- Bicep curls with your band, place a band under your feet, hold the handles, and bring the handles towards your body. Curl the band 15-20 times

- Run for 20 yards.

- Row with your band. Attach the band to a piece of sturdy equipment. Stand facing your band with the handles in each hand, pull bringing your elbows straight back. Picture is below. Do 15-20 rows.

Repeat this circuit 4-5 times taking breaks only when you need them. To make this workout harder you can add in exercises such as jumping jacks, or use heavier bands and keep your repetitions between 8-12. If you have trouble figuring out an exercise, YouTube is a great resource. If you want to join a boot camp in the North Shore, contact me at rkrit@fitwithkrit.com.

My last summer fitness suggestion is enlist friends and family. You are more likely to continue exercising if you have a friend holding you accountable. I’m not suggesting you join a softball league; it’s not going to change your physique though that is fun and a great social outlet. Find a buddy to run with, play golf, basketball, etc. With a few cheap cones or other equipment, you can even set up a fun obstacle course for the family to use. If your children are hesitant to participate, allow them to set up the course. 

The biggest Jewish sports news of the summer is a huge “mazel tov” to Maccabi Tel Aviv for winning the Euroleague Basketball Championship. This is an incredible accomplishment; Israel went crazy after the historic victory.

Also, mazel tov to Shoni Schimmel, who went eighth in the WNBA draft to the Atlanta Dream. Schimmel graduated last year from Louisville, where her sister, Jude, will be a senior. Both sisters are part Jewish and part Native American.

Recently and unfortunately, Jewish baseball players Josh Zeid and Ryan Kalish have been sent down. Also, Aaron Poreda has been optioned to the Pacific Coast League even though he has been pitching well. We hope to see them all back up soon.

In NFL news, former Bears punter Adam Podlesh has signed a one-year deal with the Steelers, while Brian De La Puente has joined the Bears and Jewish coach Marc Trestman’s minyan after snapping/starting the last two years with the Saints. He is currently behind Roberto Garza on the depth chart.

In college basketball news, the charismatic college coach Bruce Pearl is back. Pearl is the new head coach of the Auburn Tigers. Auburn makes a big splash with a proven coach. It is good to see Pearl back on the sidelines and out from behind a desk. Pearl has wasted no time building a staff bringing aboard Auburn legend Chuck Person and adding two Jewish coaches to his team: Harris Adler, formerly of La Salle, and Columbia's Todd Golden.

Last week, I bought my first can of gefilte fish at college. Gefilte fish is one of those odd foods that I refused to touch as a child; now, its jelly-like, quivering texture fondly reminds me of home. Back at my apartment, I excitedly wrenched the top open and thrust the can before one of my friends.

In turn, he eyed the gooey, grey fish and wrinkled his nose. “Jewish food looks gross,” he said dismissively, and the conversation promptly ended there. My gefilte fish can was shuttered and quietly placed in the corner of the refrigerator, never to be critiqued again. 

This one little moment got me wondering, though — what exactly is Jewish food? 

It’s definitely not something I could summarize in a sentence or two. What kind of Jewish food are we talking about here? New York lox and bagels? Israeli couscous? Russian potato salad? 

Since leaving my predominantly Jewish suburb and going to college, a question that’s been nagging at me is, what do non-Jews think of Jews? What does the Hillel building symbolize to those who have never been there? How does the dry, flaky taste of matzah resonate with someone who has never had to eat it for a week straight? The question of Jewish food only made me wonder — do non-Jews think all we eat is gefilte fish?! 

I’ve found that a word that floats around campus pretty often is “coastie:” a wealthy student from either New York or California who lives in one of of the two private dorms on campus. There are plenty of coastie jokes that go around; the ideal “coastie wardrobe” packed with leggings, a supposed affinity for Starbucks, their proud reputations as “daddy’s little girls.” 

While most people don’t find anything particularly ominous about coastie jokes, there is some question as to whether these jokes don’t hint at anti-Semitism. After all, the private dorms were originally created specifically for Jews who did not have anywhere else to live on campus. “Coasties” are mainly defined by what they wear and how they talk, but the unspoken understanding is that they’re all mostly Jewish, too. 

Personally, I don’t think there’s anything especially hateful about the “coastie” jokes. In a campus that is not predominantly Jewish, it’s easy to slap on a stereotype — as it is with any minority. What’s important to realize is that like any group of people, the Jewish people are startlingly diverse. 

A quick glance at the Chabad website shows that there are Jews everywhere throughout the world; from Bogota to Beijing. You can travel the world and be surprised by how many Jews you find. You might also see that while some customs are similar, each different person has their own mannerisms, food preferences, wardrobe and priorities. 

The definition of the average Jewish person is as hard to nail down as the question of Jewish cuisine. If anything, cuisine is a symbol of how varied and diverse the Jewish people are today. 

Using food as a metaphor, then a falafel might be the exotic Israeli security guard you bat your eyelashes at from your tour bus. The fluffy challah might remind you of your rabbi, while a plate of babaganoush might make you think of your Moroccan-Jewish friend. The gefilte fish might be a goofy older relative— a little misunderstood at times, but stodgy and well-meaning all the same. Assuming that a gefilte fish is accurately representative of all Jewish food is as misunderstood as thinking that an

Argentinean Jew would act the same as a Jew from New York.

A few days ago, someone sent me a goofy quiz titled, “What Religion Are You Really?” Bored, I filled it out and was pleasantly surprised to get the result of “Hinduism.”

As a joke, I sent it to my same friend who had so quickly dismissed Jewish food earlier. An hour later, I got a message with his results —Judaism, of course. Maybe there’s a little more to the whole Jewish thing than he expected.

I can safely say, until reading Tamar Caspi’s How to Woo a Jew: The Modern Jewish Guide to Dating and Mating, I’d never come across a dating advice book so specific to the Jewish experience. Caspi’s book covers everything from online dating to Jewish singles events to the taming of Jewish mothers.

Caspi, who is a syndicated Jewish dating advice columnist and also JDate.com’s official advice columnist and member advisor, takes readers on a journey, from her own revelation that she must mate Jewishly, to finding and wedding a Jewish beshert. Throughout her book, Caspi details the process of preparing oneself for love, finding love, and then keeping that loved one. She profiles several daters of varying ages and circumstances as case studies, to elaborate on her points throughout. After falling in love, facing heartbreak, and falling in love again, she offers a heart-felt guide for evaluating whether one is ready to get back on the proverbial horse after bad serial dating, or even after a heart-wrenching break-up of one’s own.

^{Photo Credit: © Tracy Renee Photography}

Caspi also gives section-by-section advice on how to build the perfect JDate profile, understandably, because she works for JDate. Caspi, however, makes a misstep by failing to acknowledge the ever-growing presence of competing dating apps, and how they are changing the digital dating landscape altogether. I understood her choice to focus on the primarily Jewish dating outlets, but Jewish people are arguably using a combination of competing resources to find their mates. With each succeeding generation, communication between daters grows more complex with daters seeking instant gratification wherever they can find it—and it’s not difficult with increasingly affordable smart phones and thousands of phone apps.

Those seeking their mates are likely juggling dating profiles on multiple sites and apps. I think back to the 2005 film, Must Love Dogs, and it’s not that far from present-day online dating experiences, despite the rapidly changing digital dating environment. In the film, a divorced, 40-something Diane Lane (still more gorgeous than most 20-year-olds I know) seeks love anew via several online dating profiles. While we all aren’t 40-something, post-divorce, hot movie stars looking for love, the movie had an air of truth, as Lane’s character made several profiles with edited photos of herself, portraying various personas.

If we all had endless time and the appropriate lack of conscience, we could play a game of “Catfish” across numerous sites—and some do. That wasn’t necessarily Lane’s character’s intention, but daters approach the sites similarly today. Perhaps, the majority of modern-day digital daters aren’t trying to “Catfish” each other either (deceive each other online), but merely increase their odds, as Lane’s character attempted to do. (At one point in the film, she accidentally wound up on a blind date with her own father, so clearly no system is fool-proof.)

That said, if one is online dating, his or her inbox is likely inundated daily with matches and promotions from three to four sites or apps, if not more. With apps such as Coffee Meets Bagel and Hinge, one’s phone sends reminders at the same time each day to check out the app’s latest matches. Both apps offer limited match offers per day, which brilliantly, keeps the user coming back for more. For instance, Coffee Meets Bagel only offers the user one match a day. If one has enough “beans” (points) from referring friends to the app, Coffee Meets Bagel might unlock a few more surprise matches. Similarly, Hinge offers a select number of matches a day.

The most superficial of the recently popular apps is Tinder, which offers endless choices from which to choose. Swiping “yes” or “no” (right or left, respectively) is a bit like playing a slot machine or a game of cards. When one has swiped in approval of a picture, and that same person swipes in approval, “It’s a Match” pops up on the phone, encouraging the user to chat or “keep playing.”

“Tinder works like walking into a room, looking around and subconsciously going ‘yes, no, yes, no’ while scanning people,” Tinder co-founder and CEO Sean Rad said in an Entrepreneur.com article.

“If you give someone across the room that look and they give you that look back, you’re now both responding in the moment and that’s a match,” Rad added. “It’s because Tinder does this so well that we’ve experienced exponential growth, all without spending a dollar on marketing and advertising, not a dime on user acquisition. It’s people.”

While Tinder might mimic real-life first meetings in one regard, it’s also akin to older sites, such as “Hot or Not,” a site originally used for ranking people based on their looks, or Grindr.com, which historically attracted those looking for casual encounters. 

Tinder has revolutionized technology-assisted dating, according to Time.com writer Laura Stampler in an article entitled, “Inside Tinder; Meet the Guys Who Turned Dating into an Addiction.” 

While traditional dating sites require extended time in front of a desktop computer, writing and browsing bios, Tinder responds to a mobile generation, Stampler said, “played in short bursts on the go.” 

“Smartphone apps have turned courtship into an addictive pastime,” posited Stampler in a companion article titled, “The New Dating Game.”

She goes on to say that Tinder both appeals to and reinforces millennial stereotypes.

“Tinder is one of a host of new mobile dating apps based on a system of snap judgments that function kind of like a game for millennials,” Stambler said. “We've been dubbed the hook-up generation, ambitious multitaskers who commit reluctantly and are obsessed with digital distractions. 

“This is both true and an oversimplification. These apps play to stereotypes while simultaneously perpetuating them,” Stambler added. “Because even if we typically marry three to four years later than Gen Xers, we still (eventually) want love, and it's too soon to know if this crop of dating apps will make finding it easier or leave us trapped in a new kind of flirting limbo.”

In How to Woo a Jew, Caspi suggests that perhaps we are too prepared before meeting potential mates, having dissected their profiles, and potentially researched them online before meeting. As a digital dating advice guru, she actually encourages daters to get off line as quickly as possible, set up a date, and actually meet.

Some consider desktop dating sites a fading venture (along with desktop computers, themselves), and like playing the “dating slots” with quicker, addictive dating apps.

Perhaps, Rad is correct, in that Tinder allows users to make a return to the dating basics. First comes attraction, then connection, etc. However, a lot is lost when users make snap judgments with little-to-no accompanying information. 

A newer app, JCrush, attempts to mimic Tinder, but hasn’t quite taken off in the same way. Similarly, JDate has improved its mobile capabilities, likely to compete with other phone dating outlets. 

However, Rad admits that he doesn’t think people join Tinder because they’re looking for something serious. 

Digital daters are thus left with a confusing pool of dating outlet choices, none of which, likely make daters better communicators or more equipped to find love. 

“Dating is nothing if not confusing,” Caspi writes in How to Woo a Jew. “I get tons of emails asking for help with conundrums such as, ‘He calls me regularly, but doesn’t ask me out,’ or ‘He texted me after our date but I haven’t heard from him since.’

“A majority of the blame belongs to the current popular forms of communication: email, instant messages, and texts. Not knowing the tone, the sarcasm, or the intent of a written message can be a cause for confusion,” she added.

When we treat dating like a game, which newer apps increasingly encourage us to do, we’re less likely to make a real effort—with something as simple as even picking up the phone.

With traditional dating sites, digital daters were already developing a window shopping syndrome, in which one scarcely read entire profiles and easily dismissed potential mates. Apps such as Tinder only exacerbate this problem. And, how do you get people to stick around in a world of seemingly infinite possibility?

I’m reminded of an episode of Sex in the City, in which Carrie pleads with “Big” to give their relationship a real shot.

“I've done the merry-go-round, I've been through the revolving door. I feel like I met somebody I can stand still with for a minute,” Carrie said. “And… don't you wanna stand still with me?”

It was the best of cookies, it was the worst of cookies, it was the age of French treats, it was the age of Passover treats, it was the epoch of almond flour, it was the epoch of coconut, it was the season of $2 cookies, it was the season of why-even-pay-for cookies, it was the spring of taking a nice walk to a bakery, it was the winter of staying inside because these cookies are not worth it, we had all the cookies before us, we had none of the cookies before us, we were all going direct to a heavenly bakery, we were all going direct the other way…

Today’s lesson is a Tale of Two Cookies.

Friends, meet the macaroon.

A macaroon is a cookie made mostly of coconut that is often served as a Passover delicacy — or more like a Passover punishment. These cookies come in flavors like chocolate, chocolate dipped, almond, caramel, banana nut, red velvet, and more. The only reason I see for wasting the calories (approximately 97) is that it’s Passover, you’re hungry, you don’t know where your next meal will come from, and there’s an easily accessible box of macaroons nearby. (My apologies to the three of you out there in the world who actually enjoy macaroons.)

Now, let’s meet a more exotic cookie: The French macaron.

A French macaron (notice the spelling) is a small, light sandwich cookie with an almond meringue texture and jam or buttercream in the center. The cookies are usually colored with food coloring to match its flavor, which could be vanilla, hazelnut, chocolate, raspberry, red velvet, pistachio, lemon, caramel, cinnamon, lavender, and others. These cookies are divine, but at a minimum of $2 for each tiny cookie, the magic of these cookies is also felt in your wallet. My favorite French macarons have come from Bennison’s Bakery in Evanston or Whole Foods, and I’m always on the lookout for other bakeries that do a good job with these treats.

I’m not sure why the makers of these French cookies couldn’t have thought of a different name for these little colorful sandwiches — the macaron/macaroon game is difficult and is hard to win with those unfamiliar with the difference. But now that you, dear readers, know the difference, go out, buy some French macaroons, and don’t be put off by the title. Happy eating, everyone!

Growing up, springtime used to be my favorite time of the year. The birds seemed to chirp more happily, the frigid cold breezes turned into warm drafts and brand new baby potatoes emerged in all the farmers markets in my home town.

You see, to you this may not be a huge deal, but back in the old country where I was born, Moldova, food was available seasonally.  We did not have tomatoes in the winter, for instance, so we fermented them and canned them so we could eat them year round. Babushka (please refer to this post for more info on who she is and a proper lesson on the pronunciation) was the captain of fermenting and canning.

However, as many canning and fermenting specialties as babushka had, her cooking skills were hard to mess with. And of her many dishes, none beat her garlic and dill baby potatoes. These little baby potatoes were sweet and almost buttery in texture. (Of course it helped that babushka added a few tabs of butter in there to sweeten the deal.)

She made them ever so simply just by boiling these little new potatoes and then once they were drained adding in a healthy amount of chopped garlic, fresh dill and creamy butter. They were always served in the same pot they were made in so that they could stay warm. Everyone in the family always snuck a taste in before they hit the table while babushka wasn’t looking.

The house instantly filled with smells of dill and garlic and everyone always ran to the kitchen ready with fork and knife in hand to quiet the grumbles in their bellies.

Typically we had these on a Sunday early dinner, paired with mama’s famous shishleek (pork kebobs) and a simple salad of fresh tomatoes, cucumbers and green onions. It was a modest meal filled with robust flavors that enticed everyone to smile a little brighter and laugh a little louder. I can still picture us all sitting as a family on those Sundays, warmly laughing as the spring sun shined brightly through our vertical blinds.

Today, babushka’s potatoes are still one of my ultimate dishes and my most requested dish for my BBQs. However, I decided to put a little twist on them and instead of boiling them, pan roast them on the stove.

And the result?  The easiest and fanciest potatoes you will ever make.

New potatoes are for some reason hard to find in the states. And the ones I have found, were not the same texture. But these little beauties are to die for. They are adorably cute and their buttery flavor and color is out of this world!

A Twist on Babushka’s Taters - Garlic and Dill Pan-Roasted Taters
From Girl and the Kitchen

1.5 pounds baby Yukon golds
1/2 stick of butter, divided in half 
1/4 cup of dill 
5-6 cloves of garlic 
salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

1. First we wash them.

2. Then we add them to a stainless steel pan. Do NOT use non-stick. You wont get the same coloring on them.

3. And we cover them with water and throw in 4 tablespoons of butter.

4. Turn on the flame to high and close with a lid. Once they come to a boil, let them cook COVERED for 7 minutes, then remove the lid and let the water evaporated. Do not turn down the heat.

5. In the meantime, get about a handful of some fresh dill and chop it finely.

6. Then grab about 5-6 cloves of garlic and mince it on your microplaner.

7. Now, go check on them taters. Most of the water should have boiled out and what is left is a muggy liquid. That's what you are supposed to be left with. It's just butter, water and some potato starch. Go ahead and insert a knife in. If if it goes in smoothly you are ready to roll. Grab your potato smasher and GENTLY press on the potatoes just so they pop.

8. Gently, gently...see how they just are a little cracked? That's what you want.

9. Let them continue cooking on one side for 6 minutes, then turn them over and let cook for 5 minutes on the other side. Add in your dill, garlic and the remaining butter. And, DUH, season with salt and pepper. Mix it all up…

10. And you will see GORGEOUS rustic, browned and crispy goodness. Yes guys, they are amazeballs.

11. If you are not serving these immediately, place a towel over the pan, then cover with a lid. They will stay warm for quite some time insulated that way.

I was cleaning out my parents’ game cabinet during Passover and found a deck of trivia cards from the 1980s. As I leafed through the questions, I soon realized that many of them were Jewish in nature. Now, this was not a Jewish trivia deck at all, but one that tested the player’s general knowledge — facts the question-makers felt everyone should, or at least could, know.

And if people in general should know these things about Jewish religion and history, how much more should we Jews know these facts about our own heritage? Right? So… do you?

Here are the questions, phrased just as the deck has them:

1. Name the Jewish New Year, celebrated in September or early October.

2. What does Yom Kippur mean?

3. What is the Jewish feast of lights called?

4. What is the first book of the Bible?

5. In the Book of Genesis, who lived 969 years?

6. How many people were on Noah’s Ark?

7. According to the Bible, where did Noah’s Ark finally come to rest?

8. What was the Biblical tower of many languages called?

9. What was Delilah’s nationality?

10. Name the last Judge of Israel, who anointed Saul as King of Israel.

11. What was David’s occupation before he became a warrior and king of Israel?

12. In what year were the Dead Sea Scrolls discovered?

13. Which book of the Old Testament is missing from the Dead Sea Scrolls?

14. In what year was the nation of Israel formed?

15. What is Israel’s legislative body called?

16. In what year was the Yom Kippur War?

17. Name two of the three countries involved in the Yom Kippur War.

18. Name the two Middle Eastern leaders who signed a peace treaty with President Carter in 1977.

19. Name one of the two countries which had a submarine vanish in the Mediterranean in 1968.

20. What canal opened in 1869?

21. In which play does Shylock appear?

22. What is the Italian word for the Jewish residential districts created in the Middle Ages?

23. Name the sect of Jewish mystics founded in Poland about 1750.

24. What Austrian physician developed psychoanalysis?

25. Who wrote “Das Kapital”?

26. What German business leader born in 1743 founded an international banking house?

27. Who wrote the “Foundation Trilogy”?

28. Whose will, in 1917, established awards in writing and music?

29. Which contemporary economist from the University of Chicago is known for his monetarist theories?

30. Which former Miss American became a consumer advocate?

31. As whom was the magician Erich Weiss (1874-1926) better known?

THE ANSWERS:

1. Jewish New Year: Rosh Hashanah

2. Yom Kippur: Day of Atonement

3. Feast of lights: Hanukkah

4. First book of the Bible: Genesis

5. Lived 969 years: Methuselah

6. People on the Ark: 8 (Noah, his three sons, and their wives)

7. Ark resting place: Mount Ararat

8. Biblical tower: Babel

9. Delilah: Philistine

10. Last Judge: Samuel

11. David’s occupation: Shepherd

12. Dead Sea Scrolls: 1947

13. Missing from Scrolls: Esther

14. Israel formed: 1948

15. Israel’s legislature: the Knesset

16. Yom Kippur War fought: 1973

17. Yom Kippur War: Israel, Egypt, Syria

18. Peace treaty: Anwar Sadat, Menachem Begin

19. Lost subs: France, Israel

20. The Suez Canal

21. Shylock: Merchant of Venice

22. Jewish districts: ghetto

23. Jewish sect: Chassidim (or Hassidim)

24. Psychoanalysis: Sigmund Freud

25. “Das Kapital”: Karl Marx

26. Banker: Meyer A. Rothschild

27. “Foundation Trilogy”: Isaac Asimov

28. Writing awards: Joseph Pulitzer

29. Economist: Milton Friedman

30. Miss America: Bess Myerson

31. Magician: Harry Houdini

I am a firm believer that you can’t nickname yourself. It’s too self-important. However, I think it’s fair game to reference yourself in your own mind however you like, and I will admit to thinking of myself on occasion as “the teen queen.”  

I absolutely love teenagers. I find them to be interesting, open and full of promise. For me, connecting with them has almost always been second nature. (It also helps that I seriously lack the level of maturity often associated with the average whatever-I-am-year-old.) It is rare that I struggle to connect with a teenager. However, I have met my match. 

This tween kid is not interested in my company. He doesn’t want to share with me. He does not think I am cool. He does not confide that he wishes his mom was more like me. No of course he doesn’t, because I’m his mom, and apparently, I suck.

It wasn’t always like this. I have enjoyed many years of looking pretty good to my kids.  And I can mark the transition, (to the day!) when I went from “awesome mom” to “donkey dung” in the eyes of my tween. 

It started like any other semi-normal day in our house: breakfast, the last-minute signing of school reading logs, assembling lunches, massive amounts of hair gel shaping the trademark mohawks, hurried goodbyes and I love yous and crazed barking as the bus patiently idling outside. It was nothing out of the ordinary, simply the typical chaos that follows a family of four kids and three dogs. But after school, therein began a new story …

Tween: “Can I hang out with someone today?” 

Me: “Sure. Who do you want to play with?”

Tween: “PLAY?” voice dripping with distain, eyes rolling dramatically to the back of his head. “Mom, you don’t PLAY. You HANG OUT! Gee-ze!” 

In this moment, I had an involuntary flashback to my own childhood. My mother was doing something wrong/saying something wrong/breathing too loudly and I was rolling my eyes to the back of my head like nobody’s business. Uh-oh.

I tried to recover. “OK. Hang out. Got it.” I nodded my head enthusiastically. “Sounds good.” He disappeared wordlessly into the bowels of his bedroom, preferring the company of his unmade bed, his overflowing dirty laundry basket and his Instagram followers to me.

The following day he stayed home sick from school. I felt bad he wasn’t up to snuff, but at the same time, this was my chance! I would be able to prove to my kid that I was worthy of the admiration and affection he had all but recently given me. But the enormity of it made me nervous, and when I get nervous, well – sometimes I overdo it. 

We found ourselves in the minivan with little sister in tow, so naturally we were listening to the Frozensoundtrack. It was (finally!) a warm Chicago day and I had all the windows down. Things were good and kid was feeling better with his eyes in a normal, unrolled position. But then …

I will defend myself by stating there is no way I’m the first person to spontaneously belt out “Let It Go” regardless of singing ability. So before I could contemplate the massive repercussions, I began singing my heart out. My son was a sport at first. So I sang louder, interjecting little riffs of goofiness here and there. Slowly, my kid began to shrink down in his seat. 

Tween: “Mom! Seriously, stop! You’re embarrassing me!” 

We came to a red light. Next to us was an attractive young woman in a convertible, top open, blasting rap music. When my kid spotted her, he basically melted into the floor mats while furiously attempting to close all the windows at once, the tears in his eyes being swished around by some frighteningly furious eyeball rolling. I thought we might have to beeline to the nearest hospital – or eye doctor.

Tween: “MOM!!! You’re THE worst! THE most embarrassing mom EVER!” 

We were home now and he was letting me have it. 

Tween: “What is wrong with you? Seriously!?” 

Me: “Um, nothing…” I replied weakly. “I was just joking around. I thought it was funny.”

(Now red-faced) Tween: “Well, you’re NOT funny! You’re embarrassing!” 

He began stomping full force up the stairs and then turned to generously add, “And I HATE your fake laugh!” Door slam. Then silence. 

Fake laugh? What the heck is he talking about? I don’t “fake laugh” – what does that even mean? Ask daddy! I NEVER fake laugh at his jokes. I perseverated for the next hour as my child undoubtedly contemplated life with a cooler, less embarrassing mother who could sing like Celine Dion. Or would it be Pink? What do I know being so decidedly uncool and embarrassing?

Our next car ride together was much more traumatizing, but not to my tween – to me. I was wearing a short sleeve shirt, tween sitting shotgun. At a red light I felt his eyes on me. I looked at him. “Whatcha lookin’ at?” I asked in my most totally coolest mom voice ever! He didn’t answer and he wasn’t meeting my gaze. To my horror, I realized he was fixating on my lunch lady arm squish. I tensed my arm muscles. Arm muscles refused to cooperate. Under normal circumstances I would have waved my hand in his face to break the stare, but that would have only given my squish the opportunity to demonstrate an uncontrollable interpretive wiggle dance, so instead I cocked my head. “Helloooooo…?” As my mouth lingered on the extra “O’s,” his gaze shifted from my arm fat to the hole in the back of my mouth where I haven’t found the courage to yet get a dental implant. I snapped my mouth shut. “What are you looking at?” I demanded. Tween said nothing. His eyes cased me up and down taking in my greying hair, my desperate need for a lip wax, the pimple on my chin, my sagging… well, my sagging everything. He slowly turned his attention to the road in front of us, a small, sly smile on his face. Is it “cool” to call your kid an asshole?

It’s a stage. And I know it’s completely normal. But it caught me by surprise. I must admit, I naively thought that because of all of my years working with teens, I’d get a hall pass with my own. But I know it doesn’t work that way. Teens rebel. And even though he’s my firstborn – the one I actually made people wash their hands for if they wanted to hold him; the one I carried an appropriately stocked diaper bag for; the one I gave perfect brain development to by delaying television viewing until after two years of age just like the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends – he’s allowed. Even more than that, he needs to. He’s a good kid – an objectively wonderful kid. I’m proud of him. (Not to mention, he has totally perfected my teenage eye roll …)

^{Pictured is a Music Jam, where people bring instruments or just voices and improvise, harmonize and learn the melodies of Mishkan prayer services. Photo credit: Rabbi Lizzi Heydemann}

Over fifty years ago, when people were beginning to note a decline in Americans' interest in organized religion, one of my favorite rabbis of all time made this observation:

"Religion declined not because it was refuted, but because it became irrelevant, dull, oppressive, insipid. When faith is completely replaced by creed, worship by discipline, love by habit… its message becomes meaningless." 

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, ladies and gentlemen. (And these words were tame compared to what he said about synagogue life, prayer, education, and the state of Jews' involvement in justice issues in America in the '60s). 

While of course there have always been people satisfied and happy with synagogue, Heschel stands as a defender and protector of the Jewish community, saying that if we're seeing declining numbers in our pews (and in the Pew study), we can't blame the competition provided by Netflix or sports leagues or yoga studios. We must ask ourselves how have we allowed a tradition that radiates light, humor, wisdom, moral challenge, fire for social justice, intellectual rigor, and spiritual inspiration to become boring and uninspired? 

The big question: How can those of us who care deeply about the current and future state of the Jewish people step up and make it more relevant and attractive? Not just doing better marketing (though that helps), but giving the product itself an upgrade and bringing Judaism into the 21st Century?

This is the question that drove me and the early supporters of Mishkan Chicago to gather for our first Friday night service in a Lincoln Park living room in September, 2011. 

Two years later, on any given Friday night, you'll see a scene that looks as much like a tent revival as like a Jewish worship gathering. Vocal harmonies, drum and guitar drive a rhythmic worship experience that has people on their feet, clapping, swaying. We study text together inhevruta (study pairs), and stay late into the night eating and drinking after services.

Our people come from across all denominational backgrounds from Secular Humanist to Orthodox, educated in different faith communities from Catholic to Quaker. Our people are black and white, gay and straight, trans, and cisgendered. Our people are radical progressives and conservatives and libertarians. You'll see couples who met on JDate and interfaith or dual-faith couples. You'll see a ton of single young adults, and a growing number of young families and baby boomers.

We daven (pray) in Hebrew, using a traditional liturgy. Our people tweet and post to Facebook after services to share pearls of wisdom said by a peer during their study, or to share a video they took on their phone during services, capturing the scene of 200 people engaged in ecstatic, soul-lifting prayer. Others walk home and won't turn on lights until Shabbos is over. Everyone sings, eats, drinks, and shares Shabbat.

What I'm saying is, in the words of my teacher Rabbi Irwin Kula, our people are blenders and mixers and benders and switchers. You can't pin us down and say we're Orthodox, Conservative or Reform, secular or religious, that intermarriage or not keeping kosher are signs of disinterest in our Judaism. We show up where we feel inspired and connected, and don't if we don't. The bar has been raised for all of our organizations to meet this totally legitimate desire among Jews today for their religion not to be an heirloom, but a living fountain of inspiration.

When I say, "our people," by the way, I don't just mean Mishkan people. Mishkan people are reflective of the changing complexion of the Jewish community overall, and we would do well to begin to recognize how diverse our people are. Our people are not exclusively white and Ashkenazi, we don't necessarily think Borscht Belt humor is funny, and are politically in a different place than our grandparents, further toward the right and the left. We have complex feelings about Israel. We want to be in a Jewish community as diverse and spiritually alive as we are. And we will leave Netflix at home for that.

We need a different metric and language to measure what it means to be meaningfully Jewish. Light is being shone from many corners of the city through organizations beyond synagogue walls—Jewish urban gardens, queer yeshivas, alternative afterschool programs, young adult spiritual communities, alternative university engagement—and we need to recognize that light as relevant and meaningful, not just some flash in the pan. That light is sparking the next generation of Jews in Chicago.

As a young start-up in one of the strongest and most established Jewish communities in the country, I want to offer a plea to those who can nurture those tiny sparks. A part of Mishkan's success was the willingness of Rabbi Michael Siegel at Anshe Emet Synagogue to help us launch, along with a few visionary individuals who believed that we could help move the needle on Jewish engagement in Chicago. Instead of operating from a place of fear of what they could lose, they fearlessly encouraged us forward, and are now seeing people enter their building for Mishkan who would otherwise not connect with the Jewish community. Mishkan is honored to have received a JUF Breakthrough Grant, which we believe will have the same effect: Rather than shrinking one piece of the pie to grow another, together, we can expand the pie.

What would happen if we entered the future not from a place of fear of decline, but love and excitement about what's possible? 

Let's find out. 

Rabbi Lizzi Heydemann is the spiritual leader of Mishkan Chicago is an independent, non-denominational Jewish spiritual community in Chicago on a mission to engage, educate, connect and inspire people through dynamic experiences of prayer, learning, music and community-building. Find out more at www.mishkanchicago.org.

^{The Bulls’ Joakim Noah fights for the ball with Kevin Love, who is looking for a new team this summer and could be on the Bulls’ radar.}

This is the biggest summer for the Bulls since 2010, which was the biggest summer for the Bulls since 2000. And what did those two summers have in common? Big, game-changing star free agents were on the market; the Bulls courted them, and ended up with none of them. What do they have to show for those two summers? Ron Mercer and Carlos Boozer.  

And so begins the summer of 2014. ‘Melo, LeBron and Bosh can opt out. Kevin Love is demanding a trade. Big names are once again potentially on the market, and the Bulls are once again looking for a star. The way I see it, this summer could go a few ways. Join me, won’t you?  

Scenario 1: The Bulls convince Carmelo Anthony to take a major pay cut to play with a top-tier coach and a fully prepped roster of great role players and defenders. Melo comes to Chicago and becomes the 1A create-your-own-shot guy they have been looking for since MJ hung them up. If Carmelo knows whats good for him, he’ll take the kind of pay cut that will allow the Bulls to keep Taj Gibson and Jimmy Butler, which frankly, is the only way I see this happening, as Melo won’t want to go to another gutted team. But to partner with Joakim Noah, Derrick Rose, Gibson and Butler – that could be a very good thing. Carmelo isn’t perfect, but he may be exactly what this team is missing.  

Scenario 2: The Bulls take advantage of Kevin Love’s threat to leave Minnesota and put together a trade package that will likely have to include Gibson along with their 2014 draft picks and the rights to Nikola Mirotic. Kevin Love is a great player, but, I’m not sure if he is THE guy to put them over the edge, to take the ball in his hands at the end of games when Rose is being double teamed (assuming he still has a functioning body by that point). And it still leaves a major scoring hole with both their shooting guard and small forward positions.  

Scenario 3: The Bulls convince Nikola Mirotic, their 2011 draft pick currently playing for Real Madrid, to come over and pair with Rose, and we find out if he is Dirk Nowitzki or Andrea Bargnani. Those excited about Mirotic, remember this – they called Toni Kukoc the Michael Jordan of Euro basketball. And when he came over and actually played with Michael Jordan, all he lived up to was a solid sixth man with a very short shelf life. There’s a lot of unknown with this scenario.  

Scenario 4:  The Bulls strike out again, and end up with a couple second-tier free agents that tie up money and aren’t enough to put them over the top. Lance Stephenson comes to mind. This is the one scenario that CANNOT happen.  

This is a huge summer for the Bulls. After two full seasons of the “try-hard bunch” and two full seasons of injuries to our superstar with the $90 million contract, the fans are done being satisfied with “putting up a hell of a fight.” The Bulls need to be serious contenders. And if a big move is not made this summer, upper management needs to questioned. Between their rift with coach Tom Thibodeau and their inability to hook the top free agent, they deserve to be questioned.  

I cannot handle another season of watching a team that cannot score, that overplays their starters in meaningless games and plays without their best and highest-paid player. They cannot just hope Rose comes back and surround him with more role players. We cannot count on Rose being the man. Gar Forman and John Paxson need to get their big fish this summer, otherwise we may not be able to stomach one more year like this one.  

Boy, did I respect Phil Jackson when I was a boy. Yeah, he had Mike, but watching him on TV or at Bulls games, you could tell he was a tough coach. I was in awe of how he was able to get so much from all of his players every single game. What I didn’t know at the time was how much effort and commitment Jackson had put into his own philosophy of coaching and mentoring, later writing a book to share that wisdom. When I finished reading Sacred Hoops at the ripe old age of 12, I resolved to become a successful head coach when I grew up – after I played for the Bulls and won three championships, of course.  

I have always believed that a young child or young adult can benefit greatly from having one or two mentors in their lives. In some circumstances, the mentors are both obvious and present, in the forms of our parents and teachers, or even close family friends. Then, for those that participate in competitive sports programs, there’s the coach. The quintessential mentor, a coach is in charge of and responsible for many things, including: his or her players’ safety and well-being, physical conditioning, mental acuity, soliciting maximum effort, encouraging commitment toward achieving a goal or overcoming an obstacle, behaving and acting respectfully, and exhibiting good sportsmanship. Coaches must also lead by example and show young athletes what it means to embody all these important qualities in order to become a better person. That’s a lot of weight on the coach’s shoulders, but nevertheless it’s an opportunity for those “teachable moments” in life to arise and to learn valuable life lessons.  

Many great coaches across history and time will tell you that it’s easier said than done. Even the greatest athletes and business professionals had mentors that either guided them to their successful ventures or inspired them to realize their potential.  

While my bar and bat mitzvah tutoring business is my primary form of mentorship these days, my passion for teaching has led me to explore other forms of mentorship. This fall and spring, I had the wonderful opportunity to work as a head coach for two middle school sports programs. I was excited and eager to jump right into my role, even though I had no prior coaching experience at this age level. Despite knowing more than enough about the sport to feel confident about my abilities to model and teach the mechanics, I was acutely aware that coaching is more than simply teaching skills and technique (we have YouTube videos for that).  

Any coach can show you how to shoot a free throw, or how to round the bases. But a good coach and mentor will teach you how to shake hands after every match; how to keep your head up when you lose; how to give everything you do your absolute best effort with no regrets; how  to build a strong desire to become a better human being.  

There is also an understanding that being a coach requires selflessness, to be willing and able to place the team’s and the players’ interests above your own desires and dreams. I cannot tell you how disheartening it is to witness mentors that set unrealistic expectations or resort to extreme measures when they have difficulty communicating with players. No matter what age, I’ve discovered that all players deserve and require a mentor who can understand the why and not just the how.  

I was initially inspired to try this by my two younger siblings, Jesse and Hayley. Jesse has been involved for many years with an organization that tutors and mentors high school students, and he continues to show support for those that are less fortunate and lack the proper mentorship and guidance. I’m so proud of him for leading by example and giving back in a way that promotes a positive and encouraging relationship between those involved.  

My sister was the one that suggested – a while ago, she likes to say – I reconnect with my alma mater and explore potential coaching opportunities. I didn’t have the time or the proper schedule to coach back then, but the idea stuck with me for several years, until the opportunity came knocking. Looking back, I’m grateful that I did it, and even more grateful that I’m surrounded with mentors that continue to reach out and offer guidance, love and support whenever it’s needed.  

So let’s raise a glass to all of our mentors, past and present, who made us who we are today. Anyone reading this article who has an opportunity to take on a leadership or mentoring role, I strongly encourage you to consider it. It will change the way you see the world and even the way you see yourself. I know it did for me, and I cannot wait until I have another opportunity to coach.  

L’chaim!

^{The author (right) with his dad and brother, Mitchell.}

Having a brother who is on the more severe end of the autism spectrum has profoundly shaped who I am today, both personally and professionally. It is the reason my law practice is limited to serving families of children and adults with intellectual disabilities, developmental disabilities, and mental illness.

My story, however, is not entirely unique. If you speak with siblings as often as I do, you will notice that most of us have seen our lives shaped by growing up with a brother or sister with significant special needs. Many have gone into social work, special education, or disability related fields in law or medicine. Even those who choose an unrelated field share something else deeply personal that keeps many of us awake at night: what will happen when our parents are no longer there to take care of our brothers and sisters, and it is up to us to do everything our parents have been doing for our sibling since before we can remember, or in my case, as a younger sibling, since the day I was born? 

As president of Supporting Illinois Brothers and Sisters (SIBS), the state chapter of a national organization called the Sibling Leadership Network, I have worked with many bright and ambitious fellow siblings to develop a support network for our fellow brothers and sisters, to help answer the questions they have, give them insight into what their future responsibilities might be, and to support them in their unique role as a sibling.

My brother, Mitchell, has been living in a Community Integrated Living Arrangement (CILA), commonly called a group home, since he was 22 years old. It has given my sister and me tremendous piece of mind to know that he has a place he can call home with supports that allow him to live independently from my parents. While we know that someday it will be our responsibility to maintain close contact with his staff, and take him for home visits, that is vastly different than the 24/7 care that some siblings are suddenly finding themselves responsible for.

One of the greatest gifts that we, as a Jewish community, can offer siblings is "piece of mind"; by ensuring their siblings with special needs have the support they need to live and work independently from their parents. While there were few if any options for my brother, a Keshet Sunday School participant since the mid 1980s, to live in group home that was fully integrated into the Jewish community when he moved into his CILA more than 10 years ago, that is mercifully no longer the case.

Keshet, Jewish Child and Family Services (JCFS), and the Jewish Federation of Metropolitan Chicago (JUF) have come together to ensure the existence of such services and supports through the Supported Community Living Initiative (SCLI), a project I have been fortunate to be involved in from very early on in the process. The Supported Community Living Initiative explores a sustainable, community integrated future for people with developmental and intellectual disabilities. SCLI is administered by Jewish Child & Family Services, a partner in serving our community, supported by the Jewish United Fund/Jewish Federation. 

The SCLI focuses on person-centered planning, to provide and/or facilitate a full array of best practices, services, and supports for adults across the spectrum of intellectual and/or developmental disabilities (IDD), as well as across all socio-economic levels and religious levels of observance. This initiative also concentrates on connecting the community to residential and supported employment opportunities that already exist through both Jewish and non-Jewish organizations. Libenu Foundation is one such organization in the Jewish community that has been a pioneer in establishing kosher CILAs in Skokie and West Rogers Park.

We have already seen residents of CILAs established under both Libenu and the SCLI attend events together including dinners and community outings. While it has not always been a smooth process, we are now seeing the young men and women in these group homes become fully integrated into their communities, they are becoming an integral part of their synagogues and local JCC's.

Knowing that our brothers and sisters are embraced by our community is immensely important to us as siblings. As it is said, kol yisrael areivim ze lazeh, all Jews are responsible for one another, may we continue to work towards the embodiment of that principal of Torah as we embark on this integral chapter in our community's service to adults with intellectual and developmental disabilities. It is ultimately a service not just to those individuals, but to their brothers and sisters as well.

For more information and updates about SCLI, visit www.jfcschicago.org/node/371. For specific inquiries email 

DisabilityHelpline@jcfs.org or call (773) 467-3838.

Benji Rubin is an attorney living in Chicago. His law practice is limited to future planning for families of children with special needs. 

JCFS is a partner in serving our community, supported by the Jewish United Fund/ Jewish Federation.

It seems that I’m always writing about things for Oy!Chicago. But I’ve noticed there are so many things I have not written about. I’d even go as far to say there are more things I haven’t written about than I have written about. Strange how that works. This piece was one I wrote at the 11th hour. Well, I guess really at the 23rd hour because I had to wait for the Blackhawks game to be over. Then I edited it the next morning at about the sixth hour, which is super early for me. This is getting far too silly. What isn’t far too silly is the following list of 18 things I did not write about. It’s just the right amount of silly. Enjoy!

1. I did not write about how now that I’m 27 I get to say for a full year that I’m chai and half years old. Heh heh.

2. I did not write about how, collectively as a society, we should know more about Albert Brooks and his fine collection of work. He’s like the Jewish Steve Martin.

3. I did not write about the local brewery, Revolution, that I’ve been obsessed with ever since I discovered them. I also may or may not be drinking some of their fine mead while writing this. “May not” translates to “yes, I’m definitely drinking that right now.”

4. I did not write about my mom, even though it does happen to be Mother’s Day today. See what I did there? It’s because every day is Mother’s Day. (Awwwwwwwwww.)

5. I did not write about my funny Aunt Rhonda even though she keeps trying to get me to write about my funny Aunt Rhonda but this should count as writing about my funny Aunt Rhonda, so I hope you are happy my funny Aunt Rhonda!

6. I did not write about how it’s quiet because it’s a little too quiet.

7. I did not write about that time my girlfriend’s sister ran over my foot with her car as I was trying to get in because I don’t want her to feel guilty by publicly displaying that that happened.

8. I did not write about the last time I read a whole book because my memory doesn’t go back that far.

9. I did not write about how I like to go where everybody knows my name – Pizza Rustica. It’s my place. Everyone should have a place. You should go to my place. Here is a link to my place. Maybe make it your place? Eh? Eh? Uggghhhhh.

10. I did not write about my beard because that amount of epic-ness can’t be explained in any proper series of words.  

11. I did not write about eating leftover Lou Malnati’s for dinner while watching episodes of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, because I did not want to make you jealous.  

12. I did not write about how Hot Doug’s is closing because that makes me too sad. But seriously….GO!!! GO NOW!!! WHILE YOU STILL CAN!!!!

13. I did not write about The Mathematics of Quantum Neutrino Fields because I have no idea what that is.

14. I did not write about my JUF News article about how much I love my family that you can read here because I don’t like to self-promote like that.

15. I did not write about how I’m never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you.

16. I did not write about my love of the new Nickelodeon iteration of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles because I did not want to reveal that I’m in my upper 20s and watching a kids cartoon show. Booyakasha!!

17. I did not write about how this is basically a blog about nothing because I’m not Jerry Seinfeld. And what’s the deal with that?

18. I did not write about my Twitter handle, @TheMindofADM, because why would I want to lead you to a wonderful place full of hilarious one-liners and continue your day with incredible entertainment?

If you ask my wife and three kids (a boy, 14 and two girls, 11 and 7) if I am a good father, I'm not sure what they would answer. If you ask them if they think I'm a cool abba, they'll tell you that I used to be cool. Being cool is a choice. I spent, what seems like months, saying to my own children. "Kids, I really am cool."

I tried explaining to them about the glory of the 80s and how music was much better back then, especially the stuff that fell into the categories of college radio and punk. I tried showing them how a bunch of my friends all dressed differently than everyone else (we all mostly wore black…very original). I told my daughters that I had crazy hairspray and hair dryer skills that they couldn't even dream about. It was never a conscious choice, but during high school and the beginning of college I was seen as being "cool."

I know plenty of parents that go out of their way to appear cool to their kids. They might try to friend their kids and their kids' friends on Facebook, be up on the latest music, novels, and texting abbreviations. If that works for you and the relationship you want to have with our kids, more power to you. I eventually gave up and just accepted the fact that I was no longer cool. I stopped trying to be cool in their eyes.

It was much easier than I thought it would be. However, I found that the choice of not being cool opened up a whole new avenue of going out of my way to be uncool. I had thoughts of calling my kids' friends by nicknames that only I would understand. I had visions of interrupting play dates my kids had by doing the robot dance. To my family's delight, I rarely acted upon these examples.

What I did implement was a conscious choice to show my kids that I was cool. Again, I am far from a model parent, but this mindset has fostered a more positive relationship with my kids. This was much easier than I thought in some aspects. My wife and I have always stressed to our children that there are things our family does and it might be a little different than other what other families do. There are TV shows, music, and movies that we feel are appropriate and others that are not. These decisions do make me uncool, at times, but my kids have learned that my wife and I are willing to listen to their points of view and if we are swayed to their side it is solely because they have valid reasons and not because we are looking to be "those parents," the ones that propel the parent/child relationship with the fuel of coolness.

Rabbi Joseph Hurwitz (1847-1919), known as the Elder of Novardok (a city in Belarus) taught that, "When the world means nothing, life means everything." I have always looked at this quote as a message that we have to stand our ground sometimes. We shouldn't always do things that the masses are doing, especially if it goes against our value system. When we stop worrying about what others think is when we can have opportunities to do what we know is the right thing in life. This is something that we can't lecture our kids about; it is something that we have to show by example. I am no poster child for leading by example all the time. I am, however, blessed with three great kids who are learning the importance of doing the right thing, which is a foundation of Judaism. 

Recently, my dear friend and I celebrated her 30th birthday. Twenty-nine had included some of the happiest times of her life—getting married to an amazing guy—and yet was also one of the most difficult years of her life as she battled breast cancer. For just a few sunny hours, we put all that aside and became silly 15-year-olds again. We gabbed and giggled over lunch, shopped for cheap, goofy sunglasses, took kissy-faced selfies and got our nails manicured in bright colors.

These days, our lives are filled with happy occasions, like attending lots of friends' weddings and watching as they start families of their own, coupled with work and familial responsibilities, financial concerns and just general anxieties about what the future may bring. Life is just a little more complicated than it was when we were teenagers.

This year, most of my friends are marking their 30th birthdays. And in a few months, I will join the club. As cliché as it sounds, I've been thinking a lot about this turning 30 thing and what it all means.

I look at my friends—the ones I have known for nearly three decades and the ones who have come into my life at various points along the way. I'm amazed at their accomplishments—the careers they've built, the families they've created and the people they've become. I feel profoundly grateful for those dear, true friendships that have transitioned from childhood into adulthood and am equally thankful for the rich, new relationships I've cultivated. And I look back at dissolved friendships, both with deep sadness at the loss and with recognition that not everything lasts forever. 

I look at my family—my little sister who, though she is still a bossy seven-year-old in my mind, is now a doctor who will soon marry the little boy who has grown up before my eyes. I look at my parents with newfound respect at the lives they created for us and with renewed perspective as I contemplate starting a family of my own. I'm honored to be able to host my grandmothers in my home for holidays, creating their recipes and returning the favor after so many years.

And I look at my life: A growing, successful career with the same organization for over seven years, a wonderful husband, an adorable dog, a mortgage and a car—all the things that you think make you an adult when you're little. And yet, so often I find myself feeling more like that 15-year-old girl than the 30-year-old I'm supposed to be.

It's not that I'm dreading getting older, or turning 30—I'm looking forward to entering the next stage of my life as a 30-something. And I don't think I look or feel particularly old—I was recently asked while purchasing a video game for my husband for his birthday (are we grown-ups or what?) if I was indeed old enough to buy this game for ages 18 and over. I told the nice man behind the counter that he had made my day. 

I guess it's just that even with all of life's complexities and richness, I simply thought I'd feel more grown up by the time I turned the big 3-0. 

Then again, reflecting on that sunny afternoon with my friend, some moments in life have a tendency to make us feel a little too grown up—and every once in a while, whether you're 30 or 90, it's good to just let loose, take a selfie and feel like a teenager again. 

With my mom's birthday a few days away, and Mother's Day soon after that, I was thinking about how sometimes I forget to tell my mom how much I love her and how lucky I am to be her daughter. As a kid I used to say that if I were ever lost, I'd listen for her laughter and it'd lead me to her every time—and that's still true today. My mom isn't like anyone I've ever met. She's Judy.

She taught me how to sing scales and do demi plies.

She calls me Cindeleh.

She insists that labor with me—a 9 lb. 11 oz. bundle of joy—wasn't "too bad."

She ingrained in me that you catch more bees with honey, and that extra boxes of Swiss Miss cocoa and Kleenex should always fill your cupboards.

She rips out articles for me on topics about American presidents, Israeli society, merengue cookies, and the newest trend in spring dresses from The Wall Street Journal, The Forward, and Glamour—in equal number.

She loves a rousing wedding hora more than anyone else I've ever met.

She was the first to tell me about Golda Meir, Shirley Temple, Sholem Aleichem, and Mary Tyler Moore.

She said she learned what sexy was when she first saw Elvis on TV as a little girl, a notion that was reinforced for her when she later saw John Travolta in Welcome Back, Kotter—and then once again when she first laid eyes on my dad, the real love of her life.

She doesn't like to talk about the weather.

She taught me to care about the big stuff, and not to sweat the petty stuff.

She showed me how to make cherry soup, lamb chops with mint jelly, smoked salmon pasta, and rocky road brownies.

She'll sing "Wheels on the Bus" and "Itsy Bitsy Spider" to her 3-year-old grandson for hours if it'll keep him smiling.

She laughs easily.

She helped create a children's siddur.

She instilled in me a love for our two countries—Israel and America.

She turns the car radio up.

She believes in social justice.

She battled and conquered a serious illness with strength, courage, and grace when I was a girl.

She sang Yiddish and American lullabies every night to my sister and me when we were little and now sings them to my nephews.

She always let us eat our cake before our carrots because that's just how she rolls.

She wrote a play as a love note to her parents who came to Ellis Island from Russia nearly a century ago.

She's still asking me why Facebook is a thing.

She's generous with her hugs.

She's a hottie.

She passed down to me a love for words, and for telling stories.

She taught me that Yiddish has no word for weapon.

She sends me cards in the mail and leaves me voicemails, both simply to tell me how much she loves me.

I love you too Mom. Happy birthday and Mother's Day!

For more posts in the “I Love You Too, Mom” series, go here.

Last November, we were sitting across from Rabbi Shira Stutman from Sixth and I Historic Synagogue. Her home office was wrapped in many books that created a sort of leather-bound coziness. Even before Rose and I took her class for interfaith couples, she had been one of our favorites and a wonderful resource for navigating our interfaith marriage. Now, we were meeting to share the news that Rose was pregnant – and we wanted to raise our child, our son, Jewish.

I was squirming a bit in my seat and not exactly breathing regularly, yet Rose seemed relaxed. Her smile was gentle, even as she explained the less glamorous moments for women in their first trimester. And even though she was feeling exhausted all of the time, she said she was very lucky that she and baby were happy and healthy. 

Rabbi Shira was perched on the edge of her couch, leaning on her knees, just bubbling with excitement for us. Her vibrant hand gestures and boisterous tone made it seem as though she might roll off the couch into a giggling fit at any moment. 

“So, I have a question,” she asked, settling down for a moment. “If the baby isn’t coming until May, why are you coming to me now?”

Without a pause, the words just erupted from my mouth: “Our parents are coming for Thanksgiving and we need to have all of the answers for them about how we will raise our kids.”

We were past the point of worrying about letting family members down, but we didn’t want there to be any bad feelings on either side of the family. It felt important to get answers and advice, so everyone felt informed, involved and included in the joy of raising our child. 

Rabbi Shira walked us through everything and empowered us to make our own decisions. We learned about options for conversion, if that was something we felt was necessary given not all streams of Judaism would recognize our son as Jewish; she suggested synagogues for us to join – if we didn’t have one in mind – that would be welcoming of interfaith couples. You could tell by the way that the answers effortlessly and lovingly rolled off of Rabbi Shira’s tongue that we were not the only couple faced with these decisions. 

I personally found myself delving deeper into each answer with her, trying to ground myself in technical and halachic questions yet in reality digging deeper into more emotional and confusing places. I felt pulled in two directions between wanting our son to be recognized by all Jews yet not wanting to give in to the idea that are son wasn’t “Jewish enough.” At that moment, I looked away from Rabbi Shira to an empty corner in the room and hesitantly said out loud, “I guess this whole conversation is more about my own Jewish identity and the questions I still have about my own Judaism.”

Then it was Rose’s turn to share, she very calmly said she was looking forward to bringing a baby into the world and raising him Jewish. She reassured me nothing had changed for her – we would do what was necessary to raise our child Jewish in the best way possible. Then she leaned back on the sofa again, closed her eyes for a moment and gently sighed. It was not a frustrated sigh, but the kind that let me know that I could keep going around in circles with Rabbi Shira if I wanted to, but she had gotten what she needed out of the conversation. She was content and at peace. 

When I reflect on moments like these, I realize how wonderful a life partner and soon-to-be parenting partner I have in Rose. She was patient enough to let me vomit the last vestiges of my Jewish guilt to the rabbi, kind enough to come along for the ride while I wrestled with my own personal unsettled feelings about Jewish identity. She is loyal to uphold her commitment to join me in creating the Jewish home that will be a warm and inviting place for our children to live Jewishly. At the same time, she seems to intuitively know how to do this without denying her own non-Jewish identity.

Because of Rose, our children will understand patience, kindness and unconditional love. I also believe that with her help, our children will come to know Judaism as well as anyone with two Jewish parents.

Rose has been able to participate in our family’s Jewish traditions and observances in a way that is authentic to her. For example, Rose loves to be crafty, so for Purim she made her own costume and helped me create mine. During Passover, Rose helped with the crazy regiment of ridding our home of chametz and then took any non-Passover products she wanted to eat during the week to work. I have even noticed lately at Shabbat dinner that she has learned the words of kiddush. 

This last year of anticipating parenthood has definitely come with some fun conversations. Since we are having a boy, Rose had to explain to her mom what actually happens at a bris, a.k.a. it’s not just a baby naming with bagels. And surprisingly, when everyone came for Thanksgiving, there was no interrogation. Our parents wanted to celebrate and make sure Rose was feeling well and taken care of. Most of the questions had to do with colors for the nursery and if we had thought about creating a registry for gifts – the concerns of eager, excited grandparents.

Over the last nine months, we have grown together, navigating this uncharted territory of almost-parenthood. Although technically we are not parents until our son breaths his first breath in this world, we have already begun to feel many of the pressures and joys that comes with being responsible for the life of another human being. We know we are not even close to being ready to bring a child into the world, but as most people have told us, we know that we will never truly feel ready. We accept that there is too much to learn, know and understand, and at this point it is happening no matter what.

It reminds me of those moments where you are about to go on stage for the big scene in a play. It’s the night of the show: there is no more time for rehearsals, so you hope that you have prepared enough and the right words will come out of your mouth. You walk on stage, look at your partner, and connect, putting your faith in the intentions and emotions that you have set for the scene. 

For this performance – perhaps the most important one of my life – I couldn’t imagine being on stage with anyone else but Rose.

For more posts in the “I Love You Too, Mom” series, go here.

Two years ago, as Mother’s Day loomed in the horizon, I was counting down the days. May 12 was my due date, the day after Mother’s Day, so I thought that for sure I would be celebrating the Hallmark holiday cradling a baby in my arms, fully embracing my new role.

As the days passed, I was hyper-aware of every twinge and shift, expecting to go into labor at any moment. And when Mother’s Day arrived, that baby was still firmly lodged inside me, showing no signs of an impending departure. Even though everyone I knew seemed to be having their babies early, my little munchkin had no way of letting me know he would be 12 days late. Twelve. Agonizing. Days.

So while I spent Mother’s Day walking (pacing) through the Lincoln Park Zoo with my husband, hoping to kick-start a labor that wouldn’t happen until my induction two weeks later, I remember having vivid doubts about what was to come.

Worrisome thoughts swirled in my mind: If I wasn’t patient enough to wait for this friggin’ baby to arrive, would I be patient enough as a parent? If I could barely survive through my pregnancy-related insomnia, would I be able to take care of a baby who was up a zillion times throughout the night? Would I be a good mom? Was I ready for this?

I’m sure there are other expecting parents and new moms with the same swirling doubts. The good news is that the answer is yes. Yes for me, and for nearly every other mom out there.

Would I be patient? Yes, but not every minute, and as veteran moms can attest, this is totally okay and very, very normal. Caring for a child is no small task, and whether you are dealing with your fourth night waking or your four thousandth tantrum of the day, there will be moments that you want to yell, to cry, to hide under your bed and daydream about your carefree pre-baby days. Patience is a skill that comes with lots of practice, and parenthood offers endless opportunities to hone your craft.

Would I survive without sleep? This one is different for every mother, but what I have learned over the past two years is that exhaustion is relative. In my exhaustion with a newborn, I looked back wistfully on my sleep during pregnancy (which was terrible). When I was exhausted chasing a mobile baby all day, I looked back wistfully on the slower-paced days of his infancy when I was tired, but I could lounge with baby on the couch all day. When we faced sleep regressions and teething that brought back those night wakings in toddlerhood, I looked back thinking that his first year was a breeze compared to this new normal. Now that we have hit a sweet spot in the sleep department (knock on everything), I still feel exhausted from chasing a high-energy toddler day in and day out. Having a kid who rises with the sun (or even earlier) has taught me to function better on less sleep, and to maximize my down time efficiently so I can rest and recharge my batteries. 

Would I be a good mom? Honestly, I think it takes a lot of work for someone hoping to be a good mom and with the means to support her child’s basic needs to be a bad mom. The parenting world is littered with theories and strategies and philosophies about what makes a good mother: breast versus bottle; cribs versus co-sleeping; working versus staying home; to cry-it-out or not. All of these “mommy war” issues are fine and good, and really, the honest-to-goodness truth is this: if you love your baby, you’re already doing it right. All the apps and well-meaning offensive comments and viral blog posts that make you feel insecure in your parenting decisions – they don’t know you or your baby.

Even in the moments where you feel like a walking #momfail poster girl, know that in my greatest “momfail” moment, I watched my “not yet mobile” baby do a back flip off of our bed onto a hardwood floor and chip three teeth. And that little bugger survived to tell the tale (at least, he would tell it if he knew how to talk and remembered it happening – two things on my side right now!). We’ve all been there. Despite our best intentions, no parent is perfect. Accidents happen, and it’s how you deal with the hard stuff that matters.

Am I ready for this? All the books and classes in the world can’t prepare you for the transition that comes with your new role as a parent. But here is the secret that nobody knows. Ready? Everyone feels this way, and we are all figuring it out as we go along. There is no perfect time – you’ll never feel ready. But once it happens, you’ll figure it out as you go. You’ll build a village, seek out a support network and before you know it, this whole “mom” gig will be second nature.

Pregnant and new moms: If you are facing any of these doubts, you are not alone. On this Mother’s Day, I am giving you permission to pat yourself on the back for a job well done (even if that baby is still in utero; trust me, I know it counts even then).

Are you expecting or raising a Jewish baby under 24 months? JBaby Chicago has delivered and is here to help Chicago's Jewish and interfaith families build a village together by providing access to resources both within and outside of Chicago's Jewish community to help new families navigate their early years together.

Find more information at www.juf.org/jBabyChicago or email me at rachelfriedman1@gmail.com. I would love to take you out for a cup of coffee (doesn’t every new parent need a cup of coffee?) to tell you all about how you can get involved!

For more posts in the “I Love You Too, Mom” series, go here.

A few nights ago, I walked into my building after a long day at work. My doorman, Fred, greeted me, as he always does, and I started to walk toward the elevators, as I always do. But this time he stopped me.  

“Hey, how’s your mom?” he asked.  

I smiled. Fred has only met my mom in passing when she has helped me bring things up to my apartment or come over to help me decide how I should decorate, but she is the kind of person that stands out to anyone who comes in contact with her – in the best way possible.

As I sit here trying to put onto paper how much my mom means to me, I am at a loss for words. All I know is that it is entirely possible for the funniest and wittiest person you know to be the strongest, most giving, caring, and accommodating person you’ve encountered as well. Over the years, I have said that my mom is our family’s superwoman, and anyone who has had the pleasure of meeting her, interacting with her, and getting to know her would agree with me.  

I rarely write about this, but when I was 10, I experienced the worst day of my life. My grandfather picked me up from a slumber party and drove me home. There was an ambulance outside. I was confused; everyone in my family, besides me, was healthy. I didn’t see any sign of a fire or of a break-in. When I walked through my front door, I was immediately engulfed in the biggest hug my mother had ever given me. Something had happened to my dad, she said. I vividly remember thinking that he must have broken his leg or something like that, but as I looked around the entryway to see family and friends in hysterics and listened to the words that came out of my mother’s mouth, I knew this was not the case. My tall, strong, healthy dad had unexpectedly died in his sleep the night before.

I began to sob with confusion as the pain overcame my body. I closed and collapsed into our big purple chair in the living room. When I looked up, my mom was there, holding me and supporting me. Today, 14 years later, I know that whenever I am in a time of need, she will be there, a source of comfort, sanity and hope.

To be fair, my mom was always an amazing role model who was there for me and our family, but that horrific day was a turning point. Her life, my life, and my brother’s life could have easily fallen apart after that fall morning, but it didn’t. Instead of pulling her covers over her head each morning after and falling into a crippling state of sadness, my mom remained stronger than I could have ever imagined.  

There were so many things that my dad handled for the family that my mother hadn’t had to deal with before. She threw herself into these things and became an expert at them. Beyond raising two children, she started paying the bills, managing a financial portfolio, and making an infinite amount of large life decisions on her own, all while still grieving over the loss of my dad and coping with this void in her life.  

I interviewed my mom during my senior year of college for a profile piece. During our interview, she told me that she often used to reach for the phone to share something about my brother or me, or to ask my dad something mundane, like the name of something. She told me that it was these everyday things that she shared with someone that she loved for 16 years that she missed the most. I remember listening to her tell me this as I sat in my Washington D.C. apartment, miles away, as tears rolled down my cheeks, feeling heartbroken.

In that moment, I also remembered that as a developing person, I rarely felt that sense of brokenness. Even through tragedy, my mom made sure we never felt as though she was damaged beyond return or that our lives were hopeless, and that’s because we were not. We were always moving ahead as a cohesive unit. This isn’t to say that we haven’t had our fair share of ups and downs, but even through the worst moments in time, I always knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel. For what felt like months after my dad’s death, my brother and I would pile into her bed at night and fall asleep next to her and I knew that somehow, someday, things would be okay.  

The truth is, things really are okay. None of us would have chosen for our lives to take this path, but we have dealt with the cards we were dealt, and I can only attribute this to my mom’s strength, determination and huge heart. As I will say time and time again because I can never be too redundant, my mom has been amazing through the simplest setbacks and hardest challenges.  

In that interview, I also remember my mom telling me that she thinks of my brother and me as her peers because we all grew up together. When my dad passed away, I was only 10, and my brother, Brian, was only six. There was (and still is) a lot of work to be done in terms of our personal growth, development, and whatnot, and my mom was (and still is) the guiding force leading us in a positive direction.

Although anyone who has come in contact with Brian and me knows that we are quite entertaining (mostly Brian, but hey, I try), we were very rarely easy to handle. Still, my mom never made it feel as though we were too much of a handful or a nuisance, even though I am sure at times we were. From health problems and arguments to more stressors than the average pair of siblings, my mom was (and still is) always able to help us with our problems, lead us to the best solution possible, and remain calmer than most people would be in any given situation.  

My mom will also do anything and everything for her friends. My friends and my brother’s friends absolutely love her; she makes them laugh infectiously and makes our house feel like a home to many. She is a wonderful daughter to my nana and demonstrates that best friendship between mother and daughter can thrive at any stage in life. Her relationships with my dad’s family members remain strong, and I am thankful that even with that large void in my life, she has kept not only our immediate family together as a strong unit, but also our extended family as well.  

I sometimes give her a hard time for not being calm, and I may tweet the absurd things she says, but the truth is, my mom is always the person who is there for me. She’s the one that I can call when I know I need an emergency root canal at 1:45 in the morning and I don’t know what to do (and for the record, when I did this, she drove to the city to pick me up in the middle of the night and ensure that I was alright), and she’s always my first call after I have had a horrible day and need someone to listen to my woes without judgment. She’s the first person my brother calls when a teacher is treating him unfairly, or when he’s battling a moral dilemma of any kind, or even if he has a funny story to share.

She once told me that she thinks she is a damn good mother and halfway decent father. Honestly, she is much more than “halfway decent.” She is my rock, one of my best friends, and truly the greatest person I know.

This Mother’s Day falls on my 24th birthday. I know you aren’t supposed to reveal your birthday wish, but all I wish for is that my mom knows how much she is appreciated, how much we love her, and how thankful I am for the incredible life that she has given me. Although I could’ve written this post in my typical satirical fashion without bringing up some of the hardships we’ve gone through, I know that divulging our family’s story makes it that much more meaningful.  

This is my first Oy!Chicago post that my mom hasn’t had the pleasure (or forced burden) of reading and editing beforehand, and that is because I wanted to surprise her. So mom, I hope you are surprised. I am glad I can reflect on what you have overcome and how proud Brian and I are of you each day. I love you with all of my heart and thank you for being the most wonderful person I know, and the wittiest superhero out there. Happy Mother’s Day!

For more posts in the “I Love You Too, Mom” series, go here.

Mothers-in-law have a bad rap. It only takes a simple Google image search to know exactly what I mean. The pictures you’ll see show women who are on average about 425 years old with gray hair. Most of the ladies are carrying a rolling pin or some other kitchen device and have an affinity for pink sponge curlers. I don’t know who made these terrible images synonymous with mothers-in-law, but I can tell you for a fact that they clearly never met mine.  

I don’t know what your mother-in-law is like, but mine is a lioness. That is, a lioness without pink sponges curlers or jostling wooden spoon. I say lioness and mean it in the best possible way. My mother-in-law takes care of business and is always the one to call when you’re in a tricky situation. She knows how to help and is as cool as a cucumber (usually). She’s as good with medical advice as any doctor, could argue politics with Hillary and makes a pot roast that would force a vegetarian to question his or her beliefs. It is no great wonder that she is the center of our family.

^{Jeremy (back row, second from right) and his mother-in-law, Sherry (front row, second from left), and their family at a wedding shower.}

When you’re the bedrock of a Jewish family you have an intense list of responsibilities. Somewhere near the top of that list is being in charge of holiday meals. Each year we all gather for various holidays and watch as food appears as if by magic from the kitchen. It must have been magic my mother-in-law’s brow isn’t furrowed and she hasn’t broken a sweat. Maybe we’re having pot roast or her famous rainbow Jell-O. It could be a bagel brunch with the cream cheese she combines with chives just the way I like or her short ribs that I wish I were eating as I type this. All of it is good. All of it is full of stories. All of it goes on her wedding china.  

She’s had her china for 45 years and our family has eaten from those plates for just as long. Do you ever stop to think of a plate’s history? Not the history of dishes in general, but the history of the holiday plates you eat from each year? Who has carried that plate, eaten from it, laughed over it? Who will dine from those dishes in the future? Think about all of that history, all of that shared tradition. When you think of your dishes in this way they suddenly have a very different seat at your table. Those dishes become personified, the only silent member of your Jewish family.  

A few weeks ago I was helping my mother-in-law set up her dining room for our Passover Seder. We started talking about her dishes. They were $25 a place setting when she originally got them. It has been a while since I shopped for China but I’m almost certain it can’t be found for $25 a place setting today. Twenty-five dollars a plate was a crazy amount to pay 45 years ago. Her mother-in-law had to convince her that one day she would be happy to have those dishes. Somewhere in our reminiscing about the many holiday meals that have been eaten on her plates and how she collected the china slowly over time my mother-in-law said, “…and someday these dishes will go to you.”  

I was taken aback. The gravity of what she was saying was stunning. It wasn’t about those dishes. Those plates, though beautiful, are silly. Plates break. Plates can’t talk or hug you. They shatter. Those plates will eventually turn to dust like everything else. I wasn’t thinking of my mother-in-law’s china as I bit my lip to fight water from running out of my eyes. What she was handing me was much more precious than dishware. When she said, “…and someday these dishes will go to you,” what that translated to was, “you will some day be the tradition keeper for our family.”  

Keeping family tradition alive is a big responsibility, but we’re Jewish and that’s how you do. Not to mention, when the lioness speaks you do as you’re told and ask your pesky questions later. I’m not picking up those dishes tomorrow. I hope to not have to take them for 150 years, if only that could be. Until that day comes, however, I’ll be here watching and learning from my favorite lioness. You know the one. She’s the one without pink curlers and I hope every day to make her proud.

For more posts in the “I Love You Too, Mom” series, go here.

^{My prom selfie, before selfies were even a thing.}

Having spent three years of my life working with high school students, I believe I am qualified to make the following anthropological observation about teenagers:

They have a lot of feelings.  

Okay, okay. Anyone who's ever seen an episode of Glee already knew that. But think about it. Can you blame them? After all, consider that when you’re 14, every experience is still brand new. Every heartbreak hits you like a truck straight to the gut. Every song lyric seems to be speaking directly to you, putting the perfect words to all the feelings you're sure only you and Alannis Morissette (er—One Direction?) have ever felt.  

Looking back on our own high school years, most adults can probably understand why today’s teens have latched onto the refrain “it gets better.” Because when you experience the soul-crushing agony of loss or rejection for the very first time, you actually do wonder, will you EVER feel happiness again? Do people actually recover from broken hearts, or did you just miss your one and only chance at love?!?!?!?!?!?!?!1111  

The answer, of course, as I hope most of us who have made it through to the other side can attest, is yes – people do recover from broken hearts. It does get better. And while there is certainly a calm that comes with getting older and wiser enough to know that – to really know and trust that a lost love was not your last, that other people’s opinions won’t make or break you, and that time truly does heal all wounds – in a sense, with that perspective also comes a loss.  

Today, as I near my 26th birthday – a birthday in which I’ve officially passed all of the exciting milestones (legally voting, legally drinking and renting a car without a surcharge … which really wasn't that exciting) I have to ask myself: when was the last time I felt the exhilaration of being completely overwhelmed by raw, unbridled emotion?  

Sure, I’m glad not to feel utterly crushed every time a boy I like doesn’t like me back. There's nothing I miss about feeling desperate to have amazing plans every single weekend. But, when did I put up so many protective emotional barriers that I stopped getting excited about a promising first date? When did a night on my couch with a solid Netflix line-up become so much more appealing than a night out on the town, and all the promise and possibilities such a night might bring?  

I recently read about a study that said having new experiences makes people feel that time is passing more slowly. The study claimed to explain why our childhoods seemed to stretch on forever, but we feel the passing of our adult years more quickly with each birthday. As we get older, we experience the passage of time more rapidly, because fewer and fewer of our experiences are new – it takes less energy and brain space to process the same stimuli again and again. (For instance, the pattern of – 1. Receive mildly intriguing message on OKCupid. 2. Spend an hour making awkward small talk over drinks. 3. Never see the guy again. 4. Repeat. – has gotten pretty predictable.)  

Armed with this knowledge, as I ring in my 26th year on this earth and have begun to feel like I'm hurtling toward old age faster than I can keep up with, maybe the best “Fountain of Youth” gift I can give myself this birthday is simply to try more new things. Instead of stocking up on all the age-defying creams Sephora is trying to convince me I need, maybe the best (and cheapest) age-defying tactic is just to pledge to branch out a bit – to take more emotional risks. Be more vulnerable. Let more people in. Drink some caffeine, put my big girl pants on, and get my butt somewhere fabulous next Friday night, instead of letting it remain planted firmly on the couch in fuzzy pajama bottoms.  

At the end of the day, maybe we all have something to learn from those surly, mercurial teenagers, whose lives seem like constant rollercoaster rides between laughing and crying and screaming and laughing again. Maybe we could all stand to spend a few hours curled up in bed letting Celine Dion tell us, and only us, that our hearts will go on. (Seriously, CELINE GETS ME YOU GUYS.)  

Because while opening ourselves up to new and unknown experiences may cause pain – maybe even crushing, gut-wrenching, incomprehensible pain that feels like it will never end -- it may also be the only way to open ourselves up to the biggest thrills, and the greatest possible joys.  

And no matter how old we are, isn't that what life is all about?

Weather can ruin a lot of things, but it cannot touch the summer movie season. Every year, from the first weekend in May until the second-to-last weekend in August, without fail, summer blockbusters arrive one by one. Even if you’re not into inflated-budget studio films in which robots, monsters or aliens level entire American cities, summer is still for you; it is the only time for reliable comedies, and it practically overflows with those slightly magical coming-of-age indie films.  

But if your brain is still fried from the winter, you might need some help. That’s where I come in with this summer movie preview. I’ve broken down the films into five major groups: movies to mark on your calendar, movies with upside, movies with something to prove, movies to be skeptical of and small movies to put on your radar.

^{X-Men: Days of Future Past}

Movies to mark on your calendar  

The Amazing Spider-Man 2 (May 2) – It’s not getting raves, but it’s the first summer movie and fans and critics are so far liking this more than the first rebooted chapter starring Andrew Garfield. Concerns about villain overcrowding affecting the script are legitimate, but the entertainment value appears wickedly high.  

Neighbors (May 9) – This comedy pits frat boys (Zac Efron, Dave Franco) against new parents (Seth Rogen and Rose Byrne) in a war of getting even when the two become neighbors. The movie has gotten excellent reviews since it premiered at South by Southwest.  

X-Men: Days of Future Past (May 23) – Bryan Singer, who directed the first two “X-Men” movies, got together the original “X-Men” cast with their younger selves from “X-Men: First Class” for the biggest “X-Men” movie yet. The story involves Wolverine (Hugh Jackman) traveling back in time to stop an event that will lead to the destruction of mutant kind.  

The Fault in Our Stars (June 6) – Adapted from the best-selling novel, this movie features new “it girl” Shailene Woodley (“Divergent”) as a teenager with cancer who falls in love with a fellow cancer survivor. The script comes from the writers of “(500) Days of Summer” and last summer’s coming-of-age hit “The Spectacular Now.”  

Boyhood (July 11) – This indie project is something film nerds like myself have been following for a long time. Richard Linklater filmed this movie over the course of 12 years to capture the physical growth of a boy and his family. This groundbreaking effort has gotten outstanding reviews at festivals thus far.  

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (July 11) – The 2011 summer hit “Rise of the Planet of the Apes” surprised everyone, and buzz is high for the sequel, even though we’ve yet to see much. The story supposedly involves the human survivors of the simian virus battling Caesar (motion capture Andy Serkis) and the apes.  

Guardians of the Galaxy (Aug. 1) – Marvel Studios’ summer film comes in unusual, irreverent form with this take on a lesser-known comic about a ragtag group of intergalactic “heroes.” Chris Pratt (“Parks & Recreation”) makes his action hero debut along with Bradley Cooper voicing a CGI raccoon and Vin Diesel voicing a tree alien whose only line is “I AM GROOT!”    

^{A Million Ways to Die in the West}

Movies with upside  

Godzilla (May 16) – A reboot of the infamous Japanese kaiju necessitates some skepticism, but the trailers have been mind-blowing in scale, and director Gareth Edwards’ under-seen “Monsters” offers proof that this version, starring Bryan Cranston, Elizabeth Olsen and Aaron Taylor-Johnson could turn the “cheesy monster movie” stigma around.  

A Million Ways to Die in the West (May 30) – Seth MacFarlane earned carte blanche with “Ted,” but can he strike gold with a comedy Western, a genre that typical falters at the box office? Don’t expect “Blazing Saddles,” but a cast with Liam Neeson, Charlize Theron, Neil Patrick Harris and Sarah Silverman among others hold promise.  

Edge of Tomorrow (June 6) – Tom Cruise and sci fi go hand in hand these days. He plays a soldier in the future who relives his death on the battlefield again and again. Eventually he teams up with Emily Blunt, and each day they train harder and harder to change the outcome of the battle. This high-concept action film could get confusing fast or be fascinating – at least the talent is there.

How to Train Your Dragon 2 (June 13) – Hiccup and his dragon Toothless won over audiences with charm and sweeping 3D sequences, but that was four years ago. The film will surely be a box-office smash with very few animated movies out this summer, but can DreamWorks deliver a quality sequel?  

Deliver Us from Evil (July 2) – Last year we got a rare mid-summer horror hit in “The Conjuring.” Proven horror director Scott Derrickson (“Sinister”) and stars Eric Bana, Edgar Ramirez and Olivia Munn are all good signs this film based on the account of an actual NYC police officer could offer a similar change of pace.  

Jupiter Ascending (July 18) – “The Matrix” directors Andy and Lana Wachowski deliver this ambitious sci-fi/fantasy tale about an ordinary Earth woman (Mila Kunis) fated for greatness and swooped off on an adventure by a genetically engineered Channing Tatum. A film with this much imagination will either be a franchise-starter or a total failure.  

Sin City: A Dame to Kill For (Aug. 22) – At long last, Robert Rodriguez got around to a “Sin City” sequel almost a decade in the making. It looks like from the teaser that he hasn’t skipped a beat, but we still don’t know much about this movie. On the other hand, it’s star-studded and the buzz will surely grow.    

^Maleficent

Movies with something to prove  

Maleficent (May 30) - A “the story you didn’t know” version of a Disney film through a villain’s eyes has lots of geeky promise, especially with pitch-perfect casting in Angelina Jolie. Yet after the disappointment of Tim Burton’s “Alice in Wonderland,” and mixed reaction to “Oz, the Great and Powerful,” this rich CGI fantasy world movie has something to prove.  

22 Jump Street (June 13) – Yes, the first one was hilarious, and I like directors Phil Lord and Christopher Miller enough to trust in this sequel to some degree, but when was the last time you saw a great comedy sequel? They are so rare, that it’s hard to put high expectations on this movie.  

Jersey Boys (June 20) – Movie adaptations of hit musicals are usually awards-season material, so what’s “Jersey Boys” doing in the summer? The music sure is catchy, but the bigger question is can Clint Eastwood bounce back? He hasn’t made an excellent movie in some time now.

Transformers: Age of Extinction (June 27) – With Shia LaBeouf gone and Mark Wahlberg now the face of the franchise, is this the “fresh start” fans wanted or the same big, loud, dumb Michael Bay routine with new actors? These films have always been technically impressive, but the plots have been garbage. And as much as I loved Dinobots as a kid, I’m not sure how that they’ll work in an actual story.  

Get On Up (Aug. 1) – Director Tate Taylor (“The Help”) will try and change up the pace of the summer once again with this James Brown biopic. How impressive that star Chadwick Boseman can play baseball legend Jackie Robinson and the king of soul? He’s a true talent, but as much as the good pieces are in place, this is more likely than not another by-the-numbers music biopic given the August release.  

Let’s Be Cops (Aug. 13) – Fans of TV’s “New Girl” will delight to see Coach (Damon Wayans, Jr.) and Nick (Jake Johnson) on the big screen in this comedy about two friends who score authentic police uniforms for a party and soon realize they can get away with impersonating officers. It’s a shot in the dark, but this could be a surprisingly funny comedy.    

^Blended

Movies to be skeptical of  

Blended (May 23) – Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore reunite for the third time, but considering “The Wedding Singer” and “50 First Dates” were actually charming, the cliché doesn’t quite work here. Anyway, Sandler’s films have been awful of late, so the only hope is that he’s gone for more heart given the family tone of this story of a single dad and mom whose families are stuck together on an African vacation.  

Hercules (July 25) – Dwayne Johnson is one of few worthy to take on the lion mantle of Hercules on the big screen, but Brett Ratner is far from the ideal director for an epic fantasy action film (movie geeks despise the man). The teaser trailer looks good, but manage your expectations.  

Sex Tape (July 25) – The team behind “Bad Teacher,” including stars Jason Segel and Cameron Diaz, in the story of a husband and wife whose sex tape goes viral. When the whole reason your movie has a plot is because of “the Cloud,” there’s reason for concern, as easy to enjoy as “Bad Teacher” was.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Aug. 8) – People were very sensitive and accusatory when word of this reboot first broke given the way producer Michael Bay described it, and with Megan Fox as April O’Neil, few plan to take this reboot seriously.  

The Giver (Aug. 15) – My 7th grade self would’ve been all over this adaptation of the Lois Lowry novel with Jeff Bridges and Meryl Streep in supporting roles, but it seems the only reason this classic dystopia film got on the fast track is because of “The Hunger Games.” Expect people to take a critical lens to this adaptation.  

The Expendables 3 (Aug. 15) – The old action stars are back with the familiar faces and new ones in Wesley Snipes, Harrison Ford, Antonio Banderas and Mel Gibson as the villain. “The Expendables 2” turned out to be a good bit of fun, but how many times can you ride these old dogs?  

^{They Came Together}

Small movies to put on your radar  

Chef (May 9) – Actor/director Jon Favreau pulls together an exciting cast in one of those indies so full of names (chief among them Robert Downey Jr. and Scarlett Johansson) you wonder if it’s really an indie. After losing his job for being too avant garde, a chef (Favreau) starts up a food truck.  

The Double (May 9) – Jesse Eisenberg stars in British director Richard Ayoade’s take on Dostoevsky’s novel about a man whose doppelganger suddenly comes into his life and he’s more outgoing and charismatic. The film has gotten respectable reviews since its debut at the Toronto International Film Festival last fall.  

They Came Together (June 27) – David Wain (“Wet Hot American Summer,” “Role Models”) crafts a biting satire on romantic comedies starring Paul Rudd and Amy Poehler. Does it get better? The film received strong reviews at Sundance.  

Begin Again (July 4) – Mark Ruffalo plays a troubled music exec and Keira Knightley a singer/songwriter who could turn his career around. Maroon 5’s Adam Levine and Cee Lo Green also star. From the director of the musical movie “Once.”

Wish I Was Here (July 18) – Zach Braff has yet to repeat the achievement that was “Garden State,” and while critics have not been impressed with his latest, fans at Sundance took a liking to this story of a dad who decides to home school his children and their adventures in the process.

Magic in the Moonlight (July 25) – Woody Allen’s newest film stars Emma Stone and Colin Firth and involves a swindle of some kind. We don’t know much else as of yet, but as with any Allen film, it could be amazing or a total waste of time.

Happy Christmas (July 25) – Joe Swanberg, whose last movie, “Drinking Buddies,” was a Chicago favorite, revealed his latest movie at Sundance, about a 20-something (Anna Kendrick) who crashes in Chicago with her brother and sister-in-law and their young child and shakes up the family dynamic.

Love Is Strange (Aug. 22) – John Lithgow and Alfred Molina play a gay couple of nearly 40 years who after finally getting married, are forced to live apart when one is fired from his Catholic school job. Early festival reviews are glowing.

I am taking a break from fitness writing this month to write a story for Mother’s Day and poke some fun at myself.

This tale starts in college, when I was a freshman – a tone-deaf freshman – and nobody knew, not even me. I was practicing with friends for a talent show. The theme was songs from the movie Forrest Gump. During the first practice, all the young men sang the same songs, over and over again. It was easy to hide in the background while my peers sang their heart off. The second practice it was harder to hide when an upper-classman requested to “Just have Krit sing.”

Growing up, my sister was the piano player and in the chorus club. I was not a singer and it never bothered me. It never dawned on me that I had no vocal skills. Until I was 14, I could pass for my sister on the phone so I thought maybe I could sing. I was wrong.

When I started singing “What the World Needs Now is Love,” it was clear I had no business even attempting to carry a tune. When everyone stopped laughing, another older student added, “We have a new plan: Krit will sing all the songs. And we will try not to laugh.” Fortunately, it was impossible to not laugh while I sang; partly showmanship, but mostly horrible singing.

That memory slowly faded, and I started my working career. Normally, singing was never something I would do at work. Then it happened. My boss Tracy was a cabaret singer. He did plays and had his own one-man show. He sang around the office all the time, and his humming was a little infectious, so I started to sing. I don’t think I even meant to. It’s like when “Billie Jean” comes on and you can’t help but dance and sing. Needless to say, I was banned from singing in the office. Sure, I was a little humiliated, maybe even hurt, but auditioning for American Idol or The Voice was never on my radar anyway.

Fast forward another few years, and I met my wife. She quickly agreed with Tracy and tried to ban me from singing. At first, I was not allowed to sing in the car, but then I was banned from all parts of the house except the shower, which is okay with me because that’s when my voice is the strongest anyway.

Now if you are thinking, “why is everyone so mean to Ron?” these comments were never spiteful. Sure there is a dent in my pride, but hey, I have other skills. My wife cannot juggle or whistle, so I’ll always have that.

But I’m afraid there is now another person who fears my singing. He’s my 2.5-year-old son. Although I sing to Henry all the time, and will never stop, he will eventually ban me from singing. It will not be today, or tomorrow, but soon it will happen. He’s already alluded to it, and that’s why I’m thankful for my wife.

Aside from taking care of our son with love and care, supplying him with food for 14 months and being his sole parent on Saturdays, she can not only carry a tune, but she also remembers the correct words. Recently, I put Henry to bed and he was disappointed and slightly offended by my version of “Let it Go” from Disney’s new powerhouse movie “Frozen.” He refused to go to sleep until someone sang it correctly, and with soul. In comes his mom. Tired, not feeling well, but still a mom, she belted out “Let it Go” with love while cradling Henry. He had a huge smile on his face. I further punished myself by asking, “Who sang it better?” Without any hesitation, he declared, “MOMMY!”

Thank you Henry’s mom! Happy Mother’s Day to you!

Seven months ago, I shocked myself and many of my coworkers at the Jewish United Fund; I gave my notice, leaving JUF and YLD for the world of finance. The most common responses I got included “Wow! That’s a big change. Are you qualified? How did you get the job?”   

Let me tell you a little secret: the work of fundraising is not that different than finance. I know, I know … you think I am crazy, so let me explain.  

For years I wanted to explore the financial industry. I loved (and still love) budgeting, statistics, daily news and watching the markets. But when I attended a job fair and had people look at my resume, I was told point blank that I had cornered myself into the Jewish non-profit world.   

Hearing this only made me want to prove to the world – well, really to myself – that I could get a job in finance, but my search ended quickly when I landed an incredible job at JUF. For years I planned programs, raised money and built the community. I loved it, but two things in particular: building the relationships and bringing in the money.

Now here is where it gets interesting, so read carefully. Knowing how to build relationships cannot be taught. You are a good networker, trustworthy, caring, etc. or you are not. Finance can be learned. A person can study options and read about the markets.

I had just cracked the code. I had found my way into finance – relationships! Now, the key was to prove to others that I was not full of B.S. and THAT was not as easy as picking up the phone at a phonathon!

The first thing I had to do was convince myself. After stating over and over again that you can learn finance but not relationships, I started to believe it myself. From there it was using those relationships. It worked. I made the “jump,” which I see more as a skip, and am now a full-time financial professional, building relationships and bringing in money, just like I did at JUF.

You may have seen this amazing piece of artwork below. Greg Harris has really drawn up some amazing interest and excitement through his project, Jewish Baseball Player.com. Connected to this achievement has been his ability to help non-profits raise money. We spoke with Greg and he put us in touch with Norm Sherry as a way to collaborate.

If you are a baseball fan, you need this piece of Jewish baseball history and if you are a baseball fan you need to read more about the guy who helped Sandy Koufax become Sandy Koufax. Meet Norm Sherry.

How was your experience with Jewish Baseball Player.com?
It was a fun time. The people were so nice. There were a bunch of people there. It has been a long time since I have been around that many Jewish people all at once. It was nice.

What was your Jewish life like?
My parents weren't religious but my grandparents were. My great grandfather was a rabbi. My mother and grandmother always spoke Yiddish to each other. But we never learned about being Jewish even tough my High School was 90 percent Jewish. In order to play in a ball game we needed to come to school the day of the game and it was the Holidays. So I went and I was there basically by myself.

Others in your family played as well correct?
Larry played with me in '59. We also played winter ball together in Venezuela. Growing up we didn't play much together because he was 4 years younger than me. He would come to the field with us and we'd stick him in right field. My youngest brother George played 1 year in the majors too but hurt his arm, his rotator cuff and never came back. My other brother Stan was in World War II.

Did Sandy Koufax go to synagogue the Yom Kippur he missed his World Series start?
I don't know if he went to synagogue. Sandy is a great guy, very down to earth. He never wanted the fame. Our lockers were next to each other. Once there was a young reporter and all the other reporters stormed him and the young kid didn't get to ask his question. After the other reporters left, Sandy went up to the young reporter and asked him what he wanted to know. He was a great guy.

Are you still in touch with Koufax?
We are not really in touch. Last time we saw each other was 3 or 4 years ago. I did call him after he was on TV recently and told him he looked good.

Do you ever go back and do work with the Dodgers?
When there are moments of emotion. For example, when the Dodgers celebrated the '59 team. They are good about it and invite some of the old timers to come back.

What did you do after your playing days?
I managed in the Majors for a little and in the Minors as well. After my playing days, I came back to Los Angeles and friends offered me a good-paying job at JB Stevens, a carpet company. But then I was offered a manager job in Santa Barbara and took it. It paid a lot less money. Managing can be very taxing on a person, especially in the Major Leagues. Being a player was the best.  

There I was, on a Friday afternoon, floating in a pitch-black tank filled with 10 inches of water and 800 pounds of salt, stressing out about earplugs, and trying to relax.

(How’s that for catching your attention?)

Dear readers, you may be shocked to hear this; but last week, I decided to try something NEW.

When my friend Lindsey and I thought about taking a mini vacation over spring break, we were thinking along the lines of a trip to Mexico, the Dominican Republic, or a Caribbean cruise. But when our wallets, our calendars, and our mothers disagreed, we decided to go with a new plan: A Chicago Staycation. 

If we had been in Mexico, we would have spent most of our time relaxing on the beach. What’s a way to do something similar in cold, winter-in-March Chicago? One idea popped into my head: A sensory deprivation tank.

I first heard about the sensory deprivation tank from my friend Josh. He said it was an incredible experience that was almost impossible to describe; you had to experience it for yourself. My interest was piqued, and so was Lindsey’s when we planned our staycation. We booked our flotation tank appointments.

On Friday afternoon, we had been instructed to eat a snack beforehand so as not to focus on our hunger in the tank. With scrambled eggs in my belly and a tuna melt in Lindsey’s, we arrived at SpaceTime Tanks in Lincoln Park, not knowing knowing what to expect. We were instructed to take off our shoes and wait in the dark, calm waiting room. The owner then showed us into a room where we were given detailed instructions on how to make the most of our flotation experience.

When our rooms were ready, Lindsey and I waved goodbye and went into our separate rooms. Or at least I thought I was waving goodbye to her; I was told to take out my contact lenses, so I couldn’t see much of anything.

In each room there was a shower and a tank that looked almost like a very long file cabinet. I rinsed off in the shower and then put in earplugs — we were told that without earplugs, we’d get salt in our ears. I opened the door and entered the tank, which was filled with 10 inches of water and 800 pounds of salt. Like the Dead Sea, with that much salt, your body immediately floats. I closed the door and it was pitch black.

I had a whole hour to float, close my eyes, relax, and enjoy having my brain freed of the senses of sound (earplugs), smell (you just have to get used to the salt smell), sight (opening my eyes and closing my eyes were the same), taste (don’t swallow the water!), and touch (floating in water set to around 94 degrees causes the body to feel weightless and like it’s not touching anything).

And now, for your reading pleasure, I present to you: Lia’s Thoughts During the Flotation Tank Hour:

Alright. Time to relax. After a stressful week, this is my time to just be alone with my thoughts.

Or wait, was I supposed to NOT have thoughts?

My earplugs are falling out. Did I not put them in right? Does my ear canal go up or down? Why don’t these earplugs fit me? I should have practiced before I came here. Why didn’t they warn me I’d need to be certified in Earplugs 101? 

Try to relax, Lia.

Maybe I should push the earplugs back in. But no, then the salt will be pushed deeper and deeper into my ear! I will have salty ears all week!

Clear your thoughts. Ohmmm…

Aw, what the heck, I’ll just take the earplugs out. Wait, where are they? Oh haha, they must have fallen out of my ears 10 minutes ago. 

I wonder how much time has passed.

Okay, NOW I’ll really be able to relax.

I bet Lindsey’s earplugs stayed in her ears. Ridiculous.

It sure is dark in here. But I think I can still hear things. Is that the receptionist answering the phone? Maybe that’s what the earplugs were for, drowning out the sounds.

Do they make brainplugs? To drown out my thoughts? Go away, thoughts!

Well, if I’m in here thinking anyway, I might as well be productive. The lady at the front desk said many writers will come here when they have writer’s block and need to think of new ideas. I wonder what I’ll blog about next week. Maybe this! Yeah, I’ll write about how I keep thinking of things when I’m trying to let my mind be blank. But other than that, I can’t think of any new blog ideas. And even if I did, how would I remember them? I can’t write them down in here.

I feel like I’m in a Seinfeld episode. This is totally the kind of thing that would happen to Elaine.

When’s the last time I watched Seinfeld? I can’t believe I’m two episodes behind on Glee. Here I am, floating in here for an hour, when I could be catching up on Glee.

They should totally put TVs in these things.

Floating is fun. My skin feels soft. This reminds me, I should really go swimming. I wonder if I know anyone with an indoor pool. 

I’m going to close my eyes now. Wonder if I’ll fall asleep.

[5 minutes later]

Nope, not asleep. I wonder what would happen if I rolled onto my side. 

Weird.

Or my stomach.

Ooh, this is nice!

I’ll go back on my back. My head feels like it’s going to fall in. Is my head too heavy? I’ll rest my head on my hands. Oh, this is nice. 

Is the time up yet? How long have I been here? I could probably get out now. But I’ll give it some more time.

Ahh…relax…

About 30 minutes later, my time was up. I showered, got dressed, and put in my contacts. I put on my shoes and my coat, and I walked back into the real world. The world where, even while I was in the tank, taxis were picking up passengers, restaurants were serving waffle fries, and people were buying movie tickets. I had to turn on my brain to preparing for the lunch I was hosting the next day, thinking about when I would do my reading for grad school, and wondering when I’m going to get the time to clean my apartment.

And in a way, I wished I could have had another hour in the tank. 

As my son approaches his second birthday, the days blur together in a flurry of messes, play dates, tantrums and “eat, play, sleep” cycles. And although each day seems to blur into another sometimes, I remember those first few months of my parenthood journey so clearly:

- An endorphin rush at his birth followed by a hormone crash and weeks upon weeks of sleep deprivation.

- Navigating a whole new set of experiences and challenges, from the mysteries of infant sleep (“will he ever sleep?!”) to figuring out how to manage my time and get anything done with an infant who wants to be snuggled and/or fed 24/7.

- Feeling overwhelmed with attention and feeling alone all at once. 

- Trying to figure out how and where to meet other new moms while also maintaining my friendships with my “pre-Colin” friends who didn’t always understand why I couldn’t return to my late-night partying ways now that I wasn’t pregnant or why my plans revolved around a newly-developing nap schedule.

- Meeting another new mom only to find out that her family was house-hunting in the ‘burbs or moving back to their hometown to be closer to family, and secretly wishing we could move closer to our out-of-state family and have a built-in village, even though I knew it just wasn’t in the cards for us.

- Slowly building a “village” of my own, with a mix of new “mom friends”, families my husband met at the park on the swings, and babysitters who have become a paid version of extended family.

These “mom friend” relationships slowly developed into real friendships. Superficial discussions about introducing solids, nap schedules and teething turned to solid friendships, built on trust and camaraderie and all sorts of conversation topics beyond just baby. We would meet weekly (or more) with our little ones at playgroup, which I soon understood was an event designed by parents to spend time with one another under the disguise of “socialization for the kiddos.”

What I was surprised to realize was that the moms and families my husband and I “clicked” with most early on all had one thing in common: we were all a part of the Jewish community. I’m not sure why I was surprised, since we shared so much before we even met, from common childhood experiences to shared values. We didn’t meet at “Jewish events” and we weren’t actively seeking a “Jewish” connection, but in the end, we’ve all expressed how glad we are to have found each other.

Building my village was (and still is) a slow and evolving process. It’s not like there was a magical place to show up and be introduced to people who are in the same stage of new parenthood as you.

But what if now, there was? Ok, well it isn’t magic per se. But it has the power to create magic, I am certain.

JUF recently launched a brand new program called jBaby Chicago, which aims to be a resource for parents raising Jewish children from birth to 24 months old, creating a fun, social, supportive community to help navigate those critical first two years. Through classes, playgroups and special events across the north side of the city, jBaby Chicago will help parents find and build their “village” from the very beginning.

I think back to the beginning of my time as Colin’s mama, and I only wish that a program like this had been around for us. And I couldn’t be happier to be involved now.

Are you expecting or raising a Jewish baby under 24 months? Find more information at www.juf.org/jBabyChicago, or email me at rachelfriedman1@gmail.com. I would love to take you out for a cup of coffee (doesn’t every new parent need a cup of coffee?) to tell you all about how you can get involved!

Just before Passover, I found myself in a fury of planning, cleaning and shopping. My heart beat faster inside my chest as we raced to get everything done just right and just in time. I felt the sweat dripping down my brow as we scrubbed every last corner in my kitchen. I strained and grunted as we stuffed our appliances into closets and taped up cabinets of food not suitable for Passover. It was about getting enough done to meet the requirements of the holiday without going completely insane!

In the classic musical, Fiddler on the Roof, Tevye explains it best: 

A fiddler on the roof. Sounds crazy, no? But here, in our little village of Anatevka, you might say every one of us is a fiddler on the roof trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn't easy. You may ask, “Why do we stay up there if it's so dangerous?” Well, we stay because Anatevka is our home. And how do we keep our balance? That I can tell you in one word: tradition!

Passover has now ended and with it some of the most widely observed traditions in Judaism. Millions of Jews from around the world, even if they did very little else “Jewish” for the rest of the year, found themselves back again at another Passover seder, eating matzos, and/or ridding themselves of chametz for the entire week. 

Tradition! We do the same thing year after year. Many of the traditions we share as a people, like joining together for seders. Others we share in our communities, such as where everyone will be meeting for pizza when the holiday ends. Still, some we have for our own families, mainly Bubbie’s brisket. Every year it is the same, and yet, it feels like, if we don’t eat every bite, read every line and sing every song just the way we always do, it just doesn’t feel like Passover.

Tradition! In the same breath, we kvetch and kvell at the redundancy of it all. Why does it always have to be so long, so hard so much the same thing every single year? How do I love this time of year, so many people, so joyful, so much food? We keep the good and the bad of every holiday close to our hearts.

Through it all, a theme rang true for me this year that helped the traditions start to make more sense and even feel worthwhile. Passover is the same every year, but we are not. We come together every year for the same meal with the same people to sing the same songs because it provides a constant against which we can measure change. The value of engaging with this tradition is that it gives us a starting place from which to return and measure how much we have indeed changed, hopefully for the better, from year to year. As a people, tradition lets us know how much we have improved from generation to generation. As much as we must remember what it was like to be slaves in Egypt, we must also measure how much we have to bettered ourselves each year as free people.

I somehow got sent a copy of “The 30 Minute Seder.” It has a song in it that is not traditionally a Passover seder song, but I can see why they put it in there. It's the spiritual "Let My People Go."  

This is a quote directly from the Torah, sure, but it's incomplete. The full sentence that Moses says to Pharaoh in the name of God is, "Send (forth) My people that they may serve Me."  

This is probably a big part of the reason Pharaoh refused. The Israelites were coming back in three days. It would be a capitulation (and a loss of productivity) to let them go for that long, but not necessarily a threat to his reign. Pharaoh could even spin it as proof that they were not really slaves, and that he was even benevolent—"See, I even gave them a vacation!"  

No, it was the second part, I think. Pharaoh could not allow the Israelites—or any in his empire—to think of themselves as able to serve non-Egyptian gods, himself among them.  

Today, we tend to focus on the "freedom" part, and stop at the "go" of "let my people go." But in his book Man's Search for Meaning, psychologist and Holocaust survivor Victor Frankl proposed that, opposite the Statute of Liberty, we build a Statue of Duty.  

Jewish superhero creator Stan Lee agrees, and has his creation, Spider-Man, repeat that: "With great power comes great responsibility."  

On Passover, we celebrate our liberation, and say that we're free. Now that the holiday is over, we have to ponder, "Free to do what?" After four cups of wine, it’s a sobering thought.  

And so I propose an addendum to the Four Questions: "Now that I am free to do any thing, what thing do I want to do?"

No matter how lost the last two seasons were, I cannot quit these Bulls. No matter how many times they are counted out or how many star players to lose, the Bulls continue to be not only fun to watch, but one of the top-tier teams in the NBA who could beat anyone on any given night.  

After Derrick Rose was lost for the season for the second year in a row, I was ready to cash in all of my chips on these Bulls. It was time to trade away their assets, tank and hope for good draft position going into next year. But for the second year in a row, the Bulls refused to quit. They refused to listen to their critics and they again find themselves one of the top teams in the Eastern Conference heading into the playoffs. Last year was a fun team to watch. Nate Robinson was worth the price of admission and kept the Bulls in several games they should not have otherwise been in. But injuries plagued them all year and by the time they hit round two, they just didn’t have enough to compete with. But as much as Robinson and Marco Bellineli were fun to watch and made big plays, they also made a lot of mistakes that had me yelling at them in frustration almost as much as I did in joy.  

Yet somehow this year’s team, with no Rose and Luol Deng traded away, is a much more fundamentally sound team. DJ Augustin can score off the bench, but can also play defense and makes his teammates around him better. Mike Dunleavy can hit the perimeter shot, but also has size over almost every small forward in the league. Taj Gibson is improved his scoring, continues to be a force on defense, and now closes every game. Jimmy Butler’s game has improved, and he has settled almost seamlessly into the Deng role. And coach Tom Thibodeau just flat out knows how to get the best out of his players, and put a team capable of winning on the floor every single night.  

But the biggest difference is the emergence of Joakim Noah as a leader, a legitimate difference maker, and the heart of this team. Noah’s energy and enthusiasm makes him fun to watch, but it’s his winning attitude that makes this less of a “try-hard bunch” and more of a team who could make a legitimate playoff run in an overall weak conference. 

That is what makes them so intriguing to me this year. They are not the “Little Engine That Could” team they were last year. They play as a team, they have no selfish players, and it’s no longer a surprise when they beat a good team. So even when they lose like they did last night, they always bounce back. So as a fan, they don’t leave you down for too long. And why I just can’t quit these Bulls.

_{Abby, with her afikoman-hiding grandpa.}

It was the end of the fourth, and all eyes were on me.  

That's the fourth question, of course. Although the unofficial fifth question (will she find the afikoman?) was on the minds of everyone in the room.  

Most people's unofficial fifth question is “Who will find the afikoman?” But when you're the only child at the Seder year after year, no one wonders who. They only wonder when. Where. How. And in my case, if.