OyChicago blog

It's been really hard for me to wrap my head around what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary School less than a week ago. Normally, I'm one who takes note of these horrific stories and then tries to shut them out of my world, avoiding the news so I don't internalize the hurt and suffering.

But this time, watching horror stories on the news day after day and hearing stories of viciously murdered kindergarteners has really broken my heart. The mama in me imagines Colin as an elementary school-age kid, and I literally have no words. Just tears.

So when I heard that my favorite former anchor of the Today Show, Ann Curry, had started a movement via twitter about doing 26 random acts of kindness to commemorate the 26 lives lost in this tragedy, I knew I was in. The tricky part is that with a sick baby and a potential snow storm today, we can't venture too far from home. So we have to start small, with things we can do from home or that require very minimal travel.

Many of you know that in my former life, before the days of stay-at-home-mommy hood, I was the volunteer coordinator at a local nonprofit. I've seen first-hand the wonderful acts of kindness that others can do, and I've already made an effort to teach Colin by example. We've delivered food and purchased Hanukkah gifts for the less fortunate.

But all of those projects have revolved around upcoming holidays, and I love the feeling of doing good because we want to. Not because we're taking part in an organized program or because others are doing it to, but because it's a right and an honor. Because it feels good to give back, and in the wake of such a monumental event, it's a great way to turn something terrible into something positive.

So Colin will help - mostly by being the cute baby that makes others smile, while his mommy does the typing, the driving, the paying and the giving. Here are our first five of our #26 Acts of Kindness:

1) Donating clothes. This is something we do regularly, and I already had a pile of stuff brewing in the closet, so it seemed like a great way to start! Because of our lovely germ-fest going on, we're going to deliver them on Sunday when daddy can watch the dude. We take our clothes to The ARK's Thrift Shop, where ARK clients can shop using vouchers and any money from other sales goes directly back into their budget to fund the awesome work they do!

2) Colin is so lucky to have four wonderful and worldly-wise great-grandparents. And because we live far away from them, we don't get to see them all that often. I thought one of our 26 Acts should be something nice for them, because honestly, if they weren't around, we wouldn't be either! Plus they are the greatest, so here is what we did:

 #26 Acts #2: Going online to order and surprise C's great grandparents with photos from his six month portraits - it will definitely brighten their day"

3) This one is my favorite so far. In my work at The ARK, one thing we heard from recipients of aid from the food pantry was the exorbitant cost of diapers. And having a baby myself, I know - diapers are a necessity. So we ventured out for a (not-so) quick errand this afternoon in between Colin's naps, and here is what we did:

If you can't read it, it says, "#26 Acts: #3 Diapers are expensive! Please take and use this gift card to help defray the cost if you are in need of some assistance, and pay it forward by doing something nice for someone else." I hope that whoever sees it takes the message to heart and only takes it if they need it, instead of just seeing it as free money. While we were at Target, we did #4 too.

4) Buy 26+ grocery items for a local food bank. We chose to buy food for the JUF Uptown Cafe's pantry. I talked to Colin while we walked through the grocery aisles about why this mitzvah was important. I am pretty sure he was just interested in the cereal boxes, but hopefully he absorbs some of this :) Below is the face of a boy who needs a nap... 

And 5) I've been thinking of one of our pals a lot this holiday season. She's been out of town since before Thanksgiving visiting her family, because her dad has cancer, and she wants to help him and her mom and spend as much time with him as she can. We miss having her and her baby girl around, and we hate to see their family face this kind of pain during the holiday season. Since Colin and I can't cure cancer as act number 5, instead I helped Colin send his first bouquet of flowers to a girl, his pal L, who has a sick grandpa.

I think we are off to a great start!

So, here is the fun part.

Post a comment on my other blog Adventures of the Fried-baby with your idea of a way to do something kind for others that costs $26 or less. Not only do I appreciate your ideas, but on Sunday, I'll do a drawing using a random number generator to pick a winner, and that winner will get a $25 Amazon Gift Card (since they don't sell them in $26 increments) to use to pay it forward to someone else!

Every day coming home from work, I walk through the Christkindl market, that bastion of holiday cheer and wonder. Above the glittering lights, the mingling aromas of German food and mulled wine, the general buzz of effervescent cheer stands a steel menorah, courtesy of Chabad. The stark menorah in comparison to the intensely sparkly everything else makes for quite the juxtaposition. “Do you have Chanukah songs?,” non-Jewish co-workers ask me, “why, yes we do.” Songs sung in a minor key, far from the carefree jingle jangle of “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer”. But when someone new asks me the story of Chanukah, the response shines as bright as the most shimmering decoration. 

A holiday celebrating miracles. A holiday celebrating light in the midst of a very dark time. Chanukah (Hannukah, Hanukah...) gives us a reason to reflect on the miracles in our lives. I see it as an opportunity, looking at the horrific, senseless events of last week, to shed light on tragedies and try our best to discover within ourselves how we can face such horrible events with sympathy, empathy and caring. And it’s another moment to reflect on how faith factors into our everyday lives. 

I encountered a little miracle while living in France a couple of years ago. My new friends had never celebrated the holiday before and didn’t know much about it, so I took it upon myself to throw a Grenoble Chanukah party. And what is a Chanukah party without latkes? I soon came to the daunting realization that no, I’ve never made latkes before and yes, the recipe called for boiling hot oil. This could only end in disaster, right?

I stood up to my fears and marched to the Makolette, the kosher market in town. Maybe I wanted to give the affair a little extra Jewish “umph” or maybe I was feeling incredibly lazy, but I walked out of the store with a box of Manischewitz latke mix, feeling happy as a clam. 

A bottle of French Crisco and a few terrifying instances of burning oil flying off of the pan later, I had a pile of latkes any Jewish mother would be proud of (maybe). I set my table and added the necessary accoutrements of applesauce, sugar and the ever-present Chanukah classic, frozen pizza. As my friends started gathering at my apartment, we dined and delighted in the sounds of the “Hava Nagila” playlist I’d compiled prior to their arrival. My British, German and American guests fawned over my magnificent latkes (ha!) and it was an evening I’ll not soon forget. In a town entrenched in gorgeous, lavish Christmas spirit, the time I got to spend sharing my holiday and little bit of tradition with people who saw it all with new eyes is a memory I look upon fondly. 

That night also marked the beginning of my first holiday season away from home, not to mention my first holiday season in a foreign country. Before signing a seven month contract to live in France over the course of a school year, I never considered just how lonely it would feel being away at holiday time. Even living in a town ensconced in light and cheer, surrounded by plenty of new friends, there’s something a little isolating about being away from one’s nearest and dearest that time of year. But being able to share a little bit of my upbringing and my Jewish life with my abroad family brought the little miracles of this holiday to light in a heartfelt way that took me by surprise.

This year's Baseball Hall of Fame ballot has been released and it's headlined by Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens. Both will be a true test to the steroid era as Bonds and Clemens are arguably the best hitter and pitcher respectively who ever lived (please note that I wrote arguably).

But we here at The Great Rabbino are less concerned about Bonds and Clemens and more concerned about first-time ballot nominee Jewish baseball player Shawn Green! In all honesty, Green does not have much of a chance of making the Hall of Fame but it's nice to see his name on the list. Other first time nods include a handful of former White Sox (Royce Clayton, Sandy Alomar Jr., Roberto Hernandez, David Wells, Sammy Sosa, Kenny Lofton, and Julio Franco) for more click HERE.

So let's look at where Green stacks up and does he at least have a chance of getting on the ballot more than once.

Shawn Green - .283BA, 328HR, 162SB, 1070RBI, 2003H

NEW TO BALLOT (some of the players)

Barry Bonds - .298BA, 762HR, 1996RBI, 514SB, .607SLG, 7MVPs

Mike Piazza - .308BA, 427HR, 1335RBI, .545SLG, RoY

Craig Biggio - .281BA, 291HR, 414SB, 1844R

Sandy Alomar Jr. - .273BA, 112HR, 588RBI, RoY

Julio Franco - .298BA, 173HR, 2586H, 1194RBI, 917W

Rondell White - .284, 198HR, 1519H, 768RBI

Steve Finley - .271BA, 304HR, 1167RBI, 320SB

HOLDOVER ON THE BALLOT (some of the players)

Jeff Bagwell - .297BA, 449HR, 1529RBI, 202SB, RoY, 1MVP

Tim Raines - .294BA, 808SB, 2605H, 170HR, 980RBI

Larry Walker - .313BA, 383HR, 1311RBI, 230SB, 2160H, 1MVP

Mark McGwire - .263BA, 583HR, 1414RBI, 1626H, RoY

Bernie Williams - .297BA, 287HR, 1257RBI, 147SB, 2336H

It looks like Bonds, Piazza, and Biggio will stay on the ballot. Alomar Jr. has chance. Green....well....with enough Jewish voters maybe he could stay on for one or two more tries. This year should see Jack Morris and Piazza into the Hall of Fame and possibly Bonds and Clemens if voters overlook the steroids. Biggio will come close but I bet he just misses it.

Should be interesting. Let's hope Green stays on!

And Let Us Say...Amen.

This post was written Friday afternoon, following the tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut: 

I have never been so shaken so quickly as I was today. When I first saw the story, all I saw were random words, phrases and numbers and they added up to something insane that made me feel some sort of emotion I can’t comprehend right now. I don’t want to comprehend. I don’t like this. No one would. I have no direct connection to anything that happened and I feel this way. I can’t even pretend to imagine what anyone involved is going through right now. Everything on social media has me incredibly conflicted. On the one hand, people truly, honestly need to think about what they say before they post it on social media. This is obviously a sensitive issue—this is not a time to preach or react in a perverse manner. I feel ironic for saying that first part but while I’d rather be silent than say the wrong thing, that had to be said, despite the contradictory nature of it. If this is a jumbled mess I apologize. I wrote this for me, even though it is directed outwardly at times. It makes me feel, not better, but at the very least, like I’m not ignoring what happened. This is what I am doing as the most minimalistic action to keep my head about me. 

I like when people are saying to do something. Do something. This is advice that should be taken to heart. Talk to someone. Tell your loved ones that you do in fact love them. Hold them close. Hold them long. Never let go if you can. Tell them everything you want to tell them about how wonderful they are because we all know life is delicate and I say time and time again, we unfortunately don’t live that way. I wish I could live everyday like it was my last. In the most ironic way possible, life gets in the way of that. But we live in a time where so much can be done because of the simple advances in communication, we have to do just that. Communicate. Talk. Do something. Be there for someone today. And every day for that matter. Be a good person because you are one. Show it. Express it. Share it. Live life and be happy. In regards to today’s events, to state the obvious, no one should ever have to go through anything like this ever. Everyone seems to bring up different issues and that is entirely fine, but choose them appropriately. Focus on what’s truly important in the present and express yourself eloquently and humbly. I keep bringing it up but focus on not what needs to be done, but what is it you can do. There is something in your power that can make someone’s life better. Find out what that is and take charge. 

I held back tears more times than I care to count today. I can’t remember that ever happening to me in relation to real life events. I was too young during 9/11 to comprehend. I’m almost thankful for that in a strange way. But today, I am an adult, and I know exactly what happened, and I’m holding back tears writing this sentence and I am not ashamed to say it. In reaction to today, I have read some things online that make me downright angry and disappointed and yet there has been a multitude of beautiful words and gestures as well. Take today and know that this should be the worst and cherish that every other day is going to be better. The worst day of my life and the lives of most people doesn’t compare to today for the unfortunate select few. I am blessed with what I have. I am lucky to a level that most people might never get the chance to experience. I have a roof over my head, food on my table and loved ones to share it with. I have no right to complain about anything. Not about my day, not about my job, not about the economy, not about the government, not about anything. I try to cherish what I have because at any second it could all be taken away for no reason without ever a logical explanation. I don’t cherish what I have enough. I don’t think anyone does. That’s not to say I’m not appreciative or aware of what I have, I simply don’t acknowledge it appropriately. Today was a day that is unreal. That shouldn’t exist. But it does. It happened. We can’t go back and do it over. Go forward and do what you can to make every day ahead better and brighter. Be the best person you can be so we never see another day like this again. 

If you read this, I thank you sincerely. I wrote this for me and wished to share it with you, and you are an honest to goodness wonderful person for taking the time to participate in something that has helped me get through this day.

Why is the Newtown tragedy affecting us so much more than other acts of violence? There are so many random, senseless, acts of violence out there. Why does this fill our hearts with such sorrow, shock, and disgust, but hearing about the Batman movie massacre only fills us halfway?

I think mostly it is because they are children. Children that don’t understand the darkness of the adult world (or that we want to shield them away from it). Children who are not in any way responsible for the mess-ups and the confusion. Children who are innocent and want to love and want to play. Children who are pure, unadulterated light. 

The injustice of it, being children, reaches our hearts straight on, fills us with breaking sadness. We want to do something, anything.

We see in the scene, in our minds, the fear that the children must have had. The confusion. The screams of children who could not be protected. The screams of the parents who could not protect. It is almost too much to bear, for the injustice reaches a fevered pitch, a breakable level.

And who, our conscious, rational minds asks, who goes after children? Who is so angry at these children? Six-year-old children? A child who is caught in the gunfire, caught in the messed up dark ramblings of the adult world. But a gunman who purposefully targets such innocence, such potential, who silences those who want to giggle and laugh and run around and learn? 

That is the greatest question of all. Who, our minds beg for some sort of answer, who did this gunman hate so much that he would do such a thing?

People are crazy, of course. People do irrational, irreconcilable things. But that doesn't alleviate the pain.

The thought of the children wears us down. We, the nation, want to maternally wrap our arms around them and bring them back to life. We, the nation, want to tell their parents it was all a bad dream. We want to re-right the world again, bring sense back into the classroom. Give ourselves, and our children, the assurance that things are good and life is safe, and if we follow the lines, we will get ahead.

But instead, we see the shattered world, the unfortunate injustice, and the pain, a gaping hole in our hearts, for the tragedy of this injustice.

In the face of tragedy, in the face of unparalleled darkness, we have only one option— to bring more light into the world. If Hanukkah taught us anything, it was this. 

May the parents, the community, and the nation somehow be comforted, emotionally and psychologically, for the shattered world that sits in front of them, and may we somehow build back the pieces so that it all makes sense again. Children are our future, they are our potential, and they are the light of our lives. They deserve to be safe. May this be an opportunity to bring more and more light into the world, somehow. Somehow, let’s help set the world straight again, bringing justice.

And for the lives that were lost, may they be remembered always. And may their memory be a reminder for how we thus changed the world afterwards, for the better.

A few of the TOV volunteers in front of the center before gutting begins

On the second day of Chanukah, thirteen JUF TOV volunteers boarded a plane for New York on a Hurricane Sandy Relief Mission to help those affected by the severe flooding that decimated parts of New York and New Jersey in late October. The floods forced thousands of New York and New Jersey residents from their homes and major swaths of the states are disaster areas.

The three-day community mission to New York was sponsored by JUF's TOV Volunteer Network in partnership with NECHAMA: Jewish Response to Disaster. NECHAMA—which means "comfort" in Hebrew—is the only Jewish disaster response organization in the United States and has been on the ground since the hurricane struck the region.

"Disasters are very heavily faith based," said Gene Borochoff, President of the NECHAMA board and one of the organization founders. "We feel that there is a need to represent the Jewish community and the Jewish community needs to be involved and represented in the disaster response."

"This is great being able to work in a synagogue [today]," Borochoff continued, "but for the most part we spend the majority of our time in places that don't have a Jewish population…trying to help those with [the] greatest need. Coming in with your own hands and heart, that is a major difference."

The TOV volunteers were sent to The Jewish Center Brighton Beach, which was devastated by the storm. Built in 1928, the historic landmark is one of the oldest synagogues in New York. The congregants are currently using a local department store as a house of worship.

Dressed in old clothing, facemasks, eye goggles, and work gloves, the volunteers gutted the synagogue removing toxic debris and mold all the way down to the frame to prep the center for reconstruction.

Volunteers hauling out debris

"We are pulling away all the debris…," said Judy Springgate, a TOV volunteer. "There's drywall, doors, insulation, wood, exit signs and pipes and we took all [the materials] out with our bare hands and really helped this community."

Gutted wall

While there, the TOV volunteers celebrated Chanukah with local rabbis at a synagogue that had been repaired and rebuilt by NECHAMA and finished the week prior.

"It was a particularly meaningful time to bring a group of volunteers over Chanukah," said Yael Brunwasser, director of the JUF TOV Volunteer Network, "a time of year when spreading light and rebuilding are essential themes. Over the course of three days, volunteers worked to repair a destroyed synagogue, truly embodying the spirit of tikkun olam."

"It is so unbelievable the group of people who've come together from different ages, different groupings, and different backgrounds, even from different states," said Wendi Passen, a JUF Women's Board member and a mission participant. "It was so cool to team up with NECHAMA. The fact that we are doing this for three days and they are doing this for two years or four years and fifty days in a row…this is an experience I will never forget."

There are still over 200,000 homes and centers in New York that were declared inhabitable that require repair.

"How bad the damage is, is unreal," said Erin Gordon, another TOV participant. "You don't really see or hear about this on the news anymore as much as you did in the beginning and it's just sad and scary how bad things really are."

A second Hurricane Sandy Relief Mission comprised of Chicagoland Hillel students leaves Sunday, Dec. 16 to continue the long and arduous process of readying the Jewish Center Brighton Beach for reconstruction.

As of Nov. 19, Jewish Federation's Hurricane Sandy Relief Fund had raised almost a half a million dollars for relief efforts.

"I'm delighted to be part of this amazing effort coordinated by JUF and TOV, said Adam Hyman. "I'm going to tell everybody about the organization NECHAMA and the important work that they do. I feel fortunate to be a part of it."

Proof of the volunteers' hard work

Click here for more information about NECHAMA— Jewish Response to Disaster.

The Jewish Federation of Metropolitan Chicago is accepting donations to help those impacted by Hurricane Sandy and the following snowstorm along the Eastern seaboard. Chicagoans may contribute online at www.juf.org/relief, by calling (312) 444-2869, or by sending checks to: Jewish Federation Hurricane Sandy Relief Fund, Room 3022, 30 S. Wells St., Chicago, IL 60606.

The Chicago Federation will absorb all administrative costs, ensuring that 100 percent of all donations go directly to aid those most affected- -both the Jewish and general communities and to first responders along the East Coast- through the Jewish Federations of North America (JFNA) and other relief organizations and social welfare agencies.

For more photos from the mission, visit www.facebook.com/tov.volunteer

I'm an early riser and always have been.

Even as a teen, and now in my not-so-teen years, when people my age relish sleeping through breakfast, my circadian rhythms are less like my peers and more like my 89-year-old grandpa, who grabs his morning coffee and paper at dawn every day.

A visitor of mine from out of town, in his 40s, recently told me that whenever possible, he sleeps in 12-hour stretches into the afternoon, an admission he made to me when we met up for pancakes at 1p.m.—his choice of time, not mine. At first, I was envious of 12-Hour Sleep Guy. My body clock just doesn't work like that but, then again, I don't think I'd want it to.

After all, I love the morning because I'm a big fan of the sun. Whenever I can, I'll jog along the lake early in the morning and take in the sunrise. I'll watch the sun dawn over the shimmering water. Each time, I'm struck by the light and beauty of the sky, a palette of oranges, yellows, and reds dancing together, each sunrise breathtaking and different than the one that came before it. It never gets old, something that I can depend on—literally like clockwork. The chores and work for the upcoming day are far from my mind as I'm enveloped by the peaceful majesty of the scene.

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

When I watch the sun rise, my belief in God grows stronger. There's a prayer we say thanking God for creating the sun, called the Birkat Hachama, the "Blessing of the Sun," and I think about that blessing in these quiet moments at dawn. 

Light is a constant theme in my life. My bat mitzvah Torah portion, chanted 21 years ago, was Bereshit, the story of creation. Remember the one where God said, "Let there be light," creating the moon, the sun, and the stars? Even my name Cindy means "light" in Greek. Actually, the title of this very column, "Chai Lights" is a play on my Hebrew name—Chaya (life)—merged with my English name.

There's nothing more beautiful to me than the concept of light—both in nature and on a philosophical level, as illumination, a combination of wisdom, optimism, and hope.

It's ironic—all this talk about light—as the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice, approaches. But it is now, in the season of Chanukah, that the Jewish people celebrate the light. We'll soon light candles for eight whole nights to celebrate that great miracle that happened there.

No matter what season, I see light all around. I see light in the kindness of a stranger buying a homeless man a cup of hot chocolate on a cold Chicago day. I see light when my baby nephew sings and dances to Carly Rae Jepsen on the car radio. I see light when I watch an elderly couple hold hands walking down the street.

And I see light in the traditions of our people. I even see light in the darkest days throughout history for the Jewish people. It's then that we've had to keep our lights burning brightest, through all of our peril, persecution, and turmoil, such as in Israel right now. But we as a people recognize that light, in the end, vanquishes the dark. 

My mother, who is a playwright, wrote a play staged in Minneapolis back in the 1980s and 1990s, adapted from Shalom Aleichem, called The Adventures of Mottel, about a little Jewish boy who emigrates with his family from Russia to the States at the turn of the 20th century.

Mottel and his family carry candles on stage to commemorate the end of Yom Kippur. After all he and his family had endured in Russia and on their long journey to America, the family gets through all the adversity by maintaining their sense of humor, hope, and light. And then, Mottel closes the play with the following words of wisdom: "If you carry your own lantern," Mottel tells the audience, "you can make your way through the dark."

This week marks my tenth week at my first full time job after college. It is honestly remarkable to me that it has only been 10 weeks because I feel as though I have been here for so much longer. My position is at the Simon Wiesenthal Center, which in their mission statement is described as a “global Jewish human rights organization that confronts anti-Semitism, hate and terrorism, promotes human rights and dignity, stands with Israel, defends the safety of Jews worldwide, and teaches the lessons of the Holocaust for future generations.” In my new role, I act as an event coordinator in addition to the administrative assistant to the Midwest Director. As you can imagine, this is a very inspiring place to work. My boss’ office is covered with photographs of Simon Wiesenthal, Winston Churchill, Anne Frank, and Theodor Herzl. Hard to not feel inspired each and every day. 

The Midwest office that I work for actually just opened at the very end of the summer. Because this arm of the center is relatively new, I definitely feel as though I have an opportunity to get more hands on experience than if I were to be working for an office that had been established for years before my arrival. It is really flattering and interesting to be able to provide your opinion on major event details and decisions for the office after only spending a short time with the company. The only reason I am even communicating these feelings of content is because this all became quite apparent to me last week. 

During that time, we hosted two events that premiered the movie It is No Dream: The Life of Theodor Herzl, a film produced through the filmmaking arm of the center called Moriah. These events combined hosted over 200 people and were both fun and, at times, stressful to plan. In the end, the outcome was successful in achieving the centers mission and in my opinion, events that were enjoyed by all of our guests.

It also led to some personal feelings of accomplishment and led to reflect as to how I became an event coordinator. I majored in Journalism in college, which will always be one of my greatest passions. I always will find writing to be a release for any sort of anxieties in my life and I love telling stories, updating people on events and trends, and interviewing individuals about their lives and passions. However, the culmination of my college experience led me to work for a Jewish non-profit—not exactly what you learn about in the School of Media and Public Affairs.

What I realized over the past week is that probably less than five percent of the work I do is anything I learned from sitting in class. My first thought was oy! (pun most definitely intended), but I then realized that it doesn’t really matter where you learn the life skills you use on a daily basis. I am not disvaluing my education in the slightest, but rather pointing out that organized coursework isn’t always what teaches you the most.

I was explaining to some of my friends that most of the responsibilities I have in my position are things I only know how to do from working at overnight camp, pretty much living at Hillel, and being in a sorority. Sure, some basic tricks of the trade in Microsoft Office are skills I picked up during a semester long internships and I probably can write a more eloquent email after taking what seemed like 100 plus journalism courses, but the main day-to-day organizational skills, people skills, and communication skills are all thanks to four years in a sorority and at Hillel, and six years on staff at overnight camp. 

Strangely (or maybe not so much so) this is something that many people I have talked to agree with me about. Many of my friends use skills from outside extra-curricular experiences in order to advance in their careers and maybe less so information they learned in class. Of course, there are many exceptions to this, but it is extremely fascinating to think that the most important things you learn in school may not be from class at all. This isn’t exactly the direction I intended on going when I thought about reflecting on my first job, just as when I applied to major in Journalism during my senior year in high school, I wasn’t thinking that I would end up here. I guess this shows that even when you have a plan or think you know the course that you hope your life goes, things can gradually change, leading you on a whole new path. Maybe in four years my life will be similar to how I imagine or it could be completely different than I could even envision. Just when you think the whirlwind part of your early 20s is over with the end of college, it might only just be beginning.

In my post-treatment chapter of survivorship, I am no longer searching for meaning in my suffering, but rather I am committed to applying the lessons learned to my here and now. This is no easy task—in fact it is rather arduous.

As a 31-year-old young adult cancer survivor, I sometimes feel that I am the gatekeeper of innocuous information, strategies and tricks that at this point in time serve no real purpose for me.

During the eight months of treatment, I learned how to make the hospital my home, learned how to outsmart taste aversions developed during chemotherapy, and learned how to connect my mind and body through deep breathing and meditation. I learned how to see the world in hypercolor, learned how to connect with my authentic self, and learned that there is a fine line between vulnerability and strength.

Today, this knowledge and these experiences, reside peacefully between my two ears waiting to be accessed when the time is right.

While this information may not be applicable to me as a survivor, I have found it tremendously useful in my new role as a supporter.

I know what it feels like to be tied up, and locked in by cancer. I know what it feels like to be betrayed by my body. And I know what it feels like to be on pause when the rest of the world is on play.

I have learned that there simply is no perfect thing to say-and no perfect thing to do. All we need to do is show up—and keep showing up. Instead of gifts, bring love and don't forget to hold hands.

This is what I know.
This is what I learned.
And while I am grateful that I don't currently need these lessons for my own personal benefit, I am thankful to have survived and to now be able to give.

Ah, the holiday season is upon us once more! Some will imbibe on eggnog, others will be sipping fine wine. Whether it’s an office party or a prepaid bonanza, the drinks will definitely be a-flowing. But if you’re looking to try something other than the usual beer or sparkling wine, consider stepping outside the box and joining me on a trip to experience some of Chicago’s best cocktails! 

While some consider these to be the last days of our entire existence, the majority of people will still be looking for the party (and cocktail) to party their way into 2013. So, as this year draws to a close, let’s take a look back at some killer cocktails and where the best places are in the city to find them! 

Cocktail - Fizz/Flip.
Best Destination - Union Sushi & BBQ
For those of you that have checked out this modern Asian eatery for its fabulous sushi and robata grill, you have to go back to see my good friend Adam Staniszeski behind the upstairs bar and author of the newest cocktail on the list (and one of my favorites). A must-try, this version of a historically valuable cocktail recipe called a fizz - a cocktail with egg white - really brings out the flavors of the season. Adam’s versions are really creative, so go during happy hour after work one week and you won’t regret it. If anything, you’ll have great company and an even better drinking experience. Tell Adam that Ari sent you!

Cocktail - Artisan.
Best Destination - The Violet Hour
I have been talking a big game about this place for a long time, and after about six years of infrequent visits, the libations have only gotten better and better. Besides having a chic entrance and some very unique interior decor, this establishment does not disappoint. Their newest installment consists of an earl grey infused London Dry Gin and some lemon acidity, delicately balanced with orange marmalade. Juliet and Romeo, their long-standing king of all cocktails, is worth the trip - and possibly the wait, too.

Cocktail - Classic.
Best Destination - The Drawing Room
While my mentor and good friend Charles Joly has departed The Drawing Room for a prestigious role at Achatz’s The Aviary, you will not be disappointed by those he’s trained and left behind. It’s a wonderfully quaint, boutique style bar with lounges and classic cocktails. Ask for Sergio or Cristiana and they’ll lay it all out for you. If I were you, I’d go for the simple yet classical Manhattan or Hemingway Daiquiri, or be dazzled by the multi-layered flavor of Sergio’s Caribbean Queen, one I intend to taste test myself. I’m sure I’ll be heading there soon myself to remind myself why I loved bartending and creative cocktails so much.

Cocktail - Beer.
Best Destination - Emporium Arcade Bar
Yes, you can pretty much get good beer almost anywhere you go in the city, including your local liquor store, due to the rise of artisan libations and the growing national popularity of companies like Two Brothers Brewery and Goose Island Beer Company. However, there are one or two shining gems that must be acknowledged for their expert selections of brewski on tap. The first may come as a surprise to some, but the newly established Emporium Arcade, known for its vast selection of retro arcade games, actually boasts a killer lineup of beers. My favorites are the Woodchuck Private Reserve, the Lexington Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale, and for those just looking for a good ol’ classic and reliable brew, PBR.

Cocktail - Wine.
Best Destination - Pops for Champagne, DOC Wine Bar, Di Sotto Enoteca, Vera, Webster Wine Bar
Wine is not much different than beer in the city, thanks in most part to the growing restaurant industry in Chicago and the rise of regional and local artisan companies that offer eclectic, unique flavor profiles and even more interesting names. In my opinion, each of the places I mentioned above are beyond comparison when it comes to selection and quality. You can take friends or a date to any of these wonderful, cozy, and exciting places to whet your whistle and savor the flavor.

So cheers to you, Oy!sters, see you in 2013!! L’Chaim! 

Every year, I have one or more friends that tell me the same thing: “I’m going to start January 1st. I will work out all the time and eat nothing but veggies and protein!” And it never happens. It’s like a heart patient telling their doctor, “After a triple bypass I’ll start exercising.” What are you waiting for?

Quit procrastinating, because “I’ll start next year” never works. It does not get easier to lose weight; chocolate won’t taste worse in 2013. Burgers (cooked correctly) are always going to be delicious, unless you are anti-meat. So here’s my tip: do not give up anything. This is going to sound too simple—just eat less crap. Buy less treats, stop going to the office that’s filled with sugar for your afternoon fix. Don’t buy the cookie for your “son” instead split an awesome cookie once in a while with your “son” or anyone. 

I am not minimizing exercise, but I want people to realize step one is developing healthy eating habits. Sitting down with a plate filled with pasta, while watching TV, and drinking wine, beer, or soda is part of the problem. Eat dinner at the table, pretend you are at a restaurant. Leave the pot filled with mac and cheese on the burner and just take a small portion of it on your plate and sit down. If you want more food, get up and help yourself. By developing a habit of sitting at a table and cooking your own meals, you save money and calories. 

When my life became extremely busy I asked my wife to find me some easy recipes on-line. She found great recipes, made a grocery list and it made cooking fast. When you are organizing meals, you want to have meat (or non-meat protein like soy), VEGETABLES, and a grain (think rice, quinoa, bread, pasta). Once you start planning meals and snacks it becomes second nature to eat apple slices and peanut butter, and hummus and carrots instead of peanut butter cups. 

# 1 Ron Tip: Cut up two apples on Sunday night, squeeze lemon over it and place in a container. 

Most people are not eating enough fruits and vegetables. Aside from nutrition and minerals, fruits and vegetables actually taste good. Get in a routine of cutting up fruits and vegetables on Sundays and snacking on them. It also makes cooking easier when you already have the veggies sliced.

# 2 Ron Tip: Frozen veggies are so easy for side dishes with dinner. I often make Jasmine Rice and when it has 5 minutes left to cook I drop in frozen veggies. 

Along with eating well you have to move your body to be healthy. Whatever your health goals are, exercise is a must. Many people lose a ton of weight by walking and eating better. Since the number one excuse I get from people is, I don’t have the time, you have to plan it.

# 3 Ron Tip: In your phone, planner, calendar write in workout 11-11:30, or 5-6, 8-9, whatever time works for you pencil it in and do it. Even if it’s 10 minutes start fitting it in. 

Walking for an hour or biking for a few hours around town, is awesome but not always realistic. And I know, not everyone is able to work out at lunch like me. The good news is, you can work out for 10 minutes in the morning, 10 minutes at lunch and another 10 minutes after work and it counts. If I don’t have a lot of time to workout I do an intense 10 or 20 minutes. 

# 4 Ron Tip: If you plateau, you need to take your workout up a level, try something different and make it count. Pick four exercises like pushups, lunges, rows, and hip lifts, and do ten repetitions of each exercise and move on to the next exercise—do that straight for 10 minutes. It’s a simple way to burn calories and build muscles. If you have 30 minutes, you can do three different circuits and you will be sweating! 

Have a great 2013!!! Whatever your goals are, put them down on paper, make a plan how you’ll get there and follow through. Don’t forget to ask for help. If you need fitness help, let me know below. 

My husband and I have talked for years about hosting someone from another country. I have fond memories of my parents doing this when I was a kid. First it was a smoking, Parisian, male (after my mom requested a non-smoking, non-Parisian, female) who fascinated me with his accent and his long romantic draws on his cigarettes. I remember my mom taking such joy in showing Christophe the city, cooking for him and talking culture, art and politics late into the night. She cared for him like a mom, really. He lived with us for a month. Then came his cousin (a non-smoking, non-Parisian, female) who lived with us for a year. She was a dancer with the longest hair I’d ever seen. Every morning she wrapped it carefully into a perfect ballerina bun. She functioned as a big sister to me and someone to blame when I was in a pinch. They both became a part of our family. Recently Christophe’s daughter came to the States and split her stay between my parents’ home and ours. She loved ice cream and pizza and Great America. Just like her dad.

So when my neighbor started hosting a soccer coach from England, I noticed. I saw him take their little girl out to the soccer field, I heard them playing on the jungle gym in the yard. I was intrigued and I inquired as to how this all came to be. My neighbor gave me the contact information for the person who was placing the coaches with host families. I called her on a Friday afternoon, spoke to her on a Saturday morning, and early Sunday, we were told our coach would be arriving momentarily with bag in hand. I cleaned the house before he arrived, wanting to make a good impression representing our entire country to the English. Plus, normally, my house is a complete dump. My mom called while I was tidying. I told her what we were doing and I offered that it was a kind of homage to her and my childhood—wanting to recreate those nice feelings I had as a kid with the people who came into our home as strangers and left as family. We exchanged some memories from that time and then she wished me luck at keeping the house clean for the long term. 

When our guest arrived, I apologized for my wet hand that he wanted to shake. “I’ve just washed them.” I said. “It’s OK.” He said. “My hands are wet too – I’m nervous.” Five minutes later he had one kid on his back while wearing a top hat. Nothing in my house is subtle or slow and this guy jumped right in the fray. The kids were thrilled immediately – fresh meat. But the cementing of their affection came later that night when, (while spiking his hair up into a faux-hawk to fit in with the boys trio of mohawks) Steve remarked (quite accurately) that our dog Rufus seemed to really enjoy playing with his own “jiggly-bits.” In no time, Steve was just another part of the crazy brood. I’m not saying there weren’t things to get used to – no one has EVER called my cooking, “brilliant” and I had no idea there was a man alive who owned as many shoes as Imelda Marcos (although I doubt she exclusively purchased Converse), but our most major adjustment was simply setting an extra spot at the dinner table and curbing the marching around the house in our skivvies.

Steve stayed in many different homes during his stay in America. Each stop brought him into a different family of personalities, food, culture and tradition. He spoke about all of his adventures – the wonderful, the odd and the not so great - with the same level of appreciation. He explained that he was just so thankful to have people open to including him in their lives. Nonetheless, we were pretty surprised when Steve asked to attend High Holiday services with us. We of course said yes. He then went on to have Rosh Hashanah dinner with our family and extended family, fasted on Yom Kipper, stood in our Sukkah and shook the lulov while smelling the etrog and attended my grandfather’s funeral. My husband became seriously concerned that Steve might think we were trying to convert him. “No,” he said. “I want to experience everything. That’s why I’m here.” 

I never anticipated a stranger could fill a spot in our family that we didn’t even know we had room for. Life is pretty full with 4 kids, 2 dogs and all the joy and chaos that goes along with that. But there was plenty of room for a bloke with an open heart and an open mind. He embraced our liberal, vegetarian house with enthusiam. (A meat eater willing to eat tofu every other day? That has got to be some kind of special guy.) And while Steve didn’t smoke and wasn’t from Paris, I had a very similar experience to my mom’s time with Christophe years ago. I took a similar motherly joy in showing Steve the city, cooking for him, talking politics (it was a presidential election year after all!) and… well, I skipped the art talk and replaced it with introducing him to my most favorite series ever - “Six Feet Under.” He said yes to every opportunity/invitation/inclusion we offered him in the three months he was here. 

Steve is missed. The first couple of days after he flew back to England, my middle son walked around the house wearing the clothes he had left behind, styled his hair like Steve’s (with Steve’s hair gel) and wore his leftover deodorant he excavated from Steve’s bathroom garbage can. My oldest sleeps with Steve’s soccer jersey. My youngest boy wants to Skype with him every day so he can show him the various art projects he’s brought home. The wee one just pouts, “I miss Steeeeevvvve.” And you know what? I couldn’t be happier that they miss him. To watch your children embrace the opportunity to be open, to connect, to miss people when they leave and to discover family in a stranger is such a gift for them. What snuck up on me, was how 30 years later, it was still such a gift for me as well.

This year to commemorate Chanukah, I am breaking out of my usual latke habit and shaking things up a bit with savory and sweet fritters. Fritters are defined as a wide variety of fried foods, usually consisting of a portion of batter or breading which has been filled with bits of meat, seafood, fruit, or other ingredients. Sounds good, right?

I am so excited I cannot wait for Chanukah. I love my theme this year. Don't get me wrong, I am wild about latkes, all crackling hot and sizzling right out of the pan with just a little bit of salty greasiness. YUM! I will definitely be making and eating those too, but the fritter has unbounded possibilities. I can use anything, bind it up with a little batter and fry away. I also make sufganiyot (donuts) every year. And I am sure my favorite jelly doughnuts will be on the menu at least once. I am craving something different this year, and the fritter has unlimited potential and variations.

I am like a kid in a candy store. The infinite amount of ingredients that can be bound up in a little dough or batter and then fried up to crispy golden goodness is staggering. I am going to follow some traditional fritter recipes and riff off them a bit. I like to find delicious fried tidbits from other cultures or lesser known traditions. One of my favorite alternatives is to celebrate the festival of lights with a Sephardic style dairy meal. So, I am frying up some Bimuelos De Queso, which are crispy and creamy. They are traditionally drizzled with honey.

I am also making root vegetable fritters that can be served as hors d'oeuvres or as a side dish for fish, chicken, or beef. Finally, I am serving Apple Fritters. Delicate, crispy and light, the apple fritters will have you jumping off the couch to fry up a batch.

Chag Chanukah Sameach

Bimuelos de Queso

Makes about 24 Bimuelos

2 cups drained farmer's cheese, quark, or ricotta cheese
½ cup cornstarch or flour
1 ½ tablespoons light brown sugar
½ teaspoon salt
1 egg
Olive oil for frying
Honey for drizzling

1. Drain the excess liquid from the cheese in a fine mesh strainer over a bowl and allow it to drain in the refrigerator for 4 hours. Discard liquid.

2. Mix the cheese, corn starch, sugar, salt, and egg in a large bowl until well blended.

3. Shape the dough into 1 inch diameter balls. If the dough is too loose, add more cornstarch or flour until workable.

4. Heat several inches of oil in a heavy pot to 350 degrees.

5. Add the fritters, a few at a time, and cook. Cook for 3-4 minutes, turning them occasionally, until they are golden brown on all sides.

6. Drain on a plate lined with paper towels.

7. Arrange on a serving plate and drizzle with honey. Serve warm.

Root vegetable fritters with smoked paprika aioli

Yields 2 dozen fritters

2 medium parsnips, peeled and grated
2 medium carrots, peeled and grated
1 medium celery root bulb, peeled and grated
½ cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
Freshly ground black pepper
Pinch cayenne
1 egg
Extra virgin olive oil, for frying

1. Mix all of the vegetables together in a medium bowl. Add the remaining ingredients and stir to combine.

2. Heat 2 inches of oil in a pan over medium high heat. When the oil reaches 360, use either an ice cream scoop or teaspoon to portion the batter. Place the fritter batter, gently, in the oil and fry, turning occasionally until brown on all sides.

3. Transfer the browned fritters to a paper towel lined sheet. Garnish with sea salt

For the dipping sauce

½ cup aioli, store bought or homemade
1 tablespoon smoked paprika
1 tablespoon warm water
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

1. Mix the paprika and warm water (this helps the paprika "bloom" a bit).

2. Add the paste to the aioli and the lemon juice.

3. Serve the dipping sauce with the fritters.

Apple Fritters

Yields 16 fritters

½ cup all-purpose flour
½ cup rice flour
1 egg
1 cup ice-cold water
1 pound apples (about 3), any variety, unpeeled but cored and cut in to batons about 2 inches long and ¼ inch thick
1 ½ cup canola oil
½ cup granulated sugar
2 teaspoons cinnamon

1. Put the flour, rice flour, egg and a third of the water into a bowl, and mix vigorously with a whisk. The mixture will be fairly thick. When smooth, add the remaining water, and mix again until the water is incorporated. Stir the apple sticks into the batter.

2. Stir the sugar and cinnamon together and place on a plate.

3. In a large, heavy skillet heat the oil to 365 degrees. When hot, pour about 1/3 cup of the batter into the pan for each fritter, making four or five at a time. Spread the batter so that it is not more than 1/2 inch thick. Cook for about 3 minutes on each side, until brown and crisp.

4. Drain the fritters on paper towels, and transfer them to a rack. Dredge the fritters in the sugar-cinnamon mix and serve immediately.

I am proud to say that I am celebrating my three year ann-OY-versary! I wrote my first post in November 2009. Do you remember way back then? Obama was President, gas was only $3.44 per gallon and the biggest issue facing our nation was the economy. It’s amazing how much can change in just three short years— Obama is still president, gas was $3.44 per gallon on 11/12/12, and the economy is filling the headlines. Hmmm, so I guess the big stuff has stayed the same.

In my experience, we often look for cues around us to gauge how everything is going. It is easy to watch cable news or follow our Facebook feed to know that things are not wonderful in the world around us. There is enough negative buzz out there to make even the most optimistic among us worry.

I invite you to consider taking the opposite approach. As the secular New Year approaches and you look back on 2012 to make those important resolutions for 2013, look inside and ask yourself how am I going? We all make up a cast of billions that contribute to a global performance on the world stage. Shouldn’t every contribution we make to the world, no matter how small make a difference for us and for everyone near and far? 

This year I ran my first marathon down in Virginia Beach. It was a deeply personal accomplishment, but by no means something that hadn’t already been accomplished by others many times before. However from posting comments, photos and blog posts on my experience others wrote me to say how they had been inspired. 

Take time in the month of December to acknowledge your contributions this past year and commit to contributing more in 2013. Ask yourself each day, what did I accomplish in 2012? What would be exciting to accomplish in 2013. Keep a running list of both, and use it to inspire your New Year’s Resolutions for 2013.

Happy New Year!

“To see your face is like seeing the face of God.” – Jacob to Esau

This week’s portion begins with Jacob preparing to see his brother Esau after 20+ years apart. As you’ll recall, after stealing Isaac’s blessing intended for Esau, Jacob fled in order to avoid Esau’s wrath. Now, a few wives, a dozen children, and massive amounts of property later, Jacob finally has to deal with his past, as he learns that Esau is coming towards his camp with 400 men (seemingly to attack).

Jacob sends gifts ahead hoping to quell Esau’s anger, and then takes precautions by dividing his camp in two – hoping that if one half is attacked; the other will have time to escape.

The night before his meeting with Esau, we find the famous story of Jacob wrestling with an angel. After Jacob emerges victorious, the angel changes Jacob's name to “Israel” (hence we’re the “Children of Israel”).

The next morning Jacob and Esau finally meet, and to Jacob’s surprise, Esau is full of love for him.

In response, Jacob says to his brother: “To see your face is like seeing the face of God.”

How do we deal with this statement? Jacob had literally just wrestled with an angel the night before! You’d think that this kind of statement would have been reserved for the divine being he encountered rather than for his human brother.

We learn in the Torah that humankind was created in God’s image. Perhaps Jacob’s encounter with t angel, juxtaposed with his reunion with Esau, revealed to him just how similar we really are to divine beings?How do our actions change – specifically as it relates to how we treat others – if we can really begin to see ourselves as reflections of the Divine?

Even if you don’t believe in God in the traditional sense (or at all), can we change how we look at other human beings in order to see each individual as unique, beautiful, and worthy of our love?

This Shabbat, reflect on how you interact with others. Strive to see the innate beauty and special energy that every human being possesses. Approach your relationships and interactions from a place of love and warmth, as if every human interaction is truly one between you and the Divine. 

I don’t want to depress too many people, but I think holiday travel might be a metaphor for existence—or, at the very least, our 20s.

My first flight, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, was scheduled to leave Midway around 1:30. I’m terrible about packing. I always tell people I have packer’s block, and can only do it the morning I leave. It only takes me half an hour at the outside, so I was prepared to enjoy a leisurely breakfast at my Lincoln Square apartment with a huge mug of my favorite tea. Until, of course, I remembered that I wasn’t giving myself nearly enough time to navigate a major airport on the busiest travel day of the year. I’m not saying the scene that followed was from Home Alone, but it’s not as far off the mark as I like to admit.

Turns out more than 500 flights originating in or passing through both O’Hare and Midway had been cancelled since the night before, due to fog. (Yes, really.) My flight was only pushed back three hours, but some people in my gate area would be on standby until after 10 PM. (My sister in Seattle had a worse experience: she and her family got stuck in traffic for two hours, and arrived at the airport half an hour before their flight took off, only to be turned away and put on a flight at ugly o’clock the next morning.)

I was seated in front of the plane’s two screaming babies, but on the plus side, the delay meant that I arrived in Denver at the same time as my dad. The middle part of the holiday, the whole spending-time-with-your-family bit, was fantastic. The less I worried about where I was going or what we were doing, the more present I was and the more I was able to enjoy the company of my brother and sister and nieces and nephews.

There was another adventure calling, though: a very dear friend of mine works at the NPR station in Laramie, Wyoming, which is only a short (two-and-a-half hours) drive from my brother’s house. My brother (after checking with his insurance broker) agreed to let me use his car, and so I got directions, plugged in my iPod and took off for the scenic route.

U.S. Route 287 is, between Boulder and Ft. Collins, the main thoroughfare of a number of small suburban towns: very start-and-stop, very stressful, very aggravating. I was beginning to grumble to myself and wonder why on earth I’d been told to take it, rather than Interstate 25, which is, at least, a highway.

Oh ye of little faith: on the other side of Ft. Collins, 287 opens up into the most beautiful high plains and red rock valleys, and the speed limit is a breezy 75 mph, with no other cars in sight.

I spent all day with my friend, who I hadn’t seen in almost three years. By the time I needed to head back, it was dark, and I had another long drive ahead of me. Thus it was that I made a few more discoveries:

• Wyoming is incredibly windy, and your car will feel it on the highway. The weather, according to a mountaineer my friend once interviewed, is not terribly different from the peak of Mt. Everest, give or take a few degrees.

• It is possible to get incredibly lost anywhere, especially when it’s dark, even in a town as small as Laramie (a town so small that I drove past it for 15 minutes thinking I was looking for another exit).

• I don’t like driving over 80 in the dark.

• I don’t like driving in the dark period.

• This is in part because I was having a terrible time reading the road signs.

I spent so much time furiously promising myself a visit to the eye doctor that I got even more lost finding my way back to my brother’s house. By the time I flopped down on the couch, surrounded by dogs (a Yorkie, a Yorkiepoo and an Australian shepherd, for the record), I was dead to the world, ready for a hard reset. After all, I had to get back to Chicago the next day.

Around noon I began getting text messages from the airline: my connecting flight in Kansas City was being pushed back an hour. I didn’t think anything of it until the times started getting more and more alarming. When I was informed that I would be departing for Midway at 1 AM, clearly something had to be done. I fretted, though—which is silly, in retrospect, but I was worried that I couldn’t expect any help from the airline. They had a profit margin to take care of, right? How much could I afford to pay to switch to another, more reasonable flight?

Turns out when you call customer service and are nice and patient, you can actually get on an earlier, direct flight that lets you make a surprise stopover in St. Louis, with a deeply hilarious flight crew. And you can arrive home by midnight, all the while wondering if that other flight is even boarding yet.

I’ve spent a lot of column inches telling you about my Thanksgiving travel woes, but does it really describe a unifying theory of existence? It could. I’ve spent a lot of the past few years muddling through, worrying about hitting benchmarks and deciding where to go and what to do and whether I would be disappointed if I tried. There have been delays and setbacks and heartbreaks, not to mention a few screaming babies. Some days it feels like nothing is within your control, and you can’t do anything to change that. But then you take a risk, and you see Wyoming for yourself; you meet new people, you have an adventure, you get some perspective, you reach some new conclusions.

This is my last post to Oy! as an employee of the Federation. I’m taking some time off before, fingers crossed, beginning a master’s program in journalism. It’s a big step, but the decision has been years in the making, and I know it’s the right one, despite how scary taking this chance is. After all that traveling, it’s lovely to know that you’re finally coming home.

Thanks for reading, Oy!sters, and catch you on the flip side. 

I always feel like Hanukkah sneaks up on us. With all of the hooplah surrounding Christmas—the decorations, the commercials, the transformed radio stations devoted to playing Christmas music round the clock—it's easy to see how Hanukkah and it's eight twinkling lights can get lost in the shuffle. On years like this one, when Hanukkah starts in early December (on the same night as YLD's Big Event—are you registered yet?), I tend to end up even further behind the eight ball. 

In years past, when I'm ransacking my kitchen for our menorah after sundown, still trying to remember when I stashed it the year before and scrambling to buy a few gifts which are usually tossed into a flimsy gift bag by night six, it just hasn't been a big deal. My husband was rarely home from work by candle lighting time, and although we had been married for five years, creating family traditions wasn't on the forefront of our minds. 

But this year is not like all the others. With a Fried-baby joining the family mix this year, the holiday season seems to have a bit more gravitas. While I know that he won't remember his first Hanukkah at six months old, I want to set the foundation for a meaningful and festive Hanukkah for the years that will follow.

I know that you can't just create traditions overnight. The whole meaning of tradition is that it is something repeated year in and year out, so lucky for Colin, we have time, and I don't just mean ten days.

But in this ten days, besides finding time to shop for gifts for Colin, digging out and cleaning the menorah early, I plan to reflect on my previous 27 Hanukkahs. 

Sometimes the family traditions are more subtle than opening a small gift each night, ranging from feasting on Grandma's latkes to reading a special Hanukkah-themed kids book with Mom and Dad before lighting the candles to volunteering as a family to hosting a $10 gag gift exchange with the extended family.

So while I might surf Pinterest for a picture perfect Hanukkah tradition inspiration that we can do together each year (or I might not...and let's be honest, it's looking a lot more like not...), I know that whatever we decide to do for my 28th Hanukkah and Colin's first will be special because we did it together. 

The Introduction To The Blog Blog
Welcome, welcome, welcome. Yes, welcome to my blog…again! For you see, this is not the first time I have treated my oh so attractive readers with such generosity that is currently happening and is about to follow. I gave you a great six mini blogs for the price of one deal before and feel you deserve the privilege yet again. I’m like a Groupon. Or perhaps, a Jewpon if you will. And oh, I will. Now this first blog serves as a sort of introduction to the rest of said blogs and some of them can be a doozy. Here, a doozy is a synonym for wonderfully hilarious, entertaining and yet poignant. Although if you don’t like them, then here a doozy is a synonym for “not written by Adam Daniel Miller”. I think that’s enough bad humor for the introduction to the blog blog. I’ll save the rest for the other five. Enjoy!

The Little Things I Miss About Israel Blog
I had the wonderful privilege of going on Birthright earlier this year through Shorashim and as I always say, it was the ten best consecutive days of my life. It’s been close to a year since I was there and I wanted to share some of what I miss most about Israel. Enjoy. 

Chocolate milk in a bag: My goodness how I miss this. I miss it so much I’ve started to fill up as many Ziploc bags as I can find with chocolate milk. I’ve even started my own ‘chocolate milk in a bag’ business. It’s called….Chocolate Milk In A Bag: A Business. 

The Ability To Say Shabbat Shalom To Almost Anyone: In Chicago, and the rest of the United States for that matter, I feel that I can pick out my fellow Jews pretty well. (It’s not that difficult to spot attractive people.) However, in the rare cases I assume incorrectly, well, I simply feel foolish. I suppose it is my fault as you know what they say when you assume. The say you make an incorrect assumption sometimes and that’s never a good thing. 

Roundabouts: You know the big ‘ol intersections that are just big circles instead of traffic lights? Of course you do. There’s something a lot more fun about these and while there are some in the Chicagoland area, in Israel, you can find them in abundance. Hence, when I find one around here, I tend to drive around in circles for about three to four hours. Oh memories. 

The Views: In Israel, every single view, no matter where you are, is incredible. Seriously, no matter where my eyes would wander, it was always spectacular. Even looking straight down at my feet was majestic. You know why? Because my feet were in Israel. 

The Things I Like Blog
Hi. I like to be positive about life, so here’s a list of things I like. Enjoy.

Being Jewish, Portillo's chocolate cake shakes, the Peoplemover, being a slightly ambidextrous lefty, calculators, Monopoly, the word 'quite', mirrors, SUBLTY!!!!, rhinoceroses, model trains, k'nex, the letter R, the Muppets, pants straight out of the dryer, old Mad Libs, cinnamon ice cream, the IDF and all the wonderful friends I have that have served, I live very near to Wrigley Field, seeing my siblings, ok my parents too, ok all of my family as well, Chipotle with Cholula, ice cream snickers, postseason sports, people who are utterly fascinated by magic, my nickname ‘Jewbear’, unexpected fun late nights, the Chicago skyline, muscle soreness from exercise (I get this one about twice a year), the fact that you are enjoying reading this…I hope, live television, The Daily Show, Pancheros chips and salsa, the sense memory that comes with smell, British accents, Spaghettios, a cool pillow, making silly voices, not as popular movies, how attractive you are, writing, gummy sharks and coca-cola bottles, good craft beer, writing (needed to be said twice), the perfect amount of sleep, satire, parody, cool calm nights, time to myself, the past, the future, presents, cake.

That was silly. But seriously, I like cake. Moving on.

The Excitement of Jewish Holidays Blog 
As I’ve pointed out before, I love my Jewish holidays. In and of themselves, they are exciting no matter what, but what I want to talk about here is something that is often over looked as to why, fundamentally, they are in fact so exciting. It’s a simple truth that the Jewish calendar is a lunar one. The significance of this you ask? Well I’ll tell you. Every year is different and exciting and spontaneous and awesome. That’s what a lunar calendar does. No two years are the same! Sometimes Hannukah can be as late as early January and sometimes as early as late November. You never know! We always have to be on our toes and it keeps the relationship I have with these holidays very refreshing. Like a Junior Mint. Others should be jealous. Really, they should be. 

I also love the sundown to sundown timing we got going on. Again, it’s a lunar thing that makes it so fantastic where all of the holidays we have feel longer than they actually are. Now the ones that last a technical 24 hours feel like they’re two days long instead. It gives the perfect illusion of maximizing our holiday celebrations. Which leads to my final point. We have Shabbat. We have a special holiday that gives us a weekly excuse to get together with friends and family and have a good if not great time. Some of my best Jewish experiences have revolved around Shabbat and I get a crack at it once every seven days. Everyone should be so lucky. 

The Jewish holidays are so plentiful and often and spontaneous, that to help us out there is even a special site simply called “Is It A Jewish Holiday Today?” If you are unsure if today is a Jewish holiday of some kind, give it a look. If it’s a no, just wait until sundown and try again. 

golB sdarwkcaB ehT (If you get through this one, you are amazing)
.yaw taht ti epyt ot woh wonk t’ndid I tub ,nwod edispu siht etorw osla I ,tsiwt a ni worht ot tsuJ .won werbeH emos daer ot tnaw yllaer I .esoppus I gniht golb sdarwkcab elohw siht ot tnoip hcum toN .dne eht si siht ,yakO .dne eht litnu esualppa ruoy dloh ,esaelP .wonk I tnaillirB !hsilgnE ni tuB !werbeH gnidaer ekil tsuj eb lliw ti taht si golb sdarwkcab a gnivah rof nosaer suoivbo erom eht utB .repap no yllanigiro siht gnitirw gnitarebil os tlef tI .siht fo esuaceb mlap dna yknip ym no segdums teg I efil ym llA .ytfel a m’I ,tsriF .snosaer fo elpuoc a rof pu ssap ot aedi na fo doog oot tsuj si golb sdarwkcab eht fo aedi ehT

The Call Your Mother Blog
So here’s the deal. This was originally going to be a blog about doing little every day mitzvahs, but it evolved in my head into this. Enjoy.

You should call your mother. 

Oy! You should really give her a call. You know she loves you and she misses you and she worries about you. What? Are your fingers broken? Can’t you dial a phone? Even if you can’t, most phones these days have voice dialing, so what? Is your voice broken? Can’t you at least say Mom one time? I know, I know, you want your space and she wants to give it to you but would it kill you to give her a call just once a week? She just wants to know how you are. If you’re eating well. When she can expect those Jewish grandkids. Nothing too personal. Oh, stop. She doesn’t ask too many questions. She asks just the right amount of questions. Maybe if you called more often all these questions wouldn’t be piling up. Did you ever think about that? Hmmmm?? And you never come to visit! Always you are busy with this and that and the other and never any time for your mother. The woman who gave birth to you. Who suffered through 14 hours of labor for you. Yes, you need the reminder. You know you were no peach when you were born, right? And this is how you repay her? So pick up the phone, give her a call. Make her day. It is practically the mitzvah of mitzvahs. She tells all her Mahj friends every week how wonderful you are so you shouldn’t disappoint her. In fact, give her a call when she is with her Mahj friends. It will make you the poster child for poster children who call their mothers. And believe me, your mother loves to kvell over you. Just thinking about it is getting me verklempt. 

Hi Mom. Thank you for reading and supporting me with all my writing. You’re the best and I love you. I might even call you next week. During Mahj. I know, I’m such a mensch.

With Chanukah just around the corner, I've been thinking a lot about Chanukah music and one song in particular. It's not just that it's insipid and babyish and cloying and maddeningly repetitious. No, I hate "The Dreidel Song" because it lies. It lies about every aspect of the dreidel— from what it's made of to how you play the game. And it's also supremely poorly written.

But it's the only Chanukah song most Jews know, when there are hundreds of others that are better… and so every year I have to hear, "Why aren't there any good Chanukah songs? Why didn't all those great Jewish songwriters write any?" asked by people who never raise a mouse-clicking finger to try to find any. Yes, there are good Chanukah songs, great Chanukah songs— tons of them— and you can read about them here.

So here is a line-by-line breakdown of what is arguably the worst Jewish song of all time: 

"I made it"
No, you didn't. You did not make your own dreidel. Nor did anyone you know. Dreidels come from the store, or in gift bags. There are very nice ones that are made by artists, and cheap-o ones that are made by machines. But you do not own or use a dreidel you made. Tell the truth!

"Out of clay"
No, it's not. Clay dreidels don't work. It is almost impossible to make one that is balanced enough to spin well. I actually have two clay dreidels and they spin the worst of all the ones I have, and I have way too many. More than 30. Clay dreidels are almost always uneven, and land as predictably as loaded dice. 

"When it's dry"
Another reason you don't see any clay dreidels. They are children's toys, and kids can't wait that long. Further, true clay art is fired in kilns, not air-dried. 

"With dreidel I shall…"
What's with the passive tense? Weak. And while we're at it…

"shall"
Really? "Shall?" Who are you, Sir Walter Raleigh? Did ye get thy dreidel at yon Dreidel Shoppe a Renaissance Faire? Who says "shall"… or has for the past century or two?

"It has a lovely body"
No, it doesn't. The last person with a body that shape was a Chicago Bears lineman named William Perry, and his nickname was "The Refrigerator." A violin has a lovely body.

"With legs"
If anything, a dreidel has one "leg." It wouldn't spin on more than one. Look at a ballerina or figure skater. When you spin, it's on one leg. 

"So short and thin."
Not really. The base of a dreidel isn't that much smaller than the "body" part. And the base also isn't "thin" but tapered. In fact, the top of a dreidel's base is usually as wide as the body itself.

"And then I win."
No, you don't. If it lands with two of the four faces up, either nothing happens ('nun') or you actually lose pieces ('shin'). If it lands with the 'hey' up, you do get half the pot, but you don't win the round. And even if it lands on 'gimmel,' you don't win, because even though you win the round, the game continues until one player wins all the other players' tokens or until the latkes run out.  

Normally we tackle the top 10 college and top 10 pro basketball stories to watch this season. Due to time and numbers we have decided to combine them. Ball is back and The Great Rabbino is excited.

10) Day School to the College Game
With two former Jewish day school players in the NCAA; Aaron Liberman (Northwestern) and Jacob Susskind (Maryland) has JewBall become a legitimate thing? I will keep a close eye on both prospects.

9) Farmar Far Away
Will we ever see Jordan Farmar back in the NBA? Does some team need a point guard or is this move to the international scene long term?

8) Pastner's #17 Memphis Tigers
How good can Memphis be? Pastner is finally out of Callapari's shadow, now what does he do with his own recruits.

7) Can Jake Cohen Make a Statement
Last year Jake Cohen led Davidson to the Tournament. They lost a tough game in the opening round, but Jake became a star. Can he create even more buzz and eventually win in the tournament and get some NBA team to notice him?

6) Short man, Big Task
The Detroit Pistons are bad. Can Lawrence Frank make them good? Seriously, if he does he has to be coach of the year. 

5) From Mark Cuban to Micky Arison to ?
The last two NBA champions have been teams owned by Jews. Can we make it three in a row? 

4) Larry Brown is Back
Can the new SMU coach bring the Mustangs some wins? Can he take another team and turn them around?

3) Influx of Israeli's into the College Game Gone Bad
Over the last three years the NCAA basketball has seen three (that I know of) Israelis come over to the states; Nimrod Tishman (Florida), Hen Tamir (Jackson State), and Noam Laish (Maine). All three are gone. Will any other Israelis bring their talents to the States after these 3 failed experiments? 

2) How will David Stern's eventual departure affect the NBA?
With Stern announcing his retirement in 2014 will he have one last final imprint to make and will it make a difference on the NBA's future.

1) Omri Casspi's NBA Future
Casspi came into the league and captured not only Jews attention but the attention of the league. Since his rookie season Casspi has been slipping. Will he be able to bounce back?

And Let Us Say...Amen.
- Jeremy Fine

A couple of weeks ago, I attended a great event celebrating the launch of Living Jewishly, a newly published collection of essays curated by this blog’s founding editor, Stefanie Bregman. It was a nice opportunity to mix, mingle and give some thought to how I in fact, “live Jewishly.” 

A coworker of mine encouraged me to contribute to Oy!, so when she told me she would be doing a reading, I happily tagged along. I rushed to the bar after my long suburbs-to-city commute. It was a warm and welcoming venue (Matilda on North Sheffield) and I made my way to the back to survey the scene. There was a mix of faces new and familiar, and I put on my most engaged networking smile. I was hoping to meet fellow bloggers at the event and I was excited to meet other members of the Jewish non-profit community. 

As the evening wound down, several featured contributors delivered readings of their short stories. Some painful, some poignant, all moving in their own special way. It's interesting, I thought to myself, looking at the world through a uniquely Jewish lens. It was refreshing and relatable to hear stories...funny, wise, wonderful stories...geared directly toward what it means to be growing up Jewish in this generation. 

The older I get, and the more places I go, I learn just how fortunate I was growing up in a community that shares similar views to me regarding Judaism and Israel. In the wake of the new and upsetting clashes in the Middle East, I take comfort in my friends and family that support and share my opinions, or at least can understand where I am coming from. I welcome diversity, but there is something to be said for someone automatically being on (nearly) the same page about issues that are close to one's heart.

I'll never forget the first time I really, truly had to defend Israel to someone. It was a few years back on a train ride from Vienna to Prague. A friend and I sat with a young New Zealander. He was smart and friendly, and we all got on well enough. The conversation took a turn when he brought up the Flotilla, which had happened a few months before. He had some very unsavory things to say about the IDF and Israel in general and I was taken so aback I wasn't quite sure where to begin.

Growing up in the North Shore of Chicago, conversations like this just weren’t something I was a part of. In trying to defend my Zionist beliefs, I came off a little...flustered. I went on about how it was a PR nightmare, about how it is a terribly complicated situation; I conveyed quite clearly how upset the comments made me. I was missing the cool, calm streak of reason. It’s a flaw of mine, but standing up for what I believe in, in that moment, it made me proud to be Jewish. Wanting to stand up for my faith and my people that really made me appreciate my roots, where I come from, and where I want to go.

It’s conversations like that, and conversations discussed at the book launch party that bring up the ever-elusive topic....what does living Jewishly mean to me? To anyone? For me, I think it's a mixture of things. I don't know if it's a part of my every day. I’m hardly religious; my life is not dictated by halacha, for better or for worse. But Israel, that’s a part of me. I think of Israel often, I think of my friends there, I think of family. I think of what a magnificently beautiful place it is, of the incredible strife it’s under at this very moment. I think that no matter how hard I try to wrap my head around the situation, I'll never quite understand it. And that come what may, I hope for the best, and pray for my family and friends and for peace. 

More often than the rules of religion, I think about tikkun olam. When I was a little girl, my father subscribed to “Tikkun” magazine. When it arrived in the mail, I clearly remember asking what “Tikkun” meant, and the definition still strikes a chord with me all these years later.

So, “tikkun olam,” or “to heal the world”...it's a tall order, isn’t it?! After working for a non-profit (my first “real” job post-college), I’ve seen tikkun olam realized on an organized, very real level. I’ve been so very moved by the generosity of others by witnessing the efforts of those donating to a charitable organization. And there are so, so many ways that tikkun olam can be manifested, on a small and large scale. But what can I do, what can “we” do? Donate money, sure. Donate time, even better. “Living Jewishly” is an ever evolving concept. And as I grow older, I hope to up the tikkun olam quotient in my life. Because, in my opinion, there’s nothing like some good old-fashioned g’milut chasadim.

“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, Sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have changed several times since then.”

--Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll

A few months ago, I attended a going-away party for a colleague who was changing cities for a job. We’d met during an early-career, news internship, and I was flattered to be included in his “goodbyes” after all of these years. I found myself in a noisy bar, surrounded by a bushel of people I’d known for years but hadn’t seen for some time. Some of these re-connections felt awkward, but many of them also surprised me—because they weren’t. Mid-way through the party, I found myself deep in conversation, drinks in hand, with an old colleague who had once been my supervisor, talking more candidly about the news, ourselves, our beliefs…than we ever had. I can only hope that’s how my 10-year high school reunion turns out this fall.

Then again, I think my former supervisor and I fell so easily into conversation because we knew too much going in. Facebook gave the false illusion that we’d been following each other’s lives. It’s darn right creepy. He and I knew where each other currently works, what accomplishments we’d recently achieved and more.

Some half-heartedly joke, “Who needs a reunion, when you have Facebook?”

I already know who’s married; I know who got knocked up; I know who got pregnant on purpose; I know the states in which fellow high school alumni live; I know their professions; and I’ve already sized up how attractive their spouses are. What will we talk about? How will we avoid looking like creepers when we’re scarcely surprised by each other’s life updates? What’s left after Facebook?

Few friends my age pause and contemplate our unique role in Facebook’s coming-of-age story and how it has impacted us and our coming-of-age stories. Fellow members of my high school graduating class, and classes a couple of years below and above me, were among the first to join Facebook while we were in college. Facebook began in February 2004, and my alma mater, the University of Wisconsin, was among the early campuses invited to join—back when Facebook only accepted college students. According to my Facebook timeline, I joined in September of 2004 when I was a junior. My friend who attended the University of Michigan at the time invited me. Facebook, then, was an odd little world in which invitations were necessary to join, and we could search fellow students and what classes they were taking. When photo posting became available, we adopted a narcissistic obsession with posting photos of ourselves and spying on each other. For a short while, Facebook was a college students’ bubble. We never imagined we would continue to trace our lives through this medium for years to come—I’ve now been on Facebook for seven years. Kids are starting much younger than we did, and I can only imagine the bullying implications that come with it. Zuckerberg and his Facebook masterminds have expanded Facebook’s concept into a “timeline” of our lives, from start to finish. Our timelines, however, have more holes than a history text book. It’s oddly comforting, however, that Facebook acknowledges on my timeline that I was born before it existed.

Had Mark Zuckerberg gone to my high school, he would have graduated in my class; we’re the same age. While I was trekking Bascom Hill through several feet of snow at the University of Wisconsin, Z-Man was tucked away at Harvard, developing a little program that would later make him one of the wealthiest people in the world. (That depresses me, by the way.)

I’m now on the precipice of this 10-year reunion and I’m filled with a mixture of dread and curiosity. I have friends who’ve side-stepped their reunions altogether to avoid this uncomfortable experience. The late ‘90s film, Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion, gained iconic notoriety because it touches the core of our collective, reunion insecurities and the desire to prove how far we’ve come when confronted with those of our past. In the film, Michele was so desperate to prove a legacy, she claimed to invent Post-Its.

(Courtesy of IMDB.com)

"Christie: So, Mi-chelle! What are you up to?

Michele: Oh, okay. Um, I invented Post-Its.

Christie: No offense, Michele, but how in the world did *you* think of Post-Its?

Michele: Uh…"

The truth: Most of the growth we’ve achieved over the past 10 years won’t be perceivable to former classmates this November when we re-unite. Some will have fancy job titles; others will have fancy engagement rings (both of which we’ve already seen on Facebook). If you’re attending a high school reunion to prove something to your class, right a wrong, erase a perception—you’re wasting your time. At the very most, fellow classmates will quietly snicker about how attractive or unattractive you’ve become, or they’ll congratulate you on the babies you’ve birthed. At the very least, they’ll remember who you are. We all edit our lives on Facebook, so they’re coming in knowing the best version of you to date already—hey, you’re ahead.  

For many of us, our 20s are a work in progress—particularly with a rough economy—and we might not be ready to gloat and count our chips just yet. At my core, I am who I was in high school, and I always will be—I’m not ashamed.
I’m indebted to Facebook for helping me to re-unite with high school and childhood friends long before this reunion’s arrival. These friends loved me then, know me now and are catching up on my journey.

I’m bemused by Facebook’s daily offerings of insignificant details from friends’ and near-strangers’ lives. At the same time, I’m grateful my high school landscape was a land of misconceptions fed by little information. In hindsight, it was a more innocent time.

I look forward to the awkward—and perhaps creepy—interactions to follow at this reunion. Hopefully, we’ll surprise each other.

A new twitter handle has found a spot in my heart: @PostGradProblems. Although I can admit that a few of their tweets may not be relatable, the whole premise of the account resonates with me. It is blunt, nostalgic, and still possesses a sort of “woe is me” attitude over seemingly minute aspects of life. In comparison to things that most people in other generations would consider detrimental, many postgraduate concerns aren’t truly that pressing (beyond finding employment and confirming that you have enough funds to support yourself and pay your bills, which, of course, are vital worries) many of my complaints are, in fact, fairly silly. 

If my biggest problem is that there isn’t enough coffee and Diet Coke in the world to make me feel like a functioning person on some days, that I can easily pass out at nine p.m.— even in the middle of a presidential debate, an intense Bulls game, or even Homeland (just kidding, I could never actually bring myself to miss even a millisecond of Homeland)— or that I find myself missing the most random and absurd things about college on a regular basis, does that really qualify as a legitimate reason to whine? 

In some ways, of course it doesn’t. However, it is completely understandable to allow both small and large transitions in your life affect you, even if it ultimately leads to stupid complaints.

To backtrack a bit, graduating GW seemed different to me than graduating from most other schools. I wasn’t saying bye to football games and hanging out in the student union and although graduating meant saying bye to some of my best friends, the structure of coursework and extracurricular activities, and Washington DC, I literally told everyone that it wasn’t going to be that big deal. It was barely a transition. I lied.

See, many GW students (myself included at times) are a bit overly confident about the preparedness that school provides us for the real world. In my mind, sometimes it is rightfully so. Interning in the city for three years, living in your own apartment in the middle of DC, and being on your own in an urban setting, 100% prepares you for many aspects of being a young professional. Of course, some of my former classmates may feel totally prepared and as if they “beat the system” and did not have any post graduate meltdowns, but I can’t say the same. Still, there are some things about post graduate life that no amount of coursework or series of impressive internships can really prepare you for:

1. What it is like to live at home after college: This isn’t something everyone experiences, but for those of us who do, it is quite the experience. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love my family, but there is something to be said about living on your own in your own space. There is also something about living in your childhood bedroom that makes you feel like you have regressed to high school, and believe me, even if you loved high school, you have to be crazy to wish this feeling upon a 22-year-old. “Yes mom, I did eat lunch today even though you were out running errands. I am sort of a functioning adult.”

2. What commuting is like: The longest commute I experienced at GW was a thirty minute walk to an internship junior year, which took about 10 minutes if I decided to take the metro. Sitting on the el for two hours every day is exhausting. As @PostGradProblems put it “Speeding up the aging process one commute at a time. #PGP” Nothing says anxiety attack quite like being sardined on a purple line express for an hour after sitting at a desk all day. 

3. How tired you will be: I was extremely busy in college, running from class to work to Hillel to SDT events and then back to Hillel and out and so on, but post-graduate exhaustion is a whole new ballpark. As this said twitter handle so greatly phrased it, “searching for "fatigue" and "lethargic" on WebMD. #PGP.” Besides the fact that my friends joke about adopting bedtimes similar to those of fourth grade campers (and I 100% agree with them), my body literally always hurts and I could always go for a nap (if only offices had a nap room, right?). In addition, I haven’t had an immune system since, well forever, so this new lifestyle isn’t much help. I couldn’t have said this better myself: ”Starting every week by desperately trying to rebuild your immune system. #PGP”

4. How much you’ll actually miss the school part of school: I am not even sorry to say that I miss sitting in class, taking notes, and learning. I absolutely love my job, but I am not ashamed to say that I very much miss some of my professors. However, I don’t miss homework, papers, and exams, even a little bit, so there is something to be said about that. Of course, everyone knows that they’ll miss the social part of college. Why else would everyone joke about “Really regretting the whole "graduate in 4 years" thing. #PGP”

5. How you will never feel old enough to be living the life that you are living: One of my favorite tweets that I’ve read is “laughing to yourself anytime you're categorized as a young professional. #PGP.” There is not a day where I feel like I am actually old enough to be doing what I am doing. Even with the preparation for the real world, sometimes I still feel like I’m like 19, and that’s okay.

I guess what I am trying to say is that it is okay to freak out. Growing up is terrifying, the real world can be scary, and I don’t think anyone is 100% prepared for what lies ahead. I think it is acceptable to complain about these small details that encompass our lives after graduation as long as we make sure to celebrate the good things that come along with “adulthood” or what I’d rather refer to as “the limbo before adulthood.” Post Graduate problems are expected, but the little things that make this new life alright are essential.

Remember when we were kids and we looked forward to our birthdays with gusto, crossing the days off the calendar as The Big Day grew closer? When our only worry on that day was how much birthday cake frosting we could stomach?

Then, somewhere along the way—after we reached birthday milestones like the ones allowing us to legally drive, vote, drink, and rent a car—birthdays took on a bum rap. At some point in our journey, when the number of candles on the cake started posing a fire hazard, growing a year older morphed into a subject of complaint and, sometimes, even dread. Balloon animals and party favors got traded in for over-the-hill jokes and guilt about where we are or, as the case more often may be, aren't in life—not a fair trade in my book. 

In junior high, my girlfriends and I would pass the time on the school bus playing this game called "MASH," where we'd try to predict our future. MASH is the acronym for Mansion/Apartment/Shack/House, delineating the potential choices for our future dwellings. We'd ask each other a laundry list of questions: What would we do for a living? Who would we marry? How many kids would we have? What type of home would we live in?

We'd take out a piece of notebook paper and jot down multiple choices for each category. For instance, for the marriage question, we'd list a bunch of names of potential husbands, like the guys we had crushes on in our grade, and then add in some famous heartthrobs, like Kirk Cameron and Ralph Macchio, for good measure. Then, using the scientific "eeny, meeny, miny, moe" counting system, we'd select the answers to each category, right then and there designing our futures. 

If only we could use this system in real life. And if only the Karate Kid were still on the market.

With my next birthday divisible by 5—the big 35—looming on Thanksgiving weekend, and the High Holy days of reflection in the not-too-distant rearview mirror, I've been thinking a lot about growing older and wiser, and some of life's biggest questions. 

On Rosh Hashanah, I joined my parents at their synagogue in Minneapolis. Their brilliant rabbi, Sim Glaser, recently suffered a burst appendix that almost killed him. Facing his mortality head on, he delivered a dvar torah urging each of us to examine our own life and death questions, in a productive and positive way. What, he asked, is our life's purpose? What were we put on this earth to do?

I've thought about his sermon a lot over the last couple months and, needless to say, I'm still searching for the answers and probably will be for a long time to come. 

But what I do know for sure is that each one of us is meant to do many great things in this world. We're here to fulfill not just one, but many purposes in life, in our multiple roles as professionals, as parents, as offspring, as siblings, as romantic partners, as friends, as citizens of the world, as Jews, as decent human beings.

All these years later, my friends and I are still playing the game of MASH. We may have answered some of the questions posed back on that school bus, but now we're figuring out the answers to more. In fact, if anything, we've actually added so many new questions to our list. And you know what? I don't think that's such a bad thing. 

We're not supposed to have life all figured out by 35 or really any age, because how boring would that be? It's the most Jewish thing in the world to keep questioning, keep striving to figure out who we are and who we're still becoming.

There's the old adage that growing older is better than the alternative. Yep, that's absolutely true. But it's more than that. I say we adults take our cues from wise children everywhere and reclaim the joy that comes with celebrating a birthday. Growing a year older, and wiser, is a big deal—whether you're 5, 35, or 105.

After all, celebrating that we were born, that we were brought into this fascinating, heartbreaking, and beautiful world, and that we're one year closer to figuring out who we are and what difference we're meant to make in this world is worth celebrating—preferably over birthday cake frosting.

I was recently surprised to hear a friend tell me that she does not celebrate Thanksgiving. We were schmoozing over coffee and I asked about her plans for the day. She ticked off the usual expected items like: sleeping late, eating breakfast in pajamas, watching football, etc. I did not hear any mention of turkey or family and friends coming over. So I mentioned it. “Oh, I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving,” she said. When asked why, she replied, “well, it is not a Chag.” I should mention that my friend is a modern orthodox Jew.

This is not the first time I have heard this. When SHALLOTS, my first restaurant, was on Clark Street, we offered a Thanksgiving Day menu complete with turkey and all the trimmings. A regular customer came in and was extremely upset that they were not able to order from the regular menu. I told him that we were featuring a holiday menu. He said, “Thanksgiving is not actually a holiday for Jews.” 

I thought a lot about that conversation over the years and have quietly polled people regarding the American holiday and whether they celebrate it or not. 

I personally love Thanksgiving. It is the most American of all holidays. As a Jew, I especially love the holiday. It is the only holiday where I can eat a big fancy dinner and pile into the car and go visit friends or just drive around and look at the holiday lights. I can run to the store and pick up forgotten items and I can use the internet to check out pie recipes. I can, but don’t watch TV or go to a theatre and see whatever holiday movie is playing. 

On Jewish holidays, this would not be possible. Thanksgiving levels the playing field for Jews and makes you feel just like every other American.

We have a ritual in our house on Thanksgiving. I get up early, brew a huge pot of coffee, pull out the BIRD to warm it up to room temperature and cozy up on the couch and watch the Macy’s Day Thanksgiving Parade. I love the excitement, the floats, the marching bands and the whole hoopla.

When I had my restaurant in New York, I brought my kids with me to New York and we watched the floats being inflated at 2am in Central Park. There were crowds gathered and it was amazing. I also had the thrill of watching the parade right there in Columbus Circle. We loved it.

As an American Jew, I owe this great country my thanks and gratitude for allowing me to follow my religion and all of its dietary laws. I openly celebrate who I am and never apologize or hide. That is not the case all over the world.
As an American I also acknowledge our differences and the right that each of us has to celebrate or not.

Here is a classic Thanksgiving recipe— redone, pareve and delicious. If nothing else— maybe we can agree on the food?!

GREEN BEAN CASSEROLE-2012

1 pound fresh green beans, stem trimmed off
Extra virgin olive oil
½ pound mushrooms, sliced (I like to get really festive and use local mushrooms like chanterelles, royal trumpets or oyster mushrooms)
2 cups thinly sliced shallots
½ cup pumpkin seeds, toasted
For the sauce
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons flour
1 cup white wine
1 cup vegetable stock
½ cup pumpkin puree, (I use canned)
Kosher salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 350

1. Toss the green beans with 3 tablespoons of olive oil and salt and pepper. Place the beans on a parchment lined sheet pan and roast them in the oven for about 20 minutes until they are slight browned-but still crispy.

2. Sauté the mushrooms in a large sauté pan, lightly coated with olive oil, over medium high heat until they are crispy and browned. Combine the mushrooms and green beans in a casserole.

3. In the same sauté pan, add about ½ inch of olive oil, and over medium low heat brown the shallots until they are crispy-this will take about 12-15 minutes. BE PATIENT! Combine the shallots and pumpkin seeds.

4. Heat a medium sauce pan over medium heat. Add 2 tablespoons of olive oil to the pan. Sauté the garlic just until it is soft (about 2 minutes). Add the flour and stir for 1 minute to get rid of the raw flavor. Add the wine, stock and pumpkin puree. Stir constantly until the mixture begins to thicken, about 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper

5. Combine the green beans and mushrooms with the sauce. 

6. Sprinkle the casserole with the shallots and toasted pumpkin seeds. Bake the mixture until bubbly-about 20-30 minutes.

As I was rushing up the stairs to religious school one Thursday afternoon to prepare my lessons for my fourth grade class, one of my friends and fellow religious school teachers, Miron, sticks out his hand and places a folded piece of paper in it remarking as he walked away, “Just read it.” Curious over the contents on this piece of paper, and knowing that Miron never disappoints, I nodded with a smile and continued up the stairs. I had a feeling I was going to enjoy reading this.

After religious school finished, when the classroom was finally empty and quiet, I absentmindedly reached for the folded piece of paper, unraveled it, and began to read it out loud— something I never do. My friend Miron, a sixth grade religious school teacher at the same school, loves to challenge his students in fun ways, usually beginning with an idea or a quote. Here is what the paper said:

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel had a great appreciation of the embodiment of truth in tradition. He was fond of telling the story of a woman who approached him in the synagogue, complaining that the service did not say what she wanted to say.

“Madam,” he responded, “you have it precisely backwards. The idea is not for the service to say what you want to say, but for you to want to say what the service says.” -Richard John Neuhaus

I had to read it a second time to make sure I understood what the quote said. I began to chuckle out loud, not because the quote was funny, but because I know that feeling. In fact, I’ve felt that way for a long time. Being a longtime product of Jewish day school education, I’ve often wondered why there weren’t any of the prayers I wanted in the Siddur, such as a prayer for the Cubs to win the World Series, or a blessing for growing three inches taller, or to get blond hair. Now I realize that it was I that needed to find some meaning, that it would not appear out of thin air or be handed to me on a silver platter. It was not long after that I began to read the translations of many of the daily prayers with much voracity. Now, I didn’t believe as a young boy that people were forcing me to read these prayers, but I did question their value and meaning in my everyday life. But once I was exposed to it and learned about how it connected to me, I began to feel something meaningful when I prayed. I may not be able to say all the things I want when I pray, but I do control the feelings I feel when I pray from the heart. I pray knowing that there has already been 2,000 years of praying from Jews all over the world, that when I speak these words I am participating in a tradition that stretches back, a tradition that has deep meaning and value to those that appreciate it.

How often do we try to mold and manipulate the world or the things in it for our benefits? When we do this, are we thinking of only ourselves and personal gain? Why do we bother with traditions? Pretty heavy questions for sixth graders to tackle, let alone someone with an MA in Education and 25 years of Jewish education. 

I didn’t get a chance to ask Miron afterwards why he chose that quote, or what lesson he planned to teach his sixth graders. Maybe he was just trying to get them to appreciate the meaning of services and prayer by showing them the significance of inner faith and inner motivation. Maybe he was trying to open their minds, to fully commit themselves to the experience of the service, to feel that desire rather than perceive it simply as words and melodies forcefully shoved down your throat without question or hesitation. Or maybe, he just wants them to give tefillah a chance. 

You never know what you might experience if you never give it a chance.

L’Chaim!

Halloween is a killer, not in the gory-scary-chainsaw massacre way but in the belly. It starts the holiday season with miniature morsels of goodness. Even if you are not knocking on doors begging for candy, you have some. And it’s in your office too, there’s no escaping Halloween candy. Up next: Thanksgiving and a disgusting quantity of delicious stuffing, turkey, pies and potatoes. 

Since most people gain a few pounds throughout the winter and don’t lose it, now is the time to be diligent. With work events, friends, and family gatherings it’s hard to stay on a workout regime and eat healthy. You have to outsmart fat. Here are some simple strategies to stay slim this holiday season:

• Pre-eat, I know this sounds like blasphemy but have a healthy snack before you hit the holiday buffet style meal. 

• Appetizers OR Dessert, plan your meals. If you are going to have some pigs in a blanket that are held together by corn syrup solids (gross but usually true), skip the cake or vice versa.

• Ask to bring a dish and make it HEALTHY. HEALTHY can still taste YUMMY.

• Have some soup! Make sure it’s a puree or clear broth. Those cream based soups will kill you (not literally).

• If you are the cook, surf Cooking Light or Spark People and find healthy recipes.

• Plan your day, if you know you are going to have a dessert at dinner, have fruit when you crave sugar earlier in the day.

• Walk after your meal. Aside from burning calories, walking helps with digestion.

I love soup! I know some people are not into to soup, but if you are, here’s an easy delicious soup that’s low in calories:

Asparagus Soup

2 stacks of asparagus
2 cups of low sodium chicken broth
Small onion
2 stalks of celery
2 Teaspoons of garlic
1 Teaspoon of pepper
Teaspoon olive oil

In a deep sauce pan, heat oil on medium, add onion and celery. When the onion starts to brown place chopped asparagus, garlic, chicken broth and cook until asparagus gets soft. It takes about 10 minutes or so. Blend in a food possessor or blender. Add in pepper, serve! Sometimes I add a dollop of Greek yogurt to make it a little thicker and add more protein. 

Do you have a favorite healthy soup? Send it my way!

I wrote the following eulogy and delivered it in honor of my beloved grandfather at his service on November 5th, 2:30 p.m.

In Loving Memory of Isidore "Iz" Siegel 
May 20, 1918 – October 29, 2012

In my mind, I have imagined standing here many times. I imagined eulogizing my grandpa, my “pop-pop,” honoring him, his life, and listing the innumerable people, places and things that were changed, influenced and impacted by him. My grandpa was in his 90s after all – and no one lives forever. But I was in shock the morning my mom called to tell me my grandpa had died. And while I was writing this (and now that I am actually standing here), I realized the practicing in my mind was my heart’s attempt at bracing itself for a huge hole. Our family has lost a most loyal, loving and kind soul.

I have no idea how to summarize my pop-pop’s life in a few minutes. How do I do justice to a brother, husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather and friend? I really only know how to talk about what he meant to me, and how it felt to have him in my life. When I was a little girl, my grandpa would take me to the park. He’d wait at the bottom of the slide for me and scoop me up. He wore an aftershave that lingered on my clothes after he hugged me. That smell made me feel safe. So did sitting in my pop-pop’s lap and squeezing his jowly cheeks while he pretended he was trying to eat my fingers. As a little girl, I remember mornings in Florida when I visited my grandparents. I’d sit across from my grandpa at the kitchen table, he’d be dressed in his bathrobe and slippers, me dressed in my PJ’s, and we’d eat grapefruit halves sprinkled with sugar with special grapefruit spoons for breakfast. He had a hairbrush that always sat out on his bathroom counter that had very coarse brush bristles. I would sometimes run it through my hair and wonder if my grandpa liked the feeling of it as much as I did. And sometimes I used his shampoo that said something about making the silver in your hair even shinier. I pretended it would give me beautiful streaks of silver hair – just like my pop-pop’s.

My grandpa didn’t always know what to say in a moment, and he would fill the space with crazy faces and silly sounds. He’d make one eye big and the other one small and his eyebrows would go all crazy and he’d make a grumpy, squished up mouth. When I was a little girl it made me laugh. Fast forward 37 years, he had my little girl laughing at it too. My pop-pop loved talking to people and I noticed whenever he spoke to someone, he physically touched them – enveloped them. Most often, he would extend his hand to someone, who would take it anticipating a handshake. But my grandpa would always initially go to shake but then hold the persons hand, take his other hand and place it over the handshake, securing it. He turned a social formality into a genuine connection. His hands were soft and warm and he was always looking into your eyes when he greeted you. I can remember observing this about him as a little girl. I didn’t know the word for “finesse” back then, but I remember thinking my grandpa was very brave to touch so many people, pulling them in close and really looking at them. Later, I defined my grandpa a gentleman, a charmer, a mensch.

Over the past several years, my grandpa was bravely battling Parkinson’s. It took away a lot of things from my grandfather. It was very difficult to watch his mind be robbed of things as time went on. Sometimes he didn’t even know who I was. But when I reminded him, he’d nod slowly and smile. And my pop-pop would come back to me. My grandfather always prided himself in his ability to take care of his family. Then there came a time where he was unable to care for himself. This distressed him deeply. But as time went on, he began to acknowledge he needed help, and slowly, he opened himself up to the people who loved him to help him and care for him at the most vulnerable time in his life. He gave us a gift really. He gave us the opportunity to finally give back to him. The gift of giving back to a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather, a great grandfather and a friend – a man who spent his entire lifetime giving to others. My grandpa gave his heart and his soul to his family. He lived for us. 

Life is very complicated. But loving my Grandpa was very, very simple.

Every water bottle, pitcher or jug we owned was filled with water. A pyramid of canned beans, corn and tuna were stacked neatly atop the counter. The pantry was full of stove-top friendly fare, such as rice and quinoa. The freezer was packed with extra ice, so that it would hold its contents better— in case we lost power. The fridge was unusually bare. We stopped buying perishable goods, once we got first wind the storm was headed our way. The emergency suitcase was prepared for a quick departure with some warm clothes and our most essential documents. We were doing our best to take the threats seriously and “hunkering down” for a hurricane.

Hurricane Sandy made landfall outside of Atlantic City and touched over 65 million people in its path. I heard about school closings as far west as Chicago, because the winds from the storm disrupted the Lake Michigan tides. The DC Metro area fared luckier than most, as many have seen the maps of New York City showing the neighborhoods still without electricity, heat and water. The heartbreaking photos of devastation along the Jersey Shore and neighborhoods in New York such as Breezy Pointe have been difficult to watch.

Looking back at the moments we experienced while this tragedy unfolded through the fuzzy signal on the TV in our living room, we could do little more than “hunker down.” From Sunday evening through Tuesday afternoon, we stayed indoors and waited for the storm to pass. There was real fear as we watched tall, strong trees bounce back and forth in the 50 mile and hour gusts. We even considered sleeping in the hallway as conditions started to really deteriorate. I admittedly wondered what it would feel like and how I would react, if I was awoken in the middle of the night to a tree coming down through our home.

Though, on the second morning, when it became clear that the serious danger had passed from DC, and the news had focused attention mainly on the devastation of our friends to the north, I began to feel helpless. What could I do to help? I was miles from the wreckage and there was no way to be there and make a difference.

Then on my Facebook news feed, a message pops up that the JUF had established a “Jewish Federation Hurricane Sandy Relief Fund.” Time and time again, the JUF steps up when people need it most. Even though I’ve made the East Coast my home, last week was no exception.  

At the beginning of this week’s portion, Vayera, we find God visiting Abraham to check on him after his recent circumcision (which at age 99, was likely taking its toll physically). Modeling for us the Jewish value of bikkur cholim – visiting those who are ill – you’d think that Abraham would have been flattered that God was stopping by to hang out for a bit. Instead though, what we find is one of the more interesting interactions in the Torah. Just as God was visiting Abraham, Abraham looked up and saw three men passing by. Abraham rushes out of his tent to them (leaving God behind!) in order to greet them and to offer them food and shelter as a respite from their journey.

What. Just. Happened.?!

Abraham, our patriarch, supposedly the founder of monotheism, is being visited by his one and only God, and abandons God in favor of greeting complete strangers?

Is this simply a case of excessive hospitality?

There is a midrash that teaches us that Abraham's tent was consciously kept open so that he could see visitors coming in order to greet them in this fashion. [Genesis Rabbah 48:9]

Clearly we can learn from this episode the significant value that our tradition places on welcoming guests – including (and especially) ones that we don’t have existing relationships with.

For example, on Passover, there’s a part of the Seder (the paragraph of “Ha Lachma”) where we say: “Let all who are hungry come and eat!” Many families will actually open the door to their home at this time and shout it to the street so that anyone passing by in need of a Seder will be able to come and join (granted, this model might have been more practical in Old Country where folks were living in closer, tighter quarters, although there’s certainly an argument to be made that in big cities with dense populations the ability still exists).

In the Talmud, we see Abraham’s actions used to illustrate a general (and significant) principle: “Rabbi Yehuda said in the name of Rav: Welcoming guests is greater than receiving the Divine.” [Bab. Talmud Shabbat 127b]

And yet, despite our people’s strong tradition of being welcoming, there are many who find today’s Jewish community to be cold and distant, rather than warm and present. People sometimes feel when they walk into synagogues that they might not be greeted warmly. Individuals will make charitable contributions to Jewish organizations, and may not receive a personal phone call expressing appreciation – rather, they’ll only receive a form thank-you letter in the mail. Someone new will move to town, may not be invited to join existing social circles, and/or may not be invited over to someone’s home for a Shabbat dinner shortly after arriving so that s/he can meet others.

We can and need to do better. Our tradition and accompanying values demand it.

This Shabbat, reflect on what you can do to be more welcoming of others.

Commit to reaching out to someone you know is new to the area and invite him/her to your home for a meal.

We learn from Shammai in Pirkei Avot, the section of the Mishnah dealing with the Ethics of our Ancestors, that we should “receive everyone with a cheerful face.” [Avot 1:15]

Sometimes all it takes to change the world is a smile.

How we spend October 31 can say a lot about us as people. Some of us hand out candy from the front porch. Some of us go wild and hit the town in costume. Some of us go about our day business as usual. And some of us stay up until midnight, furiously outlining the 50,000-word novel we'll start writing when the clock strikes.

Ask anyone in the last group why this is, and they might reply, in varying states of dazedness, elation or exhaustion, "NaNo." It's not a Mork & Mindy reference—it's National Novel Writing Month, also known as NaNoWriMo. The gist of the project is not to produce a perfectly formed story in 30 days, but to create a messy, sprawling, often terrible first draft that you can either edit when you can stomach looking at it again, or simply use as bragging rights for having finished a novel. To achieve the minimum word count by the end of the month means writing 1,667 words a day, a number to which anyone who has participated probably has some visceral reaction.

Your approximately 1,700 words translate to three or four typed pages daily. My favorite method is to write three pages longhand on notebook paper; when I type that up, I inevitably add more words, and can generally make the per diem requirement. (I wouldn't say I'm old hat at NaNo: I've participated on and off since about 2004, and have actually "won" twice. But you learn as much from the struggle as you do from the victory, as anyone who's ever trained for a race can probably tell you too!)

NaNo exacts a toll, I'm not going to lie: my family has long since come to terms with my insistence that I get a couple hours alone in my room during Thanksgiving so I can finish my day's words, and social outings throughout November involve a lot of give and take (and sleepless nights or very early mornings). But if you're the kind of person for whom writing, for all the anguish, rage and self-doubt it can cause, is the thing that makes you feel most alive, NaNo is your marathon, your delirious month of living and breathing story and words, along with hundreds of thousands of other people who have given themselves permission to do the same for thirty days.

The community of NaNo is a life-saver, by the way. Writing a novel alone is hard enough, but there's something awesome about doing it at the same time as other people the world over. Advice and help come from all corners of the internet, though this year's favorite might wind up being the inevitable Fake NaNoWriMo Tips Twitter account (I promise the jokes are hilarious if you've ever tried to write a story or read a writing blog). NaNo also has an extensive system of local meet-ups in place, with communal writing parties at coffee shops, libraries and other spots. And if you're signed up for the official newsletter, every week you get encouragement and words of wisdom from authors you admire—nifty, right?

Some people use NaNo for that great idea they've been nursing for years but never acted on; others go full-bore silly (mine this year involves werewolves, though they're not sexy werewolves, so perhaps this one isn't destined to sell). Every possible genre you can think of (and many, I mean many, that you have not) has some representation, and while literary agents are famously leery of NaNo (December becomes an avalanche of unedited manuscripts in the slush pile), some books you've heard of, including The Night Circus   and Water for Elephants, started out in 1700-word-a-day chunks.

Even if you don't "win" or finish your novel, the benefits of NaNo are quite tangible. For me, it does a great job of killing my fear of the blank page. Your first draft doesn't have to be good, it just has to begin. You learn to go with your first instinct and just plow ahead, because you can always change it later, and you might even surprise yourself when you stray from your own script. That's not just useful for novel-writers, that's a good skill for anyone who relies on words for a living.

November 30 can be a strange time for a NaNo participant. It often feels like the following, if you're on the verge of passing 50K:

Your story may have devolved into sputtering nonsense, or you may be on such a roll that you clear your last 8K in a single sitting (the two are not mutually exclusive). Both deserve a good round of celebratory beat-boxing. If this sounds even remotely intriguing or appealing, why not sign up and see for yourself? As for me, maybe this whole novel thing can be some sort of meta-examination of NaNoWriMo (and werewolves)—you think I can count this article toward my daily total?

Catch you on the flip side, Oy!sters—if you're writing a novel this month, break a leg (or maybe some pencils), and tell us about it in the comments!

I am alive to write this thanks to my hypochondria. Remember my hypochondria? Of course you do. I talked about it so much that one time. See my hypochondria led to me successfully realize I had a ticking time bomb in my abdomen. That ticking time bomb was appendicitis and I was going to have to have surgery. I have to tell you, this whole experience was actually fun. Yes, fun. I know, fun is not usually a word most people associate with surgery, but I’m not most people. I’m mostly a person. A person named Adam. Adam Daniel Miller. Hence my name after the title. Moving on. 

What’s amazing is that even given my hypochondria, it took me almost 24 hours to do something about the oddity in my abdomen. At first, what I felt was only really obnoxious stomach discomfort. I initially thought it really bad gas. I didn’t think much of it because that happens to me all the time.

Really wish I didn’t tell you that.

Anyway, I thought it would pass, but it just became worse. It even prompted me to take some Tums. You know, for my tummy. Get it? Next morning, the pain was still there. But I had to go to work, and we all know my work doesn’t do itself. Even though I do work as an automatic pilot, but that’s not the point. (That joke could have also worked with me saying that I am a janitor for self-cleaning ovens, so you take your pick.) 

Where was I? Ah yes, at work. Well, the pain was getting strange and focused on my right side so I decided to look up my symptoms on Web MD, as I honestly thought it might be my appendix. Low and behold, my symptoms suggested that appendicitis was a strong possibility. I went straight to the hospital, got myself a CT scan, and yup, appendicitis. Lesson to be learned: Web MD plus hypochondria saves lives! 

In a way, I was relieved. Mainly because if it wasn’t my appendix that was acting up, well, then it might have literally been a ticking time bomb. I was actually quite calm throughout the whole experience. At this point I was just in minor discomfort and no pain. I was in a hospital bed and gown for the majority of my stay and that made me a bit too comfortable. Seriously, all it takes is me not wearing pants to make me happy. The surgery went easy as can be. My last thought I remember, when I was drugged up a little, was lying on the operating table with the oxygen mask on my face, feeling like I was Darth Vader. Had I not passed out two seconds later, I probably would have pointed to the anesthesiologist and exclaimed, “No! I am your father!”

This was only the second time I had been put under for anything, (I had all four wisdom teeth removed, which explains a lot of my ignorance) and it’s fascinating how it felt like not even a moment had passed when I was being wheeled out of surgery. The first thing the doctor said asked was, “How are you doing?” I promptly responded, half in a daze, “Fantastic. How are you doing?” That’s the epitome of my time in the hospital. I was enjoying every moment I could. I even wanted to Live Tweet when I was in surgery, but there’s no cell phones allowed in the operating room. That’s the only reason I didn’t Live Tweet the operation where I was unconscious. 

The first night of recovery was also fun. Of course it did help that I had my parents with me. I had my hour long surgery at about 10:30 at night so I knew sleep really wasn’t really a possibility for me. I was too excited from having just had surgery. But what’s really strange is that when you get put under, it’s like literally shutting down your system so I was currently rebooting. My saliva didn’t work at first and you really don’t realize how much work your saliva does until it’s not functioning. What was fun for me, among so many things, was that the nurse told me I had to try and pee. She gave me four hours to make something happen. I passed with flying colors. Seriously, I was very concerned because I’m not used to that variation of colors. But then after that, my favorite part was when the nurse explicitly told me “Okay, now I want you to please try and fart.” Heh heh. 

Now, when it was time to leave, I had no choice in the matter. My parents took me hostage. But out of love, so I allowed it. Once at my parents house, I became so stiff and sore that I didn’t move from the couch for the entirety of my stay. Although I did end up setting my own personal record of not wearing pants for four days. I’m quite proud of myself. Although that means I also didn’t take a shower for four days. 

Really wish I didn’t tell you that. 

But here’s the most honest part about what I loved from this experience. From the second it was known I was in the hospital, I received so much love and support from family and friends. In this day and age, it’s an entirely different experience because I have Facebook and a Smartphone. I tend to be a little silly on social media and I was joking but also being serious about my appendectomy. It got to the point where people weren’t sure if I was serious or not and I found a lot of humor in the fact that I had to make a blunt, direct post about my situation. My cousin came straight to the hospital to be with me until my parents got there, which was a soon as they could. I heard from both my siblings almost immediately. 

Once I was home, I kept getting phone calls and visits from people who love and care about me. I heard that friends of my parents were saying the Mi Shebeirach so that I would have a speedy recovery. It felt incredible. And then my Bubbie and Zaydie wouldn’t leave me alone, which is quite possibly the best thing ever. Being immobile and recovering from surgery allowed my Bubbie to do what she does best, make me a steaming hot batch of Jewish penicillin. I believe you might call it homemade chicken noodle soup. Don’t get me started on her cooking. That’s a whole other post. 

I found this experience to be quite an amazing adventure. Remember the title? I probably had much more fun than most people rightfully should. The only real tough part was sleeping at first while I was still incredibly stiff, but other than that, it really wasn’t so bad. See, I really try to find the humor in every situation and this case was no different. In fact, one of my favorite aspects of this whole experience was that even though my appendix only weighed about two ounces, I still lost some weight. It’s also nice to know I’ll never have to worry about this again for the rest of my life. Unless that was just my baby appendix and it was going to fall out at some point anyway. Oh boy. Is that a thing? I gotta go check Web MD.

In the midst of Hurricane Sandy, in Brooklyn
It is, of course, true
that we, humble and powerful, witty and nimble,
are servants to nature,
must bow at its beck and call,
must recognize that it rises against us.
Within our four walls, we house ourselves,
but it is always nature that looks on in,
and blows our skirt to the right or left,
or downs our power.
Who needs nature, we laugh, as the reports come in: Big hurricane, headed your way,
and we know exactly when it will strike and we have no need for fear.
Until the moment comes closer, we sit, more seriously now, aware that this could be it.
As the winds howl louder and louder,
our minds get more focused, we sit together closer, we talk quietly,
and recognize in the bizarre calm of the moment, how united we actually are,
how close we actually are.
All of those anxieties, those stresses, those deadlines,
where did they go?
We cannot remember for the life of us, as we ponder the life of us,
why that seemed so important to us
as if those things were more powerful than "Nature," than "Us."
Our minds find unexpected comic relief in finally feeling focused, as the lights flicker, teasingly.
With one thought, our brains unite: Save us now, save us. We will do anything. We are but flesh and blood. And spirit.
As we acknowledge, at last, the nature that hangs over us, we call out to that which gives nature its naughty and merciful power.
Save us now.
One mind, one heart,
one.
At last.

When I walked into the lobby and saw house elves, my interest was piqued, but it wasn't until I saw wands and potions for sale and Snape looming that I truly felt at home. No, this wasn't Hogwarts, this was LeakyCon. Recently I had the pleasure of attending this Harry Potter conference named for the series' fictional bar the Leaky Cauldron. Hosted this year at the Hilton Chicago, LeakyCon is an homage to everything Potter and even encompasses the broader YA, fantasy, and sci-fi genres. The conference had its largest showing yet in its third year with about 4,000 participants made up mostly of pre-teen and teen fans. Costumes, hair dye, and general flamboyance are the norm at LeakyCon, which promises programming stretching from panels and discussions to musical events and pajama parties. Having read, seen, and lived the Potter phenomenon is insufficient at an event where terms like "Team Starkid" and "Nerdfighter" are enough to make even a Hogwarts educated man like myself feel like a Muggle.

Upon arriving at LeakyCon, my first stop was a panel called "Girl Books and Boy Books" offered through the LeakyCon Literature Track. Founded by YA author and Potter fan Maureen Johnson for participants who want a more literary focused experience, the Lit Track offers discussion on numerous topics from "How NOT to write a book" to "Help! My Boyfriend is a Vampire." Johnson recruited a slew of YA/fantasy authors to aid in the Lit Track effort. "Girl Books and Boy Books" was paneled by such authors as John Green, Robin Wasserman, and Lev Grossman who along with moderator Johnson feverishly discussed 1) The common belief in elementary teaching circles that boys do not read, and 2) Why girls are encouraged to read "boy books" but boys are often forbidden to read a book considered to be "girly." That this topic even exists seemed to disgust the panel who collectively felt that children should be able to read whatever they please regardless of their gender. As a male blogger who has recently recommended novels by female authors with female protagonists (Hunger Games and Night Circus) I wholeheartedly agree.

My next stop was the vendor room, where boutique shops and non-profits gather in droves to pedal their goods and their messages to the Potter-ites. Geekbadge offered HP themed magnets and buttons while the Deathly Hallows Shop sold custom souvenirs with the hallows insignia. But these tchotchkes were far less popular than the more magical items like authentic wooden wands, polyjuice potion, and phoenix feather. Delving deeper into the room I found numerous non-profits, the Dumbledore of which is the Harry Potter Alliance, a group that commits itself to "fighting the dark arts in the real world by using parallels from Harry Potter." With such a broad mission the HP Alliance champions several causes in the interest of equality including immigration, the importance of voting, and the popular anti-bullying movement. But my favorite booth in the vendor room was that of the start-up Fandom Dating, which true to the name is a dating website for those looking to find true love in someone who shares their interest in the nerdy, magical, and occult. Needless to say I registered and plan to begin Beta testing the site shortly. I could have stayed in the vendor room forever but had to drag myself home, missing the Guinness book of world records' largest pajama party and a rock concert featuring Harry and the Potters and The Whomping Willows.

The following day I stopped briefly in a discussion that was meant to discuss the similarities and differences between Harry Potter and Star Wars. This ended up turning into a forum to discuss all fantasy, but was nonetheless entertaining. I was the oldest in the room by at least 10 years which should have, but did not, stop me from energetically participating in the debate. But the best event of the weekend was the LeakyCon lit reception where the few LeakyCon participants over the age of 18 were invited to mingle, drink, and in my case stalk the authors who were in attendance. Being one of the few 'adults' at the party I managed to corner Lev Grossman, author of popular The Magicians series, who declined an Oy! interview but obliged to chatting over a Butterbeer.

After inviting myself to dinner with the authors and being respectfully declined I trudged home sad that the weekend was over but thrilled at having experienced such a unique event. LeakyCon is a place where children and adults can celebrate their love of Harry Potter, but more importantly it has become a comfortable forum for children/teens/adults to feel included in a world where they are often considered outsiders. Next year LeakyCon will have two venues, one in Portland and the other in London. The LeakyCon website proudly proclaims why two events per year are necessary, "LeakyCon creates space where you can be geeky/fannish/nerdy, free of the fear of being shunned or misunderstood." LeakyCon certainly has the right idea. We need more spaces like that. I'm sure J.K. Rowling would agree.

This week, I was working in the JCC Camp Chi office helping to jump start registration. This is an annual campaign that camp holds where former staff members come in and help reach out to families about registering for the upcoming summer. During the first night of the campaign, we took a pizza break for dinner and ended up discussing what was on most of our minds: the upcoming festivities surrounding Halloween. The group was a mix between seniors in high school, college students, and those of us who had graduated from college or masters programs within the past few years. For the few of us who graduated from college last year, this weekend will be our first Halloween as adults, our first awkward Halloween as “real people.”

In both high school and college, Halloween was pretty straight forward. I never really had to deliberate about my plans. I dressed up for school in high school and celebrated over the weekend, sometimes even attempting to trick-or-treat. In college, everything seemed planned. You either went to the same 18+ bar that everyone you knew was going to and bought tickets in advance, stopped by one of the many house or apartment parties and fraternity parties happening on campus, went to visit your friends at a different school, or as you got older went on a bar crawl through the city. Although you had to decide which option or options you were going with, there were always clear cut options when planning your itinerary so to speak.

As for costumes, there is a famous scene in Mean Girls where Cady, the main character, is unaware of the Halloween culture in America and comes to a party dressed in a scary costume. She soon learns that rather than dressing up as ghost, most girls live by the mantra that “Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girl can say anything about it.” To be fair, this does a great job of summarizing Halloween from a birds-eye view at any university. However, before I continue, I must defend my costume choices, which have 99% been cute, creative, and far from scandalous, ranging from Batman, Luigi, a Pokemon and Chuckie Finster from Rugrats, to Jelly, Spice Girls, and the ever-so memorable experience of being a ballerina with the rest of my pledge sisters freshman year. It is fair to say that many people use Halloween as an opportunity to wear as few clothes as possible. However, once you enter the phase of your life where you are considered an “adult” (and yes this still gives me the chills to even say that), does that fly? What are the social expectations surrounding this holiday?

First off, who do you even dress up with? If you have scattered groups of friends rather than a core group from high school or college, who do you dress up with? What do you wear? Do people dress up? What kinds of costumes are appropriate once you are 22 and older? If you do dress up, do you go to a bar in costume or do you have to find a Halloween themed house party? If you go out, do people dress up at every bar or just places that are having Halloween celebrations? What do you do if you don’t know anyone throwing a party? Do you celebrate over the “Halloweekend” or the night of…or both? Is it going to be awkward? These were all questions that were thrown out as we laughed about the social stipulations, continued to think about our plans for this weekend, and most definitely agreed that it would somehow be considered an awkward celebration.

However, this conversation delves a little deeper than simply considering your Halloween plans and if your life choices correlate with your age. More so, it reminds me that almost every day I find another opportunity to realize that I am still transitioning into the “real world,” rather than flourishing in it. As things change, you can’t expect to have all the answers and sometimes this is awkward and even uncomfortable. If we can’t even figure out our Halloween itineraries, do you really think we know what we want to do with the rest of our lives? Absolutely not. This year, and the few years following college for that matter, is a time for growth, to try out new things, adapt to change, and most certainly make a few awkward mistakes while adjusting to a new aspect of reality. That is all part of the process of growing up, a concept that I am still far from a fan of, but learning to deal with a little more each day.

So, as for Halloween, I decided on dressing up with some of my friends from camp in cute, comfortable, and creative costumes drawn from movies made in the 90s and early 2000s. We’re going with the flow and although we’re lacking a clear-cut plan, we’re hoping for the best, a fitting attitude for this weekend and beyond. I’ll just have to see where things take me without a planned agenda.

 

Ok, so the conventions are long over and the debates are finally finished, and your newsfeed is slowly returning to engagement and wedding announcements and baby and pet photos instead of 24/7 election coverage and candidate endorsements and attacks. It’s finally (almost) time to head over to the polls and get to voting and get this election over with already! Right? Well, just in case my beloved Oy!sters need a little urging, here are some of the many reasons to make sure you go and vote in election 2012.

This is our future. The recession, Obamacare, a nuclear Iran, education reform, the future of social security, gay marriage, peace in Israel, stem cell research, the conflicts in the Middle East, reproductive choice— these issues are going to define our generation and affect our lives for the rest of our lives. It’s times like this when it’s more important than ever to make sure our voices get heard.

Why wouldn’t you? What do you have to lose? My dad has sat out more presidential elections than I’ve been alive for, but he’s also never, not once, not showed up to the polls on voting day. Even if you can’t bring yourself to vote in the big elections, or feel like your vote won’t matter, there are other races and other candidates even at the very local level, who need your vote.

Don’t be lazy. Finally, if the reasons why you might skip voting on Tuesday have anything to do with not know where your precinct is, what you need to vote, or when to vote, take a few minutes right now to find out. I’ve listed some resources below and above that will answer all your questions and if you’re still in doubt just Google it. Also, if your excuse is that you just won’t have the time Tuesday to make it to the polls, then think again. You can go vote any day between now and the election on November 6. There are more than a dozen precincts where you can vote early in Cook County. I’m heading to the County Clerk’s Main Office at 69 West Washington over lunch today to vote.

Educate yourself. Time and time again I hear from my friends that they aren’t going to vote in an election because they don’t feel like they know enough about the candidates. I don’t know when this became a valid excuse to not vote, but I’m sick of hearing it. Visit the different candidate’s websites, or Facebook pages or Twitter Feeds and read about where they stand on the issues—you can learn a lot in just five minutes. Don’t be afraid to use the internet. Obviously, the internet has a lot of biased and untrue information out there on each candidate, but it’s still a great research tool. And don’t forget about newspapers. Both the Chicago Sun-Times and the Chicago Tribune run extensive stories and op-eds on all the candidates leading up to the elections.

If that still sounds like too much work, then there is a great new website called isidewith that will do the heavy lifting for you. Just take their presidential election quiz and they will tell you which candidate most lines up with your beliefs.
We live in a Democracy. If none of the above makes you want to run out to the polls, consider this: voting is a privilege you just shouldn’t waste. I know it is cheesy, but we are all lucky to live in a Democracy. We have the freedom to show up at the polls and vote for any candidate we chose with no threat of punishment or negative repercussion. Value your freedom. While it might not be perfect here, we are lucky to be Americans.

Finally, if you don’t vote, then you can’t complain when you don’t like what happens. And what Jew wants their right to complain taken away?

For more information on how to vote and to get educated on the candidates, visit rock the vote. Visit http://www.vote411.org to see who's on your ballot, choose your candidates and print a copy of your "ballot" to take with you to the polls. 

On Saturday, October 13th around 10:45a.m., congregants at the Temple of Aaron in St. Paul, Minnesota might have noticed something a little different about their pulpit. Their rabbis passed the sermon this week to Maccabi Haifa head basketball coach Brad Greenberg.

Maccabi Haifa was in town to play the Minnesota Timberwolves on Tuesday, October 16th, at 7:00p.m. They came from the West Coast having just lost an exhibition game to the Golden State Warriors 108-100. Leading up to the game, Coach Greenberg and the Maccabi Haifa team participated in community wide events, promoting Israel and their charity Haifa Hoops for Kids (helping underprivileged children in Israel have access to basketball and athletics).

Greenberg’s sermon was a big success. He got everyone talking and excited about the upcoming game. Greenberg himself has an interesting story on both the professional and collegiate basketball levels. Most recently Coach Greenberg was leading the Radford University Highlanders. Before that he was the General Manager of the Philadelphia 76ers and was responsible for drafting Allen Iverson.

Greenberg shared a moving story about when he got let go by the 76ers and how it was a tough time in his life. As a member of Har Zion synagogue in Philadelphia, he deeply regretted not reaching out to then Rabbi Gerald Wolpe. He had fond memories of Rabbi Wolpe, specifically a sermon he gave about Kobe Bryant’s decision to forgo college and head to the NBA.

Greenberg also talked about his time in Israel, and his decision to move there in the first place. He has been grateful for the opportunity and the eye opening experience. He spoke about Israel’s tremendous strength and resilience day-to-day, and how his American friends are learning, through him, the incredible pride and happiness Israelis display for their country.

Temple of Aaron thanked Coach Greenberg with some parting gifts and told the coach that they would be bringing a nice constituency to the game Tuesday night. Unfortunately, after only being down three points at half time the Timberwolves went on to destroy Maccabi 114-81.

Maccabi stayed and signed autographs for kids and Cory Carr even threw his jersey into the crowd. It was a great event and a nice showing by the Minnesota community.

And Let Us Say…Amen.

 

Book cover design by Alyssa Zeller.

Have you read the new Jewish anthology actress and author Mayim Bialik calls "the definitive 'Who am I? and why am I?' book for Jews of our generation"?

Edited by Stefanie Pervos Bregman, associate editor of JUF News, Oy!Chicago blogger-in-chief, and JUF's manager of digital communications, Living Jewishly: A Snapshot of a Generation (Academic Studies Press), is a collection of personal essays and memoirs from Jewish 20- and 30-somethings from across the country. This book tackles hot button issues of Jewish identity, connection to Israel, and what it means to be a young Jew in today's world. 

Each contributor brings a unique perspective as they tell their self-defining Jewish story. In his essay, "Shomer Negiah in the City," Matthue Roth tackles the conflicted and sometimes hypocritical nature of the modern Orthodox dating world. In "To Be a Jew in the world" Stacey Ballis makes the Passover Seder her own. "My (Jewish-Interfaith-Lesbian) wedding," by Chai Wolfman explores the challenges of same-sex and interfaith relationships today. Other essay topics include JDate, connection—or lack thereof—to Israel, issues surrounding conversion, and the seemingly impossible task of defining what it means to be a young Jew in America today.

The book is available in paperback and hardcover on Amazon.com and from other book retailers. For more information about where to buy the book, the contributors, and how you can share your Jewish story, visit www.livingjewishlybook.com or at www.facebook.com/livingjewishlybook .

 

As a Jewish blogger and editor, I always say that the period leading up to Jewish Book Month is one of my favorite times of the year. So many books come across my desk for review—I only wish I had the time to read them all. Each author, each new book, is not just a potential article for my magazine or blog post. To me, every author—whether they write fiction or non-fiction—is a storyteller, adding their own piece to our collective Jewish story.

This year the tables have turned, and I'm the one hoping and wishing that Jewish editors and writers will choose my book from among the great pile for review—the thought makes me feel proud, humble, and frightened all at once. 

In putting together my new anthology, Living Jewishly: A Snapshot of a Generation, I hoped to be a storyteller as well. In the Jewish world, engaging 20- and 30-somethings is a hot button issue—questions like 'How do we get young Jews to feel connected to Israel? To affiliate with traditional Jewish institutions? To care about Jewish continuity, ritual, and tradition?' float around waiting to be answered.

As a member of this elusive generation myself, I live and breathe these questions in my personal life and as a Jewish professional. As I recently completed my master's degree in Jewish professional studies, I became determined to tell the story of my generation.  

To get started, I sent out a call for stories to my peers:

Are you a Jewish 20- or 30-something with a story to tell? Do you want to be part of a collection of voices that together tell the unique story of our generation?

Within hours, my email box was flooded. I received close to 50 submissions-all remarkable, rich, and more diverse than I could have ever imagined.

In Living Jewishly, I put these essays together to create a window into our Jewish lives and identities. Each essay is beautiful, unique, brutally honest, and revealing. In truth, it is my contributors who are the real storytellers—without them, the story, the picture, would not be complete.

I often think about what it means to really be a storyteller. To me, this is not a title to be taken lightly. With it comes certain responsibility, not just to inform, but to do so artfully, shedding light on topics that may otherwise have been left untold. 

While I don't think I've solved the mystery of my generation, I do have some insights into the types of stories we want to tell. However it is that we express ourselves Jewishly, I'm certain that every Jewish 20- or 30-something has an interesting story to tell-and maybe all we need is the opportunity to tell it.

This article first appeared as a part of the Jewish Book Council (www.jewishbookcouncil.org) and MyJewishLearning's (www.myjewishlearning.com) guest blogging series, Visiting Scribes.

Here's a little background about me. I spent the 2010-2011 school year teaching English in Grenoble, France. Before that, I spent a year working in the heart of Chicago in the Jewish non-profit community. When I was abroad, my eyes were opened to the everyday experience of the Jewish community in my town and in the country at large. I experienced what it meant to me to be not only Jewish in France, but a Jewish, young, female, American in France. It was a ridiculously fun, thought-provoking and thrilling seven months and I'm excited to share these stories. By the way, all thoughts and opinions are purely my own…I take full responsibility for any sweeping generalizations.

One of the conditions of my host stay was seemingly simple: only kosher food allowed in the house. Easy enough, right? However, France is a land filled with delicious traif and endless combinations of milk and meat, and to be honest, I'd never kept kosher before. Of course I knew the basic tenets: no milk and meat, no pork, no shellfish. But from zero experience to a household with two separate dishwashers, I had quite a bit to learn.

I was an eager student, thanks to the enthusiasm of my host mom Daniele. When the only food I brought home from the grocery store was yogurt, she sensed my uneasiness. Sitting at the kitchen table and enjoying a cup of afternoon tea, she described that she hadn't always followed kosher laws, that she hadn't even kept kosher until she met her husband. I let out a sigh of relief. It was obvious, yes, that I wasn't quite sure what I was doing. But at one point, neither did she.

We soon wandered over to her cabinets, filled with troves of food. It was a varied mix of French supermarket staples, products with Hebrew labels on them and a few Manischewitz items thrown in for good measure. The B. family has plenty of relatives in Israel, who from time to time bring over goodies from the homeland. But almost all of the sundries, she said, came both from everyday shopping at French chains and trips to the kosher market, the Makolette. Never one to turn down a trip to a Jewish deli, I was delighted when she asked me to join her on her next visit.

I couldn't help but notice the funny juxtaposition of the tiny, nearly hidden-away Makolette being just down the street from a huge, beacon-like McDonald's. We hopped out of the car, driving back into the city after dropping off her son for a day of med school classes. During my first couple weeks in Grenoble, I must have passed this market a few times, but like most Jewish buildings in this town, it was understated, barely marked and easy to miss.

Walking in, the joint was a little sparser than I expected. To my grave disappointment, there were no bagels to be found. Strangely enough, the food I missed most in France was a hearty bagel and shmear…you can take the girl out of Chicago, but you surely can't take the Chicago out of the girl. The floor plan was pretty open, with lightly stocked shelves and a butcher off to the right, chatting rapidly with his guests. It was quiet on a weekday afternoon. I wandered around, noticing cans of gefilte fish, Israeli imports and more. As Daniele did her shopping, I settled on a pack of pita chips and some tried-and-true Sabra hummus. Pretty soon, we were out the door. I would venture back to the Makolette on other various occasions, most notably to pick up ingredients for my first-ever homemade latkes.

At home, Daniele gave me a thick packet, its contents listing every item in every major French grocery store that was certified kosher. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

But I was fascinated. Admittedly, I was hesitant…I wanted to experience all of the culinary delicacies the country had to offer! And while outside of the house I explored French cuisine to the hilt, when I went grocery shopping, I looked forward to poring over my reference book. To my delight, my very favorite French cookies, PIMs, are certified kosher...what a relief! As I flipped through the pages and my knowledge grew, I experienced the culinary life in France from a completely new and enlightening perspective.

 

No, it's a not a Jewish holiday by any stretch. But at this point, regardless of its origins, do you know anyone who celebrates Halloween as a religious holiday?

As it happens, a surprising number of horror movies from both America and Europe turn out to have Jewish connections. The new film The Possession is about being possessed by a dybbuk, or poltergeist. Reggae-rapper Matisyahu plays the rabbi who performs the exorcism.

Stories of this spirit have been around for a long time. In the 1914 play by Yiddish writer S. Ansky, it is a bride who is possessed. This plot was turned into a film (1937), an opera (1933, debuted 1951),… and a 1974 ballet by the West Side Story team of Leonard Bernstein and Jerome Robbins, both Jewish. Its first TV appearance was directed by Sidney Lumet, and now it is a play again, by Tony Kushner… also both Jewish. (The funniest movie to feature possessions has got to be Ghost Busters, directed by Ivan Reitman and starring Rick Moranis and Harold Ramis.)

Another Yiddish horror tale revolving around a thwarted wedding is Corpse Bride, made into a movie by Tim Burton as a sort-of follow up to The Nightmare Before Christmas. Jewish actress (and Burton's own bride) Helena Bonham Carter stars, and Danny Elfman did the score.

One of the mainstays of horror is Frankenstein's monster. While Mary Shelley's original novel is subtitled "The Modern Prometheus," she admitted that the monster also had Jewish origins—in the Golem. This Medieval clay automaton is said to be first animated in Prague to protect the Jews from pogroms. The Golem has inspired plays as early as 1908, novels going back to 1914, an I.B. Singer book, operas… and lots of TV, including episodes of The X-Files and The Simpsons (whose Golems were voiced by Fran Drescher and Richard Lewis!).

There are Golem characters in the Dungeons and Dragons game, comic books, even Pokemon. Israel had some early computers named after the Golem. And Golem is the name of a great, fun punk-klezmer band. Some even feel that J.R.R. Tolkien's mysterious Gollum owes his name to this Hebraic hulk. 

Some horror creators have been Jewish, too. R.L. Stine, author of the Goosebumps series, is. In the movies, Sam Raimi directed The Evil Dead (and then the Spider-Man trilogy). And Eli Roth is a writer/actor/director/producer in that genre.

 Jamie Lee Curtis's turn in the Halloween movies was just the first in a line of Jewish "scream queens" including Danielle Harris, who was in the Halloween reboots and the Hatchet series… Neve Campbell of the Scream series… and Buffy herself, Sarah Michelle Gellar. In fact, about half the Buffy TV cast was Jewish: Alyson Hannigan (Willow), Michelle Trachtenberg (Dawn), Amber Benson (Tara), Danny Strong (Jonathan), Juliet Landau (Drusilla), Seth Green (Oz)... and Armin Shimerman (their principal). 

Oz, of course, was a werewolf, and there is a surprisingly strong affinity for these shapeshifters among Jewish creative types. John Landis directed American Werewolf in London, in which the title character has nightmares of Nazi werewolves, leading some to speculate he was himself Jewish. But first, Jewish songwriter Warren Zevon wrote the song "Werewolves of London," inspired by the very first werewolf movie ever, made back in 1935. Jewish director Mike Nichols directed Jack Nicholson as a werewolf in Wolf; Corey Haim, who starred in Silver Bullet as a werewolf-slayer, was Jewish, as was Michael Landon, star of I Was a Teenage Werewolf. Two Jewish screenwriters wrote the Michael J. Fox remake of that one, simply titled Teen Wolf.

This link is not working anymore— horrormovies.org— but it was the source of this list of still  more horror movies with Jewish themes and/or characters. I have taken out the ones already mentioned above: All Good Things; The Devil's Advocate (with Al Pacino); Disciple of Death; The Lowborn; My Wife is a Vampire; Night of the Living Jews (a short about accursed matzah); and Santa's Slay (Santa is played by Jewish pro-wrestling champ Goldberg). 

For more on Jewish monsters and the Jewish participation in the horror genre, here’s what else I… dug up! (insert Crypt Keeper cackle here):

“Possession” and the Tradition of Jewish Horror Films

Halloween and Judaism (video)

And for something truly frightening: ‘Baby Rabbi’ Tops Worst Halloween Costume List.

A year ago today I was fragile but hopeful.

I had been out of the hospital for only 4.5 months and was slowly starting to regain my footing.

My appetite had started to come back, my hair was starting to grow in, but I continuously struggled to feel comfortable in the outside world.

The trauma was still front and center, cancer continued to monopolize conversations, and my relationships were noticeably strained.

For the first time in months, I was able to step outside of my own personal experience with this disease and recognize how it affected those around me.

It was no longer I had cancer but We had cancer.

As I started to empathize with my family and closest friends, I quickly realized that the process of healing, rebuilding and coping was happening in different ways and at different paces.

Cancer may have left my body but it did not leave my life.

The hopeful fragility I embodied last year perhaps remains true today.

I may be more comfortable in the outside world, but I still have moments of displacement.

I may be no longer tiptoeing into the sunlight, but I still have moments of caution.

I may not think about cancer on a daily basis, but her memories are beautifully detailed into the scars that lie beneath—and will forever be a part of me.

Perhaps balancing fear with hope, fragility with strength, illness with health is what life is and should be all about.

This balancing act, this juxtaposition. this existence somewhere in between what was and what is, is exactly where I am supposed to be.

A place of gratitude, a place of uncertainty, a place of hope.

Here is to another year filled with remarkable moments.

To those that stood by me throughout this journey—thank you from the bottom of my heart.

The leaves are falling, the sukkahs have come down, and TV's fall lineup is in full swing. Today, housewives, matchmakers, and weight-loss contests dominate the airwaves, with just a few scripted shows sprinkled in between, but that's not how it used to be.

Back in the ol' days when I was a kid—you know, pre-smartphones—I used to love to watch the new fall shows, especially the situation comedies. Born in between Generations X and Y, I grew up on a steady viewing diet of Keatons, Huxtables, and the barflies at Cheers. I've always loved sitcoms because they make us laugh and allow us an escape, for at least 22 minutes, from the ups and downs of our crazy lives.

We Jews have a great sense of humor. After all, with everything we've been through, a strong funny bone helps. So I thought this month we could grab some popcorn, kick back in our La-Z-Boys, and point the clicker at my top picks—in no particular order—of funny Jewish characters that have graced the small screen. My criteria hinge upon a certain lovability each of these characters possess and in what sort of light they present their Jewishness. Oh, and they gotta be funny too. 

 

Grace Adler
Will & Grace marked a lot of sitcom firsts. It was not only the first prime-time TV show to portray openly-gay main characters, but it also was one of the first shows to feature a Jewish lead female character. The show chronicles best friends and roommates Will, a gay lawyer, and Grace, a straight Jewish interior designer, and their wacky friends, Karen and Jack. Grace, played by Debra Messing, is a redhead, dubbed a modern-day Lucille Ball. Grace, who has a pervasive Jewish sensibility, peppers her dialogue with funny Yiddish words and references to Jewish camp and her bat mitzvah. Later in the series, she marries Leo, a Southern Jewish doctor, played by Harry Connick Jr. Here's another first: Whereas most sitcoms center around interfaith relationships between Jews and non-Jews, the union between Grace and Leo is the first prime-time sitcom ever to feature a wedding between two Jews.

Alan Silver
If you blinked, you might have missed the show Brooklyn Bridge—which only aired from 1991 to 1993—but those of us who were lucky caught this fleeting gem. Alan Silver (Danny Gerard), a pre-teen Jewish boy, lives in a Brooklyn walk-up in the mid-1950s surrounded by his parents, little brother, and grandparents, including his grandma played by Marion Ross of Happy Days fame.

Molly Goldberg
The Goldbergs, created by Gertrude Berg, was way before my time, but I mention it for historical context because the show portrays the first Jewish characters on what is now considered the modern-day sitcom. The Goldbergs originally aired as a radio broadcast and then was adapted into a TV show, which ran from 1949 to 1956. The show features the home life a Jewish family in the Bronx, with Molly Goldberg (played by Berg), a warm, meddlesome Jewish matriarch at its helm. The Goldbergs, beloved by viewers, were the first Jews many Americans had ever seen—on or off screen.

Ross Geller
Half of the "friends" on the hit show Friends were members of the tribe—Rachel Green (Jennifer Aniston), Monica Geller (Courtney Cox), and her brother Ross Geller (David Schwimmer). I picked Ross, the thrice-divorced paleontologist, because on one memorable episode he attempts to teach his half-Jewish son, Ben, about the meaning of Chanukah. Discouraged by Ben's fascination with Christmas, Ross goes to great lengths to tell his son about the great miracle that happened there. He even dresses in a Chanukah "armadillo" costume to counteract the ubiquity of Santa suits in December.

Charlotte York Goldenblatt & Harry Goldenblatt
When news spread that Sex and the City was adding a Jewish character to the ensemble, I got a little nervous. I'm protective of my people and worried the show would play off the ugly "rich Jew" stereotype because the show focuses on themes of wealth and materialism. But thank goodness, I was wrong. Instead, we're introduced to Harry Goldenblatt (Evan Handler), the sweet, bald, and uncouth divorce lawyer, who Charlotte York (Kristin Davis) meets while divorcing her first husband. Charlotte, formerly an Episcopalian, converts to Judaism after learning that Harry had made a promise to his mom on her deathbed that he would marry a Jew. Charlotte undergoes the whole conversion process, culminating with submerging herself in the mikvah (ritual bath). Soon after, she and Harry marry under the chuppah and live happily ever after.

Rhoda Morgenstern
I wanted to be Rhoda Morgenstern, Mary's Jewish neighbor and best friend on Mary Tyler Moore. Of course, the TV series, which aired in the 1970s, ended its first-run episodes the year I was born, but that's what Me-TV is for. A transplant to Minneapolis, Rhoda, played by Valerie Harper, is a single, working woman who talks with a thick Bronx accent and dresses in hippy clothes. Following Mary Tyler Moore, Harper reprised her role on Rhoda, one of the most successful spinoffs of all time. Rhoda tells it like it is and we loved her for that.

 

Jerry Seinfeld
Did you think I forgot him? I don't think it's legal to compile a list of top Jewish sitcom characters without mentioning the king of `em all—Jerry Seinfeld. Contrary to popular belief, the other three principal characters on the show were not supposed to be Jewish. With all the hateful antics they carried out on the show, I don't mind not claiming them as our own. Most of you could—yada yada yada—recite lines from every episode of Seinfeld, but I thought I'd draw your attention to one of my favorite plotlines. Do you remember, and I know you do, when Jerry's dentist, Dr. Tim Whatley, converts to Judaism, and immediately starts cracking Jewish jokes? He figures now that he's a member of the tribe, he had license to tell our people's jokes. But Jerry's bothered—in typical Seinfeldian fashion—that his dentist had converted purely for the jokes. "And this offends you as a Jewish person?" Jerry is asked. "No," he replies, "it offends me as a comedian."

For a comprehensive list of Jewish TV characters, visit  www.juf.org/tweens/celebrities.aspx.

On the first day of our family vacation, we woke up early and headed out—not to Door County where we had been planning to go—but to the emergency room with two lethargic, dehydrated two-year-olds.

We were way overdue for some quiet time under the stars; unfortunately, the universe had other plans for us: another night in the hospital where I spent a week after having pre-term labor, the place our girls were born, and the home of the NICU where they spent their first month of life. Even though we hadn’t been there for two and a half years, it felt oddly familiar when we walked in, and not in a comforting way.

While our daughters were resting and getting hydrated, I tossed and turned on the fold-out bed. On top of being worried about them, I was having flashbacks to the day they were born and the turbulent weeks that followed. Logically, I knew they were in the right place and getting what they needed, but it was not an easy place for me to rest.

These past six months have been a restless whirlwind of uncertainty for our family, building momentum and crashing forward to its peak—our lost vacation. Starting with iron deficiency, tantrums, and insomnia in addition to the hospital stay, we realized things weren’t working so well and we needed a change. We stripped down all of our assumptions about where our family is going to live, what jobs we’re going to have, what income we need, everything. But when you’re in the middle of the storm, it is full-on survival mode, getting through the days and making sure there are groceries in the refrigerator and toilet paper on the roll. It is responding to the crisis at hand and there is always another popping up. The garage door is broken and no one has a key to the side door. There is a raccoon living between the walls of your apartment. Your toddler is breaking out in hives for no apparent reason (a few hypothetical examples).

After one trip to our neighborhood farmers market I collapsed into a puddle of tears on our kitchen floor, wondering how on earth I was going to make it through the next four hours before I could lie down again and attempt to sleep. It wasn’t any one circumstance that put me over the edge—it was the whole picture crumbling at my feet. Something meaningful was brewing, something larger than any one day.

Many people I know have been going through major changes this year. Several close friends are breaking up after years of being together. Family members are moving to new cities, changing careers, starting businesses. On Facebook last week, three friends posted obituaries of close relatives. Someone else lost their job. Every day there is more emotional news. Maybe this is what life is like as you get older—more heartbreak, more surprise, more sadness. More change.

I feel the calm after the storm now, where the sky is a clear shade of blue and the wreckage surrounds us, but there is one thing still standing—the gleaming tower of impermanence. Neither the strongest will nor the most powerful wind can knock it down.

Thankfully, the girls’ hospital stay this summer was short and they were able to quickly heal back to their hydrated, hyperactive selves. Being in that hospital again made me realize that the emotions I had when they were born are still close to the surface. During that first hospital stay, we didn’t know how they would be breathing one minute to the next and it was terrifying. In the end, they became healthy and strong and came home—both times. My anxiety-induced insomnia had nothing to do with that outcome; it only took my energy away from having a calmer, more positive perspective at the time. The emotional rollercoaster of the NICU was an impermanent state, too.

When I look at all of the big life changes happening around me, I realize that any one day can be filled with that same state of anxiety. When discussing these thoughts with my grandma, she said simply, “Well, the only certain things in life are change and death.” She is clearly wiser and more concise than I am.

Embracing impermanence in everyday life has been a major challenge for me lately, but the more I do, the more I am able to take everything a bit less seriously and have much more fun in the moment. Our plans may change at the last second when a phone is lost, someone gets sick, or the sky explodes in a rainbow of sparkling flower petals. (Hey, you never know.) I’ve learned that I feel stronger and more in control living with impermanence at the forefront of my thoughts. I know I can handle the changes ahead, whatever the forecast may be.

Creative crock pot recipes. Inspirational quotes and nursery decoration ideas. A window in on what friends have in mind for their weddings. Helpful housekeeping hints, fabulous fashion finds and a hundred of the best ways to hang a photo collage on the wall.

Pinterest has wormed its way into my life, and when I start surfing the postings and pinning, it’s amazing how minutes can turn into hours. Next thing you know, it is way past my bedtime (and yes, I have a bedtime. It’s as early as I can convince myself to fall asleep, so I can be rested if my lovely baby decides to be less lovely than usual and wake up in the middle of the night for God knows what reason).

Inspired by Pinterest, I’ve done so many exciting things. I’ve taught myself how to make a pinwheel mobile. I’ve made chicken fajitas in my crock pot. I covered my head phones like a string bracelet, so they’d stop getting so darn tangled. I’ve made fabulous decorations for my son’s bris and a scarf out of old t-shirts. I have parenting strategies pinned regarding everything from potty training to science projects to healthy snack habits, and my son is not even five months old.

And therein lies the rub. Whether you’re pinning as a new mom, a bride-to-be, a future homeowner or a curious and crafty person, the ideas posted to Pinterest are oftentimes a bit more aspirational than inspirational.

It’s not likely that I’ll ever be lucky enough to have a built-in dog house underneath my staircase in my family home, I’ll probably never have the time to turn my future toddler’s lunch into a bento box art project, and Colin’s first birthday party will probably not look like it belongs in a magazine photo shoot. Most people don’t live their lives dressed like models, in perfectly decorated homes, or eating creative and gourmet-inspired dishes each night. And most moms aren’t crazy enough to take weekly photos of their squirmy babies in front of the same backdrop (although as of week 20, I’m still trying).

Can’t we just shop at the mall, decorate with whatever cute cheap stuff we can find at IKEA, and be proud of ourselves if we make a home-cooked meal once or twice a week that’s edible and relatively healthy?

Yes, there are great suggestions for simplifying your life on there too, and yes, as a crafty gal myself, I love seeing the fun ideas other people have time and resources to tackle, but oy, is my Pinterest obsession giving me unrealistic expectations of what my real life should look like? In a world with Pinterest and hundreds of blogs that connect to the pins with all sorts of crazy and creative ideas, are our expectations being warped?

In case you were not part of the millions of viewers cracking up at these videos, earlier this year YouTube became flooded with vignettes depicting people’s interpretations of “things people say,” including those about Jewish attitude and behavior in everyday life. Everyone from Jewish girls to Jewish mothers to even things Christians say to Jews, “Do you like bagels? Do you speak Hebrew? Is Tiger Woods Jewish? You don’t look Jewish.”

What makes the clips so comical is not just that they are hilarious and somewhat accurate, but that we are also able to laugh at ourselves and accept who we are. When I watched them for the first time, I couldn’t help but laugh and imagine people I knew that might say or think those very lines. Comedy is not always about truth, but it does build on some truth, making some of these one-line quips quite colorful. They call it “roasting,” but when people make these videos, they are in a sense honoring and acknowledging their heritage in a fun and comical way.

I’ve heard people say that humor is a Jewish coping mechanism, used to defend against harsh stereotypes. Regardless of its origins, Jews seem to have been endowed with a miraculous ability to make others laugh and even respectfully poke fun at themselves. Jews have always been known for their sense of humor in American society, and their infectious comical genius has influenced modern comedy and humor as we know it today.

Humor is a part of our heritage. It’s in our blood. We may not all be Adam Sandlers or Sarah SIlvermans, but we can sure pretend to be—especially with these YouTube videos—and still have a good laugh. Through our humor, each of us is able to express ourselves and discover our own voices. But whether you are Jewish or not, you have got to keep on laughing and cracking jokes because it’s what keeps life fun and interesting, and maybe acts as a tiny distraction from all the chaos that surrounds us.

Sprout Fitness started about five years ago when my friend and fellow trainer Kim and I thought it was a good idea to have pre/postnatal fitness classes. We were both certified to work with the populations and our friends were just starting to have babies. We thought we would provide a safe environment for women to workout, teach what they can and cannot do, and help them build muscles to hold the car seat. Trust me folks, it gets real heavy, real fast.

My first pregnant client was my sister. It was a little over 8 years ago. I thought it would be cool to help her out. I concentrated on overall strength and a lot of core work. A strong core is helpful for labor and delivery. When Kim and I started our class we decided to focus on four things:

1) Core (abs, hips, back, and pelvic floor)
2) Endurance
3) Strength training
4) Stretching

We also wanted to educate our clients on things they should avoid, like exercising on their back after the first trimester, and what intensity level to train at. Then it happened, my wife was pregnant and we had this beautiful baby that loved being held. And it suddenly hit me, wow, this gets really heavy.

Suddenly my Sprout classes were a lot harder. I ratcheted up the workouts with more weights. We had clients that told us about how their friends had shoulder and back trouble from holding their baby but until I had my own I had no idea just how bad your posture gets and how heavy a car seat is + 15lbs of baby weight.

Even though the workouts got tougher, there was always one constant. These women like to TALK. Now I know I am a talker but man, these women can easily drown out my orders with prego chat. And I’m actually all for it. My wife explained it best to me, “At work no one wants to hear me complain about being pregnant. People don’t even want to give me a seat on the bus. Sprout is the one place we can talk to people going through the exact same thing.” Knowing that our class is a workout and an outlet, made me feel great. That’s when I decided to make sure to give the chatty Cathy’s time to discuss how they are feeling, what they are going through…of course only at breaks or while we warm up.

I now offer unsolicited parenting advice all the time, although it’s more like, “Your baby will put everything in their mouth. Literally, my son eats dirt. And then he looks up when you say no with a huge dirty grin.”

In five short years my perception of why pre/postnatal fitness is so important has changed again. Yes, I still believe exercising correctly is number one, but a very close number two is community. Our Sprout classes lead to friendships. Many times it’s just through the pregnancy and a few months after but that’s such a crucial time for support and chattiness.

This is not an advertisement for our class, but a suggestion for all you moms and moms to be—join a group, class, event…meet other women going through the same thing you are. And of course, if you are healthy enough to workout, DO IT! Just don’t overdo it : )

Few things "scroll" anymore, but many things used to.

Take audio recordings. The ones that came with sound already on them were almost always discs: 78s, 45s, LPs, CDs, and the short-lived mini-discs. But if you wanted to record your own sound you had to use a reel-to-reel machine. Recording studios use master tapes. Later, these were reduced in size to 8-tracks, then casettes, which contained minitaure tape reels. Mini-cassettes were used for what voice recorders do now, and for answering machines.

Now, sound recordings— made in studios or downloaded— are digital files with no moving parts involved.

Movies were once on huge reels. These were delivered to theaters, often marked in code so they would not be stolen. Now, even the most picky directors are willing to try digital recordings, which can be e-mailed directly.

The same is true for making home movies. As the movie Super 8 remembers, home cameras once used film that unravelled, captured a split-second of motion, then re-revalled on another spool. To watch them, we had to rewind them and feed them into a projector¸with its own reels. Now, we press a button on our phones.

Then there is watching movies at home. This recently involved a videocasette. Like its audio cousin, it is a rectangle containing two reels. One winds a tape so that the machine can display the image on the TV screen while the other unwinds it. When we were done, we were cajoled by a sticker on the box, we were supposed to "be kind" and "rewind" the tape back to the start for the next viewer.

Computers the size of refrigerators used to fill rooms. Many of these machines had pairs of reels on their faces with a magnetic tape winding between them, recording and reporting data. Today, a drive the size of a thumb contains more memory than dozens of such reels. And we "scroll" on a computer screen only virtually.

In some movies, you can see researchers looking at screens onto which old newspaper pages are projected. Those pages were photographed, and the photos condensed onto microfilm in an early version of scanning. Now, many of these archives have been scanned digitally.

Wherever we turn, things have stopped turning. We still unwind things from spools— everything from thread and tape to paper towels and foil. But we don't "rewind" that much anymore.

So why has the simple parchment-on-poles technology of the Torah scroll outlasted all of these other, more high-tech "scrolls"? Why are we still rolling back this huge scroll so many centuries past the printing press? And why would we not give it up for all the e-readers in the world?

Just something to think about as we finished reading the Torah this week and "rewind" the scroll back to the beginning.

We’ve reached the final portion of the Torah – V’zot HaBeracha. On the holiday of Simchat Torah, Monday night and Tuesday, we read this portion, and immediately following, we read a section of the portion of Bereshit – the first portion of the Torah – in order to symbolize the never ending nature of our learning. In V’zot HaBeracha, Moses offers a blessing to the Israelites before his death, as they prepare to cross the Jordan River and enter the Promised Land, without him, under the leadership of Joshua.

Upon concluding his blessing, we learn that Moses ascended a mountain, looked out over the Promised Land that he was not permitted to enter, and passed away. The portion tells us that it was God who buried Moses, and that as a result, no one knows exactly where he was buried. We also learn that Moses was 120 years old when he died (one of the reasons it’s customary to shout out ‘ad me’ah v’esrim!’ – until one hundred and twenty!’ at Jewish birthday celebrations). We learn that the Israelites mourned Moses for 30 days, and we find the quote in the header above – that “never again did there arise in Israel a prophet like Moses…”

What is it to live 120 years?

Is it quantity or quality that counts?

Many of us have been to a sushi buffet where we remark, “I actually don’t need a buffet – I’d rather have less sushi and have it be of a higher quality.” Even if we don’t say it at the time, a couple hours later we usually get to that point.

How do we live lives of meaning and purpose, regardless of how long we’ll be here for?

I know some people in their late eighties and nineties who are dieting. At some point, doesn’t it become okay to eat cheesecake whenever you want?

Are there Jewish secrets to living a long life?

While our tradition doesn’t necessarily have much to say about Omega-3 fatty acids or Acai berries, the ancient rabbis had much to say about what sorts of foods one might choose to eat in order to live a healthy and long life:

“Leeks are harmful for the teeth and beneficial for the intestines.”
“Cabbage is for sustenance and beets are for healing.”
“Woe to the belly through which turnips pass.”
[Berachot 44b]

Others looked to non-dietary matters as playing a part in living a long life. For example, Rabbi Hillel taught: “One who increases Torah, increases life.” [Avot 2:8]

Similarly, we learn in the Talmud: “Rav Yehuda said: There are three things that if prolonged, prolong the years of a person: one who spends a long time praying, one who spends a long time at his dining room table, and one who spends a long time in the restroom.” [Berachot 54a] (Don’t worry – the ancient rabbis explain these three things in a bit more detail in order to make them seem a bit more holy).

However, it’s not just about quantity. Certainly, quantity is nice and can be a blessing; but I would argue that quality plays an even more essential role. To live a long life, but in doing so, to have never truly LIVED is not in step with our tradition. While we’re taught to remember that even in our moments of greatest joy, there are others who are not as fortunate as we are (e.g. stomping on a glass at the close of a Jewish wedding; putting salt on the challah on Friday night), traditional Jewish wisdom encourages us to live, and to live joyously.

We are instructed to rejoice in the Sabbath. [Isaiah 58:13]

We are instructed to rejoice in our festivals. [Deuteronomy 16:14-15]

We are instructed to be joyous when we pray. [Psalms 100:2]

A huge portion of our tradition deals with the quality and joy we experience in life! To focus solely on longevity and to ignore life’s moments is to ignore the very essence of what it is to live a Jewish life.

Hopefully, we will all warrant long lives, with longevity rivaling Moses’s 120 years. Yet, we must admit, longevity is often out of our control. What we can control is how we fill the days we’re blessed enough to have.

Cherish each day.

Take nothing for granted.

Eat cheesecake.

Strive to make sure that your life is lived with joy, with love, and with purpose.

Doubtless you’ve noticed all the pink already: National Breast Cancer Awareness Month is here. People of Ashkenazi Jewish descent with a family history of cancer need to know about BRCA and hereditary cancer syndromes. I’ve written about these issues for Oy! before, and I hope the articles still prove helpful:

• Do your genes belong to you?: BRCA, Myriad Genetics and the legality of patenting genes
• The Unfunniest Thing in the World: Gilda Radner and ovarian cancer
• More than pink and teal: Knowledge versus awareness

Today I want to talk about something less abstract: how you can help people with cancer and their loved ones.

Around the High Holidays in 2007, my mom began having headaches and needing frequent naps. I was a year out of college, and had just moved back to Chicago in the spring. In March 2008 she had a seizure, and we found out that she had brain tumors—glioblastomas, a particularly aggressive kind of cancer that Ted Kennedy also had. Very shortly after, she had surgery, radiation and chemo. She was part of a clinical trial at Ohio State University for a treatment that was exploring the use of modified viruses to kill any cancer cells left behind.

For three years we were very lucky, and she made an amazing recovery. In the spring of 2011, however, the tumors came back, and they didn’t let up. After exhausting all her options, in May my mom decided to stop treatment. She died on August 24.

We lived with cancer hanging over us for five years. Our friends, our neighbors, our family and our colleagues were incredibly kind. People I hadn’t heard from since childhood came out of the woodwork for us. It was and continues to be a great comfort to me and my family, because the things cancer does to a person are hideous beyond belief, and we needed all the help we could get.

One thing you hear a lot when you’re in this situation is “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.” I know that when I’ve said it to others, it’s out of a genuine desire to be useful, but not really knowing how, or not wanting to intrude. It’s hard to gauge how any given day is going to go when you’re dealing with cancer or treatment, or when you’re a caretaker, or when you’re grieving, and in any of these situations you may simply be unable to ask for help.

What we found easiest was when someone contacted us with specifics: “I’m going to be in the area this afternoon and wanted to know if I could stop in for a visit.” “Can we come up on Tuesday and weed your garden?” “Can I give you a ride to and from the airport?” Every situation is different, of course, and it’s always good to gauge the other person’s energy or ability to have visitors. Sometimes someone would come and my mom would only be able to see them for a few minutes. The best thing you can do is to be easygoing and understanding.

That’s not always as simple as it sounds. My mom bitterly resented her loss of independence, and I never knew, from visit to visit, what she would be able to do. Managing expectations is not pleasant for anybody, but at the same time, when I look back, I think that given what we were all capable of, my mom and I got the most out of the time we had left together.

Apparently May is National Brain Tumor Awareness Month. As far as I know, it’s not color-coded. Cancer awareness in itself is not something I want to appear cynical about. It’s important to raise money for research and to talk about knowing symptoms and to feel connected with a community. One hope I cling to is that by her participation in this clinical trial, my mom may be able to help someone else with glioblastomas in the future. But I have not often seen these awareness movements address the day-to-day of coping with grief and supporting those who live with cancer. We have to have that conversation: that’s cancer education too.

I can’t speak to any personal experience of facing cancer. I can’t really speak to being a caretaker either; my dad did that heavy lifting, and there’s little heavier in the world. Others like them have shared their experiences, and we should seek out and honor them by listening. But I want to say one more thing, as someone whose mother has died, and that’s to express thanks to everyone who has offered comfort and cooked dinners and written letters and told stories. Grief is messy, and it comes out in messy ways. For me, it seems to stop up my words, or my ability to do things like return a phone call or respond to an email or a card. If you’re reaching out to someone, and it feels like all you’re getting is radio silence, please don’t be discouraged. At any of these stages, for anyone affected by this disease, what we value—what we are grateful for—is that you stick by us, and keep coming back.  

The dumbest thing I do every year is to complain about hunger in the immediate hours after the sun goes down on the night of Kol Nidre. For whatever reason, those first hours always seem much tougher than the final ones. I have previously talked about how Yom Kippur is one of the most important Jewish holidays to me. For what are now a multitude of reasons, this holiday in particular has become a very significant day for me. Yes, I’m well aware that it happens to be a fairly important day for most other Jews as well, but for me, it is a day I hold up on a pedestal. Hence why I believe it’s called a High Holiday. I find my focus on the hunger to be displaced and this year, while the hunger can’t help but be persistent, I took it upon myself to truly focus my Yom Kippur on just that, myself.

This Yom Kippur was significant because it was the first one I’ve had since my Shorashim Birthright trip to Israel. It would take me quite a while to explain exactly the full impact of what that means but a large portion of it stems from my experience at the Western Wall. What I did there is very similar to the way I wanted to handle Yom Kippur this year. I talked to myself. Honestly and openly. I do this so rarely and yet, it provides a lot of clarity in times of confusion to truly speak to myself and discover my own thoughts. The experience I had at the Western Wall was truly unforgettable. Funny enough, I don’t remember everything that I said, but I will never forget how I felt. (I sure wish I could have a transcript of my thoughts) Those feelings I had there are still with me today. It’s mostly because the strength of those feelings keeps it prevalent in my mind. It also helps that I have a souvenir refrigerator magnet and snow globe.

So starting this year, and hopefully every year that follows, I plan on treating what I do during Yom Kippur a little differently. This year I treated it as a time to have some much needed self reflection. The moment the sun went down I stared at myself in the mirror for over two hours.

That’s a little joke. I sure hope that doesn’t count as a sin. I just started over.

But I bring up that idea of sins because my fasting has a deeper meaning to me than simply getting rid of them. I use my fasting as a way to draw focus to all that I wanted to cleanse myself or get rid of outside of traditional sins. I use this day as a time to look at how I can improve myself in the coming year. I reflect on what I did that may have not been so great and what I can learn from that. To get this all in motion, I took a very lengthy walk down Lake Shore Drive at one of the most asinine times to do so. Roughly two hours before sundown, I began a walk from Lakeview to River North. By landmarks, roughly Wrigley Field to the John Hancock building. All on 22 hours of an empty stomach. It was the dumbest and best decision I made that day. During this walk I did exactly what I hoped. I spoke to myself. Mostly in my own head but occasionally out loud when no one was around or when I didn’t notice that lady right behind me. It’s astounding the thoughts that come to fruition when given the chance.

As a part of my walk, I took a little break, sat on a bench, whipped out my journal, and wrote a little. Yes I have a journal. Not a diary. A journal. Like the one Doug Funnie had, for those of you who understand that. I’ve titled my journal “My Thoughts Exactly,” because they are just that. Talking to myself is one thing, but writing to myself can be incredibly cathartic. Especially on Yom Kippur. I really can’t tell you anything about what I wrote in there but know it’s the best stuff that’s ever been written by any person in the history of time.

What writing and talking to myself did for me is give me the initial understanding of what goals I have for the year to come. Some are bigger, some are smaller and some are simply practical. Like that I want to make sure I brush my teeth every night before I go to bed. It’s something small yet important that I have neglected for years that I should always be doing. It’s a realistic goal and starting with that should, among other things, give me the momentum needed to accomplish the bigger goals. And this goal is part of the overarching goal I have for myself which is to not be so lazy. In fact my current motto to myself is “No lazy.” I mean for this to be in every aspect of my life, whether it’s walking a little more or getting a few more things accomplished each day. It’s amazing how difficult it is for me to not be lazy sometimes, but pushing myself makes me, sheepishly, a little proud of myself.

My Zadie has always told me that it’s very important to never lose focus of your own picture. Talking and writing to myself on Yom Kippur helps me finish those edges, add those shadows and darken those lines to make the picture complete and clear. At least clearer. If only my picture was as easy as a paint by numbers. That’d be quite nice. Yom Kippur is one of the most special days of the year to me. I don’t look at it so much as a Day of Atonement but more as a day of clarity and understanding. Sure I’m not a fan of fasting but this is one powerful day. A day I hold in the highest regard. I don’t even care this much about my birthday. Other than the fact I get cake. I love cake. Please excuse me while I got get some cake.

I was going to write about my Top 10 list for fall clothes and accessories and discuss some of the amazing, plush leather handbags, etc., that are on my radar. But, after attending High Holiday services, I thought it appropriate to switch gears. For both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services, I couldn’t help but notice the completely inappropriate attire of the tween females in attendance.

When I was in middle school and high school attending services with my parents, it was understood that although I could still be fashionable, I must be appropriate. (After all, I’m sure all of us ladies have noticed that the aisle between the pews can turn into quite the little catwalk before the Rabbi approaches the bimah.) When I was a pre-teen, I wore dresses or skirts that hit at the knee with flats or low heels and an appropriate blouse or sweater. I always wanted to look my best, and I stayed on trend, but my mother taught me the importance of respecting the synagogue as a place of worship and sophistication and I respected this concept and dressed with that in mind.

Now, I shouldn’t make a blanket statement about every tween female, as I’m sure many of them were dressed just fine at synagogue, but I have to say, I didn’t notice the appropriately dressed ones because I was utterly distracted by the spandex micro miniskirts, slouchy off the shoulder sweaters, distressed leather ankle booties, and tangled waves of hair. These girls literally looked like they walked out of an Urban Outfitters or Free People catalogue and were about to go to an indie concert in a bar (I know, ironic because they are not even old enough to go into a bar). If I was their mother, I don’t know if I would feel comfortable with my 12, 13, 14 or 15 year old wearing an outfit like this to the mall, let alone synagogue.

I have noticed this issue in years past, and never approved, but this fashion epidemic was particularly bad this year. I’m pretty sure that a black miniskirt with red sequins down each side is not meant for synagogue, or really most places, minus the club or the street corner. I am a huge advocate for girls learning at an early age the importance of empowerment through fashion and developing a personal sense of style, but I also believe this should be filtered and modified depending on the occasion. I also understand that middle school and high school are places where being “cool” and “fitting in” are major priorities, and these girls knew they would probably see a few classmates at synagogue, so they wanted to make sure they’re wearing whatever is “in,” but can’t this happen in a way that is tasteful and appropriate?

What are your thoughts? Did you notice this at services this year too? I like to think I’m hip, although I usually lean conservative in my attire, but am I completely out of touch or overreacting?

Other than during college, I’ve only ever gone to synagogue with my parents, aunt and uncle and cousins on the High Holidays. When the holidays appeared early on the calendar, and the weather was nice, we’d drive to my aunt and uncle’s house and walk the rest of the way to services. There’s something about walking to synagogue for the High Holidays with family that makes for great conversation, bonding and reflection on the past year. More often than not, these walks were the best part of my holiday celebration.

But for the past few years, these walks just weren’t enough. While my family has stayed loyal to the Conservative temple I grew up at, I’ve begun shifting and identifying closer to Reform. Instead of leaving synagogue feeling spiritually rejuvenated each year, I left feeling unfulfilled and truth-be-told, unhappy.

So this year, I decided to do something about it and bought tickets to a Reform synagogue in the city with a friend.

Now this might not sound like a big deal to you, but in a close-knit family of very like-minded thinkers (when we argue about politics, we argue about who likes the same candidate more) who enjoy being with each other constantly, this was a very rebellious act. Probably, the most rebellious act I’ve ever committed in my life.

Side note: This is probably a bit of an exaggeration as I don’t really have that many rebellious acts to compare it too. Probably the only other act of rebellion I’ve ever committed was spending a summer in Europe and refusing to call my parents while I was there—of course, I did let them know I’d landed safely.

So for the first time ever, I visited a Reform synagogue for High Holiday services. I’d already been warned to expect some major differences: organ music, more English, a heavier focus on tikkun olam, shorter services where people show up from start to finish (this part I was most looking forward to) and a less participatory congregation. While I was ready for these, there were other changes I wasn’t prepared for: a soloist performing a song from a musical, a haftorah portion read in English and a prayer book that opened left to right.

This might seem obvious to most, but I also found that whether you are at a Reform or Conservative synagogue, some things remain the same: in the end all the same prayers were said (even if some were in English), Jews will always congregate and chat in the aisles while the Torah makes the rounds and you will always be standing more than you are sitting.

What I liked about my experiences at a Reform synagogue (and what I had been seeking out), was that feeling of inclusiveness that had been lacking at my childhood synagogue. From the wonderful female rabbi on the bimah, to the presence of the female matriarchs in the prayers, to a surprise sermon from the new Israeli consul general to the Midwest, and the frequent mentions of support for the Jewish LGBTQ and interfaith communities, this was a place of welcoming. I felt proud to be Jewish.

Not to say that everything was just peachy. I definitely missed the feeling of hundreds of Jewish people praying together out loud in Hebrew, but mostly I missed the feeling of my family sitting next to me praying.

I’m not sure if this particular Reform synagogue is the right fit for me or if I even truly fit under the Reform umbrella. But I plan to keep trying to find my place. I’ve been told by others who faced similar Jewish soul searching moments that I’ll never find the perfect fit for me and that’s ok. At least I’m trying. And I’m still holding out that I can get my family on board with the switch.

In the meantime, I’m going to continue shul shopping.

I like to think of myself as having a laid back, easy going approach to parenthood. But my oldest – my 5th grader - says it ain’t so. This is my kid who has had a mohawk since kindergarten. My kid who had his mohawk dyed orange. And yet when I respond with a, “no” to some of his notions, (riding his bike without a helmet; walking a mile to school alone in the wee hours of the morning; seeing the movie “The Dark Knight Rises”; ordering beer…) I am “…THE most overprotective mom – EVER!!!” On the outside, I shake it off. “This is just the way it is. I want you safe. It’s my job.” But inside, I fret. Am I overprotective? Am I setting myself up for a massive rebellion? Should I be saving up my “nos” for the big stuff like, “Mom- I-want-to-backpack-all-over-Europe-specifically-Amsterdam-and-ditch-on-the-whole-college-deal-because-education-is-overrated?”

My kid has said more than once, “we live in the suburbs for G-d sakes! Geeze!” implying that my fear of him being thrown into a windowless white van by a menacing, hulking stranger is baseless. And this is most probably true. When we looked for a house to buy, we considered three things: Jewish community, my husband’s ability to bike to work, and safety. We are grateful that things like a lawn Gnome being stolen makes the local paper because that’s about the most eventful thing that happens here. But still.

Myself, I was a rebellious child. I got into trouble. I snuck out of the house after I checked-in. I stole money from my parent’s piggybank. I practiced driving without a permit. I had a mouth on me. I got picked up by the cops for curfew violation. I hung with the bad boys and numerous other unmentionables. I recently had to admit to my kids that at a (few) point(s) and time(s) in my youth, I smoked. Since then my middle son likes to occasionally exclaim, “You were a smoker!?” “Experimented,” I say. “I was never a smoker.” He doesn’t buy it. And the questions (and the answering of them) become a slippery slope. “Ever been drunk?” he asked while on a grocery run during our vacation in Michigan. “Yes.” I answer. “When?” “Um…” I stammer. “In college?” he presses. “Yes.” I answer while over-analyzing a wheat-free cracker box. “Since we’ve been born?” he asks with his big blue eyes boring into the side of my head. Oy.

So how long do we keep this proverabal leash on our kids? Do we do a yank, pull. yank, pull and finally release? Do we white-knuckle grip it all the way? As a mother of four and having 10+ years under my belt in parenting, (and having had the privilege and honor of practicing on many borrowed kids in my professional life prior to parenthood) my conclusion is this: I really don’t know. I think I probably have to contemplate my own demons first – the worry that too much freedom will lead him to the trouble I found. Needing to sort through the fear about not knowing what’s going to happen to him and the anxiety about what he is ultimately going to decide to do for himself. And then, I need to take a long look at him. Really see him. View him for who he is separate from me. I need to give him (and myself) the courage to be brave. And to fail. And to not be perfect and to develop the confidence to be out in the world choosing vanilla or chocolate, looking both ways, saying no when it’s wrong and saying yes when it’s right.

 

Here's a little background about me, I spent the 2010-2011 school year teaching English in Grenoble, France. Before that, I spent a year working in the heart of Chicago in the Jewish non-profit community. When I was abroad, my eyes were opened to the everyday experience of the Jewish community in my town and in the country at large. I experienced what it meant to me to be not only Jewish in France, but a Jewish, young, female, American in France. It was a ridiculously fun, thought-provoking and thrilling seven months and I'm excited to share these stories. By the way, all thoughts and opinions are purely my own…I take full responsibility for any sweeping generalizations. With that out of the way, let's start at the very beginning (a very good place to start).

Looking in the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize myself. Dressed in black skirt down to my ankles and a long-sleeve black shirt, just a little light blush on my cheeks, I was definitely sporting a new look. I felt subdued, perhaps even a little out of uniform without my usual skinny jeans and fall sweater. I don’t often go to synagogue, but today I was making my first-ever outing to a Modern Orthodox shul with my French hosts. Looking into the mirror once again, I tried on my most devout expression.

“You look beautiful!” Mrs B. exclaimed as I gingerly walked down the stairwell. I was wearing her outfit, of course, and it didn’t fit badly at all. I put on my coat and off we went. The streets were quiet on a Saturday morning, most of the people in town taking it easy. I trailed behind Mr. and Mrs. B and their two sons. It was a very rainy morning and I walked carefully as we wandered down one of the main drags in the city. I felt strangely self-conscious. During my time in France, I’d very rarely, if ever, seen religious Jews walking to shul on a Saturday morning. But there I was, part of this fray, feeling even more foreign in this already foreign land. We approached a heavy wooden door, Mr. B. entered a code and we all slowly slipped inside.

Where we entered was a small building, moderately lit, and already filled with chatter and prayer. Mr. and Mrs. B. greeted all of their friends with the “bisou,” the customary French greeting. Wisely, I kept to myself, waiting to be introduced to the others at shul. I folded my hands in my lap as Mrs. B. and I took our place at the back of the synagogue, behind the small partition dividing the men and the women.

I wondered if the service would be led in French, but the elderly rabbi led his congregation entirely in Hebrew. We arrived near the end of the service. As I stood up to say the “Aleinu,” reciting from memory words I’d spoken many times before at services in the Chicago burbs, I felt a comforting wave of familiarity. In my day-to-day life in France, I’d been working so hard to make friends, make myself understandable to the French, to navigate tasks that took no thought in English, but now required immense concentration in French. There were times I questioned if I would ever feel welcome, if I would ever feel truly understood. As I recited the prayers with the same fluency of the women sitting around me, I felt competent and I felt, for that brief moment, completely un-foreign.

The members of the shul filtered into a little room filled with tables for a Shabbat feast. I dutifully took my seat next to my host mother. I gleefully played the role of “American Girl,” answering everyone’s questions, smiling brightly, gesturing wildly, my apple cheeks turning rosy when I wasn’t sure if I’d heard so-and-so correctly. There were many girls joining their parents, but not nearly as many boys. I turned to Malka, the girl sitting next to me, I told her she shared a name with my grandmother and that quickly got us chatting. I asked where all the boys were, to which she replied, “oh, they’re all away at yeshiva at the next big town over.”

After a robust afternoon of chatting and eating, or in my case, being told to “eat more!” the B. family gathered themselves and headed toward the door. “Yalla!” I called, as I saw my host brother dawdling. My host father looked at me and laughed. On the walk home, my host mother asked what I thought. “I liked it,” I remarked. I was tired, I didn’t have much more to say. Compared to my everyday life in Chicago, going to a modern Orthodox shul was one of the most different experiences I’ve encountered living abroad. It took me outside of my comfort zone and showed me a world I know about, but very rarely see and experience. I was never once pressed about my “sort” of Judaism, whether I was reform or conservative; I was never asked how I practice or how often I pray. They extended an invite simply because I am a Jew, and it was Shabbat. And that small gesture made me feel quite at home.

You ready for a clean slate? We Jews are lucky to get a chance to start over every fall as the shofar sounds a wake up call in each of our lives. With the changing leaves, the crispness in the air, and new Justin Bieber Trapper Keepers in the back-to-school aisle comes a promise for a fresh start in 5773.

Since the sum of 5, 7, 7, and 3 equals 22, I offer you 22 tips for a sweeter new year. L'shana tovah tikatevu!

1) Give thanks. No matter what you're doing, take at least a moment every day to stop and say thank you to God, to your parents, to the love of your life, to your kids, and to that barista at your local coffee joint who greets you with a smile and a "half-caff-skim-latte-easy whip" every morning. We get so wrapped up in the chaos of our days that we forget to give thanks for all the blessings, big and small, in our lives.

2) Make Shabbat special. Whether you keep Shabbat or not, it's a nice time to be in the present with a good meal, good people—and a good nap.

3) Get inspired. Go online and click on one of those TED talks, listen to an uplifting sermon by your rabbi, take in a sunset, watch a Spielberg flick—whatever moves you.

4) Learn about your roots. Ask an older member of your family to tell you a story stemming from your family tree. My grandparents just recently told me how they met. Long story short, I might not be here if it weren't for my grandma's Canasta game with my great aunts, Faye and Gertie, who put the shidduch together. How'd your grandparents meet?

5) Spend time with people who you really like and love. And spend less time with people you don't. Life's short. `Nuf said.

6) Raise your heart rate. They say sitting at your desk all day can shave years off your life. It's a pity I write these words as I sit at my desk. So whenever you can, get up and move. Walk, don't drive, the mile to the store. Take the stairs, not the elevator. Do yoga. Shoot hoops. Just move.

7) Never text and drive—capiche? And while we're on the subject, texting and walking is dangerous too.

8) Laugh more. In the book The Happiness Project, author Gretchen Rubin says that a small child typically laughs more than 400 times each day, while an adult laughs only 17 times. Raise that average.

9) Look up at the sky and down at the earth. Pay attention to the sun, the moon, and the stars, and plant something in the ground.

10) Take up space in the room. Last year, I attended a Jewish women's empowerment seminar, where we talked about this concept, but it applies to both men and women: Who you are and what you have to say matter. Own it.

11) Commit gemilut hasadim—deeds of loving kindness. Mentor a kid who needs a friend, volunteer at a senior home, or sign up for volunteer opportunities with TOV.

12) Devour a book—for fun. Read it on your Kindle or the real kind made of actual paper.

13) Give yourself a break. So many people, especially amongst us MOTs, are taught to excel and to make everyone around them happy all the time whether that means making the honor roll, getting that promotion, or saying yes to a project you know you don't have time for. But you know what? Sometimes it's okay to take a day off from perfection. I give you permission.

14) Eat broccoli, beans, and blueberries. Incorporate superfoods like these into your diet to improve your overall health.

15) …But eat ice cream too. I know these last two tips sound contradictory, but it's not like you're training for the Olympics. Yes, eat your vegetables, but every once in a while, go for those two scoops of peanut butter and chocolate ice cream.

16) Visit somewhere you've never been. That may be Israel, India, or Indiana, or it could be your local gym or the Chicago Botanic Garden. Visit uncharted territory next year.

17) Talk about real stuff. Again, we get bogged down in the details of life, logistics, and work, but take some time to really talk to the people in your lives about what really matters.

18) Dance more. So you're not exactly Mikhail Baryshnikov or J. Lo. Well, chances are neither is that guy next to you on the dance floor at the club or dancing the hora alongside you.

19) Find joy in every season—even winter. Despite our infamously cruddy weather, Chicago offers us four varied seasons, so revel in each of them—whether you're seven-years-old or seven at heart. In the fall, jump in a pile of leaves. When it's cold, make a snow angel. Meander through the rain without an umbrella in the spring. And, next July, jump into the lake-when the E. coli levels are low.

20) Be more Zen. I'm a work in progress on this one. Your friend is 11 minutes late for your coffee date. The forecast calls for storms on your wedding day. Your daughter just drew a picture of the dog with a brown Sharpie on the coffee table—rather than on her plentiful construction paper. Don't freak out about things beyond your control. Okay, maybe freak out a little about the Sharpie stain.

21) Do something a little scary. No, not necessarily bungee jumping. My mom would kill me—and she'd probably kill you too. But get out of your comfort zone and do something new that seems easier not to do.

22) Turn your phone off every once in a while. Wouldn't it be nice, every so often—maybe on Shabbat—to not text, not email, not status update, and not tweet—to just be?

Got advice for the new year? E-mail me at CindySher@juf.org and I'll run your tips online.

From a young age, our parents teach us to be joiners.

When I had scarcely learned to walk, my mom enrolled me in a group ice skating class—complete with ice show participation (I recall wearing a sequined frog costume). Along with that, came piano lessons, art classes, swimming classes, summer camp, carpool groups and more. Before I graduated from elementary school, I knew it was time to leave my mark on society and run for student council. I blew the elementary school gymnasium away with my candidate speech for secretary.

That desire to be grouped continues through our school years, but I think it’s sometimes forgotten after we graduate college—a period in our lives when we are most disenfranchised and posse-less. We remember to join a gym and to network to find a job. When it comes to other social experiences, sometimes we’re on our own unless we seek out new opportunities. That said, I think JUF really steps up when it comes to providing social outlets for people in their 20s and 30s.

My first couple years after college were sometimes a social struggle. After graduating from the University of Wisconsin, many of my friends scattered all over the country. Thankfully, when I returned home to Chicago, I reconnected with childhood friends. However, some childhood friends also had moved or our relationships had changed from time apart. Those of us who were around were busy trying to figure out our careers via internships and first jobs. We also found ourselves dumbfounded by a Chicago bar scene where everyone didn’t already “know our name.”

College is perhaps the most socially enriching environment one can have, particularly if you attend a university that nearly engulfs the city in which it resides. In college, I was surrounded by thousands of people my own age, engaging in local activities geared toward the majority population. During my senior year at college, most of my closest friends lived within a 3 block radius of me. We could have performed the old movie cliché with the cans and string from our windows (quaint, yet unnecessary in a cell phone era).

After a few years of life as “an adult” and forging new and different friendship groups, I’ve become more of a joiner. Ironically, the joining came after the friends. I’m of the belief that you can never have enough new people in your life. I also am a big fan of introducing friends to each other, because then I can hang out with people from various facets of my life at one time and not worry about them having nothing to say to each other.

About a year ago, I found myself reunited with a childhood friend who’d moved back to the city after nearly a decade away. This friend reunion put me in such a giddy state, that I wanted to spread the love. Around that same time, I decided to form a book club and include reunited friends, work friends, old friends and all of their friends. To say the group was a “mish-mosh” is an understatement.

Our book club is preparing to celebrate its one-year anniversary this month. The group is larger than ever, and its members are very dedicated to reading and to each other. Book clubs are often stereotyped for consisting of chatty, catty ladies who discuss the book for five minutes a meeting and then drink wine and gossip. My group legitimately breaks down each book in heated discussion (while stuffing our faces with potluck food). In fact, we’ve had two authors join our discussions, including Oy!Chicago’s Rachel Bertsche.

I love the group for its diversity, for the ladies’ outspokenness and for their tolerance. It has become an unexpected community of intelligent women I never knew I needed and wanted in my post-college life. Many of the members have found the book club has also re-ignited their passion for reading. Not to mention, friendships forged in the club have led to other social outings and even joining workout classes together.

My advice to newbies in the city and those who are mulling through those early 20s is to continue to put yourself out there and meet new people. Start a group or club based on an interest, and invite people you might not know well to join.

Groucho Marx once said, “I don’t want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member.”

However, I recommend surrounding yourself with unlikely company. You’ll be amazed at who you meet along the way.  

A few weeks ago, my mom was discussing our Rosh Hashanah plans with my nana. Somehow, in their conversation, my nana made a comment when referring to services that was something along the lines of, “it’s the same thing every year.” Although this comment grew to be something we teased her about, it led me to really think about the statement. Are the High Holidays truly the same every year?

In one sense, of course they are. Rosh Hashanah, like all Jewish holidays, offers some form of consistency in our ever-so-quickly changing lives. In periods of uncertainty or chaos, the values, traditions, prayers, and even cuisine present during Rosh Hashanah are always a constant. However, part of this experience can be exceedingly different. As we enter the Days of Awe, I can assure you that my Rosh Hashanah was slightly different enough to teach me a lesson or two.

I grew up at a Conservative synagogue in Wilmette and eventually over the years, my family joined a new Reform synagogue in Northfield. Due to a variety of experiences, I became more conservative at school and definitely found my place in the Jewish community of the Hillel at the George Washington University. There were times that I came home for one of the holidays so that I could spend time with my family, but I always was at school for at least one of the Holy Days.

Needless to say, it was a bit of a transition and change to know that I will be home for both holidays this September. After a few years of jumping back and forth between a reform service with my immediate family, the services I was accustomed to at school, and traditional services with my grandparents, my mother and I compromised on trying out a new conservative service this year. It is challenging to simply find a new synagogue for the holidays when tickets to services are costly and in high demand. We were lucky enough to receive complementary tickets from one of our close family friends.

The experience started off a bit odd. We weren’t aware that people brought their own prayer books, probably because it was in a theater in the community, rather than a sanctuary. As we strolled in like lost puppies, we shuffled our way up to the top of the theater and sat down for a few hours. After seeing a few familiar faces, which due to the vastness of Jewish geography, was inevitable, we both found ourselves surprisingly enjoying the same service.

As I thought about how the experience was in some ways identical to years past and in other ways, a brand new experience, I pulled myself away from my mid-service daydreams to listen to the rabbi’s sermon. I usually only love the sermons from my rabbi at Hillel and tend to space out during others, but this rabbi really caught my attention with her personality, humor, and various important messages. Although this was far from the point of her sermon, one smaller detail she focused on was uncertainty. Although she was talking about our immigrant ancestors and the Jewish people, the idea of thinking you know what is going on when nothing is 100 percent certain, no matter the situation, really resonated with me.

I think I spend most of my life with a plan, being sure of what’s next or at least confident of what I want to happen next. With that being said, it is truly strange to feel as though nothing is certain. I sat in the service thinking of the uncertainty present in my life and the anxiety that this has been causing for the past few months. The sermon made me realize that no matter why someone’s life possesses uncertainty, whether it’s due to a large-scale change like coming to America, or a smaller but still vital change of transitioning into the real world, uncertainty is something that you cannot escape. Every year in December before we watch the ball drop and ring in the New Year, we make resolutions of what we will do better in the upcoming year. Although this isn’t necessarily the same custom present in our Jewish new year, casting off your sins in order to start the year afresh can closely be related to pledging to do better in this year than in years past.

With that being said, I think that there is one resolution that everyone could benefit from making and that is to embrace uncertainty. As hard as it is for me to admit, the unknown can be a good thing filled with excitement, possibilities, and the potential for something better than you can ever expect. This 5773, I hope to start off the year with a little more optimism and wherewithal to step out of my comfort zone of having everything planned, organized, and calculated, and enter a new year with a little more spontaneity, perplexity, and willingness to realize that life doesn’t need to be the same thing every year. With that, I wish everyone reading a sweet new year with some great surprises.

In case you have been living under a rock or not watching the news, schools have been closed amidst a debate between the Chicago Public School system and the Chicago Teacher’s Union, displacing thousands of students across the city and affecting all types of students, families—and teachers.

As a recent Elementary Education Masters recipient and newly minted educator, I feel that I might have a few insights to offer about this situation, especially since I am a Jewish teacher in a private day school and unaffected by the strike. But I won’t try to sound too political.

From my perspective, education is not a choice. It is a lifestyle. Let’s not forget that we are inundated with learning from the moment we come into existence, our curiosity and our desire for self-exploration and self-discovery lead us eventually toward interacting with the world around us. It is unavoidable that we are constantly processing and analyzing everything and anyone we come into contact with. In primary school, students are always evolving, constantly growing and adapting. Whether they are in school learning about atoms or practicing taking good notes and learning how to organize a busy schedule and juggle multiple responsibilities—much like an adult—life is their lesson. School is just another setting for learning.

Life does not always choose us, but we must learn to prepare for life regardless; that is the ultimate aim of education, for all people and not just students.

Education is not information, it is inquiry. Education is not about high scores, it is about high personal achievement and growth. Education is not about getting the highest paid job, it is about finding out who you are and what you are capable of doing, and then using that knowledge to live life to its fullest. Education is a means, not an end. Education is a journey, not a destination.

How does the strike affect students? They are always learning, in every environment. When the school environment goes, much more than academic knowledge leaves the school grounds. With technology playing a monopolizing role in current academic and personal environments—constantly flooding students with multiple forms of stimuli and excluding them from real-life interactions—it is very easy to lose the value of adult role models and mastering interpersonal communication between students takes a lifetime to learn. There are no classes for teaching these life lessons to students, yet they are indeed learning them while in school.

Yes, children are losing out on their academic education and falling behind in many subjects as a result of the strike, making it more difficult for teachers and students to not only understand what is going on (and why), but how to move forward from this, because there will be an end at some point. My fear is that students will not learn how to get along in life. Has anyone stopped to think that perhaps students are benefitting from their education at school in more ways than academic?

It really is a tough situation for both sides, and I do hope and believe that a resolution will be made and that schools will reopen and life will go back to its routine. Will we have learned anything from it? Will students have found the ‘time off’ a welcome vacation or an annoying disturbance of their growth and maturity?

Regardless, we owe a debt of gratitude to those who stand on the front line of education, helping to mold the next generations into strong, capable citizens of the world. We all owe a lot to our teachers, whether we liked them all or not. So, let’s raise a glass and acknowledge all the teachers we know: our unspoken role models, our ever-faithful supporters and nurturers, our fans and our companions.

L’Chaim!

My eight-year-old nephew slept over a few weeks ago. Like most eight-year-olds, he loves to just run around. He doesn't need to play baseball or shoot hoops, but whatever he does is fun. As adults we somehow lose the fun factor. People walk by my office with this look of dread on their face and whimper, "tell me I should work out today." And of course, I oblige.

Working out does not have to suck! You can have fun. People like my boot camps and training sessions because they laugh while they sweat. The clients training for a particular event, probably have a little less fun but that's by choice. Some sadists just enjoy a good old-fashioned butt kicking in the gym and I love them for it. If you can make your workout fun, you will be more likely to keep doing it.

People love Zumba because they like to dance. If you do not like to dance, maybe you would like to hike, kayak, play basketball… Those might not have the same benefits of weight training, but you can even make weight training enjoyable.

I make weight training fun by throwing a medicine ball against the floor (slam) and getting out some aggression. I enlist a friend to throw around a medicine ball with me. I try new equipment like the RIP Trainer, sand bags, VIPR… I also love a good agility course. And I've learned a lot of my clients like that too, so did my nephew.

I took my nephew to a park and let him help me put cones, loops, tennis balls, an agility ladder and other equipment in random order. I picked two pieces of equipment to arrange my way, and he picked two pieces to arrange. We then hopped, kicked, ran, jumped, and crawled around the equipment. Check out the short below. We alternated showing each other how to do the course. He LOVED it, and so did I. It was fun. He had no idea he was working on speed, jumping ability, and coordination. When we came home from the park, he guzzled two cups of water and my wife took one look at me and said, "I've never seen you so sweaty." All it took was 30 minutes in an open field, check it out.

The obvious moral to this story, make fitness fun. A subtle sub plot, make exercise part of your lifestyle and include your friends, spouse, coworkers, children…

I had my first real camp experience two years ago, as a counselor for Camp Firefly. At Camp Firefly, you spend your days swimming, doing arts and crafts projects, horseback riding, rock climbing, and enjoying gooey s’mores by the campfire. Sounds like your typical summer camp, right? Well, not exactly. Camp Firefly is so much more. Camp Firefly, a program of Jewish Child & Family Services, is a unique, overnight camp experience for children ages 9-16, who have been diagnosed with social disorders such as Autism, Asperger’s Syndrome, Social Anxiety, Pervasive Developmental Disorder, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, and Non-Verbal Learning Disorder. Camp Firefly is a once in a lifetime experience that enables children with such disabilities to develop social skills, learn independent living skills, build friendships, and leave camp with a greater overall sense of confidence.

Therapeutic services for children with such disabilities are expensive and sending your child to summer camp is often not an option. Financial difficulties should not be the reason children are unable to experience such a magical place like Camp Firefly. That is why Friends of Camp Firefly and myself have put hours upon hours of hard work into making Camp Firefly’s Third Annual Fundraiser, Give for the Glow a success. On Sept. 29, 2012, Friends of Camp Firefly will be hosting our third annual fundraiser at Slugger’s World Class Sports Bar in Chicago, to raise funds so that children are able to attend summer camp.

Proceeds from last year’s fundraiser enabled camp enrollment to increase by 50%. It is my hope that this year’s fundraiser will allow even more children to experience what the words “Summer Camp” means. I encourage you to visit www.campfireflyjcfs.com to see photos of campers and learn more about what makes Camp Firefly so special. To make a donation or purchase tickets to Give for the Glow, please visit www.formstack.com/forms/?1102596-xbRDklqirk.

I’m touched and left in awe each summer when children are able to tackle their fears, encourage one another, and just be themselves because of Camp Firefly’s carefree, supportive, loving environment. I can’t thank you enough for helping make summer camp a possibility for our children!

First, let me clarify that the word in the title is not “mohel” or some version thereof. A “mohel” is a person who performs a brit milah (circumcision). No, the word in question comes from a different Hebrew root altogether, “mochel,” and means “forgive.”

In the week before Rosh Hashannah, the halls of my Orthodox Jewish high school rang with the voices of students repeating these words: “Moichel me?” Several times a day, I would be approached by one student or other, some of whom I hadn’t interacted with in months, who asked me, “Moichel me?”

He (it was an all-boys school) was asking me— in a combination of English and Yiddish accent and grammar— if I would forgive him for any affront or hurt he had caused me since the previous Rosh Hashannah. Of course I said yes, and asked if he were “moichel me,” in return.

Jewish tradition holds that God can only forgive us for sins we have committed against, well, God. If we have sinned against our fellow human, only that person can forgive us. (Some restrictions apply; please see your local rabbi for further details.)

Now, I may have hurt someone without knowing I was doing so. Or I may have knowingly hurt someone, but that person never knew it was me. It is even possible that neither of us knew, and yet damage had been done.

In order to cover all possible bases, then, the only thing to do was to approach, individually, each and every person we had encountered over the year and ask for forgiveness. Given the enormity of that task and the shortness of time, the question “Are you moichel me?”— roughly, “Are you forgiving of me?”— was condensed to just the last two words.

Around this time of year, I miss this process. It is nice to have a tradition that encourages you to get back in touch with everyone in your life, once a year, and say, “Hey, sorry if I did anything to upset you last year. If I did, I’m really sorry. Are we cool?” And then have them ask you the same. It’s more than just a note saying, “Happy Rosh Hashanah”; it’s “And if it’s not happy, and if I am the reason why, let’s talk about that.”

A blog is a forum for spouting opinions, often in reaction to something recent, without the benefit of having chewed the matter over for a week or so. A blog post (let alone a Facebook post or Tweet), with its insistence on immediacy, almost demands this unblinking, unthinking response.

In the past year, I may have said something (or some things) that upset people, and if I did, I sincerely apologize. I never mean to offend, and I’m sorry if I have.

So... moichel me?

I was in synagogue recently and inserted into the service was the special blessing for the Hebrew month of Elul.  Elul is the last month of the Hebrew calendar which means it's only a matter of another lunar cycle before we kick off the Jewish New Year with Rosh Hashanah and deny ourselves 25 hours' worth of food and drink on Yom Kippur.  It is the Jewish New Year 5773, which means there is a new hope for the days ahead.  It's a time of teshuvah which means repentance, but it also means a return. 

As I wander through my day to day life over the course of the year, I constantly feel like I am pulled in so many different directions.  Everyone and everything demands my attention.  Someone on Facebook, wants me to friend them.  Someone on Twitter needs me to follow them.  My email box is littered with requests for my time, energy and resources.  Yet during the High Holidays I can tap into my moral compass and return to a truer path for me.   It's a comforting feeling to know that every year I can designate this time of year to really find my way in the world again. 

Repentance could happen any time, but the idea of teshuvah during Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur always happening at the same time on the calendar each year is all the more meaningful to me.  This is the time of year where I get to take stock about how I have spent my time.  It's also where I get to explore and hopefully make some decisions about how I want to spend my time in the year to come. 

This year I hope to spend the most time on that one thing that will keep me grounded throughout the year.  You know when you look at the end of a pen really intensely, so much so that the pen comes into focus extra clearly and the rest of the world gets blurry all around it.  I want to be able to focus in on that one thing just like that.  I can't say exactly what that thing is going to be, but I've got a week and 10 days of repentance to figure it out.   

Teshuvah is tough stuff.  The return is never easy.  If it was supposed to be easy, God would have tweeted the 10 Commandments and called it a religion.  We all know that the Judaism that calls millions of Jews to return to services every year at this time brings far more meaning than anything that can be expressed in 140 characters or less.

Shana Tova U'metukah - May you have a wonderful and sweet New Year! 

In this week's portion, Ki Tavo, Moses continues his speech to the Israelites by highlighting a pretty horrific list of curses that the Israelites will be subject to if they don’t follow the proper path (read: the Torah’s laws) once they enter the Promised Land. Juxtaposed with the curses are a number of blessings that they will receive if they do remain true to the Torah’s teachings. As we’ll find later on in the Prophets and Writings sections of the Bible, (*SPOILER ALERT*) the Israelites don’t do a particularly great job of adhering to the Torah’s laws, despite Moses’s warning, and pretty frequently end up worshipping idols and being punished for their actions.

What is it to be blessed? What is it to be cursed?

What power do words really have?

Words have a unique ability to express warmth, love and compassion. So too, do they have the ability to spew hate, encourage divisiveness, and to make others feel less than human. Our ability to speak provides us with an unbelievable amount of power, and as we’re only human, we have all used words for bad, when the opportunity existed to use them for good.

We’re now well into the month of Elul: the month of the Hebrew calendar that immediately precedes the High Holidays (and the Jewish new year), and traditionally, a month full of introspection, given its lead up to Yom Kippur where we stand together as a community accounting for our personal and collective shortcomings as human beings. From last Yom Kippur until now, we have all used words in hurtful ways – essentially turning our words into weapons with which we curse others. And now, with the High Holidays nearly upon us, it’s time to reflect on such situations, to apologize wholeheartedly to those whom we’ve hurt and to resolve to take steps to better ourselves as human beings.

We do not exist in order to be stagnant beings. Rather, we exist in order to continually strive to improve… to constantly work at becoming better people.

We have the power to be the ones offering up blessings and curses, and we have the ability to ourselves be blessings or curses unto the world.

Be a blessing.

That’s a bad title. I’m sorry. I mean, I apologize. I mean…I have to stop that. I say something along these lines more than I rightfully should. Maybe it’s the stereotypical Jewish guilt. I don’t know. Sorry I brought it up. Whoops. There I go again. See? My apologizing is getting superfluous. For example, if someone needs to get by me or I myself need to get by, I say it. It can’t be right that I am always the one at fault. In a sense, saying sorry or apologizing is a form of regret. I wish not to have regrets and am therefore looking for an alternative to the abundance of sorries I hand out. It is a negative word and I like to live in the positive. For example, I don’t call it a lazy eye. I look at it as one overly enthusiastic eye. So from here on out, I want to make sure any regrets, even on a minute level, remain as minimal as possible.

The first thing I need to do is stop apologizing when unnecessary. I’m sorry will be no more. I don’t want to become arrogant or pompous, just less apologetic. I need to stuff my sorries in a sack mister. Based on this entire apology and saying I’m sorry talk, I bet you can easily guess what my favorite board game is.

Go on, take a guess.

If you guessed Sorry, that’s a good guess. It’s actually Monopoly. Monopoly.

Didn’t mean to mislead you there. Okay, maybe I did. Not going to apologize though.

This idea of saying sorry too much, at least for me, somewhat stems from my conscious yet unconscious need of approval from others. By the way, I really hope you are liking this. I’m someone who never wants to anger or annoy anyone as I am very non-confrontational. In the rare times that I am, my body tenses up, a wave a heat spreads over me and I become someone I don’t entirely like. In a word, it’s unpleasant. In two words, very unpleasant. My mother always told me if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing. Hence why you often hear me in these confrontational situations repeatedly yelling “Nothing!”

That’s a bad joke. Still can’t say I’m sorry.

Saying I’m sorry is a way for me to take the blame and prevent any drama from happening. I’m not a fan of drama. Ironic considering I have a theater minor. But I feel that drama is so…I want to say dramatic, so I will. Dramatic. Life has enough drama as it is, which is why I enjoy making people laugh. I sure do hope you are laughing while reading this. When appropriate of course. What’s fascinating to me is that I do all of this to avoid certain situations. I have self-proclaimed avoidance issues and apologizing to neutralize the situation is a form of that. Isn’t it nice how all of these things are bundled together in one nice package for me? By apologizing I’m effectively avoiding drama. See how well that works?

What I really need is a new phrase. A more specific way to say I’m sorry but not be avoiding the issue while still keeping the drama to a minimum. Maybe I should start saying, “I am completely responsible for my actions and I put the blame entirely on myself at this juncture”. That might be a little too longwinded. In fact it is a little too longwinded. Especially when just passing by someone at the grocery store.

The only person I should be apologizing to is myself. Well, unless I actually did something wrong to you in which case I very much should apologize. Like if I stepped on your favorite rubber duckie and now the squeaker is all screwy, an apology would be acceptable. But simply and honestly, I want to always have confidence in my actions. Again, no regrets. I’m young enough and yet old enough to have already accumulated a multitude of them and adding to the list would be preferably avoided. At my current age of 25, as I see it, I’ve barely started real life. I was in school for almost two decades. My brain didn’t finish developing until this year. I at least have that one excuse.

What I want to get across, to put it succinctly, is that I need to be more proactive than saying a simple I’m sorry. Saying it can get you past some of the small issues, but it usually doesn’t solve the big ones. When I stopped going to class during my first semester of college and was subsequently put on probation, saying I’m sorry didn’t do much. (True story. I said I’m sorry at least a dozen times and remained on probation despite the apologies) I want to take my actions along with my words and do some good. Maybe make someone’s day. I should go ahead and do that. Instead of adding another regret, I should add another good deed. Hence maybe looking at these small opportunities to provide a mitzvah. Like when I’m asked for tzedakah, a much better answer is a small donation than saying I’m sorry. I suppose that sums up my whole point right there. So that’s enough out of me.

Sorry for ending this so abruptly.

I mean, I am completely responsible for my actions and I put the blame entirely on myself at this juncture.

Birthdays are a funny thing. As a kid, you count down the days. You obsess over who is and isn't invited to your birthday party. You boast to be eight and three quarters, because it's cooler to be a teeny bit older than your friend who is eight and a half.

When you talked about the future with your friends, the middle schoolers seemed old and wise, and talking about getting married and having babies in your twenties seemed like a lifetime away— you’d be old by then!

As you get older, birthdays come with more significance. Driving at 16. Lottery tickets at 18. Throwing out your fake ID at 21.

Celebrating 23 means you finally have some kind of legit income and can afford to buy drinks at the bar. At 25, you’re a quarter century and can rent a car. Twenty-six and 27 are okay— they don't feel all that different, but slowly you lose interest in throwing that wild pub crawl birthday extravaganza. Maybe an intimate dinner with 10 of your best girlfriends? A weekend getaway with your significant other?

This weekend I turned 28. Officially reached my late twenties. I celebrated at one of the greatest parties I’d ever been to— my best friend’s wedding. The best birthday message I got was a photo of my son, sent from my parents— the world's best babysitters, with a caption that said, “Happy Birthday Mommy!” Instead of birthday parties and cake, I got Facebook messages from old friends, a handful of text messages, and a few phone calls.

Having a birthday that falls on a holiday weekend means your birthday weekend is often overshadowed by barbecues, trips out of town and other commitments. As a kid, I remember hating that my birthday often overlapped with the first day of school. As a grown-up, this year, despite knowing that all my friends were scattered at weddings across the country, I hoped that my closest friends wouldn’t forget about me. Some did, some didn’t.

But somehow as I get a little bit older, it mattered a little bit less. Gone are the days of planning trolley bar crawls and blow-out parties for my birthday— instead, I’ll be planning Colin’s first birthday party before you know it and hoping that no one realizes that I’m one year closer to 30!

I began doing yoga, recently, after resisting it for years. Initially, it felt so boring. As one of those obsessed-with-running runners, it certainly didn't allow for that type of animal pleasure of digging into the earth, ripping through the world, passing people by, grimacing through the snow and the heat and the rain, pushing myself to my limits.

No, yoga was too calm, I had decided, after a dismal, brief attempt. There was no one to fight, not even myself. How aggravating.

Years, months later, housebound with energy begging to be burned, I tried it again. This time, something happened.

I was struck by the (YouTube) yoga instructor when she said "Regardless of what is going on outside of you, how far you are/aren’t stretching, etc., the most important thing is what is going on inside of you. Concentrate on the breath."

I stopped, struck by this simple, novel statement, feeling a rush of exhilaration within me as I realized that accomplishment was, quite literally, within my reach.

The point, l soon learned, wasn't to be somewhere else, to get somewhere else. To become fit, or limber. I was, already there. I was, already doing it. There was nowhere to go. All I had to do was breathe. This euphoric cloud of bliss entered the interior walls of my skin, as each breathe was an accomplishment, delicious, relaxing. I had arrived.

For a few weeks, I was obsessed with yoga, convinced it had solved all of my problems. I was shocked when, after the initial stages of yoga-infatuation faded, life was still a trial. There were still things that bothered my mind, entered into my psyche, clenched and strained my muscles. I was still tense.

Life happens. Stress happens. There are always more challenges and tests in this earthly existence. Such is the nature of things. But I have kept up with my yoga routine, and sometimes, I reach that state again, and I remember.

I remember that it is not the external things that will give me a sense of calm and completion.

That no matter how efficient I am, how many things I cross off of my to-do list, how much my baby conforms to her sleeping and eating schedule, how clean and ordered the house is, or how much money is in the bank, none of these things guarantees a sense of "wellbeing". A sense of "quality of life" that we crave.

I forget this constantly, every day, as I groggily wake up and, feeling the anxiety and the pressures of the day before me, I try to Get Things Done. Moving as quickly as I can, I scan my to-do list. My day seems so short, so little time for life.

As I sit down for yoga, and I start to breathe, slowly, I remember. Something. It starts off as a trickle, as the anxiety and intensity of my former thoughts resume their positions on the sidelines, watching as I cautiously return my attention to my breath. And that memory returns, reminding me that there's nowhere to go. It's all here. It's all good. I'm all good. I do not have to accomplish in order to feel whole, I am whole already.

There's a Jewish prayer, the Modeh Ani, which carries that simplistic message. Meant to be said the instant that we wake up and regain consciousness, the liturgy recalls with our groggy minds that we are indebted to G-d for returning our souls to us, though we cannot say His name yet because of our physical impurity, our contact with death as we slept (Jewish thought says that sleep is 1/60 of death, and your soul "leaves" the body during slumber, sojourning up to the heavens). A deeper explanation of the prayer teaches that, in the midst of this impurity, there is that part of us, that soul, that is completely pure, untouched, regardless. It is that realization of wholeness and perfection we aim to carry with us throughout our day as we tackle the unfinished world.

And that is what I return to, that is what I remember, when I breathe, as I stop. And through the stopping, I am. I am pure, I am grand, I am living, I am there,already.

We do not exist because we think that we do. We do not exist because we get things done. We exist because we are. And what we are is a lot of chaotic, potential energy swirling around a center of calm, beautiful perfection.

Now that's good stuff.

With this thought, the world also loosens up and slowly exhales alongside me.

As much as I love fashion and style, I wasn’t expecting my recent Colorado trip to be fashion-focused, as my boyfriend and I had big plans for more rustic adventures like hikes and horseback riding. However, on an unplanned whim, we decided to spend our final weekend in Denver following stays in Vail, Breckenridge, and Colorado Springs. To my pleasant surprise, there I was able to find my fashion fix.

The morning of our last full day in Denver, we asked our waitress about fun activities for the day. She mentioned that the Denver Art Museum was hosting a special YSL Retrospective exhibit. Of course, my boyfriend had no idea what this meant, and I of course immediately said, “We’re going!” After all, I missed the Alexander McQueen “Savage Beauty” exhibit, which was at The Metropolitan Museum of Art during one of my last NYC trips, and I was not about to make the same mistake twice.

That afternoon, we drove in torrential downpour to the museum, but were greeted by a mass of “Sold Out” signs for the exhibit. However, we pressed on and after bugging the guy at the ticket desk for a while, he miraculously discovered two final tickets to the 8 p.m. showing. This was the second to last day of the exhibit, which was developed by the Foundation Pierre Berge-Yves Saint Laurent, and it had only previously visited Paris and Madrid. Denver was the only U.S. city to host the exhibit, which is a retrospective covering 40 years of Yves Saint Laurent’s life and career. I felt pretty lucky to have been in the right place at the right time.

I actually did not know much about the famous Yves Saint Laurent (1936-2008) before experiencing this breathtaking exhibit, except that I very much admire the name brand’s current line of shoes and handbags (WANT the "dark magenta" patent monogrammed clutch). But I couldn’t wait to learn, and what I learned was magnificent.

The French designer, who believed that fashion comes and goes, but personal style is timeless, worked for Christian Dior during the early days of his career before creating his own fashion house. He was a phenomenal visionary who created a plethora of innovative and chic styles – a complete fashion trailblazer. Many of YSL’s designs are still fashion staples to this day. His innovations include but are not limited to the women’s tunic, the women’s pea coat, and refined women’s work attire, including women’s pant suits and tuxedos, which he famously called Le Smoking (various versions were dramatically displayed on perpendicular walls at the exhibit). A staggering 200 haute couture garments were featured in the Retrospective exhibit. If I could have touched them and taken a photograph next to each and every ensemble, I would have. They were displayed so artfully that I felt as though I was transported into an elaborate, Parisian fashion wonderland.

In addition to the fashions, the exhibit featured a re-creation of YSL’s studio and desk in Paris. This was actually one of my favorite aspects of the exhibit because it reminded me so much of my own personal work space – not my office at work, but my desk at home and the trinkets and magazine clippings I tend to collect from time to time to inspire me in fashion and in life. Just like my own, his desk area was contemporary and mostly white, but with pops of bright color. Actually, my desk itself is even the same style. Seeing all of this really made me smile, as I realized that I have something in common with the one and only YSL.

As I strolled through the exhibit, I became so engrossed that I basically listened to every recording on my little hand-held narrator machine twice (is there such thing as fashion OCD?). Although my boyfriend enjoyed the exhibit and appreciated the opportunity to learn about my passion, he was not as intense about it, and therefore, sped ahead from time to time. At one point, he came darting back to me and exclaimed (in a museum appropriate whisper of course), “You’re going to love what’s next!” As I entered into the next room, I discovered that the outfits were separated by culture, like a trip around the world. Here, I learned that for much of YSL’s career, he designed based on inspiration from various cultures and countries. His favorite? Morocco. For some time now, my boyfriend and I have been discussing a future trip to Morocco as I think it would be a fascinating country to see and experience firsthand. From what I have seen in photos, aesthetically, I think it’s magnificent. I learned that YSL fell in love with the country, especially the vibrant colors. He and his partner both in business and life, Pierre Berge, purchased vacation homes in Morocco and the country was so special to YSL, that his ashes were scattered there after he passed away in 2008. Learning about all of this definitely further inspired me to make the trip.

I walked from this room to the next, and finally into the “grand finale” room, which included a red carpet adorned with dozens of dresses and a unique piece of jewelry in a heart shape called “Le Coeur”, which YSL consistently lent to the model who wore his favorite design from each collection so that she could wear it during the show.

Needless to say, I left the Denver Art Museum completely impressed and enriched that I had expanded my fashion knowledge and appreciation. Yves Saint Laurent, through his tireless work, respect for women and their bodies, and passion for pushing boundaries and staying true to himself and his visions, made a permanent mark on the fashion world. I hope that one day I can experience the luxury and honor of owning one of his designs.

It is strange to think about the things that you miss that you never envisioned you’d be the least bit nostalgic for. For me, this is the first day of school. Ever since I could remember, I mildly dreaded the first day of school. I loved shopping for color coordinated school supplies and picking out that outfit for the first day, that always seemed really cute and fashionable, but a few years later I would find myself asking “what was I thinking?” Even so, I never really looked forward to class, seeing certain people, and being at school in general.

There was always something that I would much rather be doing than staring at the clock, droning out my teacher or professors voice that explained the same set of instructions that I had been hearing for what seemed like eons, and writing down notes about the upcoming year or semester. Don’t get me wrong, I was always a good student and cared about doing well in class, it was just the actual being in class that seemed like a pain…and often it was.

However, today marks the first day since 1995 that I haven’t packed up a backpack or book bag, grabbed my favorite new pencils, and sat down at a specifically chosen desk ready for the first day of class and to be perfectly honest, it felt extremely weird. There is something about the structure of a classroom that is nice to have. These words would have never crossed my mind a year ago, but today, the end of class is real and kind of terrifying. In fact, I actually spent the day that should be my first day of class at an interview, which made this whole post graduate lifestyle switch all too evident to me. To be honest, I am not looking forward to trading welcome back barbeques and first day ice breakers, for job applications and daily edits to my LinkedIn profile. Although uncertainty and spontaneity can be fun, the quick trade from structure to close to chaos, is something that is extremely odd and scary for me.

So many of my friends who graduated last year, and even a few years before, still say they would do anything to be back in their college town for one more year. This is a constant topic of conversation and something that from time to time, I agree with. Looking ahead to a year of who knows what is weird, but I guess the only option is to embrace the uncertainty. So, here’s to a weird, random, and hopefully great year.

Mitch Glasser is not just living out his dream, he is living out mine. Born and raised in Chicago, he moved to Minnesota and then got drafted by his favorite team, the Chicago White Sox. Seriously, I could not have scripted it any better. Mitch is a great guy and motivated by his dream of playing for the Sox (or running them someday). He also has deep Jewish roots which makes us at The Great Rabbino even more of a fan. Here is the story of the life I have dreamed about since I was a kid, actually being lived out by Mitch Glasser.

1) Tell us a little bit about yourself.
I’m 22 years old. I was born in Chicago and named after Cubs relief pitcher Mitch “Wildthing” Williams. My mom is a Sox fan; my dad is a Cubs fan. I grew up a Sox fan my whole life. When my dad brought me to the bleachers at Wrigley, I always wore my Sox stuff. I went to Macalester College where I majored in Psychology and Religious studies.

2) What got you into baseball and when did you know you had a shot to play in college?
My Grandpa taught me how to play baseball at a young age. I have fond memories of playing catch and him throwing me tennis ball batting practice in my grandparent’s backyard. Although I’m lefty in everything, he made me a righty in baseball. He claims it was so I could play more positions. I wish I hit lefty though.

3) What was draft day like?
It was surreal. I couldn’t watch, so I went to the cages and had my buddy throw me batting practice. When I thought the draft was long done, my buddy from college texted me and said congrats. That was the first time I heard it!

4) What are your future baseball/life goals?
I love playing baseball. However, I think I’m a better coach. I would love to one day open up my own baseball academy. If that doesn’t work out, I guess I’d settle for becoming the second greatest Jewish General Manager of all time.

5) Who would you rather start a team with Sandy Koufax or Hank Greenberg?
Easy question. Koufax so I wouldn’t have to face him. I heard his fastball rose in the air…No, thank you.

6) Ian Kinsler or Ryan Braun?
Both. Hopefully they both play for Team Israel in the World Baseball Classic!

7) What was your Jewish upbringing like? How important is your Judaism?
I went to a Jewish day school in Chicago for 11 years where I learned Hebrew and Jewish tradition. In college I took a few classes about Jewish identity with an amazing Rabbi/Professor. There happened to be quite a few Jews on the Macalester baseball team. Some practiced more than others…practiced Judaism that is. We did several Shabbats together at my house.

8) What’s next for you?
I just got news that the White Sox are going to sign me for spring training 2013. I think I’ll do that…it’s only my dream.

9) I ask all Chicago athletes this; favorite Chicago-style pizza?
Deep Dish at Bacinos in Lincoln Park.

10) Anything else you want to tell us?
The U.S. better look out for Team Israel in the World Baseball Classic.

Thank you to Mitch for his time. Hoping to see you in the Big Leagues soon.

Before we venture a few thousand miles over the ocean, I will bring you a brief recap: My name is Emily, I am an art teacher who, after graduating from college, chose to spend the majority of two years in Asia. The later half of this adventure found yours truly volunteering at a Dalit Rights NGO based in New Delhi, India as part of the American Jewish World Service Volunteer Corps. The following was written shortly after a series of field meetings with Dalit communities and activists in Uttar Pradesh and Harayana.

3/2012: I drank eight cups of tea today.
I’m lying in a bed, not mine, in a home in Panipat, Harayana. I’m warm beneath my blanket and listening to nothing, a rare moment of near silence in the crazy, chaotic, supercharged world that is India. There are no physical distractions, but my brain doesn’t want to turn off. It’s buzzing with the homes and faces and stories of the last few hours. And I drank eight cups of tea.

As I sit and think about those little cups of sweet deliciousness, I find it hard not to reflect on my one time favorite book, Three Cups of Tea. Regardless of recent allegations of inaccuracy, exaggeration, and mismanagement, I feel Greg Mortenson was on to something when he described the importance of tea in Pakistan. Similarly, it seems the mechanics of friendship and business and everyday life in India are fueled on chai. We drink chai in the morning at home and again at work. There are chai breaks in meetings and chai before bed and chai whenever you feel like it in between. If you are invited into someone’s home or office, there will more often than not be an offer (that you would never dream of refusing) of a sweet and steaming cup. I like to think (perhaps I am correct in my assumptions) that any important conversation happening in India, is happening over chai.

As part of my work here on the Subcontinent, in an effort to better understand the realities faced by Dalit individuals, I have had the opportunity to go into the field and meet Dalit people in a variety of communities, as well as the individual activists and advocates working at the grassroots level. After a workshop in Lucknow, and on a more recent trip to Panipat, I attended a monthly meeting of a Women’s Domestic Workers Union and met legal advocates who take cases of atrocities against Dalit’s to the local district court pro-bono. I’ve also met volunteer tutors and Dalit children who study at night, having been forced to abandon their standard course of education. Due to the close connections and relationships formed by representatives of my NGO, I’ve been welcomed into people’s homes to hear their stories and into community meetings to discuss issues and solutions at the local level. And in all of these districts, in all of these homes, over many cups of chai, I’ve sat and watched and listened.

Late in the evening, I listened to women from a village outside Panipat, who work as manual scavengers (cleaning human waste from upper caste homes) for little pay in order to provide for their children’s basic needs and education. Many shared how at the end of the day, after their struggle to send their children to school, teachers in the local schools (illegally) practice untouchability, refuse to teach their children, and demand additional books and resources be supplied from home. The women, some of whom also deal with abusive relationships and alcoholism at home, want to know why their girls should go to school if it is not to be taught, and how they can possibly provide for their family and themselves if they refuse to work as manual scavengers. And I don’t have the answer. The government has promised ration cards for basic needs and scholarships for their children, but the people of Gronda (as is the case for so many) have not seen these promises fulfilled.

Earlier, I met a group of women, men and children, in a Refinery District. They were domestic workers 'employed' by upper caste (or ‘general category’) families working at the refinery. The GC families are provided homes in the district and their children attend school for 50% tuition; they are also allowed to hire a domestic worker, whose salary will be paid by the refinery. This worker, essentially a servant, is provided a small concrete room on the backside of the property to share with his or her family. According to the government, these workers should receive 3000-4000 Rupees per month (60-80 USD) for basic cleaning and housework with any additional work earning them extra pay. In reality, many of these workers earn little (a few hundred rupees) to nothing at all beyond their room. They are expected to be on call 24 hours a day, responding immediately to a bell wired from the main household to their single room. Should a worker refuse additional tasks, or ignore a summons from the homeowners, s/he will simply be forced to pack their bags and leave, loosing his or her home and livelihood in one fell swoop. One of these workers, a relative of the women whose home I was sitting in drinking chai, had been accused by the property owners of stealing. Based on this accusation alone, the person was arrested along with a few others, taken to the police headquarters where they were beaten for 24 hours, before receiving instructions to go home and keep their mouths shut. The activist I came with had become involved through work for another organization. She helped the victim receive medical treatment and later file a lawsuit under the Prevention of Atrocities Act. While there was clear evidence of police brutality, after months of intimidation, including threats from the police, threats from the land owners, and the denial of basic resources like water and electricity, the victim was forced to compromise. To date, even the small compensation granted in the compromise was denied.

In addition to speaking with various community members, I've watched and listened to activists supported by my NGO, interacting with these groups and struggling to find solutions to the great many issues facing Dalits across the country. In Lucknow, I met a young woman attempting to organize women domestic workers into a labor union. Some women have responded to her work, and moderate achievements have been seen. When organized, the women were able to pressure a homeowner who had been denying due payment to a laborer whom she had fired for being ill and unable to work. Though this activist has generated interest in the union, and women seem to understand the support it can provide workers in times of need, she is having less success helping them understand the benefits of demanding an equal minimum wage for their labor. "If I do not accept work for whatever payment I am offered," they ask, "how will I support my family and myself?" And again, I do not know the answer.

What I am learning here, what I am seeing in each and every one of these visits, is that there are no simple answers to the problems facing Dalit communities. There are questions asked that I can answer in theory, but even in my head my answers sound flat and unconvincing. My foundation does not expect me to know the answers. They don't expect me to solve the problems, for they are not problems I can solve. They expect me to learn, to educate myself so I can understand what and whom the foundation is supporting, and what I am supporting by working here. They expect me to learn, and spread the knowledge I have gained to others, and they expect me to provide support to the foundation wherever my skills allow.

And that is why I am here. I am here to do whatever it is that's asked of me, with the humble hope it will be helpful to my NGO in the work they are doing. I am here to learn and to listen. And hopefully, as I listen, I will begin to understand. And understanding, I think, is the first step in the great ladder towards progress.

For now, I am thankful to my teachers— the community members, the activists, my co-workers. I am thankful for the stories they have shared, and the knowledge I have gained from the work my NGO continues to do. I am thankful for the warmth with which I have been welcomed and thankful for the many cups of chai. And I am hopeful that, even when the problem seems too big and all-encompassing to tackle, Dalit individuals, with the support from those like the foundation, will inch further towards the path to equality. Further towards the end of caste discrimination. Further towards the finish line in their fight for basic human rights and equality. Listening and Hoping and Fighting. One day, one meeting at a time.

A version of this post was originally published on beautifulcommotion.blogspot.com in March 2012.

For more information about The American Jewish World Service and Volunteer Corps, please visit: http://ajws.org

Here's a little background about me. I spent the 2010-2011 school year teaching English in Grenoble, France. Before that, I spent a year working in the heart of Chicago in the Jewish non-profit community. When I was abroad, my eyes were opened to the everyday experience of the Jewish community in my town and in the country at large. I experienced what it meant to me to be not only Jewish in France, but a Jewish, young, female, American in France. It was a ridiculously fun, thought-provoking and thrilling seven months and I'm excited to share these stories. By the way, all thoughts and opinions are purely my own…I take full responsibility for any sweeping generalizations.

Picking up where I left off…after making my way to France and being introduced to the host family I found through Chabad, I transitioned to living abroad. I flew to Grenoble a few weeks before my contract started and for those first few weeks, I was completely and utterly jet-lagged. The language barrier added to the fatigue. Little things like acquiring a bus pass and figuring out which tram took me to work were a process. French bureaucracy is time-consuming, unpredictable and requires a great deal of finesse even for native speakers. Kvetching aside, the more I came to know my host family, the more settled I became and the more experiences I took on.

Naturally, with each meal I learned more and more about my hosts. Mr. and Mrs. B were business owners with great entrepreneurial spirit. Mr. B. designed restaurant and retail store concepts and owned a few clothing shops in town. Moving to Grenoble from Tunisia with his family in his twenties, he was determined to create a successful living. Mr. B’s mother would often stop by for lunch, Shabbat dinner or just to say, “hello.” A bright and vibrant woman, you could barely tell she was in her eighties. You could tell just how proud of her son she was. Chatty and personable, she always politely encouraged me to eat more, gleefully enjoyed stories of my American life and often told me I was smiley and adorable. Basically, she a Jewish bubbe away from home.

My host mother was just as passionate about business as her husband. She managed a clothing store near the town center. Mrs. B. was raised in a non-Orthodox household in France and “converted” her lifestyle when she met and fell in love with her husband. When she saw me taking in the two dishwasher set-up in her kitchen, she shot me a calming and understanding look. “It wasn’t easy,” she said, when she decided to take on the customs of a modern Orthodox lifestyle. “But it was worth it.”

Mr. B’s entrepreneurial attitude quickly revealed his capitalist leanings in a country with major socialist tendencies. Over dinner we would ramble on about the realities and shortcomings of the French 35-hour work week, the French workplace in general, and the plethora of creative ways French citizens could live off the state. He expressed great interest in the ways of American industry, especially American work ethic. He loved Obama, like most Frenchmen, but pointedly asked if I thought he had Israel’s interests at heart. Acting as an “American representative” made my head spin. I kept up with the news, but I didn’t want to express my opinions as anything other than my own. It was harmless really...as much as the French get a negative reputation for disliking Americans, in my limited experience, there’s more cultural and political curiosity than anything else. Though both nations are very “Western,” the motives that drive both countries and its citizens are very, very different.

My host brother was quite a character. At the time, 18-year-old David was studying to be a doctor, which meant being locked in his room for the majority of the day taking classes online and studying. Medical school in France seemed to be a terrifying endeavor...after the 1st year, more than half of the students are cut. Only the best and brightest make it to the end, so industriousness is necessary. When he emerged from his room, David proved to be an expressive guy with a seriously silly side. He talked like his mouth was full of marbles and was addicted to Diet Coke, well, addicted to Coca-Cola Light. He was a counterpart to his older brother who left early on to study at Oxford for the school year. Joachim possessed a quiet and composed demeanor, endlessly patient in showing me around town. He spoke slowly and smiled often, which was just what I needed those first few weeks in town. The B. family would soon take me to meet their friends at shul, teach me how to keep kosher in France and prepare me for my stay in the lovely and fabulous Grenoble, France.

Years ago, I had a contentious interaction that I will never forget. It was with a man who was involved in the Jewish community. He was speaking to a group of us who gathered monthly to discuss Jewish culture, issues, and traditions. He asked all the people who donated money to charity to raise their hands. He then asked us to again, by a show of hands, identify if we had donated to Jewish charities. His final directive was to raise our hands if we donated to non-Jewish charities. We were then treated to a public reprimanding. I remember him throwing out statements like “…take care of our own!” and “…no one else will!” and “…they have their own communities!” I could have barfed.

Instead, I raised my hand. I remember being shaky and on the verge of tears. “Excuse me. I don’t share in your perspective – not at all. I am raising children and I am teaching them that we have a responsibility to make the world a better place for ALL people who live in it. It’s not us against them. We are all responsible. All of us, for everybody.” He scoffed and started relaying percentages showing Jews as the tiniest minority – and insisted if we didn’t take care of one another, no one would. “I refuse to believe that about people,” I said. Then I referenced the following quote attributed to pastor Martin Niemöller:

“First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a communist;
Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a socialist;
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a trade unionist;
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out - because I was not a Jew;
Then they came for me - and there was no one left to speak out for me.”

I have volunteered in Englewood, a community far from “us,” for many years. I have always been received with open arms by both the leaders and students there. My friends sometimes worry about my driving there at dusk to teach life skills to the kids on the far South Side, but I scoff at their worry. I don’t spend time hanging out on the corner or eyeballing people. I bring snacks and hopefully a little bit of helpful discussion. I always learn something myself and the reward is worth the risk of being there. I give to the kids and I get from the kids. It’s perfect.

However, Englewood kids are not technically “mine” – they don’t call me mom and they don’t live with me. We don’t look alike, we don’t live in the same community and we have different cultures and religions. But these kids are mine. I am invested in them and I care about them and I want them to succeed. I am not a Rabbi or anyone renowned in the Jewish community, but in my humble, reformed opinion, being Jewish has everything to do with making a difference in the world at large. Not just in “our” world with “our” people.

When this initial interaction happened years ago, I had two kids. I am now the proud mother of four. There are so many reasons to not take the long drive to Englewood anymore. But I do it because I believe in order to live a meaningful life; I need to extend myself beyond what is easy and beyond what is right in front of me. So in short, Tikkun Olam. Let me always see beyond myself and what is “mine”. I have hope that I will always have something I believe in to offer that can make a meaningful difference in the world.

Oy!Chicago is published by the Jewish United Fund which provides critical resources that bring food, refuge, health care, education and emergency assistance to 300,000 Chicagoans of all faiths and two million Jews in Israel and around the world.

That’s the way it is, he sighs, and grins at his ability to profit off the stupidity and ignorance of others.

He’s happy with the money, he told me so himself, through our translator who herself is a partially broken artist; broken down and beaten into reluctantly accepting the status quo, the way nature must be.

The masses cannot appreciate, don’t appreciate good art, they explain to me, and they laugh at the way they con them with colors and shapes, how the public gobbles up his artwork only because they don’t know any better.

Yet, I know the truth is that everyone responds in their hearts to good art, true art, even if they don’t know why. They will glance wistfully at it, years from now, long after an artist’s passing, tears welling up inexplicably, at the beauty their soul is responding to, coming home.

But his stuff is so fleeting. Entertains in an instant, yet leaves the viewer absolutely the same as before they came, maybe even a little worse off, if that is possible. He thinks it doesn’t come through in his art that he doesn’t care about it, but it does. I don’t want to tell him this because I feel bad that he has exchanged his soul for obedience to capitalism and he tries to instruct me that this breaking of spirit is necessary, and did him well.

He is miserable about his life choices, and yet (or probably because of that miserability, that miser ability), he tries to convince me to do the same. To have company down at the bottom. I shake my head. No can do.

Recipients, art aficionados the world over, beware. Art (and truth) may or may not be brought into the world because of you, the viewer. Which is a huge responsibility.

Respect yourself enough to take your art, your purchases, your tastes, seriously. Know that what you like and what you buy directly impacts what beautiful art (and therefore, truth) may or may not be brought into the world. Demand good art, and glorify those who are defiant enough to believe and to speak.

The artists, they are listening to you, they are watching you, because they are afraid. Afraid of not being liked, afraid of being poor. Who can blame them? And so, to explain themselves, they languish in their studios and hate themselves for selling themselves short (for selling you short), waving their hands and acting as if they are doing a service to the public, to the masses, who unfortunately are stupid and cannot appreciate good art, who can be fooled and satisfied by bright colors and overdone clichés. Who can be told what is beautiful.

It’s not true, but fear builds a vicious cycle, and unless the artist can look up at the sky and believe that what is true needs to be said, and that he/she will be rewarded by the Ultimate Creator for his/her efforts, until then, it will be the recipient in one room and the artists in another, one crying, one laughing.

The power to live in one honest, vibrant world lies in your hands.

I still remember turning the music up loud and dancing wildly that summer night, holding my baby sister Mindy in my arms. She laughed and laughed, enjoying the movement and I joined her. It was unusual for us, because Mindy was not always a happy baby and because a few days before our family had received the worst news, a confirmation of my parents’ worst fears.

Mindy was diagnosed with Tay-Sachs, a degenerative genetic disease that affects mainly Ashkenazi Jews. Now we understood why Mindy, despite initially appearing to be healthy and strong, had started missing her milestones at eight months old. Mindy, dubbed “Super Baby” by our family for her early ability to hold her body upright, wasn’t sitting up on her own or even attempting to crawl. My dad and stepmother took her to see specialists at Children’s Memorial in the city and they quickly discovered the tell tale cherry red spot on her retina. Later I learned that my father yelled at the doctor who invited medical students to come in and look in her eyes. He wasn’t going to allow his daughter to be their science experiment.

I still remember my father and stepmother telling my little brother, Ben, and me as the four of us sat on my bed that evening. It was the first and only time I had ever seen my father cry. My parents explained that Mindy would have to be tube fed when she lost the ability to swallow and that she may eventually suffer from deafness, blindness and seizures. There was a good chance that she wouldn’t live past the age of 4 or 5.

I was only 9 years old and didn’t know how to process this new knowledge that my sister would get progressively sicker and die. Denial quickly set in and I urged my stepmother to look into treatment for my sister. “There’s nothing we can do, Sarah” Susan told me a few mornings later, her back to me while she washed our breakfast dishes. “I am sure there must be something we can do,” I told her. “I am going to the library to find out what sort of research has been done to find a cure”. I saw her shoulders slump, as she told me to face reality, that there was no hope. My brother Ben and I were the product of my father’s first marriage, but Mindy was Susan’s first and only child.

I don’t know what motivated me to push my own sadness aside that summer night I danced with my sister, but I am so glad I did. It was crazed frantic movement and in between songs we would collapse on my bed laughing hysterically. In between her giggles, she looked at me with eyes shining, seeming to ask for more. I picked her up again and again and in my memory the dance and our laughter went on for hours. At some point I remember looking out my bedroom window and seeing my father and brother on the sidewalk in the dark, watching us. I closed the blinds, turned up the radio and got right back to it.

Almost thirty years later I am mother to my own son and fellow dancer, Max, who is named after Mindy. As an infant sometimes the only thing that would calm him down was dancing. There were many nights I clutched him tightly to my chest and danced like crazy until he fell asleep. Max laughed early, only a few months after he was born. His contagious laugh is distinctive and complimented by friends and strangers alike. I know that I am blessed to have him, to have known my sister Mindy, and to have never known a shortage of dance partners in my life.  

Registration is now open for the Center for Jewish Genetics' upcoming carrier screening programs for young Jewish adults. To learn more or register, please contact Taryn Brickman at TarynBrickman@juf.org or visit www.jewishgenetics.org.

We met over a year ago.

I was cycling in place, finishing treatment, waiting to be untied, unhooked, let go.

I held my hopes and dreams tight, I visualized myself on that lakefront path and I was brimming with excitement to reenter the world.

As I was getting ready to break free— you were getting ready to let go.

With cancer as the common denominator our paths crossed, our lives intersected, and I am now gratefully surrounded by your wisdom, your spirit, your spark.

Yesterday at my three month checkup, I carried you with me.

Leading up to this day of truth, this day of anticipation, this day of black and white, you comforted me and reminded me that it is not about tomorrow but today.

I carried you through the two weeks’ worth of sleepless nights, improvisational dancing, mindless TV, and countless other methods of distraction.

You helped prevent my thoughts from steering negative, and you reminded me that my friends and loved ones are the reason I am and will always be.

If the doctors were right (and I hope they weren’t right) you may no longer be physically with us. But what I know for certain, is that the connections you made in your short 33 years will live on in our hearts and minds in the days to come. You are part of the cocoon that protects and surrounds me, and I promise to carry you with me today, tomorrow and always.

As the days pass, as I grow stronger, and as I continue to gratefully receive clean bills of health, I am reminded of Dear Tom.

As a cross country athlete, I spend most mornings in the summer logging miles for the upcoming season. It's a ritual we runners have long undergone: arising just as the sun peeks over the trees, groggily lacing up our shoes, and yawning as we walk out the door, we muster up the energy to get our feet moving and blood pumping, all in an effort to get the day's run in before heading off to our respective summer jobs. 

If you're unfamiliar with cross country, allow me to boil the sport down to its molecular level: cross country athletes run an excessive number of miles throughout the year to train for races in the fall. Running is as much a part of their day as eating or sleeping, and athletes make painstaking efforts to prevent injury and sickness so they may keep to their seemingly extreme and self-indulgent training schedules. Races fail to offer much more appeal: the autumn competitions are held at golf courses, parks, or any otherwise vast grass tundra where athletes first wait around for several hours with much apprehension, and then run a prescribed distance (typically 3-6 miles) as fast as they physically can, often throwing up or passing out after crossing the finish line. And they call it fun.

Because I'm home from college for the summer, most of my training is solitary, without my teammates. This makes it difficult to stay motivated. Runs get boring. I have no one with me to talk while out on the bike trail or neighborhood streets.

On early morning runs, though, I come into contact with runners, bikers, and walkers passing me by in the opposite direction. To ease boredom, I devised a plan: I began saying hello to try to elicit responses from them. It keeps my head up and passes the time during those endless 10 mile runs in 90 degree weather.

A typical encounter goes like this: I make eye contact with passersby, give a smile, and say "good morning" or some similar greeting. More often than not do I receive a grin and a "good morning" in return. Knowing I have some companions out there on the trail makes runs go by much quicker.

Earlier this summer, I was waiting in line one day at the bank when a man approached me. I recognized him as one of the triumphant early morning joggers, and he likewise singled me out as a usual bike trail suspect. He got my attention, introduced himself, and thanked me for saying "good morning" to him on the trail every day without fail. "It's a great start to my day," he told me.

Upon hearing this, I was taken aback. Here I was, a lonely distance runner trying to make summer runs less boring by staring people down and greeting them whether they like it or not, and someone thanks me for it. Guilt was the first emotion I remember feeling.

Still, after giving this encounter more thought, I felt honored that this guy went out of his way to personally thank me for saying hey to him. Perhaps the monotony of my summer runs was all for the best, because it led me to perform good deeds.

I still smile and say hello to others while running; not for my own amusement, but because it's a nice thing to do. Saying hello to someone, that is, genuinely acknowledging his or her existence, is an act of kindness so simple that it has the potential to make a big difference.

I encourage you to offer a sincere smile and a hearty "good morning" (or "afternoon" or "evening") to a stranger who crosses your path today. It keeps you on track and, more importantly, you never know of the impact your simple gesture might carry.

Allow me to recall a conversation I struck up with a couple of ladies one night while tending bar:

“Excuse me, can I have a Margarita on the Rocks, with salt?”

“Absolutely, ma’am. Would you like Don Julio or Patron Tequila?”

“Um, Patron is fine.” (turns to her girlfriend, eyebrows furrowed) “I wonder which one is healthier....I wonder if I should order that or not.” Her friend shrugs, then nods in my direction, to which the first lady inquires, in a louder voice, “I WONDER WHICH ONE IS HEALTHIER.” I was speechless. Before I could give her an answer, as I tried to mentally calculate the caloric content of each ingredient, the guest had whipped out her smartphone and proceeded to research the amount of calories in an average Margarita. I continued to look somewhat dumbfounded as she shot a look up at me, her eyes lighting up, “I’m sure you’re curious to know, aren’t you? I’m saving you a whole lot of trouble looking this up for you, so now you will know what to say when people ask!”

While I was flattered by the gesture, I was taken aback more by what guests are asking at the bar. Often times as a bartender, I would be questioned as to whether or not there may be a “healthy” alternative to some of the more popular, highly sugared cocktails. Most of us don’t even consider how many calories we drink, which can be as important, if not more important, than what you eat. There are a thousand food diets with a thousand studies and ten thousand products that people are exposed to regularly, telling us what to eat, how to eat, and when to eat. Yet how often do we pay attention to what we drink?

There, I said it. Ron, don’t hate me, but liquid matters a lot.

Frankly, it should matter more than food to those looking to stay healthy because it is extremely difficult for most of us to consciously be healthy while not sacrificing fun and pleasure, and alcohol is one of society’s guiltiest pleasures. Yes, valuable nutrition comes from food and is the most effective way to stay fit and lose weight. But most of us don’t even realize how we are wasting away calories when we really only want to waste away brain cells. Doesn’t seem like a fair trade-off, does it? Want to do something about it? When going out, choosing a healthy alcoholic drink can be a difficult task, especially if you don’t know what your drinks are made of. There are drinks that have high calorie counts: a 10 oz Margarita can have up to 550 calories, a 12 oz. Pina Colada 586 calories, if not more, depending on what it contains! Here are some of my tips and suggestions for how you can go out and have a great time without having to count calories or ask the bartender weird questions.

Tip #1: Do NOT ask the bartender how many calories are in a cocktail. Period.

Look it up. The guy or gal is there to serve you a drink and somewhat keep your company, they are not a nutritionist or a calorie counter. They have a hundred things to do, so don’t look for them to stop everything and start counting.

Alternative: You can carry a chart with you or on your phone that can let you know relatively quickly how many calories some of the most basic and popular alcoholic beverages will run you. Keep in mind that the numbers are approximate because ingredients and portion sizes might vary. See where your favorites rank!

Cocktails (about 3-4 oz in volume):
Gin and Tonic: 171
Rum and Cola: 164, Rum and Diet Cola: 101
Mojito: 217
Bourbon Soda: 110
Margarita: 280, Strawberry Margarita: 210, Skinnygirl Margarita: 100
Martini: 160-210
Appletini: 148
White Russian: 425
Manhattan: 129
Old Fashioned: 180
Screwdriver (Vodka + OJ): 175
Mai Tai: 310
Mimosa: 75
Wine Spritzer: 100
Vodka Tonic: 175
Champagne: 90-110
Wine (5 oz): 120-150
Cosmopolitan: 200
Long Island Iced Tea: 780

Spirits (per drink, about 1.5 oz):
Vodka/Gin/RumWhiskey: 115-125
Tequila: 115
Beer: 64-198 (12 fl. Oz.)
SoCo: 180

Want to make them at home? You can! Some mixers that won't pack on the pounds include:
Diet soda or diet tonic: 0 calories 
Orange juice (6 oz): 84 calories, Light orange juice (8 oz): 50 calories 
Cranberry juice cocktail (8 oz): 136 calories, Light cranberry juice (8 oz): 40 calories 
Light lemonade (8 oz): 5 calories 
Coffee, tea: 0 calories 
Baja Bob's sugar-free margarita or sweet 'n' sour mix: 0 calories 
Lemon or lime juice (1/2 oz): 10 calories 
DaVinci or Torani's sugar-free syrups: 0 
Truvia: 0 
SKIP THE MIXER ALTOGETHER!!!!

Tip #2: Do NOT be fooled by “diet” labeled drinks or additives when constructing your cocktail.

Sometimes, they can make things worse, “A recent study examined the difference in blood alcohol levels from drinks containing sweetened (regular) versus artificially sweetened (diet) beverages. This study found a significant difference in blood alcohol levels between the two drinks. In fact, the "diet" beverage produced blood alcohol levels that would be considered illegal for driving in many jurisdictions, while comparable quantities of the "regular" beverage did not.” -medicinenet.com  

This leads me right into the next tip, which is...

Tip #3: KNOW WHAT YOU WANT.

Often times the guest will try to string the bartender or waiter along by asking, “Well, how many calories will X have if I take this out or substitute this for this?” If you think it’s hard and frustrating for a chef, it’s even worse for the drink slinger. Figure out what drinks you are most likely to order and know what it’s going to run you. Some drinks will net you very few calories, while others will ruin a well-intentioned week of hard work and sound nutrition.

Tip #4: Explore healthier alternatives to your absolute favorites.

I know, I know, it’s hard to get away from that Margarita or Chioccolatini, but let’s be honest, they are not kind to our waistlines. Well, believe it or not, you can still enjoy those wonderfully rich and delectable flavors without piling on the calories, and we all have our favorite guilty pleasures. Practically every cocktail that has more than 200 calories could be modified to lessen the calories but keep the flavor (and booze content).

Take charge of your nightlife, have a great time without having to sacrifice the fun or feel guilty in the morning. Life is fun, so live it up! Remember, to live healthy you can have your booze and drink it, too!

L’Chaim!

I once had a client drop 12 pounds and lower his body fat percentage by 10% in just four weeks. I often have pregnant clients who have babies and come back thinner than before. I am constantly amazed by the transformations I see in my clients. I get to witness the “after” picture all the time and it’s pretty amazing. Because I know what the body is capable of, I encourage everyone to get fitter, leaner, more muscular… and sometimes I need to turn it off.

You might think, why turn that off? The thing is, I’m learning people do not always want to hear, “you could get leaner” or “actually all calories matter, even those five m&m’s.” (Bear in mind, I breakdown often and have five (yes, I count them) Peanut M&M’s a few times a week.) Now the list of offenses continues. I told my sister she was “a little chunky” in college. My wife deals with the comments that I don’t think are mean, but no one wants to hear, such as, “are you sure you’re not full?” and “you should thank me for helping you eat more veggies.” I know, it’s surprising it took 32 years for someone to swoop me up. However, I have pledged to stop packing protein shakes in her lunch (unless she asks for them).

By the way, my recipe is very tasty: 

½ cup Almond Milk 
½ cup 1% Milk 
Tablespoon Greek Yogurt 
Tablespoon Justin’s Chocolate Almond Butter (or Peanut Butter) 
Banana 
Jay Rob Chocolate Protein Powder

I’m only trying to help when I suggest you switch to Greek yogurt, but moving forward, if you didn’t ask me, I won’t volunteer it. That’s right; I’m going to turn off the trainer. (Keep in mind if you ask one time for advice, you’ll have to ask me another time to turn off the trainer.)

When I’m at dinner with a non-client, I will not suggest the grilled calamari over the fried. If you know me, you know how hard it will be, but I’m going to do it. I will save my fitness suggestions for clients, readers and those who actually ask me for advice.

With that said, for those of you that want a healthy recipe, here are two of my new favorite, super easy sides.

Quinoa Cauliflower and Cheese

This is super easy and tasty! It has a good amount of protein, fiber, flavor and it’s inexpensive.

2 cups low sodium chicken broth
1 cup quinoa
1 package Green Giant Cauliflower and Cheese

Cook quinoa with chicken broth, simmer for 20 minutes. Cook veggies according to label. Mix in with quinoa, let sit for five minutes.

Sweet Potato Hash

This takes a little work because you have to grate a sweet potato but it’s simple and much healthier than the alternative.

1 Sweet Potato (will be enough for two people)
Olive oil
Cinnamon
Curry
Pepper
Salt

Preheat a skillet with a little olive oil. Grate a sweet potato. Place in skillet over medium heat. Add spices, cook until soft or browned. If you want to kick it up a little bit on the flavor scale, put in a tablespoon of butter.

MadaTech scientist taking part providing a lesson with a classroom in Northern Israel.

Israeli institutes of higher education such as Hebrew University and University of Tel Aviv are considered to be some of the finest learning centers in the world. People think of Israel as the “Start-Up Nation,” the Middle Eastern innovator, and a leader in science, medicine, and business. And while these are all true, not many realize the very serious problems and deterioration of the Israeli primary education system.

As a pro-Israel advocate, both professionally and in the writing world, I am troubled most by the Israeli education system’s lack of focus and urgency in the sciences. For Israel to keep its regional qualitative edge over its hostile neighbors, and to keep developing as global innovators, excelling in the sciences at all grade levels is crucial.

A 2010 report printed by the Taub Center, an Israeli social policy think-tank, stated that some 48% of middle school students have less than two hours of weekly science education. Further, much of the time, the science education they are receiving is inadequate. A 2010 report published by the Knesset Research and Information Center on poverty and scholastic achievements included a survey that indicated 30% of Jewish students in elementary schools require private tutors. To make things worse, the report found notable gaps in terms of access to private tutoring services between students from financially stable towns and those from the periphery.

Professor Ofra Mayseless, the dean of the Education Faculty at the University of Haifa (where I spent my amazing year abroad in college) and chairwoman of the Forum of School Leaders for Education in Israel, told Haaretz that, “[t]he inclination towards private lessons stems mainly from the fact that teachers have a hard time teaching, and, in practice, a large part of class time is dedicated to addressing disciplinary problems and not to teaching," According to Mayseless, this has prompted teachers to relinquish responsibility for their students' know-how and education.

"In light of these difficulties, many of the teachers in Israel have lost their joy of teaching. They dedicate less of themselves to the student. Instead of the education system focusing on increasing students' curiosity and motivation to learn, there is a growing tendency for students to study and memorize the material only for the exam, and not to enrich their knowledge," she said.

Dani Ben-David, the Taub Center Executive Director, told Haaretz that, "[t]here are many parents today who have grown exasperated with the education system which, according to them, doesn't deliver the goods. Therefore, they are searching for alternative solutions." There are organizations that have risen to the challenge and need. The Israel National Museum of Science, Technology and Space (MadaTech in Hebrew), located in Haifa has stepped up in a big way.

The Museum is one of Israel’s three largest with over 600 exhibits. But it is its education outreach, which consists of over 200,000 Israeli children K-12, that makes it truly special. Its facilities constitute 25 laboratories, seven learning centers, and three mobile laboratory vans. Among its programs geared to strengthen students’ interest in science, the Israel Museum of Science annual science competition fosters creative and analytical thinking among Israel’s eighth and ninth-grade students. Thousands take part in the yearlong OlympiYeda Science Competition that culminates in a two-week science camp in Haifa, Israel. The summer camp includes an enriched science curriculum with guest lecturers, visits to technological facilities, and scientific activities. The 2010 competition focused on Robotics and in 2011 on sports and health.

The Museum also caters to peripheral communities, something the Israeli government should take note of. According to Dr. Ronen Mir, the Israel Museum of Science General Director, around 40% of the museum’s visitors are Arab, and 40% of its instructors are also Arab. Operation North for Arabic Speakers provides advanced science learning opportunities for Israeli-Arab junior high students. Led by prominent Israeli-Arab researchers, the program educates students on basic tenets of bio-medicine, genetics, nanotechnology, and astrophysics. There are similar programs for soviet immigrants, Ethiopians, and young girls. The Museum’s programs are designed to nurture a love of science in participants from a variety of backgrounds, foster coexistence and respect for diversity among Israel’s population, and promote the pursuit of science education and professions.

Equally important as helping the students, the Israel Museum of Science helps educate the teachers, providing them with instruction, materials, and inspiration.

More organizations in Israel need to undertake activities commensurate with the Israel National Museum of Science. I know it’s easier said than done; fundraising to produce such services is difficult, especially in this economic climate. But the attempt must be made. As a Jew, what makes me proud to have Israel as our homeland is its rapid development and adaptability in the most complex scientific fields, which in turn allows it to make significant contributions to the world; all in the wake of serious adversity and hostility. Studies and testimony suggest, however, that this source of pride may be taking a turn for the worst, starting with the Israeli youth. Both Israelis and Jews around the world need to come together to ensure that this trend is reversed, for all our sakes.

One is a young man and one is a young woman. One is a musician and one is an athlete. One wears a kippah and the other wears Lycra.

But Edon Pinchot and Aly Raisman are both young Jews on TV, making Jews everywhere proud.

He is a contestant on America's Got Talent best known for using his piano skills and powerful voice to turn pop songs into power ballads. She was a contestant at the 2012 London Olympics, best known for using her gymnastic skills and powerful presence to turn "Hava Nagila" into an anthem of solidarity with the Munich 11… and Olympic gold.

Another thing they have in common is how openly, proudly, and comfortably they wear (in Edon's case, on his head) their Judaism. In an era in which Jonathan Stewart Leibowitz, also very openly Jewish, still goes by "Jon Stewart," we don't see Edon saying "Call me Ethan," or Aly competing as "Aly Ray."

This is important, as it allows others to be more openly Jewish in their presence. Howie Mandel never (as far I as know) brought up his Jewishness in five years on Deal or No Deal. Yet, when praising Edon, he said— on national television— "From one to another, Jew are terrific!" 

We adults in the Jewish community— whether we are Jewish professionals, parents, or both— often wonder if we are making a dent. Are we getting through to our kids? Are we being heard at all among all the other voices being shouted at our teens today? Is anything that we present as Jewish as attractive as the flashy new toys and screens being shoved in their faces?

Then we hear Edon belt out a hit by some act that's hot right this minute (and not a minute before!) to then have Mandel ask him if he got a standing ovation at his bar mitzvah.

We see Aly literally leap over her competition and then answer questions about Israeli athletes who were killed more than 20 years before she was born.

And we smile and cheer. Because, yeah, our kids are all right. Our future is in the hands of teens who are bright and talented. Charismatic and confident, yet humble and mensch-y.

Edon and Aly are proud tell the world they are Jewish. And we are proud they are, too.

I submitted this blog at the last second. Really. I did. Do you have any idea how long this took me to write? Months. Months would be a lie. Weeks. Weeks would also be a lie. But days…days would be accurate. I’m already procrastinating on getting to the point so let’s just get there, shall we? In these times we call “the present,” there is a terrible acronym going around, being abused in its meaning by some of the younger folk. However, there is actual truth to the phrase. I refuse to write the actual acronym so to have you understand which one I’m talking about let’s say I take the delicious candy Rolo, subtract the ‘R’ and replace it with a “Why?” Say that sentence out loud if you don’t entirely understand. Or ask the younger folk. What I’m getting at here is I only live once and therefore, why am I wasting any time ever? Hence, with that way of thinking, I feel my procrastination always needs to be productive.

Productive procrastination is unlike regular procrastination in that I made it up. Defined, my version means participating in the activities that are most important to me and that advance my own wellbeing. Or something like that. I think you got the gist. I’m referring to activities like catching up on a television show, reading, working on my comedy, writing or even hanging out with friends, among other things. Basically it’s about getting the most I can from the non-real world while still being productive.

I am truly an active advocate of always being productive. In fact, I make it a point to advance myself in some way each and every day. Whether it’s real stuff like going to work to make a living, getting a shave and haircut (two bits) or finally making it to that restaurant I’ve been wanting to try, I attempt to end each day being filled with new and tangible knowledge. And yes, tangible knowledge is sometimes being able to spew new trivia about certain episodes of Batman The Animated Series.

When I turned 25 a few months ago, I realized a few things. One, my frontal lobe was fully developed and the headaches finally stopped. Two, I was now a quarter of a century old. Or 1/40th of a millennium old. However you want to look at it. And three, I needed to stop wasting time. The biggest culprit, of course, was sleep. I sleep for roughly a third of my life. That means a third of my life I’m technically doing nothing. I always say that I’ll sleep when I’m dead which is why I wish sleep wasn’t such a necessity. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love sleep. Sleep is incredible. I simply wish it I didn’t need it. My opinion towards sleep is the epitome of a love/hate relationship. I detest being tired but the only true remedy is sleep. A lifelong Catch 22 if you will. And I have to say, when I get older, I will NOT take more naps like older individuals often do. I don’t understand it. I’m running out of time at that point. I can’t waste it. That’d be like watching a 2 hour long movie and then I just started fast forwarding through 30 second parts during the last half hour.

My problem was I kept thinking to myself, I’m too tired to this, I don’t have enough time to do…SHUT UP! Why do I put stuff off? Ever? How lazy do I have to be? Every second I’m losing time and to be blunt, death is only getting closer. Maybe one of the only true facts of life. Well, that and Snickers Ice Cream Bars could create world peace. But that’s why I’ve deemed my procrastinating as needing to be productive. I try to limit my mindless meandering through the internet and my overabundance of sleep so I can put focus on accomplishing what I honestly and truly want to. I’ll lose 30 minutes of sleep so I can watch that TV show. I’ll spend that extra 45 minutes playing that video game instead of cruising through IMDB rereading quotes I’ve heard 1,000 times. I’ll take an extra hour to talk to myself. Not in a crazy way, not like a “let’s walk on the other side of the street because that weird guy is talking to himself” way, but in the way I talked to myself at the Western Wall in Jerusalem. The way I really opened up to my own thoughts, goals and dreams. Of course, it helps me at home that I have my authentic Western Wall snow globe. Ladies.

I haven’t exactly said specifically what I’m procrastinating from. I suppose, in a word, life. In two words, real life. Anything during productive procrastination is meant to be an escape. Most people simply call it free time. For me, productive procrastination is free time that is essentially used for a series of escapes, both big and small. The moments between the escapes are real life. I’m not saying life is bad by any means. I love life. It’s the necessary real life stuff that gets in the way of what I most want to do. I have a theory. Most people, even if they have a job they love and love going to, given a day off, would have something else they’d rather be doing. But when I’m stuck at work for my 50+ hours a week (two jobs), I revel in those little escapes. Like checking Facebook on my phone and, as stupid as it sounds, going to the bathroom where I can daydream for a moment and plan my next escape for after work. What it comes down to is this, when it comes to wasting time, I need to make sure I’m never wasting time.

In this week’s portion, Moses continues his speech to the Israelites and emphasizes their potential rewards and punishments for following the commandments.

Moses shares that the Promised Land is one that is flowing with milk and honey (from dates – not bees – a common misconception!), and that “when you have eaten your fill, give thanks to the Divine…” [Deuteronomy 8:10]

Our Christian brethren often do a much better job than we do of expressing gratitude around mealtime by saying grace (which is usually done with a bit more reverence than Ricky Bobby’s “Dear Lord Baby Jesus” offering in Talladega Nights). While we have a quick prayer we are meant to say before our meal (if eating bread, we would say the “hamotzi” which is a single line), our major proscribed blessing is made after the meal (“birkat hamazon” – the Grace After Meals), in accordance with the chronology in the verse. Eat your fill, and then give thanks.

Saying our major prayer after eating, as opposed to before, poses some interesting challenges. For example, it’s often easier to be thankful for food while it is still visible and we’re anticipating consumption. We have the ability to inspect the food, smell it, see the vibrancy of its colors, and be grateful for the meal we’re about to partake in. After eating, many of us would be quite content taking a nap, let alone trying to remember the beauty of the meal. Taking the extra few minutes to reflect on the meal we’ve had and to offer our thanks is an appropriate and powerful way to express gratitude.

Why should we be grateful and take the time to express our gratitude?

Because, simply put, there are people in the world who are starving.

According to Ban Ki Moon, Secretary General of the United Nations, six million children die of hunger every year. Many more are malnourished. Lest you think hunger is not an issue in the United States, in 2010, almost 15% of U.S. households were food insecure.

The United States has the highest obesity rate in the world, and still has citizens, many of them children, that don’t have enough to eat.

Our ancestors, overwhelmingly living in poverty in Eastern European villages, knew what hunger was. My grandmother, who survived numerous concentration camps, knew what starving was.

Nobody should go hungry.

Children should not need to worry about where their next meal is coming from, and should not be going to bed wishing they had something to eat.

These are not political statements – these are human statements. Regardless of your politics, from the Jewish perspective, you are not permitted to stand by as people starve to death when you have the ability to help.

How can you help?

A couple of ideas:

Donate your time and dollars to a food rescue organization, bring cans and perishables to The Ark’s food pantry, volunteer at The Uptown Cafe.

Each time you host a Shabbat dinner or other festive meal in your home, make it a point to invite a family (or individual) that you know is struggling to put food on the table. The ability to connect with such families certainly exists through your local Jewish Family Services, kosher food bank, etc. Make it a point to have everyone in attendance take home leftovers of some kind, so that the family can have some additional food for their home without being self-conscious or ashamed.

Be grateful for what you have, and take the time to express that gratitude.

The other day I was at Argo Tea and discovered, to my horror, that they're now offering pumpkin-flavored muffins. Target is in the full swing of back-to-school shopping, and even CVS is starting to sell Halloween-themed candy. Most of my friends love autumn; I would mind it less if it didn't mean sixteen months of winter were close on its heels.

Even so, I do have a fondness for fall in Chicago: it still feels like coming back to school after spending my summers in Ohio. It's been six years since I graduated from college – six years! – and I have an observation to make: it's hard not being in school. I don't mean dorms or dining halls or all-nighters, though I do miss having the majority of my friends and extracurricular activities be no more than a 15-minute walk away. No, the hardest thing is not being in class. I'm serious. I am that person who misses being in class.

We're lucky here in Chicago, though: if you're interested in something, think you might be interested or didn't even know you could be interested, there's someone in this city that is happy to teach you. I haven't been signing up for discourses on 17th-century philosophy or Introduction to Modern Physics (alas), but as someone who's always hungry for more art and creativity in my life, I've been very lucky to fall into improv comedy (iO and the Annoyance), singing (Old Town School of Folk Music), ukulele (Old Town again), all kinds of creative writing (Story Studio) and, as soon as I find the right time, swing dancing (Big City Swing) and photography (Chicago Photography Center). Let's not even talk about all the arts and crafts courses I could be taking, given how close I live to LillStreet.

It's a little addictive, taking classes in things you've never done before. At Old Town, I'm in the middle of a course called Vocal Techniques. I've never had any formal voice training, so I wasn't sure what I would be learning. This week after class, I said to some friends, "I thought I could sing before. Turns out I didn't even know how to stand!" It's addictive, taking classes, but it's also humbling to be a beginner all the time. That said, the great thing about progressing in eight-week chunks is that you can see your own improvement as you go, which can be another solid difference from taking college classes.

Possibly my favorite thing about classes is how unexpectedly they can improve other areas of your life. I know that improv and a former gig as a copy editor have been the best teachers of creative writing I've had. Learning how to correct my posture for better breathing has helped me adopt commuting by bike. My next goal is to find a way to learn and perform Shakespeare; I've been immersing myself in the history plays this summer, and I can only imagine how the chance to deliver those words in front of people might affect the rest of my day. (If I start doing columns in iambic pentameter without noticing, please let me know.)

So, it may only be early August, but the notices for all the most exciting fall classes are going out now. I'm far from ready for summer to be over, but there may be a greater travesty afoot than candy corn-flavored M&M's, and that is the sad truth that there is not enough time for me to take every course that interests me. Wait, hang on, I know that feeling… Ah yes: yeah, I was that person in college too.

Before having baby, I spent five years working in the non-profit sector as a volunteer coordinator. Over the course of those many days and weeks and months working with wonderful, kind-hearted volunteers, the one inquiry that always blew me away was when parents with infants or toddlers wanted to volunteer. I'd get calls from parents wanting to schedule hands-on volunteer projects to expose their children to volunteerism from a very young age. And I'm talking VERY young. I just didn't get it— what would a nine-month-old take away from this sort of experience?

Well, hello parenthood! Already I'm understanding where these folks are coming from, albeit with a more realistic set of expectations of just what we are able to do at this point.

A big part of being a parent is imparting a sound sense of values upon your children. This I know. And with Colin just ten weeks old, I know that we have plenty of time to accomplish all of this, since right now all he can say is, "Ahh, eeh, mah" and he has trouble finding his own hands.

But still, the first step toward teaching him to be a fine upstanding citizen seems to be modeling the behaviors we would like him to learn. Like being thankful for what you have (writing thank you notes for gifts), caring for others (checking on a friend who is sick), and kindness (not screaming at your husband when you are annoyed with him—being nice instead). And of course, being charitable and helping those in need.

That is where the tricky part begins. I certainly don't think Colin is ready to be serving meals to the homeless or marching on Washington for social justice. He doesn't even eat real food or walk yet. But it's good to start early and model the right behaviors, right?

Enter The ARK's Back Pack Project.

Today Colin and I shopped for school supplies for a 7th grade girl whose family would otherwise not be able to afford everything she needs for school. The ARK matched us up with her and is making sure that everything we brought in, from backpacks and binders to pens and pencils, gets to her before school starts.

Now obviously Colin didn't pick the colors of the folders, whip out his AMEX to pay for the supplies or drive us to The ARK, but while we shopped, I chatted to him about why we were getting everything, and then he came with me to The ARK to drop it off (and be fawned over by all my former co-workers— thanks guys).

I'm hoping we will make this an annual tradition, along with other projects and mitzvah opportunities, all in the right time as they become age-appropriate. My goal is that he will reach adulthood and think that this is something he has always deemed to be important, that generosity of time, money and spirit are qualities that are crucial to being a good person, and that this is something he wants to continue on his own once mom and dad aren't footing the bill or forcing him to tag along.

It was the summer solstice.

My friend and I had just left the Western Wall when we happened upon hundreds of people lining the streets of Jerusalem at sunset holding hands, dancing, and singing "Salaam (Od Yavo Shalom Aleinu)," an Israeli song, sung in Hebrew and Arabic, that's come to symbolize a call for peace.

Some donned dreads, others kippot, and a couple people wore keffiyehs. A few beat on drums, forming drum circles with kids in the crowd.

Maybe if I had witnessed a similar scene in Chicago, my street-smart instincts would have whispered to turn away from the unusual display of people dancing in front of me.

But I was feeling the love, they were singing my favorite Jewish song, and I figured, "When in Jerusalem…"

So I jumped right in and interlaced hands with an Asian woman on one side and a 30-something man in a kippah on the other.

"What is all this?" I asked the man.

"It's called the 'Jerusalem Hug,'" he replied.

In honor of the first day of summer, he explained to me, the Hug beckons hundreds of Jerusalemites and visitors to the city to stand shoulder to shoulder in a demonstration of love, peace, and unity.

One of the organizers of the 'Jerusalem Hug,' leading the crowd through the city.

In a way, the scene couldn't have been more simple—people holding hands with each other. But then again, especially just steps from the Wall, the moment felt holy.

This summer marked my fourth trip to Israel. I had traveled there to participate in the World Zionist Organization-sponsored conference on "Women and Zionism" for 20 young Jewish women from around the world, as well as the Israeli Presidential Conference, under the auspices of Israeli President Shimon Peres.

On past visits, the planner in me structured my itinerary carefully, touring the country's majestic, holy Jewish tourist sites, like the Wall, Masada, and Safed. But in my free time on this trip, I let the wind carry me.

And it's no accident that it was on this visit that I felt most connected to the fabric of Israeli society sharing spontaneous encounters with Israeli people like my fellow hand-holders in Jerusalem. It was in these small, unplanned moments, I felt the power of this holiest place on earth.

Indeed, I felt a holy connection to the people and land of Israel when:

I tasted fresh watermelon at the open-air market.
I swam in the Mediterranean Sea, as warm as bath water.
I shared a seat on a city bus next to a local commuter.
I struck up a conversation with young Israeli guys at an outdoor bar on a breezy Jerusalem night under a crescent moon.

One of the speakers we heard from at the World Zionist Organization conference was a brilliant professor named Gil Troy. A Queens, N.Y. native, Troy taught history at McGill University in Montreal for many years before making aliyah with his wife and two young children. His favorite part about living in Israel, he told us, is doing "normal activities," like taking his daughter to ballet and watching his son practice soccer, in a Jewish state.

To him, and to me, there is holiness in the mundane in this unique place.

After the conference ended in Jerusalem, I took a bus to Tel Aviv. There, I spent a few days with Leah-- my Jewish American best friend from childhood—and her Israeli boyfriend, Itay. After initially meeting in Manhattan, they relocated to Itay's beloved hometown of Tel Aviv three years ago.

Leah and Itay gave me the kind of Israeli education you can't get from climbing Masada; they taught me about what it's like to really live in Israel.

Leah is starting her own fashion design business. When she's not working, she's exercising at Israeli boot camp by the sea, learning Hebrew, and taking on the daunting task of Israeli driver's ed—where she's killing two birds with one stone by learning to swear in Hebrew from a chain smoking, gravel-voiced Israeli woman. Itay is a computer consultant, specializing in technological educational resources for students.

The three of us shared a lot of deep conversations during my weekend in town on topics like what it means to be a Jewish minority in the diaspora versus part of the Jewish majority in Israel.

One warm Tel Aviv night, on our way home from eating sushi and drinking sake at a Tel Aviv sushi joint, Leah, Itay, and I bumped into a crowd of peaceful organizers—more than 1,000 strong—at one of the social protests commonplace in Tel Aviv last summer and this summer.

Israelis marched and chanted in support of civil rights for all members of Israeli society. To the delight of the crowd, a bus driver left his vehicle in the middle of the street, where traffic was at a standstill, and danced with the protesters.

And just like in Jerusalem, I joined in, this time with my friends, marching down the street with the Israeli people—another holy moment in the holy land.

We walked out of the synagogue after my grandma's memorial service and asked what any Jewish family would ask each other after a difficult experience– where should we eat? Despite filling up on coffee cake while accepting condolences from friends, I was in need of some Jewish penicillin, and there was only one place I could think of.

"Let's go to the Buffalo," I suggested. My husband rolled his eyes. He believes the Buffalo is mediocre and overpriced (this from the man who believes the standard-bearer of Italian food is the Olive Garden). Perhaps because his wife's grandmother recently passed away, or because said wife was 22 weeks pregnant, he kept the kvetch to a minimum and dutifully drove me to my matzo ball soup.

The Buffalo Restaurant and Ice Cream Parlor is a fixture of the Buffalo Grove community. Though it's technically a Greek deli, the restaurant serves a variety of Jewish comfort foods and is one of the only places I can never go without make up on, since I am guaranteed to know at least one person there. The menu includes the aforementioned matzo ball soup, which boasts two big, fluffy balls in a just-salty-enough broth. Enjoyed with a roll from the bread basket, matzo ball soup at the Buffalo feels like home.

The Buffalo has played the "supportive and comforting friend" role in my life for as long as I can remember. Being centrally located in between the baseball fields and home, my family would eat there after my brothers played. We went there for ice cream after attending family Shabbat services at our synagogue. In junior high, when I was finally grown up enough to go out to eat with friends (and without any parents), the Buffalo was one of the only places we could get to on foot from our neighborhood. We often paid in change and under tipped the poor sucker who got stuck serving us. Allowance only went so far.

In high school I was involved in theater and choir. After a performance, our cast would often head to the Buffalo, celebrating over deep fried anything, massive ice cream sundaes, and of course, matzo ball soup. My high school boyfriend and I shared many evenings at the Buffalo over the "Lover's Delight," an ice cream creation I'm too embarrassed to continue thinking about.

When my friends and I were home from college on break and needed a place to meet, it was the obvious choice. When I lost my first job, hated my second job, and landed my third job, I drowned my sorrows and celebrated there. Battling a bad cold or upset stomach? The Buffalo. 

I moved to the city, which certainly did not lack for Jewish delis, but nothing compared. It was one of the first places my husband and I went for dinner after we moved back to the burbs. I was excited to introduce him to my place. He probably would have preferred the Olive Garden.

And so I found myself there after the memorial service, surrounded by family, slurping soup, and remembering Grandma. The familiar surroundings, the comforting food, and the shared memories of a lost loved one helped put a Band-Aid on my sadness. The Buffalo, my supportive and comforting friend, came through once again.

 
The recipients of the first Double Chai in the Chi: Jewish 36 under 36 list. 

Pictured: Beth Avner, Jenna Benn, Rachel Drescher, Jeff Ellman, Laurie Grauer, Lizzi Heydemann, Joel Holland, Jonny Imerman, Shalom Klein, Rachel Kohl Finegold, Ari Levy, Scott Lieber, Josh Liss, Ilana Marczak, Samantha Margolis, Michael Masters, Michael Oxman, Matthew Seidner, Benjamin Singer, Cameron Smith, David Solow, Kenny Stolman, Josh Weinberg, Adam Weingarten, Amy Witt, Jill Zenoff

Not pictured: Jordan Bendat-Appell, Brad Finkel, Aliza Goodman, Leah Jones, Lindsey Markus, Matt Matros, Evan Moffic, Brandon Prosansky, Jimmy Sarnoff and Roslyn Turner

Thanks for coming out to the WYLD on the water party last night! We had a total blast and hope you all did, too. Here is a sneak peek of some of the 36 under 36 posing on the boat. To see the rest of the photos from the event, click here.

We all know that chocolate can bring out the glint in a lover’s eye and that the smooth creamy and sensuous Aztec treat is even good for you, with all of its anti-oxidants and flavonoids, but how do you share the sumptuous chocolaty pleasure when it is blazing hot? There is nothing romantic about a box of melted chocolates.

This Tu’B Av pull out your blender and ice cubes and enjoy a frothy, icy and sexy treat.

In Israel, Tu B'Av is a day of love and while it is a regular workday, music and dance festivals are typically held to celebrate the day. Israelis give cards and flowers to their loved ones on Tu B'Av; and, get married. Hot chocolate can warm your soul and is pure comfort on a chilly day. Iced hot chocolate is refreshing and fun. Be sure to use the best chocolate you can find to share with the object of your affection.

Frozen Hot Chocolate
Serves 4

2 ½ cups whole milk
1 cup half-and-half
½ cup powdered milk
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped
4 ounces milk chocolate or white chocolate, chopped
1 tablespoon sugar
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1 teaspoon instant espresso or coffee powder
3 cups of ice
Suggested garnishes: vanilla beans, shaved chocolate

1. Heat the milk, half-and-half and powdered milk in a saucepan on medium heat to just below the simmering point.

2. Remove the pan from the heat and add both chocolates. When the chocolates are melted, add the sugar, vanilla extract, and espresso and whisk vigorously. Cool the mix.

3. Place the hot chocolate mix in a blender or food processor. Add ice and process until the texture of a smoothie. Serve immediately. 

He is young, humble, and most importantly, good. While the Jewish world was sparked by the Padres 7th pick in the draft Max Fried, it is Max Ungar who might be the most important Jewish pick in the entire draft. Ungar went in the 36th round (not quite the 7th pick) to his hometown Washington Nationals. But this kid is from an all Jewish high school, Charles E. Smith in Rockville Maryland. When asked how he wanted to be promoted, Ungar said to mention his coaches, family, and friends. So he can play ball and is a mensch. Below is the exciting story of Max Ungar, a kid with a bright future and someone The Great Rabbino is rooting for.

1) Tell TGR a little bit about yourself… Where did you grow up, family life, other interests besides baseball?
I grew up in Bethesda, Md with two sisters, one older (a professional ballerina) and one younger (an awesome soccer and guitar player). My family has always been the most important thing in my life and they have always supported me through my academics as well as athletics and I really want to thank them for everything they have done. Some of my other interests besides baseball include; writing a blog about dieting in college, doing "crossfit" style of working out, hiking, and being in nature.

2) When did you start playing baseball?
I've been playing baseball since I can remember so probably around three or four years old. I have a great picture of me in the backyard with a wiffle ball bat and ball on a tee. When I started playing, I was always at an age where I could either be the youngest on the team or I could be the oldest, and that translated over to school as well. I was one of the younger kids in my class and I usually ended up having to play on summer and fall teams where I was either the youngest or the oldest. This put me at somewhat of a disadvantage because when I was the oldest on the team, I wasn't playing the best competition that I could be playing, and I would go to showcases and the kids there would all be bigger and older than I am used to.

3) Congrats on being drafted by the Washington Nationals. When did you realize getting drafted was a possibility? What was that like?
I really never thought that I would get drafted. Being from such a small school that really hasn't produced the greatest athletes in its history, I was not really expecting this to happen. When I first got a call from Bobby Myrick, who scouted me, I felt like it was a possibility but I really did not think it would happen because, again of the small school. Getting that call was probably one of the coolest things that ever happened to me. My dad was actually the only one home and he picked up the phone and talked to him. When my dad told me the news, I was ecstatic. First off, it was really cool that my Dad told me because he has always been the one who goes out and tosses BP for me or throws with me. However, I still did not think it would happen, I knew then that it was a possibility and I kept it in the back of my mind since that happened, until I went to Israel.

4) What was draft day like and how did you find out?
Draft day was crazy. I had everyone in the neighborhood over and family over, all dressed up, and we had a huge feast and huddled around the T.V. waiting for my name to be called and then... No, just kidding not at all like that. I had actually kind of forgot that it was the last day of the draft and if it was going to happen, it would happen that day. I was more focused on my orientation at Denison. So, it was pretty normal, I went to the gym, packed and left for Granville, Oh. My friend Jordan Tuwiner had texted me a few days before saying that if I was going to get drafted that he would tell me first (Jordan runs a baseball recruiting website). So, I started driving to orientation with my mom (about a six hour drive) and my phone started to ring. I noticed that it was a (301) number so I thought I would pick it up (that was when I remembered that it was draft day). I picked it up and heard someone say "Hello this is the Washington Nationals, we just wanted to let you know that we will be drafting you in about 10 minutes so, you should turn on the broadcast on MLB.com and listen in, congratulations." When I heard that, I was at a loss for words, I think all I could come up with was "awesome, awesome, thank you." I started shaking a bit I think, and probably swerved a little bit on the road. I remember people passing me because I was all the way in the left lane and I started to slow down out of pure excitement. So, we frantically started calling everyone trying to tell them to tune in to the broadcast. Then, Jordan called and said they just drafted me. About a minute later we heard it over my mom’s iPhone on the car's stereo system. It was just a crazy moment. We pulled over and my phone, email, and Facebook just started to blow up. Every other second I was getting a phone call, text or Facebook notification. It was really awesome. All of my friends and family were really nice about congratulating and supporting me.

5) Were you excited it was the Nationals, your home team, who drafted you?
It is awesome that the Nationals, my hometown team, drafted me. I have been to a bunch of Nats games and know some people who have worked for the Nationals in the past. I even remember when the Nats came to town and it was a big thing to be a Nationals fan. Now, they are doing so well, that there are a lot of Nats fans out there and people are impressed when they hear the Washington Nationals. However, I am a Red Sox fan, first and foremost. A bunch of my family grew up in Boston and Red Sox nation has been instilled in me from the beginning by my uncle, aunt, cousins, grandmother, and mom.

6) What is next for you? Do you plan on going to the minors or college? If you go to college do you lose your draft status?
I will be attending Denison University in the fall and playing for the Big Red in the spring. While it is really cool to have been drafted, my teachers and counselors as well as Baseball factory (a recruiting organization) have all taught me that my college education is more important for my future. Unless the Nats offer me a lot of money, I do not plan on accepting. After that, I will go to Denison and play baseball for them while Nationals scouts and possibly other scouts follow me. After my junior year of college, I can be drafted again by any team.

7) What are your long term goals?
My long term goals are similar to most peoples’ long term goals. I want to be a family man first and foremost. If, to get there, the paths of life take me through professional baseball, then that would be really cool. If not, then that's okay also. I am interested in a number of things aside from baseball, and when it comes down to it, I have to make the best decisions for my family. One scenario that I especially want to avoid however, is getting drafted, signing, and then getting stuck in the minor leagues for a long time, where I can't really do much with my life except get better at baseball, where I have little money, and am away from home most of the year.

8) Which baseball player do you try to model your game after? Who is your favorite player?
I would say I try and model my game, and work ethic after Jason Varitek. I think Varitek is the epitome of a professional baseball player. He really knows the game, can predict situations, and is prepared for them. He was one of the hardest working guys in the game of baseball, even if he wasn't the most gifted, or talented athlete, he always used his intelligence and work ethic to make him an all-star and long tenured major leaguer.

9) If you had to start a baseball team which Jewish player would you start it with; Ryan Braun, Ian Kinsler, Kevin Youkilis, or Jason Marquis?
Jason Marquis. Pitching is the key to success. But, I think Braun is a really great player and is going to surpass Shawn Green as the modern day Hank Greenberg.

Good luck to Max in school (or scoring that huge lucrative deal). We will be following your story.
And Let Us Say...Amen.
- Jeremy Fine

Aly Raisman does a leap on beam at the 2010 World Championships. Photo credit: Josh Cheng

Just like her mom, Jewish Americans were kvelling for Aly Raisman after her amazing show Sunday night in London which earned her an unexpected spot in the gymnastics all-around finals alongside fellow American Gaby Douglas. Not only did Raisman turn out a fabulous performance, but her floor routine performed to Hava Nagila (I could only find a video from previous competitions) was a nice moment of Jewish pride after a rocky start for many. While American Jews everywhere became overnight fans of Aly, and will certainly tune in to see how she does in the finals, there are several other Jewish American Olympians turning it out this year that are worth watching.

Here are some to keep an eye on.

As a former competitive high school swimmer, Jason Lezak has always held a special place in my heart. While the Ryan Lochte vs Michael Phelps showdown has garnered most of the swimming PR, Lezak is a swimming veteran. He is returning to London to swim in his fourth Olympics and is one of five captains on the 530-member American squad. Lezak will be racing in the men's 400 by 100-meter freestyle relay.

Rounding out American Jews in the pool is Anthony Ervin. Anthony previously won two Olympic medals at the 2000 Summer Olympics in the men's 50-meter freestyle and the men's relay team in the 4×100-meter freestyle event.  He actually stopped swimming competitively in 2003 (hence skipping Beijing), but decided to begin training again in 2011 and will be competing in the 50-meter freestyle event once more. Anthony is also quite the do-gooder! In 2000, he auctioned off his Olympic gold medal on eBay and donated the proceeds to victims of the 2004 tsunami.

You might not be as familiar with her, but Julie Zetlin has a lot in common with Aly Raisman. Like Aly, Julie is also a member of the gymnastic team- she is a rhythmic gymnast. Julie and Aly both fare from the east coast, are competing in their first Olympic games and are both considered dark horses. Julie was actually awarded a wild-card berth to compete in London.  Finally, Aly and Julie share the dubious distinction of being recently named to the 25 hottest athletes on the 2012 U.S. Olympic Team list. Go, hot Jewish girls!

Moving on to fencing…yep, there is a Jew on the American fencing team and his name is Tim Morehouse. Tim is already an Olympic veteran; he won a silver medal competing in the men's sabre in Beijing. He will be back again this year and get this; he is coached by another famous, Jewish, Olympic, veteran, Yury Gelman!

Now admittedly, I don't know as much about this last athlete, but I'm trying to learn more. David Banks is a member of the men's rowing team. I believe this is his first time competing in the Olympics and it looks as though he competed in the Men's eight over the weekend and they finished in first place in their heat! The finals will take place on Wednesday, Aug. 1, so I guess we will just have to stay tuned to find out if he brings home any medals!

There are also 37 Olympians representing Israel in London, including Illinois-born Jillian Schwartz, a pole vaulter who was on the American team at the 2004 Athens Olympics, but is representing Israel this time around.

Am I missing anyone? Let me know, just don't call me yenta!

Here's a little background about me. I spent the 2010-2011 school year teaching English in Grenoble, France. Before that, I spent a year working in the heart of Chicago in the Jewish non-profit community. When I was abroad, my eyes were opened to the everyday experience of the Jewish community in my town and in the country at large. I experienced what it meant to me to be not only Jewish in France, but a Jewish, young, female, American in France. It was a ridiculously fun, thought-provoking and thrilling seven months and I'm excited to share these stories. By the way, all thoughts and opinions are purely my own…I take full responsibility for any sweeping generalizations.

Picking up where I left off, I was last in contact with the local in Chabad in Grenoble, looking for a place to stay prior to the start of a seven-month teaching contract. I'd heard back from a representative, Arie R. and he let me know he would put the word out.

Just a few short days later, I heard from Arie that a family expressed interest. They were a pair of business owners with two teenage boys, one of them leaving the nest to study at Oxford during the upcoming school year. I feverishly read the email. I shot a quick response back and within a few days, plans were firmed up to stay with the B. family in a house on Rue Raspail. I couldn't believe it. What was merely a suggestion from my boss slowly evolved into a concrete reality. Moving to France was becoming more and more "real" by the day. As I came to know my host father by correspondence, I felt welcomed and grateful. 

As the date of my flight got closer, my investigation of my new hometown grew intense. Now that I had a jumping off point, suddenly my days were spent mapping how to get from Rue Raspail to every possible destination. To my school, where I'd made contact with the principal, to the bars in town, to any potential creperies (my absolute favorite French food), to the mountains that outline the northern curve of the city, anywhere. My new world, with the exchange of a few emails, quickly took shape. Before I knew it, my mother and father drove me to the airport on a crisp September day. Armed with two suitcases, some phone numbers and an iron will to make this all work out, I left my parents at the airport food court and tepidly headed toward la vie Francaise.

There's something a bit heartbreaking about airports. In my younger days, I went to overnight camp. The final day always closed with the whole camp singing "Leaving on a Jet Plane" and it always struck me as a little wrenching. To be fair, I'm pretty sentimental. I'd "left on a jetplane" many times before, but never for this long. And looking at my parent's faces, it finally hit me that I was leaving behind my whole "Chicago" life for quite some time. It would resume, of course. But at that point, I didn't know when I would be back again. A one-way ticket to a place I'd never been. It was exciting, more than a little gut wrenching, but hopefully worth it.

My flying motto is have Dramamine. The flight rushed by. After a lengthy layover at Heathrow, my stomach leaped into my throat as the plane hurtled toward my final destination, Lyon, France. From Lyon, I took the one-hour bus to Grenoble, where the B. family awaited me. The fatigue of traveling untangled my nerves. At that point, I didn't possess the energy for nervousness.

As the night grew darker and the coach bus whisked down the AutoRoute, I caught my first glimpses of Grenoble. What struck me first were the mountains…everywhere. As the bus sped down the main thoroughfare with lights flashing, signs glaring and French people strolling, my eyes lit up. I rolled up to Rue Raspail feeling content, exhausted and overwhelmed. Mrs. B. met me at the gate, and my first night in France unfolded.

It wasn't just any night, it was Erev Sukkot. After plopping down my suitcases, I was shepherded outside to the beautiful sukkah in their backyard. I sat down and saw the smiling faces of Mr. and Mrs. B., their two children, Joachim and David. I knew I was going to be just fine. After we collectively said our prayers over the bread and wine, I breathed a sigh of relief.

We washed our hands and began our meal. I, being the American, was offered a can of Coke; it's our favorite, right? I was asked a peculiar question. In rapid fire French that I was not quite ready for, Mr. B. asked me right out, "So, what think about American Judaism? What do you have to say about it?" Maybe it was the desperate need for sleep, maybe I was taken off guard, but the question gave me pause. I'd been on birthright and I'd been asked similar questions about Jewish life in America, albeit by peers. To Mr. B., I'm sure I rattled off something about how it's a complicated issue, there are shades of gray, to each their own; all of those fair and good diplomatic phrases. In the coming weeks I got to know and develop relationships with this family and learn about their modern Orthodox life in France as well as in Tunisia (where Mr. B. immigrated from). His question was a thought I often came back to. As a very reform Jewish gal, I could only speak from that experience. It was interesting to ponder and discover how French Jewish culture differs from American Jewish culture.

To come…learning how to shop for kosher groceries, going to services in France and more! Stay tuned and thank you very much for reading.

As our bus pulled up to the Jewish Agency camp in Odessa, Ukraine, I was bursting with excitement. Having been a proud camper for over 10 years, I know the impact it can have on one's life and I was dying to see what Jewish camp was like in Ukraine.

Historically, Odessa has been one of the major centers for Jewish life and thought. Many of the most prominent Jewish leaders are from Odessa including Chaim Bialik, Ahad Ha'Am and Vladamir (Zeev) Jabotinsky. While there is a rich history, there is also a significant story of anti-Semitism, including pogroms, Nazi annihilation and Communist purges. With the support of the Jewish Federations of North America and our partners, the Jewish Agency, the Joint Distribution Committee (JDC), and World ORT, the Jewish community in Odessa is experiencing a period of renewal and revival. This 10 day camp experience, a program of the Jewish Agency, is designed to bring Jewish life and culture to teenagers in the Ukraine.

I never expected the kind of experience I was about to have...

When we arrived, every teen was line dancing to Israeli music, and immediately someone grabbed my hand to join in on the dance floor. It took a few missteps before I remembered the choreography, but after about five minutes, I was in my groove, swaying and twisting to all of my favorite dances. These were the same songs and routines I learned at camp 15 years ago. I was shocked by the universality of these dances, and at once I bonded with these teenagers over this common love of Israeli dance.

And the camp...it was amazing! Honestly, I was expecting it to be closer to my idea of a shtetl than the kind of experience I was used to in the US. I was definitely wrong! Not only were the camp grounds exquisite, with a huge communal area, basketball courts, nice bunks, etc, but the decorations and details were out of this world, amazing. Every path in camp was marked by a city name in Israel. When we broke up into small groups we experienced Israel, holidays and different parts of society through engaging, creative and inspiring Jewish programs.

And then, we were brought to an area with a magnificent huge Kotel structure. It was 30 feet long and seven feet high. It was made of bricks that were painted to look like Jerusalem stone, and there was greenery and shading and spacing to make it feel like you were at the Kotel, in Jerusalem. We all put notes in this wall together and shared our most intimate dreams, aspirations and thank-yous. Because our group was heading from Odessa to Israel, one teen asked me if I would take their note with me to the real Kotel...I was honored.

For many of these teens, this camp provides them with their Jewish identity. These children learn about holidays, religion, community and culture and with the help of our partnership organizations these teens can continue to celebrate with a community...a community that not too long ago, did not exist. One child I spoke with only discovered his Judaism weeks before, when his grandmother learned about the camp and encouraged her grandson to attend because it would be fun and because he was Jewish.

It was at this moment, when I heard this, that I realized the following: you could be me, or I could be you. My grea- grandparents were fortunate enough to leave the Ukraine before the war and were able to practice Judaism freely in the US. For my Ukrainian counterparts, their fate was entirely different. During much of the time since my grandparents left, no communal or cultural life was permitted, private prayer groups were dispersed and Jewish texts were confiscated.

Through my experience on the Campaign Chairs and Directors Mission (organized by the Jewish Federations of North America), I have come to realize how important it is that we as Jews care for one another. All people should be allowed to practice religion freely and I am so proud to be a part of a community that supports and promotes the revitalization and renewal of Jewish communities worldwide.

For more information on the details and specifics about what we support, please visit: http://www.juf.org/donate/where.aspx.

I miss the idyllic summers of my youth. I long for the lazy summers I spent as a kid splashing around swimming pools, erecting sculptures in sandy beaches, painting “masterpieces” in summer art classes and picnicking at Ravinia Festival while listening to Peter, Paul and Mary. As I entered high school, I spent warm summer nights rehearsing in a summer theater program, followed by seemingly wild, late-night excursions with friends in our parents’ station wagons and mini vans to chains such as Applebee’s and Denny’s in the suburbs. Often, we’d build bonfires on local beaches beneath star-speckled skies, imagining life beyond our teens.

Summer now consists of a seasonally-seamless work routine, with longer days of sunshine seen only through tinted, sealed, office windows. Shadows of my scarcely raucous youth emerge on weekends when my friends and I go out to play in Chicago at summer festivals, outdoor cafes and evening concerts. Rarely do we approach a weekend or even a single day with the same sense of delicious, aimless abandonment that we took for granted as children.

We spend much of our childhood trying to imagine adulthood; we spend much of our adulthood trying to re-imagine our childhood. We act like children when under duress; we grasp for child-like innocence when recovering from duress.

This summer, my friends and I took a spontaneous trip to the Wisconsin Dells to help distract my friend who’d been through a bad breakup. It was one of the most spectacularly silly weekends I’ve had, perhaps, since I was a kid. Many of us had been to the Dells as children, but had fuzzy recollections of its landscape. I could only recall large-scale waterslides. I spent four years in Madison for college and considered myself a sort of Wisconsin aficionado. However, spending four years wearing red, eating cheese curds and saying “aboot” with the Sconnies didn’t fully prepare me for the Dells.

The Dells is in fact a trippy, trashy, child-adult play land where cell phone reception does not exist. The “city” is filled with see-it-to-believe-it attractions such as a deer petting zoo, an upside-down White House museum, a wizard quest experience, waterslides built to look like mouse traps, roller coasters with animals protruding from them, mock Greek and Roman ruins, all-you-can-eat pizza buffets with ranch themes, Native American trading posts, rumored cult-run restaurants, cheese shops, fudge shops, t-shirt shops and more.

Our ambitions for the weekend loosely consisted of eating junk food and not feeling guilty about it, swimming, visiting the Wisconsin casinos and viewing as many cheesy (pardon my pun) attractions as possible. About seven of us infiltrated a friend’s lake house nearby. While we had child-like goals for the weekend, we rallied like ladies. We lamented our lack of cell phone reception everywhere we went and trucked on. We prepared a picnic and ate by the lake, followed by hours of floating on inner tubes, casually sipping Leinenkugel’s Summer Shandy (a cross between beer and lemonade) and cooling off with watermelon.

One of our nights on the town including playing arcade games, posing for photos with totem poles at Native American trading posts, sampling local pizza (buffet-style, of course), and most memorably, playing dress-up. After comparison shopping between the five old time photo shop studios on a block (very serious business), my friends and I herded into one of the larger shops and debate the merits of various costumes and time periods. We settled on old time saloon girls, namely because the props were the coolest and we got to wear corsets. A childhood dress-up and theater veteran, I was filled with glee at the prospect of wearing ridiculous costumes, if only for a moment. I even whipped out makeup and shared with my friends in preparation for this dramatic photo shoot.

After being released from the surprisingly tight costume corsets, we abandoned the wild Dells night life for another round of dress-up at the house. We all packed for the occasion with Jersey-Shore-like attire. We spent a couple hours, selecting outfits, giving each-other make-over’s and then spent the remainder of the night dancing in the lake house and eating s’mores. That night, we learned new hairstyles, new make-up tricks and new dance moves. No men. Just us. We were 10 again.

We tackled many other important sites that weekend, including sampling several fudge shops, a cheese shop, a visit to Ripley’s Believe It or Not, a trip to a nearby casino—at which we played penny slots—followed by a closing visit to the film, Magic Mike. The entire weekend was essentially a long girlish sleepover where we ate junk, braided each other’s hair and ogled famous, hunky, movie stars.

Had you met me at age 9 or 10, I might have described my ideal weekend similarly. Sometimes, we need to act like a kid again to handle the adult world. A little spiked lemonade helps too.

Skinny fat is a term that’s thrown around all the time. It’s not like jumbo shrimp, but figuring out the term might require fuzzy logic.

For a visual definition of skinny fat, think of the last time you were at the pool or beach. You see someone who has thin arms and legs with a gut. I’m afraid that my love handles (we all have them) will morph into a gut. Fighting the battle is hard because it is so easy to gain a few pounds. The disadvantage to being skinny fat is that it’s not that noticeable, like visceral fat, which is the fat that hangs out around your vital organs. You don’t think it’s a big deal but in reality you put yourself at risk for:

• heart disease
• type II diabetes
• stroke
• breast cancer (women)
• colorectal cancer
• sleep apnea (men)
• and the list goes on...

Skinny fat is really having a body fat percentage that is higher than recommended for your age and gender. In general, for men you want to have a body parentage between 15-20%, women 20-25%. Your body fat percentage is more important than the number on the scale or your Body Mass Index (BMI). BMI should be removed completely as a medical term. It’s a formula that’s calculated based on weight and height.

Body fat percentage can be measured with several different tools that calculate the percent of fat to muscle in your body. You obviously want more muscle than fat because it helps you move better, burn fat, and reduces your risk for several health problems. Almost any gym has equipment to measure your body fat percentage. There is one slight problem; all the various tools for calculating this number (bioelectrical impedance, skin folds, DEXA, Bod Pod) will give you different numbers. My suggestion, pick one method and use that each time. You might not get the most accurate reading but you will notice a trend, hopefully a positive trend.

The best way to keep track of this number without fancy equipment is your pants. If your pants are tight, eat better and exercise more. If your pants fit perfect, then you’re maintaining your weight. How you look and feel in your clothes is always a good indicator, unless your dryer shrinks everything.

Keeping your body fat in check is done with exercise and diet. Eating healthy will help you lose fat and muscle. Weight lifting helps you build muscle mass. The more muscle mass you have, the more efficiently you burn calories. I’m not suggesting you bulk up like Arnold back in the day, but a few pounds of muscle usually isn’t a bad thing. Aside from using steroids, Arnold was also genetically gifted. Most of us can lift weights without looking like a “Hans.”

For more information on body fat percentage and wellness contact me at rkrit@fitwithkrit.com.

It has been quite a ride the last 18 months. Some would say it was colored by hardship and trauma, others may argue it was highlighted by triumph and strength. Depending on where you start and where you finish, I would argue it was and is all of the above.

There have been many transformations, many juxtapositions, many changes over the course of the last 18 months.

From tied up to untied, from the shadows to the sunlight, from sickness to health, I have seen it all.

And here— in this online space— I have captured these transformations, isolated these moments in time, portrayed these hardships and triumphs in a way that is unique, that is my own, that is at my disposal for a rainy or sunny day.

In this new phase of survivorship, cancer is mostly positioned in the chorus as opposed to center stage. She is no longer singing ballads on her own, but rather hums at a low murmur. While I have learned to expect and accept that she may never be silent, I am also grateful that on most days she no longer overpowers. Her role in the chorus is to highlight and support the lead, a position that she is better suited for, and that I am more comfortable with.

My relationship with her is in a constant state of flux. There are days when I am overwhelmingly grateful for the experience, and for the new set of spectacles I have to see the world. And then there are days, where she tricks me into hunting for tumors in my neck and chest, and she fools me into thinking that my scar tissue is yet another mass.

And so here I am 18 months later with a new set of eyes for which to see the world, but with residual scars that lie beneath.

Perhaps I couldn’t have experienced the triumph and strength, without the hardship and trauma.

And perhaps my experience with cancer will be yet another experience that I draw upon for my next challenge, my next hardship, and my next victory.

Check out Jenna’s profile in the latest issue of Chicago Jewish News, here.

"So, how was it?"
"Was it crazy?"
"Were you scared?"
"Did you love it?"
"Was it weird?"
"Was it hard?"
"Did it really look like that?"

The questions mount as I reconnect with family and friends, after three and a half months in India. This is a second round homecoming, I spent the majority of 2010-11 teaching and traveling in Asia; but I'm finding the questions more difficult to answer this time around. It's not that I don't have answers, I do. In fact, rejecting the standard, "It was amazing" I probably have better answers. It just seems that sometimes mine aren't the answers that people expect or want to hear and when the expected answer does come, the caveat or further explanation is not absorbed.

In January 2012, I moved to New Delhi to participate in the American Jewish World Service Volunteer Corps in India. The program, which a friend once referred to as the "Jewish Peace Corps," places Jewish professionals at local working in fields ranging from environmental conservation to public health, education and human rights. Volunteers are expected to provide sustainable support, as per a work plan developed based on the skills of the volunteer and the needs of the NGO. I was placed at a small Delhi based organization, which provides capacity building and modest financial support to grassroots individuals and organizations working to advance Dalit rights.

India, one of the largest most populated countries in the developing world, is facing both rapid growth and large-scale social, environmental, and developmental challenges, many of which are hindered by the persistence of a social caste or class hierarchy ingrained in nearly every aspect of society. While it is true that living, working, economic, and social conditions vary to levels which rival the nations geographical and environmental diversity, Dalits, or members of the formerly "untouchable" castes, continue to face wide spread discrimination throughout many parts of the country. This again ranges from unequal educational and employment opportunities, to physical abuse and sexual exploitation. The mission of the NGO at which I was placed, like many of its partners and counterparts in the Dalit movement, is to wipeout caste discrimination throughout the country. Through various fellowship programs, grant opportunities, and training workshops the foundation hopes to empower and aid Dalits in their fight for equality.

So, what does this all mean in terms of my volunteer placement? And how does it affect my response to the curiosity and queries of my friends and family?

On a larger scale it means that it was not about me, but rather the group, the movement, and the larger goals being supported. In the day to day, however, it meant I split my time between work in the office, field visits to foundations partners, and workshops aiming to train and select new fellows/grantees. In the office I provided support in the areas of English reporting and editing, developed leadership training sessions for the foundations young professionals program, and helped document job descriptions including clearly defined roles, goals, and performance indicators.

In the field I accompanied NGO staff to observe and evaluate the work and success of current fellows and grantees. I also spent time meeting and listening to stories told by the people for which the work was being done, the Dalit families, mothers, school children, domestic workers etc. all feeling the burden of a castes inherited at birth. It's when I try to recount these stories, to communicate to the best of my abilities, what my NGO was doing and who they were working for that I run into road blocks. "That's really heavy." or "So, you would never want to live there." A shift in conversation to lighter subjects, and often a comment that leads me to believe India has been written off as backward, or terrible, or scary.

But, that's not what I am trying to say. I am not trying to depress or scare people. I am trying to have the conversations they started, trying to answer the question, "How was it?" The point is that these things, the discrimination, the violence, the poverty, they are happening. They are a very real and present part of daily life; but they are not the only things happening. Activism is happening, community organizing is happening, and awareness building and education are happening. I want people to understand the problem (one of many, but perhaps the only one on which I have any basis to speak). I also want people to understand that there is a solution, or there will be. Maybe it hasn't come yet, maybe it won't come from the NGO I was placed at (or maybe it will!), but it will come from somewhere and likely it will come from people who are dedicating their lives to the fight.

And that's a very exciting, positive, wonderful thing.

I can't focus on the positive and ignore the negative, or vise-versa. I certainly can't bypass the expansive space between. My life in India meant daily ups and downs, seemingly endless frustration followed by equally endless positive surprises. Similarly, when someone asks about my NGO placement, my daily responsibilities, and the people I met, it will be heavy, but it will also be beautiful and inspiring. So, if a person wants to know, I ask them to take a moment to look at the big picture, to try to understand that I can't give an elevator pitch about the experience. I can't make definitive statements about the country as a whole and I certainly cannot provide one-word answers.

To my friends and family and everyone else that wants to know, I will respond each and every time, India was a lot of things. Let's talk about it.

For more information about The American Jewish World Service and Volunteer Corps, please visit: http://ajws.org.

Not long ago, I was sitting right where you are…no, I am not a child prodigy that graduated from college at age 12, I just look like it!  I was graduating from college, at age 22, where religion had been a MAJOR part of my experience. 

I was a founding member of the Heretics Club, co-president of our Jewish Union, active in IFYC and even studied Comparative Religion.  There was no doubt in my mind that religion would play some part in my life, but what that was…I had NO idea.  I contemplated Rabbinical School, as my family often called me Rav Fields.  I looked into a degree in Jewish Communal Development.  I applied for pretty much EVERY job posted on JewishJobs.com and all the ones on Idealist related to religion.  All of this was getting me nowhere except nervous and confused!  So, I decided to bolt!  Well, not really bolt, but explore for a little while. 

I decided to accept a Fulbright and move to Thailand.  My role was to provide assistance to English teachers and help teach the language while serving as a cultural ambassador for the U.S.  Shortly after my arrival at Sansaiwittayakom, I realized that not only was I the "American" but the "Hew."  And to many of those that I encountered, I was the only Hew and one of the only Americans they had ever met.  I took a step back, recognizing that this was an amazing opportunity to figure out what being American and being a Jew meant to me.  If I was an ambassador, I had to know what I was an ambassador for!  I wasn't just Jewish because I celebrate different holidays than Thais. 

I took my time there to study, explore and engage.  My students did projects on the world religions.  I learned from my students that Judaism was key to my life.  It meant community.  Tradition.  Tikkun olam.  What I began to see was that being away from community really made me want it more.

And then…I came back to the U.S.  I jumped right in to a community (AVODAH: The Jewish Service Corps) and no longer had to think about what religion meant to me…it was just there, part of my life, day in and day out.  I was a Jewish leader, community advocate, I had no choice, and I loved it.  But then the year ended.  It was now my turn to actually sit down and decide where I wanted to go in my life and how I wanted religion to be a part of it. 

There was no question in my mind that I wanted to work towards tikkum olam, repairing the world.  I wanted to build community.  And I really wanted to surround myself with others who had the same values as me.  I will not say that I know where I am going, but I will say that I am happy and content with where I am today.  It was not easy, but l believe I have found where I belong.  I currently work in the Young Leadership Division at the Jewish United Fund where I am able to build Jewish community as well as support the community at large.  I plan events, network and fundraise.

Now you might be asking yourself…how is this interfaith?  And my answer is that it cannot be more "interfaith."  Fifty percent of the Jewish community in Chicago enters an interfaith marriage.  That means that a large number of the people whom I work with are not or were not originally Jewish, yet we ALL want to repair the world.  We all want to make a difference.  We are all working together to provide critical resources that bring food, refuge, health care and more to 300,000 Chicagoans of ALL faiths and 2 million around the world.  We are working together to support 70 agencies that care for children, immigrants, low income, the elderly and disabled.  JUF is the central giving address for the Jewish community in Chicago and one of the largest social welfare agencies in Illinois, which means that thousands every year are counting on us to support the community, Jews and non-Jews alike.  What could be MORE interfaith than that?

Who knows where I will be five years down the line?  And if you do, please let me know!  But I do know, that unexpectedly, interfaith work has become a part of who I am each and every day, and I am proud of it.   

In this week's portion, Pinchas, we find a unique stand taken for women's rights.  The five daughters of a man named Zelophechad (try learning to spell that as a child!) approached the Israelite leadership and shared that their father had passed away without leaving any sons.  They hoped that despite being women, they would be able to inherit their father's holdings, which at the time was not the norm.  Moses brings the question to God, who states that the daughters are just in their request, and that if a man dies without leaving a son, his daughters shall inherit.

While today this may not seem like such a big deal, to suggest a few thousand years ago that women were able to inherit property was quite significant.  And while the decree may not have been perfect according to contemporary egalitarian standards (as after all, sons would still inherit before daughters), in the time period, it was assumed that the daughters would marry men who had their own holdings, and thus there was arguably less of a need for them to inherit than there was for sons.

There are still a number of places around the world where women aren't treated with such respect.  Frankly, while not as bad as in some other countries, there are myriad arguments to be made that women in the United States have yet to truly achieve equality with their male counterparts, be it by the failure to pass the Equal Rights Amendment or the reality that women are often paid less than men to do the same job.  Only 17 of 100 U.S. Senators are women (17%), and only 73 of 435 U.S. Congresspersons are women (16.8%), despite women being almost 51% of the U.S. population.  While the glass ceiling may now have a few holes poked in it, it is far from shattered.

While one might assume a lack of what we might contemporarily term "equality" in the Orthodox world today, at least from an egalitarian point of view, even within the liberal Jewish community women often are not given the same respect and/or opportunities as men.  For example, female rabbis often have a much harder time securing pulpit jobs than their male counterparts; and when they do secure such jobs, they are often paid less, because the assumption is that they have a male significant other who is bringing home the primary paycheck.

This Shabbat, in honor of the daughters of Zelophechad who asserted their rights, reflect on the women in your life.  Find ways to show your appreciation and gratitude to them, and resolve to make our Jewish community and the world around us one in which women are full, equal partners, who are given the respect and honor they deserve.

I have two Patti Smith songs in my iTunes library: one is a live performance of "About a Boy" from the 1997 Tibetan Freedom Concert, and the other is a cover of "Don't Smoke in Bed" from the eternally awesomely named Ain't Nuthin' But a She Thing. For most of my life, these and her status as "the Godmother of Punk" were all I knew about her. I never expected I would have feelings about her and her work, but as it turns out, that's only because I hadn't met her yet.

My favorite podcast for puttering around my apartment is NPR's All Songs Considered. Last month Smith was a guest DJ, to promote her new album, and before hitting "play" in iTunes, I had no idea what to expect. What does it mean to be the 65-year-old Godmother of Punk? I admit I only half-listened while I did my dishes, until her first song stopped me in my tracks. It was an anthem for the people of Japan in the aftermath of the tsunami, and the opening invocation gave me chills. After that, I listened, and became both interested in and impressed by this woman who spoke softly and beautifully about Amy Winehouse, growing up in New Jersey and her love of poetry.

Luckily for my newfound curiosity, Patti Smith has written an autobiography of sorts, Just Kids. I say "of sorts" because it's more properly the biography of a friendship, an amazing bond between her and the photographer Robert Mapplethorpe. I had heard of it when it came out a few years ago--it had won widespread acclaim and a number of awards. In an effort to curb my terrible book-buying habit, I hit up my library for a copy, but Patti has defeated me: I think I need to own this book.

If you only read Just Kids for its parade of fascinating experiences, discovering late '60s and early '70s New York from its underbelly to its heights, you'll get a great deal out of this book. If you only read it for her prose, which is marvelous, you'll absolutely enjoy yourself. But you can also read it for the contact high of her incredible love for Robert. She lays out their secret language, their struggles, their explorations, their growth as people and as friends, and it's a gift to be allowed inside it.

Just Kids is a period piece, and it's tempting to wish yourself into her shoes, to imagine hanging out with Janis Joplin or Jimi Hendrix. Smith does not cut corners about the unglamorous parts of artistic poverty. As much as she writes about beauty and excitement and creation, she doesn't spare us the lice or the hunger or the deaths of friends. We're not spared heartache even in the happy times: throughout the book is the specter of Mapplethorpe's death from AIDS, engrained in the text from the first sentence.

This book is a biography of a friendship, though, and the most interesting thing to me about Just Kids as a period piece is how the mechanics of friendship have and haven't changed. Patti and Robert are always making each other little gifts; they express themselves to each other with a lot of tactile effort and physical creations. They take long train rides or spend hours at diners together; they write letters and make collages or poppets or jewelry. Today, for those ordinary adorations, we send links or texts or posts on a Facebook wall. I found Patti Smith because of a podcast, on iTunes, on an iPod.

For me, this raises a lot of questions about authenticity, and why, when we have all this technology and the amazing things it affords us, we're so taken with nostalgia and "retro" and vintage experiences. I saw the music video for Beirut's "Postcards from Italy" for the first time while reading Just Kids, and it's assembled entirely of '60s-style home video footage, some staged and some, perhaps, "real." Someone once said that there must be a German word for the longing you feel for a memory you never made, and I get that feeling from this video. Someone is documenting this vacation, but everyone else is entirely present. Which, today, almost makes it a fantasy world.

I have wonderful, meaningful, important bonds with people I haven't met in person, and the point of Just Kids is not to valorize Robert and Patti at the expense of how we live in the world today. We're authentic, however we choose to reach out to people. It's wonderful to be able to see inside someone else's authenticity, though. Just Kids is fearless in that respect, because that necessitates vulnerability too. If authenticity is building yourself up, being your own maker and choosing how and what you love, then Patti Smith has it-and that is, in the end, pretty punk rock. 

Chanuka, Chanukah, Chanukkah, Hanukah, Hannukah and my personal favorite, Cha-noo-kah. The list goes on and on but I only have so much time here. As you can see, there is not as much care put into the spelling of this holiday because, contrary to popular belief, this holiday is not nearly as important as a multitude of others. For Chanukah, we usually spell it whatever way is the simplest to get the point across. While Chanukah is great and all, it just doesn't hold a light (see what I did there?) to some other holidays. A brief explanation might be needed. See, Chanukah, put simplistically, is about how we won a war and wanted to have light but only had enough oil for one night. Making oil takes eight days. Miracle happens and oil lasts eight days.  Hence, Chanukah is celebrated for eight days. And as you can see, when it comes down to it, this is a holiday to celebrate that we made some oil. In light of that (see what I did again?), I'd like to point out five holidays I find to have greater significance.

But first, a small disclaimer.

The following is entirely my opinion and does not reflect the opinions of the wonderful population of Jews as a whole. This is also not meant to be a criticism against Chanukah but simply an enlightening of some of the more significant holidays to me. If you really want to know the most significant part of Chanukah to me, go read Hershel and The Hanukkah Goblins.

5. Purim AKA Jewish Halloween 

Significance: Haman, royal vizier to King Ahasuerus, planned to kill all the Jews but his plans were foiled by Mordecai and his daughter Queen Esther. Hence, we dress up or masquerade as some say.

Why it's important to me: This holiday ends up being just a whole lot of fun. We often have Halloween-like parties. There's a lot of fun getting mad at the bad guy, Haman, of the story. When we tell it, it's always fun to yell, hiss and make obnoxious sounds with gregors (noise makers, look it up) every time his name is mentioned. When it comes down to it, I simply enjoy the opportunity to dress up as a sexy Mordecai.

4. Rosh Hashanah AKA The Jewish New Year 

Significance: Read the thing after number four. But also this is High Holiday #1.

Why it is important to me: Read the thing after number 4. But also this is High Holiday #1. Yeah, it's kinds a big deal like that hence the repetition. This is a time of the year when many Jews will go to temple. In fact, it gets so popular that you need tickets and baby, sometimes they ain't cheap. Best part was I got to take off of school and as an adult, work. We eat apples and honey to ring it in sweetly and oh, is it sweet. However we really don't have any sort of countdown. And we don't make resolutions. Now that I think about it, come this Rosh Hashanah, I'll be the one the back counting down loudly while lying to everyone that this year I'll exercise more and I'll stop drinking my calories. 

3: Passover AKA Over a week of what is essentially the Atkins diet 

Significance: The Jews were being held as slaves in Egypt by a bad Pharaoh, and then Moses….you know what, go watch the Ten Commandments. Or better yet, the Rugrats Passover Special.

Why it's important to me: I wanted to start this part by apologizing that I had to pass over writing about this in April. Heh heh. But honestly, Passover is wonderful. It's a time I see all of my family and we get tell the story of Passover during our Seders, the most essential part of said holiday. Well that and we drink four cups of wine. But while in college, I got to take off of school if it fell in the middle of the week. What's best about this holiday is how it's sort of our Easter equivalent. We hide the Afikoman, (a piece of matzo that is known as dessert, and how it is considered dessert, I will never know) and then the kids get to find it and the winner gets a little something something. Usually that little something something is a dollar. But still, a dollar! But basically it's a holiday about our freedom and the creation of the 10 Commandments. And yes, I am talking about the movie because it may be the only movie that is actually better than the book. I love me some Yul Brynner. But the most important part of the holiday to me is the treat known as Joyva Ring Jells. Some of you may know this but it is a delightful, scrumptious treat comprised of a ring of raspberry jelly dipped in chocolate. I would die for this treat.

2. Yom Kippur AKA The Day of Atonement 

Significance: We fast for 24 hours to cleanse ourselves of sin. This is High Holiday #2.

What it means to me: This is honestly the Jewish holiday that means the most to me. I am not the most religious of individuals, but I thoroughly embrace my Judaism and will never know anything but what it means to be a Jew. This is truly the day I am most likely to go to temple. I will, without question, not eat for 24 hours. What's interesting is that I might not entirely believe that my sins for the previous year have been erased but it's more that I can leave my previous year's faults behind and look forward to being a better person. This holiday takes place just over a week after Rosh Hashanah, and earlier I put in jest that we don't really make a new year's resolution. Writing this now, I realize that resolution just happens to be Yom Kippur and making it through another year in the Book of Life.

1. Christmas AKA X-Mas 

Significance: A free day for Jews

What it means to me: This day is incredible. My Moses, the free time it gives me. For no reason at all, I get this day off EVERY SINGLE YEAR. Why? Because I am Jewish. And what's great is all my Jewish friends want to spend the day the same exact way.

            "You wanna see a movie!?"

            "Yeah! And then you wanna get some Chinese food!?"

            "You get out of my head this instant!"

Then, when it came to school, we got a whole two week break for what was commonly known as Christmas vacation. Chanukah is eight days, no break. Christmas is one day, I get two weeks. To repeat myself, it's incredible. I'm out all day and there's no traffic. None. Whether it's by plane, train or automobile, the world is free for the taking. But what may truly be best part about this holiday is that somehow, someway, I am always in the mood to watch A Christmas Story on television 12 times in a row.

"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, the man who never reads lives only one."

This quote from the fifth installment of George R.R. Martin's "A Song of Ice and Fire" series sagely states the reason why many of us are so passionate about reading. We can project ourselves, if just for a little, into the life of a character. This character can take us to faraway lands, introduce us to interesting people, and give us a bit more excitement than we experience in our regular routine. My tastes often gravitate to Fantasy and Science Fiction for that reason exactly. Because just for a few minutes a day it feels good just to be somewhere else. But since finishing such quality Fantasy like "A Song of Ice and Fire" and "The Night Circus," I struggled to find something that kept me engaged.

After reading a page or two of a few books I settled on The Art of Fielding because I thought the author was Jewish, thus giving me a reason to discuss it in Oy!, and because I thought the book was about baseball. I've yet to confirm the author's religion, and can say with all honestly that "The Art of Fielding" is NOT about baseball. Set at the tiny Westish College on the shores of Lake Michigan, the novel follows several characters as they struggle to achieve their dreams and find it’s not as easy as perhaps it should be. My opinions on this book are mixed because the story is great, but the writing a little simplistic. One passage goes on for pages detailing a character's need to clean a dirty pan in her boyfriend's kitchen. Maybe I'm just used to descriptions of Hippogriffs, Niffins, and Valyrian Steel, but to me this was mundane. That said the character's struggles and hidden insecurities are portrayed beautifully and in a manner to which we can all relate, making it a magnetic read. I can't give The Art of Fielding a full recommendation, because it’s not for everyone, but worth a shot if you're looking for some solid, non-fantastical drama.

On The Horizon.  

Normally I discuss books that I’ve read, and only give brief summaries to avoid spoilers, but here are a couple I plan on reading over the next few months. Hopefully enough people will get on board so I won't have to worry as much about spoilers and we can have a real discussion on the books.

The Prisoner of Heaven—Carlos Ruiz Zafon
July 10th—Hardcover
July 17th—Kindle

The author of the beloved The Shadow of the Wind and The Angel's Game continues the saga of the Sempere family in The Prisoner of Heaven. Because I despise spoilers I haven't read one summary or review of Zafon's latest, but it seems it will continue with the story of Daniel and Bea, and so we can assume this is a sequel to Shadow of the Wind. If you're not familiar with Zafon or the novels mentioned here, get on it! Both of his full length novels that have been translated to English are some of my favorite books ever. Published in 2005, Shadow of the Wind begins in Franco era Spain at The Cemetery of Forgotten books, where Daniel Sempere is told to choose one book, however cautioned that it’s more the book that chooses the reader, not vice-versa. As Daniel begins reading he discovers this book is eerily similar to his own life and searches for more books by the author, only to find a mystery surrounds the author and his writing. Daniel pledges to uncover the mystery and learns some valuable lessons about love and friendship along the way. If you've read both Shadow of the Wind and Angel's game I'm sure you're as excited as I am for Prisoner of Heaven. If not, I recommend reading them in that order before picking up the newest installment. If you still haven't gotten enough Zafon after that you can check out his shorter, YA novels The Prince of Mist and The Midnight Palace.

The Casual Vacancy—JK Rowling
September 27th—Hardcover and Kindle

Let me say that again. JK Rowling. That name should speak for itself, but I'll continue. Yes. Harry Potter author JK Rowling is trying her hand at an adult novel in The Casual Vacancy. This non-magical novel will take place in a small town in England where a vacant town-council seat causes war between the residents. Though the description sounds odd, so did Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and based on the hundreds of millions of copies sold and Rowling's $900million net worth, I'd say that went pretty well. Many are skeptical that Rowling can write something great that is neither YA nor fantasy. Personally I disagree. Harry Potter was popular not only for the content, but for the quality of writing. A lot of people can write about wizards and wands and dragons, and not make a billion dollars doing it. Rowling is a genius. She could write about the many uses of sandpaper and it would become a bestseller. I could go on and on, but to be honest I'd be embarrassed to even describe how much I admire this woman, and being merely a Muggle won't allow myself to try. Harry Potter got me hooked on reading, so whether or not Rowling can successfully break into the world of adult novels, I’m not sure, but I know I owe it to her to give The Casual Vacancy a fair shot.

I am currently in the midst of a week-long Colorado vacation with my boyfriend. We spent the first part of our trip in Vail, moved on to Breckenridge for the Fourth of July, and are now in Colorado Springs for a national conference during which he’s speaking. We will move on to Denver for the weekend for some fun in the city.

Aside from learning more about the terrible devastation of the forest fires which, thankfully, are predominately contained in Colorado, I have also been able to hone some new fashion knowledge and styling tips I’d like to share with Oy! readers.

Upon checking into our wonderful Vail resort, The Vail Cascade Resort & Spa, I learned the term “mountain casual” when we inquired about the type of dress expected at the restaurants in Vail Village. Having only made a couple of brief visits to Colorado in the past, I am still learning about this mountain culture and of course, my ears perked up at this intriguing new (at least to me) fashion term.

Prior to my trip, I tried to get in the mountain spirit and purchased this awesome summer cowboy hat at one of my all-time favorite stores, Calypso St. Barth, which is on Oak Street in Chicago. I love that the hat is rustic but feminine and incorporates some Bohemian edge with feathers that dangle from the side. I sported it with a simple navy blue cotton Theory sundress at the popular Sunday farmer’s market in Vail Village. My look was casual and Western-inspired, blending right into the culture. In Vail and Breckenridge, I had a blast browsing the amazing inventory at the traditional Western-wear stores. A nice and authentic pair of cowboy boots are quite the fashion investment! They usually range from $500 - $1,500 and with the various colors, textures, types of leather and embroidery, they can be true works of art.

In addition to traditional Western-wear, the “mountain casual” dress code incorporates the state’s very active, healthy way of life. Skiing/snowboarding, hiking, trail running, and boating, just to name a few activities, are all part of the lifestyle here in the Rockies. The corresponding sporty attire can also be quite stylish, and is worn day-to-day by residents and visitors alike. Stores like Burton, North Face and Spyder line the streets of the resort towns and an array of active-wear boutiques sell countless other lines.

Lastly, I think one of the most fun elements of the “mountain casual” look is the natural minerals and metals from the land that are often incorporated into accessories. I found these beautiful bracelets (3 for only $10) at Nature’s Own, an impressive science and nature store in Breckenridge. These will nicely compliment my more urban Chicago wardrobe, adding a natural, rustic twist. In fact, while in Vail, I purchased an elegant cotton maxi dress made by L.A. designer, Bella Luxx at the boutique Luca Bruno. I’m looking forward to combining the bracelets and the dress with a great pair of wedges for an overall summer-chic look.

Evidently, I was inspired by this “mountain casual” style. The laid back yet still polished fashion here is refreshing and unique. In fact, I plan on taking it back home with me to Chicago. I’ll wear my cowboy hat out and about on the weekends, and the bracelets will come in handy to add extra punch and interest to plenty of my outfits. I’m excited to return on another trip here to further develop my own version of this look and I’m sure a winter trip will open up a whole new chapter!

I’m that person now. Who only talks about her dog. And cries every time she takes him to the vet.

And it only took four days. That was fast.

Let me back up a bit…

Over a month ago I wrote about our (Jason and my) search for a rescue dog and how frustrating it had been. I’m not one for clichés and I don’t believe in fate, but I finally understand when people say something was meant to be. All the frustration we went through— and there was more I didn’t even write about— was so that we would end up with our dog, Toby.

Literally just two weeks ago, Toby was in a puppy mill somewhere in Missouri. In all likelihood, he was living in a tiny crate in awful, dirty conditions that caused him to suffer from terrible allergies which he compensated for by constantly gnawing at his paws. He couldn’t sit down comfortably because his crate floor was barbed wire (easy cleaning, when they bothered). He probably never saw the light of day or got to roam free. He was fed just enough to stay alive and whatever it was, it was crap. He’s anemic and two pounds under weight— which is a lot when you are only supposed to weigh eight pounds— and his teeth are very decayed. As I write this, he is having serious dental surgery to repair (and remove) his neglected teeth— hence why I cried at the vet this morning. He also probably had fleas, worms and whatever else.

And he was one of the lucky ones. He served a purpose, which kept him alive for all those years. (We think he is at least four years old.) 

Side note: I try not to ever get political in my posts, but bear with me I'm about to now. I've learned a lot about the puppy mill industry in the past few days and how unbelievably awful it truly is. You might not know it, but those cute little puppies you see in pet stores and online come from puppy mills where the mommies and daddies never get to see the light of day. You should NEVER EVER buy a dog from a pet store. EVER. Even if they claim they don't use puppy mill dogs, they are lying. Puppy mills are just evil, awful places. And the people who run them belong in jail. Adoption should always be there first option, but if that's not right for you, there are plenty of reputable places and breeders out there who don't use puppy mill dogs. Here is a great check list for finding reputable places to buy puppies.

Fortunately, Toby’s story has a happy ending. His puppy mill got raided and hopefully has been shut down for good. One can only pray the evil people who ran it are going to jail and paying hefty fines for their unconscionable cruelty. And Toby got sent to one of my new favorite places— Chicago Canine Rescue.

Another side note: If you are looking to adopt a dog in Chicago, visit Chicago Canine Rescue. They are fabulous to work with and they usually have a large and varied selection of dogs and cats— they even get many purebreds. Toby is a schnoodle, otherwise known as a schnauzer-poodle mix, but schnoodle is so much more fun to say.

So with a little blood, sweat, tears and countless phone calls, we got accepted to adopt Toby and he moved into our home this past Sunday where he is starting a new, happy chapter of life.

Now I want to brag. My little dude is the smartest, sweetest, most adaptable dog— or any living being for that matter— I’ve ever met. One would think after the horrible beginning he had, he would hate people and be terrified of everything. While loud noises do scare him and he still prefers his crate to his nice comfy bed, he is already adjusting so well!

He sleeps through the night with only minimal barking and he hasn’t had an accident in the house since the morning after we got him! He’s already learned his new name and seems to understand the “come” command. I’m pretty sure he is a genius.

And while he doesn’t really understand, yet, how to sit on a lap or snuggle with a human, he loves being scratched behind the ears and stand on you (awkwardly) as you pet him. He also gets so excited when you praise him and follows us everywhere we go in the house. He’s also doing well meeting new people and loves other dogs. I’m very proud.

I could go on and on, but I’ll wrap it up here. A few months ago when my parent’s dog passed away, I couldn’t imagine ever owning another animal and loving him as much, but Toby has already stolen my heart and helped me heal from the pain of that loss. I know I’m using another cliché, but for as much as we are hopefully giving him, Toby has already given us so much more. The best decision I’ve ever made, was adopting Toby.

Recently, while on a girls' trip to Orlando with my mom and sister, we pulled out the vintage 1998 Disney World park passes that in true Disney fashion, magically still had two days left on them. So we put on our mouse ears and ventured back in time to the Magic Kingdom and Epcot.

When I was a kid, we visited Disney often, sometimes twice a year. My favorite ride, oddly enough, was always Figment—you know, the little purple dinosaur, dragon guy who sang about imagination? Apparently, I used to make my family ride it again and again and again and I still have my Figment doll proudly displayed in my childhood bedroom.

So it was no surprise when this grown up, married woman dragged her protesting mom and sister onto the Figment ride. I'm not going to lie, this time around I found the ride just a little bit creepy. But as cheesy as it is, the message of Figment's song, "Just One Spark," stuck with me:

Imagination, imagination.
A dream, can be a dream come true.
With just that spark, in me and you.

Hey, I turned to my mom, as the train moved slowly through the ride's neon scenery; maybe this is the reason I decided to work in a creative field.

I was reminded again of Figment Tuesday night when I attended Launch Night for the 2012 JCC PresenTense Chicago Fellowship. On the cover of the evening's program, it reads "it starts with an idea." The program offers a competitive six-month fellowship for young social innovators who want to develop their socially responsible ideas into sustainable businesses. It aims to "engage young Jewish adults in Chicago around a communal goal and provide them with an avenue to mend the world through social entrepreneurship."

Each of the 12 fellows had that one idea, that one spark, which they hope will better our Jewish community and presented a pitch to those of us in the audience that night. Many of the ideas focused around food and others around Israel education, music and community. The presentations were incredibly thoughtful and insightful, but what struck me the most was the energy in the room, which by the way, was overflowing with people. While there were some familiar faces, it was refreshing to see so many people who were new to me and so passionate about Jewish life in Chicago.

I've often heard people say that innovation happens on the coasts and that the Midwest is more staid and traditional. I've heard this specifically in reference to Jewish communal life, that people take more risks on the East Coast or in California, than they do here in Chicago and other Midwest cities. I think to some extent it's true, and just the nature of each region's demographic. But innovation is taking place right here in Chicago's Jewish community—the spirit of last night's event confirmed what I already knew.

Innovation is happening in the minds of these fellows and the fellows to come. And innovation is happening here, at JUF. Like other Jewish Federations and Jewish institutions throughout the country, JUF is considered by many to be old school and traditional. And we are old school, in that we are an incredibly successful organization that sticks with what works. But what many people don't see is that we are also an organization on the cutting edge of innovation. YLD's Big Event, our Israel Education Center, our Joyfully Jewish programming for young families, Oy!Chicago, VOICES: The teen giving circle…I could go on.

This is the kind of stuff that motivates me, that gets me excited as a young Jewish professional, about the future of our community. The energy is there, and the potential is great. From here we need to harness that energy, let it flourish and grow and watch what happens.

We should all take a nod from PresenTense and fashion ourselves social innovators. I've loved the term since I first heard it. It makes me think of Figment, of someone who uses their creativity to make the world a better place. It's what I want to be when I grow up. Hopefully, I'm already on my way.

Here's a little background about me, as this is my first blog post. I spent the 2010-2011 school year teaching English in Grenoble, France. Before that, I spent a year working in the heart of Chicago in the Jewish non-profit community. When I was abroad, my eyes were opened to the everyday experience of the Jewish community in my town and in the country at large. I experienced what it meant to me to be not only Jewish in France, but a Jewish, young, female, American in France. It was a ridiculously fun, thought-provoking and thrilling seven months and I'm excited to share these stories. By the way, all thoughts and opinions are purely my own…I take full responsibility for any sweeping generalizations. With that out of the way, let's start at the very beginning (a very good place to start).

I remember this time two years ago like it was yesterday. I was wrapping up my job at a Jewish non-profit office and getting ready to embark on my biggest adventure yet: a seven-month stint in France teaching English. I'd gone abroad to France before for a semester. I spent my junior spring in Aix-en-Provence, an idyllic town in the South of France.

However, my tenure as an English teacher in France was shaping up to be a completely different beast. This time around, there would be no host family, no pre-arranged dates of arrival, and no designated points of contact. As July wore on, the logistics of what I was about to embark upon became clear. I came across the first few of many truly "oy" moments.

Between booking flights, the search for accommodation and everything in between, I looked to my experience as a jack-of-all-trades administrative assistant for guidance. In the short months since graduating college, my little exposure to the "real world" molded me into a master multi-tasker. So, naturally, I built a Google doc of all the potential obstacles to clear on my way to La Belle France. That quickly got ditched for afternoons spent daydreaming, waiting and wishing for more news. A word about France for those who haven't been: nothing moves quickly.

As July blurred into August, I still had no word of what city, what town, what village I would be living in. I tried desperately to keep my cool as the days inched forward. I often returned to my favorite French expression in order to stay calm: tout est bien qui finit bien. All's well that ends well. And sure enough, on a sweltering August day, I received a letter in the mail postmarked from Grenoble, France.

The Teaching Assistant Program in France (aka my means of making all of this happen) allows applicants to pick their top three areas of choice to live and teach. Grenoble was my first choice. I knew it was in the middle of the French Alps and I was ecstatic to find I was placed in the city center, after much careful deciphering of the confusing placement letter. I swiftly booked a flight and resumed daydreaming. The gaping hole in my abandoned Google doc? A place to live. Nothing to fret about, right? "Plenty of kids go on this program," I thought to myself. Fifteen hundred from America each year, in fact. But, it never hurts to explore the options. Again, I turned to work for advice.

I breathlessly explained my situation at the next staff meeting. "Contact the Chabad over there," my boss declared without skipping a beat. I took her advice.

It was surprisingly easy to locate. A simple search of "Chabad Grenoble" brought me to the Beit Chabad web page and the Rabbi's email address. I wrote him right away, sprinkling in my efforts with the Jewish non-profit community, mentioning that while not very religious myself, I'm well acquainted with plenty of people who are and of course, would respect the rules of any household.

As quickly as I sent the email, hoping on hope it would garner some sort of response, a reply from Arie R. popped into my inbox. Written in English no less, letting me know that he already sent word that a nice Jewish girl from Chicago was looking for a place to stay and he would follow up as soon as possible.

I was truly, deeply touched. The fact that someone who had never met me and knew absolutely nothing about my life stepped up to bat for me in a way that really, really mattered, it left me with such an incredible feeling. And this instance of the connectedness of the global Jewish community was just the beginning.

The plot thickens. Join me next time for the wild and crazy adventures of living with the family I found through the Grenoble Chabad.

Before my son was born, I swore I wouldn’t add to the legion of mommy bloggers. And I’m still hoping to focus on issues only tangentially related to babyhood.

Still, while I’m on maternity leave, my universe has shrunk to just a couple hundred square feet (with occasional walks in the neighborhood and a trip to the doctor’s office thrown in the mix). And time moves ever so slowly in the breastfeeding chair.

So I’ve had lots of time to ponder all kinds of questions. One of the foremost issue son my mind has been my child’s privacy. Sure, Oy!Chicago announced his birth along with the birth of fellow blogger Rachel Friedman’s son, but since then, mum’s been the word on Ron’s adventures in babyhood—on Oy!, on Facebook, on Google+, on Twitter, or any other social media.

When I was pregnant, I didn’t announce the impending arrival of our son on Facebook or Twitter or anywhere else—unlike most of my friends or, if we’re keeping it realistic, most of my generation. Passing references to not being able to travel by plane for some time don’t count.

For me, social media moved out of the realm of the personal and into the professional universe several years ago. I cultivate a particular persona on Facebook and Twitter, one that has a decidedly Jewish, pro-Israel voice that occasionally (ok, all the time) promotes my organization’s events, shares articles on everything from Israeli innovations to the challenges of preserving a distinct Russian-Jewish identity in America.

Very occasionally, I post photos of myself or announcements of non-work events I’m attending. That’s largely to keep my friends from completely losing faith in my ability to turn off the Jewish professional side of my personality.
Now that our son is here (oy, it’s still a little bit weird that I can call someone “my son”) I’ve ignored the several hundred requests to “please post lots of pics soon.” We announced his birth and his name the sort-of old-fashioned way: via phone calls and a mass email sent to family and friends. And information about the brit milah also did not seep onto social media.

Several reasons drive our decision to limit Ron’s exposure on social media:

1. I want to give him the choice, eventually, on how much to share about himself.

2. I don’t want to mix him into my professional social media presence.

3. I don’t want my child’s pictures exploited for others’ gain, such as the new practice of Facebook ads using personal photos within one’s network.

4. My husband is in IT security, and we’ve become paranoid about information over-sharing and theft.

I occasionally have moments when I yearn to share the latest trick he learned with the world. Those mostly come at hour 7 of being alone with him. That’s when I call friends or my mother. I’ve also been training myself to write down everything he does or learns so I can send emails to family and friends detailing his accomplishments.

Still, my Facebook and Google+ feeds are loaded with pictures of friends’ babies—seems like everyone and their mother decided to procreate in 2012! That’s why I conducted a completely unscientific survey of friends’ preferences when it comes to sharing their child’s photos and updates.

Not surprisingly, a large number of friends who are parents carefully curate who sees what within their network. Now that Facebook has some increased privacy functionality and allows users to designate special groups for various types of content, parents within my network have taken advantage of this feature. Google+ is even easier: the functionality to limit exposure was built-in.

There’s a caveat, which my friend and occasional Oy! blogger Anna Abramzon noted: “once your child has friends and play dates and birthday parties, there's really no way to keep their pictures off social media entirely.” Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.

Another parent, former colleague Brooke Mandrea, quipped: “[Sharing photos] was the main reason I joined Facebook. How was I going to show off the kid as a sleep deprived new mom? Like others I keep it very controlled. It also helps with my litmus test for ‘friending’ people: do I want to wish them Happy Birthday AND show them pictures of my kids.”

Still others said that it’s an extremely personal decision for every parent. One friend noted that he only shares photos of his daughter with the family and friends who actually requested to see them. Another said she posts photos to a locked album on a photo-hosting site, while occasionally writing status updates with funny things her daughter says.

Despite these reasonable explanations, I’m comfortable with our decision for now. As our son grows, we’ll probably re-evaluate and change our minds a million times.

Readers, what do you think? Do you share news of your child’s accomplishments or post photos?

I bid farewell to one of my oldest and dearest friends. He could not speak, but he had a mighty roar. He held no grudges, but carried a world’s worth of love in his eyes. In the end, he could not hear, but always trusted his nose. He could not cry, but we knew it was time. My family made the painful decision to lay our dog, Archie, to rest this week.

Some might recall Archie’s brief moments of YouTube stardom, in which he debuted his special talent for single-handedly scarfing down an entire challah in OyChicago’s Hanukkah promo video. Others might remember my ode to Archie back in 2010, in which I questioned the relationship between faith and pets in my article, “Is my dog Jewish?” In the article I half-jokingly criticized people’s obsessions with their pets—and let’s face it, my own.

Archie, a blonde cocker spaniel-poodle mutt born on a farm in Iowa and raised in a Jewish suburb of Chicago, liked romping through grass, catching bugs, eating challah and matzah, and was always up for a good cuddle. His neurosis surfaced when left alone, when watching others hug and when one made eye contact with him for too long. Archie was a seductive flirt and always got what he wanted: a scratch under his belly or behind the ears. He feared most men—likely because he lived in a house of nearly all women. Archie also was unaware that he, himself, was a dog. Thus he also feared most dogs—including those smaller than he. Generally, Archie’s life consisted of an insatiable quest for love from humans, and we fed him generously.

When he passed, my mom donated most of Archie’s belongings such as his leash, but kept two items: She held onto a blue neckerchief with white Jewish stars that she put on Archie during the Jewish holidays. She also kept Archie’s blue stocking that she hung above our fireplace during Christmas alongside mine and my sisters’—all filled with Hanukkah gelt. (This was my mom’s confusing method for making us, Jews, feel included during Christmastime.)

We first got Archie about 15 years ago. He was born on Mother’s Day, but we had to wait the allotted number of weeks for him to wean. I was 13 and still in braces. My older sister surprised us with him on a trip home from college at the University of Iowa. She got him from a farm in a nearby town. At the time, my family was struggling to recover from the loss of our previous pet, Rosie, a Shar Pei who lived a short and fragile life marked by health problems. Archie, a mutt from the farm, showed promise of a long and sturdy life, and that, he had.

Archie and I supported each other through our awkward years. I tortured him with sweaters and Halloween costumes and he wriggled out of them and loved me anyway.

My sisters were older and they spent less time with Archie during his formative years. One of my sisters, who was not Archie’s biggest fan, was unaware that Archie schooled himself on spite while she was away. She came home from college one weekend and Archie walked into her doorway, took one look at her, peed, and walked out. Welcome home!

Dogs are intuitive; they give what they get, and then they give some more. My mom and I were reflecting today that Archie related to each of us in our family differently, based on how we interacted with him. My oldest sister took on the role of Archie’s original mother figure that swept him away at a young age from the farm into his new life. He knew no boundaries with her and their attachment ran deep. Whereas, my mother was the nurturer and bearer of discipline—Archie knew he couldn’t mess with her. My dad was the play pal. I was the affectionate cuddle buddy who always snapped pictures of him. Archie would never dare pee in my doorway…though he would get into mischief.

At my book club this week, we discussed that living with a significant other before marriage can be a true test of a relationship because even after a bad day, you have to face that person—whereas if you’re just dating, you can avoid them until you’re shiny and happy. Pets are the opposite of impatient lovers. They insistently nuzzle you with love when your cheeks are streaked with tears and your world is crashing around you.

Nothing can prepare you for the love that develops for a pet over the years of its life. Similarly, nothing can prepare you for the great loss felt by that pet’s absence. One day, a veterinarian declares your pet unfit for life and then you feel guilty for every indecisive minute thereafter that you are keeping him alive.

Had we opened our eyes sooner, we might have acted sooner—only because Archie endured a lot of pain these last few months of his life. This regret now haunts us.

We had eyes, but could not see. We had hearts ill-prepared to break.

A little less than a month ago, I sat in a crowded stadium as the dean of students called my name, deeming me officially a “post grad,” “adult” and lots of other words that I am in still in denial about associating with myself. Over the course of commencement weekend, the infamous question of “what are you doing after graduation?” that I had been asked approximately ten thousand times since the start of my senior year was brought up more than ever. However, instead of brushing it aside, mumbling something about how I was “working at camp, but looking for a full-time job for fall, don’t worry” and immediately harvesting anger towards anyone and everyone for pestering me with this question, I smiled and explained that I was going to have a new position of managing the communications and social media at my former overnight camp.

I am not sure what exactly prompted this shift between being embarrassed that I hadn’t even started applying to full-time jobs to being unconditionally happy that I am spending my summer in Lake Delton, Wisconsin, but I somehow came to this realization. After being at camp for about three weeks, I am certain that no matter what life stage I am passing through, it is a smart decision to be at one of the places I love the most and an even smarter decision to be in a position that I am so passionate about.

Jewish camp is something that is a phenomenon and consequentially, it is challenging to accurately verbalize its importance. I used to think that Jewish camps provided Jewish kids with a home away from home over the summer and a place to grow up and feel comfortable in their own skin. I still think this is one of the most important purposes of Jewish camp, but as I get older, I realize there is much more to it. Camp is something that remains constant when the world around you changes. Not only is it physically the same place, even with the minor structural or programmatic changes from year to year, but the feeling and atmosphere of camp remains the same. I still walk past the same trees that I did as a camper, swim in the same pool, and enjoy some of the same activities. I can say that although I am a completely different person than I was when I first came to camp 14 years ago, I still get the same feeling when I pull through the gates and the same camp chills from being at a place that is so special.

So, while most of my class entered their first full-time job, packing up their childhood rooms and preparing to rent their first “real” apartment, I spent a few hours packing up the same duffels I’ve used forever, threw them in my trunk, and drove three hours to the Wisconsin Dells. Instead of sitting on the train for half an hour commuting to a desk downtown, my commute is about a two minute walk from my cabin to my office desk. Instead of daily or weekly happy hours, my breaks mostly entail eating pizza with camp friends, dancing in the dining hall, and sitting on the porch of the camp office for hours talking about whatever is on my mind. Sure, to the untrained eye, this may seem ridiculous. Why would anyone give up that sense of newness, independence, and freedom in their early 20s? Why would I trade the glamour of city life for a few months here?

After living in Washington DC for four years and dealing with the hustle and bustle of daily life, I can tell you that there is a certain beauty in holding onto a utopian-like setting and a place that brings out youthfulness. Of course, it’s a plus to be in a position that I feel will benefit my career, but in the end camp is camp and it is the ideal setting to spend a summer.

I know that someday, and by someday I mean most likely in seven weeks, my 14-year run at camp will be over. I know that I am going to miss this place terribly, as I transition to “real adulthood,” but until then I plan on enjoying every second I spend on camp’s gravel roads, cherishing the nights walking beneath the stars, and appreciating the humid days beneath the sun, because before I know it, I will be saying goodbye…but hopefully not forever.

The Chicago Tribune recently published an article titled, “Social Media a Godsend For Those with Rare Disease” which featured a Chicago area woman who retreated into cyberspace when diagnosed with a rare heart condition called SCAD— Spontaneous Coronary Artery Dissection. Using the mouse as her guide, within a few moments, she was able to find support, encouragement and relevant information about her disease.

Now more than ever, individuals with rare diseases are finding the critical and necessary information and support to better manage illness. When health care providers are unable to fulfill those needs, the web-based community is ready and willing steps in.

In December 2010, I was diagnosed with a rare type of blood cancer called Gray Zone Lymphoma, a disease that has only been officially recognized since 2008, and affects less than 300 people in the United States. As a result of the newness and rarity of this cancer, my doctors and team of specialists were unable to provide me with statistics that could provide further insight into my illness.

In this case, not only did the medical community have little information to offer about my disease, but the web-based community was unusually quiet. After many sleepless nights and hours spent scouring the internet, I was finally able to connect with four other “Gray Zoners” on Facebook.

The lack of research, statistics, and evidence-based practice related to my disease, led me to feel empowered to write my own story. Instead of becoming overwhelmed by the lack of viable information, I made the conscious decision to educate, inform, and raise awareness about this disease. Social media in essence was my soapbox.

Throughout treatment I used various social media platforms to open up about my hopes and dreams and everything in between. I discussed the hardships and triumphs while undergoing various procedures, scans, and 720 hours of chemotherapy. I discussed fertility issues, relationships, and the complexities surrounding re-emerging into the world after enduring a year of profound sickness and isolation.

Nothing was off limits. There was no topic I wasn’t willing to discuss or share. And through sharing came increased vulnerability and through increased vulnerability the world opened up.

Upon completing treatment in May of 2011, I was determined to give back and in a big way. On June 3, 2012, also known as National Cancer Survivors Day, “Twist Out Cancer— a support community with a twist on cancer” was officially launched.

Twist Out Cancer (TOC) leverages social media to help survivors and their loved ones combat the feelings of isolation, loneliness, and helplessness that often accompany cancer diagnoses and treatment. TOC provides a forum through which anyone affected by cancer can share thoughts, experiences, stories, and insights, allowing for the exchange of ideas, encouragement, and wisdom from one community member to another. Twist Out Cancer provides survivors and supporters with the necessary information and support that they may not be able to get through their health care providers. It meets the need that I recognized early on, and creates a community of shared experiences and hope.

This past week I have had the opportunity and privilege to participate in the ROI Summit in Jerusalem which brings together 150 young social innovators from around the world. These selected ambassadors have been given a unique set of tools to help enable them to turn their innovative ideas into meaningful change.

Throughout the summit, social media has been the primary focus and mechanism to create community, establish strategic networks, and turn a vision into reality. Over the last few days it has become apparent that while social media may be a tremendous resource for information and support, it also has the potential to create meaningful relationships characterized by sharing and reciprocity.

The power of social media is boundless. It not only has the ability to create psycho-social support for individuals with rare diseases and/or cancer, but it should be seen as the primary mechanism to repair the world.

While cancer may have been the catalyst for me to learn about and leverage social media, it is the ROI Community of change agents who are continuing to show me how our journeys may be different and unique but are inextricably linked and dependent upon each other. With social media as our means to connect— anything is possible. 

I am on the road, headed back to Washington from a long road trip to a wedding in Illinois.  I put off submitting my post this month, thinking that the time in the car would leave me ample space and inspiration to craft a masterful piece for Oy! readers.  Unfortunately, I'm stuck, and can't find the right topic to hit on this time.  Per usual, I solicit my wife, Rose, for ideas. 

"Why don't you write about how your wife always has to come up with your blog post topics?" she says,  as she begins listing off some ideas.

Rose would like to see me write about the top 10 keys to a successful road trip or just focus on the debate we always have about where to stop for dinner.  Do Oy! readers really care about our endless debate on whether one should do drive-through or sit down, fast food or a place where you get to leave a tip?  It's a risky topic to cover, because Oy! readers might take her side.

She talks about how we have gone to some lovely weddings this month, most recently this past weekend.  Could I write about wedding toasts?  I hesitate because I can't figure out a way to do this without embarrassing our own families.  Rose thinks that nobody remembers that story anyway.  

For a moment, I consider an expose over the outrage that popped up lately in the Trader Joe's- loving, Kosher-keeping community around the U.S.  Trader Joe's had to change its non-dairy label of chocolate chips to Kosher Dairy.  It's a technicality based on how the equipment used to make the chips.  Check your Jewish friends' Facebook pages- it's on there.  You would think Trader Joe's was putting bacon in the chips the way people are talking. 

Is the average Oy! reader trying to figure out how to make chocolate chip cookies for dessert after serving a brisket on Friday night?  Do we even do surveys of our readers on Oy!?  There's a topic to cover, the demographic breakdown of Oy!Chicago.  The article would be titled a Dem-OY-Graphic Study of one of Chicago's Most Vibrant Online Communities.

Rose informs me that any time there is a debate, it piques a reader's interest.  Could I write about our recent move to suburbs of D.C.?  My post about Chicago vs. DC caused quite a stir.  What about Evanston vs. Bethesda?  Do people in Evanston know where Bethesda is?

Now Rose tells me to write about ice cream, or trees, or barns or gas…she's just listing off things she sees on the side of the road.  No Rose, I can't write about those things; I'm out of space for this installment.  If you have any suggestions, for what you would like to see this hopelessly blocked writer blog about next month, please leave them in the comment box or email my wife.

"The Circus arrives without warning...It is simply there, when yesterday it was not."

These are the opening words to what will probably be the next phenomenon in Young Adult literature. Released in fall of 2011 The Night Circus has all the necessary elements to captivate its readers as much if not more than The Hunger Games and its other YA/Fantasy counterparts. But if you were overwhelmed by the thousand page series of Hunger Games, or more so the five-thousand pages so far of A Song of Ice and Fire (Game of Thrones), do not fret. At a mere 400 pages of pure delight you'll wish you could stay in the magical world of The Night Circus for just a bit longer.

The Circus is all anyone could dream of as children and adults alike marvel at its magnificence. In fact its name is 'Le Cirque de Reves', or The Circus of Dreams. Colored only in black and white, from the numerous circus tents to the performers' costumes and even the caramel popcorn, the circus has all the acts one would expect. Adding to its mystery are the more obscure tents with seemingly impossible magical qualities such as a garden made only of ice that never melts and a merry-go-round with animals that come to life beneath their riders.

Underneath this blanket of wonder is a competition set in motion by two men with powerful magical ability. It's done in classic nature vs. nurture, Duke and Duke fashion, but with a twist. The question is simple: Which is more important in performing magic, innate ability or strict academics? Though these magicians have clearly engaged in this same competition before, the details are hazy to the participants, a young girl and boy who by a wager are pitted against each other in a test of magical skills of which they are unaware of the rules, the consequences to the loser, and even the identity of their opponent.  

In this, her debut novel, author Erin Morgenstern jumps back and forth through the life of the story to examine the Circus, the wager which prompted its existence and perhaps most importantly the relationships between the circus performers and the circus-goers, whose belief in its goodness keep the Circus alive. Morgenstern makes magic a reality and the Circus come to life in what can be called a fantasy but will have the reader wishing it were real. It's the kind of book that has the ability to put a smile on your face for no reason at all, and possibly the only book that upon finishing the last page I seriously considered going right back to the first and reading it all over again.

As with all books that I love, I wonder how they would look on the big screen and then always seem to be disappointed with the adaptation despite fairly low expectations. With The Night Circus I had that same initial reaction, but then found myself half hoping that this one flies under the radar of the film studios.  With a book like this there is no way any film adaptation could compare to my imagination. Nonetheless, The Night Circus has been picked up by Lionsgate (Hunger Games), who with their purchase of Summit Entertainment (Twilight) seems to be attempting to corner the Young Adult Fantasy market as if it were Frozen Concentrated Orange Juice. With the captivating first page featured in the newest Nook commercial, it seems to be gaining strong popularity. In response to a tweet from yours truly, author Morgenstern wrote, "I hope it can handle the hugeness!" I'm confident that it can. My only advice to everyone would be to read it soon, read it slow, and then read it again. @JMeyer44

When I say NEAT I am referring to Non-Exercise Activity Thermogenesis. It’s basically the calories you burn when you are not exercising. Many studies show, people who burn a lot of these calories are thinner than their counterparts. It makes sense that sedentary people burn less calories, then your coworker who taps a foot compulsively and occasionally breaks out in dance. In Yiddish we say, that person has the shpilkes.

Having the shpilkes is a good thing, unless you are trying to gain weight. Bouncing off your office or cubicle wall might help you burn more calories throughout the day, but there are others ways to burn off a burrito.

Unfortunately, most of us sit at a desk all day and bring our metabolism to a painfully slow pace. You can reverse that trend by standing up. I usually recommend standing up for a minute every 20 minutes. If your heavy workload won’t allow for that, stand up at least once an hour.

While seated at your desk there are a million simple exercises to get your heart rate moving, prevent carpel tunnel, and ease neck pain. Here’s a few to incorporate in your day:

• Wrist circles: hold your arms at 90 degree angles, palms down and circle your wrists clockwise and then counter clockwise three times.

• Finger circles: hold your arms at 90 degrees, palms down, and at the same time make circles with your thumbs in both directions three times, work your way through each finger.

• Shoulder rolls: lift your shoulders up back and down 10 times, and then back, up and down 10 times.

• Belly breathe: inhale and fill your stomach with air, exhale slowly and repeat. Take 5 breaths like that. Most people take shallow breaths and that can cause tight shoulders and neck.

• Stress ball: squeeze a ball, egg, wax… 10 times in each hand.

Now that I have gone off on my office tangent, let’s discuss the evil combination of couch + television. Vegging out after a rough day is a rite of passage. We all do it, but night after night of sitting on the couch after sitting at the desk makes us round and tired. It sounds odd, but moving around is energizing and lying down is fatiguing. Pick a few nights a week to walk or bike ride. With the summer it’s easier to get outside, have fun and be NEAT. 

I decided to have a yard sale. I have never done this before. When I began thinking about it, I was on a (albeit brief) cleaning rampage and found boxes and boxes full of tchotchkes. I wondered why and by whom had they been so tenderly wrapped when they would never, ever see the light of day in my house? Why were we keeping these and, even more puzzling, when had my husband, (who shuns all things materialistic and fancy), begun a collection of crystal desk clocks, Royal Crown Derby figurines and cloisonné? But I digress. The yard sale seemed like a fun idea – grab a whole bunch of stuff, price it to sell and donate all the money to charity. No biggie, right? Right.

First, I spent hours on the computer researching how to have a successful yard sale. I printed out a woman’s 16-page musings on the “art” of it – signage, theft, sorting, pricing, sticker switching, weather, having a manicured lawn the day of the sale, etc. It was then I realized that a yard sale might be kind of a big deal – as in a lot of work. But I pushed on, spending several more hours on eBay looking for pricing of matching items that had actually sold, not what the items were listed for. I had learned after countless hours of watching “Pawn Stars” with my kids, that on eBay you can ask for whatever you want, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna get it. My husband’s pre-me things took up the most time. It was tedious and frustrating. And frankly, I got tired of looking at the ugly crap. But forward I went.

Sorting through our mutual things – things my husband and I had gotten together, or mainly, the things we had bought when we had children – proved to be a different kind of difficult for me. The baby bumper, the board books, the mobile that hung over the crib, the baby backpack that carried our firstborn all over the Utah mountains – things that had been put away for years, and yet when they saw daylight, I panicked at the prospect of our parting ways. I turned to my husband. “What about this stuff for the grandchildren?” I whined. He rolled his eyes, “By then that stuff will be old and gross. Pass it on.” And so I did.

Following my mom’s advice – (she’s in the yard sale/garage sale/estate sale scene) – our yard sale ad read, “No early birds please.” It was two days before the sale. I was in the shower. I heard the phone ring. When I got out of the shower, I played the message. It was an older sounding gentleman saying that he was in town having lunch with some lady friends and they had seen my ad. Would I mind, since they just happened to be in town, if they popped by and took a peek? I called him back fully intending on saying very politely that the sale was on Friday and Saturday and NOT on Wednesday. However, since he sounded so grandfatherly on the phone and was so polite, I instead ended up telling him that yes, he could come by, that I had just showered, and would he mind giving me 10 minutes to get dressed? How’s that for setting boundaries? Not only would I let a strange stalker man into my house with his “lady friends” but I would also inform him that I was currently naked! Well, all I can say in my defense, is that he bought 3 expensive things and paid full price. (And yes I found out later from my mom that this guy and his two “lady friends” are dealers, and they pull this crap all the time. This heads up was left out of that 16-page “Have a perfect yard sale!” article.)

The day of the yard sale came. It was hot. There were very early early birds. People came with magnifying glasses searching for all important stamps and signatures under the tushies of my husband’s animal collectables. People furrowed their brows at a $5 dollar price for a brand new calculator. It came with two pens! And pen holders! A woman almost spat on me when I told her she could buy two jean jackets for $10 dollars! (One was from the GAP! Granted the other was from Chico’s – but still!) She said she’d give me $2. I told her to take a hike. My friends told me I needed to work on both my people skills as well as my sales technique.

But not all of the sale folks were chazers and spitters. A man who initially haggled with me over a pair of collectible ducks that were priced insanely low – two for $20 – and reluctantly got me down to $15, returned an hour later with an impassioned speech: “I realize you’re doing this for charity – for a camp for kids with cancer. I was wrong. Your price was a fair price. There are some things that just aren’t OK. I’m sorry I did what I did.” And he handed me a five dollar bill with a bowed head. There were little boys and girls clawing through the $1 stuffed animals finding love. There was the man who bought two $1 CDs and paid with a $5 and told me to keep the change. And there was the little girl who showed up with her family an hour after the sale was over. We were boxing the leftovers to donate when she saw a Leapster IMAX with a bunch of games on the edge of a table. “How much is this?” she asked. I looked at the $20 price tag. “Two bucks.” She was so excited she actually started jumping up and down for joy.

The yard sale was a success. With the help of the friends, family and neighbors, we raised lots of money. I effectively cleaned out my basement. I met new and er, interesting people. I passed on sentimental things with good ju-ju for others to enjoy. I sold the Chico’s jacket! It was a very cool journey I’d say, that I did not anticipate taking when I decided to just sell a few things. But you know what they say: You never know what kind of gem you’re going to unearth in a bin at a yard sale. Happy treasure hunting!

Hello, Oy! readers. Long time no see. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been a bit radio silent for the past…nine months or so. The past many months have been transformative for me, going through nine months of pregnancy (and a bonus two weeks…yay for late babies…not) and the birth of our beautiful little boy almost three weeks ago.

Every time I’d sit down to write a post for Oy!, my pregnancy brain would kick in, and I couldn’t string two words together properly. Or if I could, they would be all about pregnancy, and the inner superstitious Jew in me couldn’t wrap my head around discussing my pregnancy in such a public forum, G-d forbid something bad should happen.

So now I’m back, and my slightly sleep-deprived brain and I have been reflecting on my first few posts I wrote for Oy! over three years ago. My very first post was all about things I wish people would have told me when I first moved to Chicago. I feel that it’s only appropriate, as I rejoin the Oy! Team facing another transitional point in my life, to revisit that post and share a new version: four things I wish someone had told me about parenthood before I came home from the hospital with a little human completely reliant on me to survive and yet unable to use his words to tell me what he needs…

1) It’s okay to ask for help. I have always been someone who is fiercely independent and who thought she had everything under control. Before having the baby, I grocery shopped in bulk, I pre-made a bunch of food that I froze, I lined up care for our dog – I thought I had come up with everything. And for that first week, when I had my husband home from work, and my mom in from Cleveland, we had everything under control. And then my parents left. And David went back to work. And we had eaten through the stockpile. And David worked late so despite having a noon dog walker, I had to maneuver outside with the dog and the baby at 6 pm.

So when people ask what they can do, don’t act brave and say, “Oh we’re doing great.” Be honest. Ask your friends to come by with dinner, to swing by and walk the dog after work, to stop at the pharmacy and pick up your prescription, whatever you need. They wouldn’t offer if they didn’t care for you enough to help you with what you need.

2) It’s okay to let some things go. No one cares if you make your bed or if you fold your laundry right away. When your friends visit your place to meet the baby, they will only think about how cute your baby is, not how dusty your coffee table is or how baby stuff has somehow taken over your living room.

3) Make sure to maintain contact with your friends and communicate regularly with grownups. It is amazing how, when taking care of a newborn, you can blink your eyes, and the whole day has flown by: you have not left your house, you have only spoken in baby sing-song nonsense to calm a crying infant, you have not bathed or brushed your teeth, and you are dog-tired. By the time your husband gets home, you want to throw the baby at him and run. While it seems like more work, it is better for your mental health to get dressed and go for a walk, even if it’s just around the block. Even better, make a date with another friend with a baby so you can interact with someone else who is home during the day and knows what you’re going through.

In the same theme, when you have a new baby at home, oftentimes your friends will want to give you your space and not call, for fear of waking you from a nap or disturbing you in your new routine with baby. For some people, that is what they need. If you’re like me, and instead began to miss your pre-baby pals, don’t be afraid to pick up the phone yourself. Your friends will be happy to hear from you, and I’m sure they’ll understand if you have to get off the phone when the baby starts hollering.

4) Know that it gets better every day. You’ll start to feel human again soon. You will figure out, slowly but surely, why your baby is screaming his head off and how to talk him off the ledge. Breastfeeding won’t always be so painful. You will master the art of schlepping a diaper bag and a baby in a car seat and somehow steering the car to the pediatrician, the grocery store or Target.

While I’m only a few weeks deep into this new part of my life, and I haven’t always figured out how to heed my own advice, I’m excited to keep learning and growing in this new role, and I hope that all of you Oy! readers enjoying coming along for the ride.

Image courtesy of Flickr user LawPrieR

Whenever I discuss the news with someone, one word seems to come up often: "depressing."

Regardless of what news site you read, each page refresh brings more troubling information, regarding everything from merciless killers to crooked politicians. Another day, another crime, misdeed or tragedy.

But that kind of sensationalistic coverage is far from an accurate representation of life, and I think it has negatively skewed the way we view the world and humanity in general. Sure, all those terrible things do really happen, but so do plenty of wonderful and inspirational things that are showcased nowhere nearly as often as the upsetting and depressing news.

I don't know about you – but that's not how I want to live my life. I don't want cynicism, mistrust and pessimism to dominate my world view, and I'm sure you don't either. So while we can't necessarily change the news or avoid reading the terrible stuff altogether, there is hope: by seeking out good, inspirational news.

Huffington Post recently established a "Good News" section specifically for the purpose of reminding people that good things do happen. In the beginning, it was mostly composed of adorable kitten/puppy videos, but it has really blossomed into a great place to find inspirational content, like the story of Marie Bell, a teacher who donated her kidney to a student's father.

Other great websites for uplifting news stories include Good News Network, Optimist World, Happy News and Gimondo. The titles may be corny, but I think that if you give them a try, you'll find that you feel a little bit better about the state of our world.

Finally, here's my feel-good video of the week:

In this week’s portion, Shlach Lecha, Moses sends 12 spies (one from each tribe) into the Promised Land in order to scope it out. After 40 days, the spies return and share that the land is indeed flowing with milk and honey. However, 10 of the 12 spies continued to share that the land is inhabited by giants, and that those living there are much more powerful than the Israelites. This resulted in an outcry by the Israelites, questioning Moses’s leadership and God’s involvement, exclaiming that it would have been better to die in Egypt than to die by the sword while trying to conquer what was perceived as unconquerable.

As punishment for their lack of faith, the Israelites are condemned to wander in the desert for 40 years – one year for each day the spies had been in the Promised Land.

I want to draw attention to the number 40.

Forty is a significant number in our tradition, and it often is used to symbolize significant spiritual cleansing.

In the Book of Genesis in the narrative of Noah’s Ark, when the world was flooded, it rained for 40 days and nights.

In the Book of Exodus, Moses went up to Mt. Sinai for 40 days and nights in order to receive the Torah.

Now in the Book of Numbers, we find that the spies scoured the Promised Land for 40 days and nights before returning with their report.

The traditional ritual bath, the mikveh, which we use to purify ourselves, traditionally contains 40 se’ah of water (there are about 5 gallons in a se’ah).

Similar to our Israelite ancestors, so too, do we sometimes feel that it would be easier to give up than to try and tackle our perceived uphill battles. We may call out in frustration, whine about it and even conclude that the particular task is unworthy of our efforts.

Going forward, I challenge you to dedicate 40 days to tackling any particular obstacle before giving up.

In our world of hyper-connectivity and instant gratification, I know that 40 days seems like an eternity. However when considered in the broader context of the days of your life, 40 days is just the tip of a fingernail as compared to your body. And yet, despite the relatively short period of time, our tradition makes clear that 40 days is time enough to be life altering.

Face each challenge head on, devote yourself to the steps necessary to overcome it and after 40 days, take note of where you were and how far you’ve come. It’s just up to you to make the time.

I'm not usually the one who posts the stories about inspirational athletic moments. That's not really my thing. But records were made to be broken, so here's my own personal '80s training montage. It goes like this: I biked to and from work yesterday. That statement becomes a lot more interesting when I point out that I work in the Loop, but I live in Lincoln Square, almost seven and a half miles north.

A few weeks ago, JUF hosted a lunchtime information session with the Chicago Bicycling Ambassadors about bike safety and biking in the city. They got me all jazzed up to try commuting by bike, but I thought the best course would be taking a test run on a weekend, to time myself. Of course, who wants to go back to your office on a weekend? There are always other things to do. So I kept putting it off.

Until yesterday. On Tuesday night, we at the Center for Jewish Genetics ran a screening program in Northbrook, and I got home late. I had the opportunity to come to work a little later in the morning, and the weather was inexplicably pleasant and cool. I wasn't planning on biking to work… until I was. Why not? I thought. When else am I actually going to try it?

It seemed like the perfect plan: leave after rush hour traffic, go at my own pace, and stop if necessary. So what if it was the longest I'd ever biked in one go? So what if I hadn't been working up to that kind of distance? I knew that if I knew what I was in for, I'd chicken out. So off I went, still trying to figure out if my helmet was fitting correctly, feeling a little like an unsuspecting hobbit in a Tolkien adventure epic.

Chicago is, in this, blessed by its flatness; if I'd had to contend with actual topography, I might have gone no further than the nearest bus stop. But I chugged along—harder than I predicted, but I thought I made pretty good time. I did it in an hour, through some of our fair city's fairest neighborhoods, and was giddy (and thirsty) for most of the rest of the day.

Esther, Esther! you say. Where is your inspirational athletic moment? Please tell me this isn't a story about what you did for a shower or how you drank two quarts of water after you got to work. No, it's not. I promise I'm getting to the payoff!

The ride back was, in some ways, more revelatory than the ride downtown. Rush hour traffic wasn't as intimidating as I'd feared, and I began to understand why bicyclists feel so invincible in traffic—an easy, addictive trap to fall into. There's something fantastic about happening on a pack of fellow bikers at a stoplight and pulling up beside them as you wait, even if they all zoom past you without a second glance. They'll also helpfully point out that your back tire is nearly flat, which is why the going had been so tough on the first leg of the trip.

The emotional peak of my training montage came somewhere in River North. I'm naturally suspicious of sports: I was always in love with A League of Their Own and the slew of kids-on-teams movies that came out in the mid-'90s (The Sandlot, The Mighty Ducks, Rookie of the Year), but beyond two summers on a rec league softball team, gym was never my favorite thing, and I tended to write off athletic activities that weren't a means to some other end. Some of it was resentment that the arts at my high school never got the funding that our consistently losing football team did, but mostly it wasn't something that my family valued, so it never became something I sought out.

I knew why people loved them, though: from endless movies, TV shows, stories about Olympians and fitness articles, I heard all about the runner's high or the thrill of achievement or the pride of accomplishment. That's always been mostly abstract to me: I get those things from finishing a piece of writing I'm really proud of, or something else more intellectual than physical. But I felt it in River North, as soon as I realized I could see Merchandise Mart. I had done it. I wasn't tired anymore. I felt weightless, just on the verge of flying. I had done it! The cliché was true: I really wanted to pump my fist and crow, or spread both hands and glide over the river, magically avoiding colliding with a parked car or a pole.

We'll see if that happens again. I hope it does: I have every intention of biking to work more regularly now. I know better to check the whole bike before heading out—no more flat tires and loose helmets next time. Diving in feet first and discovering this experience turned out to be the right course of action. I feel totally inspired by athleticism again. Now comes the really hard part, which is—of course—choosing my theme song. Wish me luck, Oy!sters. (And I'd love to hear your suggestions!)

Welcome, welcome, welcome! Yes, welcome to my blog. A blog where I like to treat my readers right. So that's why I came up with this idea that instead of giving you one blog every now and again, I should give you a whole bunch at once. I'm doing this because I love you. And you're very attractive. Enjoy!

 

Mitzvah – The Bar

When I was 13, contrary to what my previous blog might have you believe, I had an amazing bar mitzvah. But now that I'm 25, I want to OWN an amazing Bar Mitzvah. Yes, that's right very attractive readers, I want to establish a bar and set it up exactly like a Bar Mitzvah. You might think this is a bit of a joke, and maybe it is, but you know you'd want to go there. So let me give you a preliminary list of what you may find someday when you walk into Bar Mitzvah:

- Every week a different theme based on popular opinions and suggestions

- If spotted doing a mitzvah of any kind by the staff, incredible prizes will be rewarded, such as giant inflatable couches or a three foot long tube filled with bubblegum

- The stereotypical music you love playing always and often. Especially Kool & The Gang's "Celebration," the number one song played at every Bar or Bat Mitzvah (Based on scientific data)

- Intermittent games like Coke/Pepsi, or to keep up with the times, Coke Zero/Pepsi Max

- The occasional Snowball

- A free fountain drink bar that serves, exclusively, Kiddie Cocktails

- With paid entry, a free souvenir t-shirt exclaiming such fun puns as "I had a sluggin' good time at Bar Mitzvah!" (Baseball week) or "I had an 88 Miles Per Hour good time at Bar Mitzvah!" (Back to the Future week) and even "I had a really good time at Bar Mitzvah!" (Generic week)

- A sweet table to rival all sweet tables

- 1 Hora each hour, minimum

And again, this is just a preliminary list. Imagine if I gave it more than 10 minutes of thought.

 

The Shameless Plug Blog 

This is a blog designed purely for the shameless self promotion of my other work. I hope I retain some respect for being honest with you.

- This was all about my trip to the Western Wall in Israel on Shorashim Birthright. Of what I have written, this is one of my own personal favorites.

- An article I wrote about short lived British comedy shows. Read this one to be educated on hilarity that you may know not of but should know a lot of. Hey, I rhymed.

- A two part YouTube video of the first time I ever performed standup comedy in college. I apologize in advance, both for the quality of the videos and the quality of me in the videos. Part one. Part two.

 - My twitter page, because I'm hilarious and you should follow me. Just not home. That's creepy. Or just simply look up TheMindofADM.

- And finally, a nice link to my profile and the entirety of my previous blogs on the wonderful, beautiful site that is Oy!Chicago.

If you actually read and watched all that, you're the most attractive reader I have and are one step closer to knowing what it's like inside my head. For this I do not envy you.

(Note: This next mini blog was the most difficult and time consuming of all six blogs.)

 

One Word Blog 

Tuchus.

 

Tuchus 

Rump, derriere, behind, bottom, rear, butt, heiny, tushie, gluteus maximus and even ass don't begin to compare to the word tuchus. They are a sheer fraction, a morsel, a nano-particle of what the word tuchus is and can do. Now while there are a number of great Yiddish slash Jewish words out there, tuchus just blows them all away, metaphorically speaking.  It rolls off the tongue with unparalleled eloquence. Go ahead. Try it. I'll wait.

See? Beautiful, ain't it? But what truly makes this word stand out among its fellow synonyms is the stealthy value of the word. It's like a ninja. Unlike the previously mentioned forms, tuchus is not known as widely outside of the Jewish world. It gives me a sense of entitlement that I'm not entirely sure if I'm allowed to have. Having said that, I will bestow upon you an absolutely terrible "Yo Mama" joke. Ahem.

Yo Mama so fat….her tuchus is becoming a threechus. Heh heh.

 

A blog where the title of the blog is actually longer than the blog itself, thus making you wonder why the title of the blog in question was so very, very, very long when it could have simply been a much shorter title that was a lot more direct and to the point instead of the ridiculous and redundant title that was unfortunately before the blog with the ridiculously long and redundantly repetitive title that was just mentioned previously 

I got nothing.

 

My Greatest Underutilized Jewish Fashion Accessory 

Other than in a clearance sale, I don't accept things as is. I question what I'm given. When someone asks if the glass is half empty or half full, I ask if someone was pouring or drinking and either way, is that beer and can I have some? I bring up this philosophy of mine for one reason and one reason only. My tallit. I don't wear it enough and shall now question why.

Why?

It's possibly the coolest piece of apparel I own, both for its look and significance. So why do I not show it off more? Wear it about town to let all my goyim friends see what they are missing out on. It would perfect in Chicago for the 10 winter months we have each year. It's an Über-scarf, as I like to say. Not to mention a great way to show off some slick Jewish style. It really comes down to one simple yet over-the-top fantasy for me. I'd be riding around in a convertible (blue and white of course), tallit blowing in the wind (blue and white of course), and tzitzit extending like spirit fingers (this time just white, of course). I'd stop alongside some young attractive Jewish women, potentially some of my readers due to their attractiveness, tilt my head to the side, give a small head nod, pause for effect and say, "Shalom".

That's right, I'm a bad-tuchas.

Hurry up and get boring.

That’s the advice I would give to new moms and pops everywhere, or what I would name the title of a terribly boring television show detailing the lives of first time parents.

It doesn’t seem too interesting, frankly, to all those people out there who are doing interesting THINGS and going interesting PLACES. I mean, how exciting can a burp be? Or sleeping more than four hours in a row? Or grabbing an object for the first time? Or eating APPLESAUCE? Let’s be honest, how exciting can a SMILE be?

And any parent will tell you, a smile can be terribly, terribly exciting. Blood-stopping, gasping- wait did you see that? Did you see that? And the headlines in the newspaper read CHILD USES FACIAL MUSCLES TO SMILE FOR FIRST TIME; FATHER ALMOST FAINTS. Except that no one’s buying the newspaper except a select few, the grandparents, the sister, the neighbor next door who can’t seem to get enough of your life, pouring over that headline in rapture.

Hurry up and get boring.

Except it’s not boring, not exactly. Maybe to you. Maybe to me. But to them, no, no it’s not boring at all.

It’s something I wasn’t quite prepared for before I had my baby girl. What? I need to stay at home? And give my baby sleep? How many times a day?

How many times a day do I have to stop and feed her? How often can I just have a whole half hour to myself? What do you mean I can’t go out past seven?.... And it hits, the boredom parents blues, as you adjust to your more sedentary lifestyle, as your home becomes the center, as you walk slower, as you slow down to the level of a tiny human being experiencing life for the first time.

From the perspective of the child, how exciting is life? Terribly, terribly exciting. So exciting in fact that, phew, after an hour or so, they’ve got to relax and take a snooze. That’s how exciting their life is to them.

The news of the boring lifestyle of parents may come as a disappointment to those who have spent their lives up until now perfecting their coolness factor.

But there's something beautiful there, because a parent transforms to become the structure, the containers for energy and not just the energy itself. The conduit through which their children's lives gain motion.

You help mold them. You help change them. You help them become who they were meant to be. And maybe you’ll get glory for it, and maybe not. Maybe you’ll have fun doing it, and maybe not. But when you become a vessel, it’s not about fun or boredom anymore. It’s about the contents. And the contents are growing and beautiful and they need you. At seven pm at night, they need you, behind that door, as they slumber. So that when they wake up, that tiny bundle will have a safe home in your arms and all that they need so that they can continue growing and loving, smiling and burping. Pretty soon they'll start speaking and thinking and laughing and wondering. And before you know it, they'll be moving and shaking and going to places you have never been and doing things you never even dreamed of doing.

And changing the world, one footstep at a time. One word at a time. One smile at a time.

All because you took the time when they were younger, to clean them, to watch them, to smile back at them. To print the headlines and post them on the refrigerator door so they would know know exciting their small accomplishments are to a big you.

And there’s nothing boring about that.

Much has been written about women being stereotyped in popular entertainment. Well, men get stereotyped, too. And one of the most common ways is to laugh at the idea of men… taking care of kids! Ha! Because men are basically just big kids themselves! Am I right? Am I right or what? Men are just big, dumb idiots who have no idea how to handle a baby or kid alone.

So let's take a look back at some of the movies where the basic hilarity is the very idea of men taking care of children and babies by themselves. Somehow, men can run dry cleaning services but can't do laundry. They can be "Top Chef" and "Iron Chef," but can't make dinner. They can clean up toxic waste and nuclear meltdowns, yet can't vacuum a rug. And men can perform brain surgery, but can't change diapers. Amazing.

There are two basic premises. One is the businessman who can't find time for his own kid, and then suddenly finds he has all the time in the world, because he gets fired. This was the set-up for one of the first dumb-dad movies, Mr. Mom (1983). And if one incompetent dad is funny, three are three times funnier! This is the logic behind 3 Men and a Baby (1987) with Ted Danson, Steve Guttenberg, and Tom Selleck.

These were followed by Carpool (1996) in which beleaguered businessman David Paymer has his minivan carjacked by a loveable Tom Arnold. The more famous Daddy Day Care (2003) had Eddie Murphy and Jeff Garlin as laid-off dads opening a daycare center. Daddy Day Camp (2007) with Cuba Gooding, Jr., was the sorta-sequel… but Murphy's own next stab at the idea included a magical element. Imagine That (2009) gave Murphy's daughter the ability to see the future, including financial futures. Cha-ching!

One of the few dramas with this structure is one of the first dad-takes-care-of-kid-alone movies of all: Kramer vs. Kramer (1979). This classic has Dustin Hoffman learning to take care of his son after his wife leaves. It's not a comedy, and one of the only times in Hollywood history this plot has been done as a drama, but Hoffman still sucks at dad-hood for much of the run-time.

The other major premise is the action hero playing against type. He can kick bad-guy butt, but he's no match for… diaper-rash butt! Arnold Schwarzenegger's Kindergarten Cop started this version in 1990, and soon many other tough-guy actors had to have their own. Chuck Norris served as inspiration to a 98-pound teen weakling in Sidekicks (1992). Vin Deisel was a Navy SEAL undercover as a nanny— or "manny"— in The Pacifier (2005). Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson played a football player who found out he was a father in The Game Plan (2007). And Jackie Chan was The Spy Next Door (2010).

Sylvester Stallone went the drama route with this pattern in Over the Top (1987) in which he plays a truck driver who earns his kid's respect in an arm-wrestling tournament. (Yes, this was a real movie.) And Bruce Willis protects a young autistic savant who cracked a government code in Mercury Rising (1998). I admit I did not have the patience to sift through all the plots of the Steven Seagal and Jean-Claude Van Damme movies, so my apologies if I missed their contributions to this subgenre.

Anyway, none of these dads are any good until they apply what they know— management or military skills— to the squishy world of child-raising.

As in Kindergarten Cop, Jack Black takes over a classroom he is not prepared for. But he gives the kids a lesson in rock'n'roll-ology, with minors in "it's OK to be different" and "stand up for what you believe in." Not a bad movie overall, somewhat a sequel to Black's High Fidelity role.

Another musical star, Ice Cube, is the "dad" in Are We There Yet? As in Paper Moon and Carpool, the basic idea is just to get the kids from here to there; a swinging bachelor tries to impress the woman he's interested in by driving them across the country. The kids do extremely dangerous and violent things to try to get rid of him, all because they don't want him ending up with her.

And in Father's Day (1997), we get two-for-one; either button-down Billy Crystal or rambunctious Robin Williams could be the father of a runaway kid, and they have to team up to find him and bring him home.

Then there is the idea of a con man being forced to take care of a girl… who turns out to be really good at manipulating adults herself! The first one was the 1973 Paper Moon, with Ryan O'Neal and his real-life daughter, Tatum. Set in the 1930s, this black-and-white caper is about a grifter who takes on a job of delivering an orphaned girl to her grandparents. He finds that she has an aptitude for cons, though, and takes her on as a sidekick and protégé.  It was sorta-remade as Curley Sue, a 1991 comedy in which Jim Belushi plays a homeless man who runs cons with a girl he takes under his wing. Then in 1994, came Leon: The Professional, a thriller about a hitman who takes a pre-teen girl under his wing (weapon?).

Interestingly, the goofballs and con men are naturals at the whole fathering thing, much better than either businessmen or bruisers, because they are more flexible. They are willing to try something that might work, instead of what should. They respond to reality, and react better to unintended results.

Men sometimes adopt teens not to perpetrate crimes, but to solve them. The Medieval mystery The Name of the Rose (1986) has action star Sean Connery as a wise monk teaching his teenage acolyte how to use logic and science to stop a murder spree. And then there is Batman, who takes a young Robin under his crime-stopping wing in their classic storyline.

Incidentally, I could find just one movie in which a woman is unprepared for child-rearing, only to have an infant thrust upon her: Baby Boom. And what does Diane Keaton do in the movie? Why, she's a businessperson! Evidently, office coffeemakers mix a little testosterone into every cup. This film came out in 1987, the same year as 3 Men and a Baby.

So here's my pitch: A female action star— say, Gina Carano of Haywire— plays a superspy… who suddenly has to take care of a baby! It's probably the one permutation that hasn't been done yet.

And it would give us dads a break from all these gee-golly diapers! As Keanu Reeves says in the original Parenthood movie: "… you need a license to buy a dog, to drive a car— Hell, you even need a license to catch a fish. But they'll let any [expletive] be a father."

So my friend wrote a book and I'm trying to find a way to write an interesting post that lets people know about this book and makes people want to read it without writing a book report. What I really want to write about is how I knew this friend in a past life, so I'm just going to get this book plug in first and then write about that.

Everyone should check out Herself When She's Missing by Sarah Terez Rosenblum. Not only because I had the privilege of portraying the main character in the book trailer (what, that isn't reason enough?), but because it is smart and full of sex while making you question things like obsession and memory. Go get it. Okay, moving on to the part about me.

A few years ago I signed up for a creative writing class to figure out what kind of writing I wanted to do now that I would soon be leaving my job writing grant proposals. Autumn and Violet were nine months old at that point and I needed to find a focus for my intellectual side in my new role as stay-at-home mom.

I sat down to that first class with nervous excitement, looking around the square table at the other people wanting to be better writers. Would I measure up? There was a bunch of awkward silence in which some people talked to their neighbor and the rest of us pretended to be doing something super important on our phones. Finally, the teacher walked in and started the class. Instantly, I had this feeling that Sarah and I had already met. I racked the files of my brain about where our paths may have crossed. Nothing doing.  

I had done my research prior to signing up for the class so I knew a little about her. I read most of her website and did a thorough Google and Facebook search. I didn't think twice about her name or her photo then, but when we were actually in the same room I couldn't stop thinking we had met before. Reverberations from a past life.

A few weeks into the class I found out she lived in my neighborhood, so I started giving her rides home, or at least to the Jewel by her house. For someone who never cooks, she sure goes to the grocery store a lot. Over time I discovered that we carry around a lot of the same labels in life (in no particular order):

1. Jewish
2. Badger (We overlapped at UW-Madison but never met)
3. Lesbian
4. List maker
5. Andersonville dweller
6. Writer (I cringe typing this as she is actually a PUBLISHED author)
7. Yogi

Clearly, we were meant to be friends, especially after we kept running into each other at yoga class. I could list all our differences like the fact that she lives with a werewolf, but that's not the point. The point is, she has become one of my closest friends in a short amount of time and I wonder how that relates to the initial feeling I had that we had already met. Is our intuition ever wrong about these things? If we're paying attention, will it alert us to the people we should have (or not have) in our lives?

Herself When She's Missing made me think about this idea, too. What happens when you don't listen to your intuition about your relationship, or even yourself? Or what happens when you think you're listening to your intuition but in reality your mind is deceiving itself?

I have to admit that I was the teeniest bit nervous about what would happen to our new-ish friendship if I didn't like the book. Would she still go to yoga with me twice a week? I couldn't lie to her, both because I'm a horrible liar and because she can read my mind. So here I do get a little book report-y, but I can't help it because it turns out there was no need to worry – I loved the book. A few reasons why:

1. There is a lot of sex in this book. It was even chosen first in this list of alternatives to reading Fifty Shades of Grey.

2. Without realizing it, suddenly the story has you thinking about memory and perception and wondering if the way you see the world has anything in common with what's actually happening. Where did that come from amid all those steamy pages?

3. Relatable characters. I actually texted Sarah at one point during the book. "I'm disturbed by how much I can relate to Andrea." She responded: "That is a huge compliment." I'm still wondering – is it because I can relate to her or that I'm disturbed by it?

4. With two lesbian main characters you might think it's got a limited audience, but if you've ever lusted after someone, been obsessed with a band, or fallen for someone who's unavailable, there's something in there for you. Check out the advance praise here.

5. The book is full of lists! Clearly, I had to write about it in a series of lists. I love lists, too. You should see our email exchanges.

Hopefully after reading this post, Sarah will still be my friend. As long as she doesn't say that my memory about how we met is all wrong or my intuition is crap, I think it will be okay.  

Come join me at the release party for Herself When She's Missing at Tony Fitzpatrick's Firecat Gallery Tuesday June 12 at 7 p.m. And if you're looking for an inspiring and supportive writing teacher, check Sarah's classes at StoryStudio.

Two years ago, I wrote a blog post about entering a new life stage I referred to as “the stage where everyone I know is suddenly growing up and deciding to get married.”

Almost a dozen weddings later, things haven’t changed ...and I can add having babies to this stage.

The past few weeks in particular have been a whirlwind of wedding festivities. With several close friends getting married this summer, there hasn’t been a week free of wedding activities. I just spent the last two weekends celebrating two dear friends’ bachelorette parties in New Orleans and Colorado. Putting aside the serious toll these festivities have been taking on my bank account and all the travel time, I’ve really been enjoying this period in my life.

Who doesn’t want to go on a trip with a dozen girls to NOLA? The saying, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” very much summarizes my weekend there. That and I finally discovered the best time to get beignets at Café Du Monde: 3:30am. You don’t even have to wait in line for an indoor table!

On the other hand, the Colorado bachelorette party was anything but wild. My friend’s mom and aunt were in attendance and the majority of our time was spent horseback riding, hiking, cooking, eating, playing board games and mainly, chatting.

It was nice to spend a few days out in the gorgeous wilderness with only women. Probably because my girlfriend’s wedding was right around the corner, a lot of the conversations centered on men, life, relationships and marriage. My friend’s mom shared her own marriage story. She dated her husband (of several decades) and actually broke up with him because he wouldn’t propose. In the end, the time apart made him realize how much he needed her and the wedding happened soon after.

In my matchmaking world, I tend to focus on the beginning of relationships— the setting people up part. Even after almost six years into my own relationship, I don’t often think about what it really takes to make a marriage last forever.

So all of this got me thinking about why people get married these days. Is marriage for that feeling of long-term commitment? For love? To have kids? Is it for legal reasons like equality? Is it for religious reasons? Or is it simply because it’s something we all are supposed to do and it’s fun to plan and throw a big party for friends and family?

I don’t know what led me down this philosophical path, and I’m not sure I’m asking for marriage advice—  Sharna's post already did a nice job with that.

I saw an article earlier this week on The Huffington Post in which the author states that marriage before 25 should be illegal. The author got married at 24 and divorced soon after. While I don’t agree with the legality part of her argument, I have to admit I do think marriage before 25 can seem premature and not surprisingly, often short-lived.

But what even defines a successful marriage? Is it length of time? Being together “forever”?

My best friend’s parents recently announced they were divorcing after 41 years of marriage. They raised a family together and saw their kids into adulthood. They obviously shared a huge part of their lives together and now they are going their separate ways. Does that mean their marriage should be deemed a failure? Or in actuality, was it a great success?

Just some thoughts…feel free to share your own below. I’d be interested to hear what others have to say on this subject.

Next month I promise to be a bit lighter, and hopefully, I will have some good news to share on the doggy matchmaking front!

“Bialy…is that Italian?” Um…not so much. “Bialy…that’s like a bagel without a whole in it, right?” Yes, random girl on the street, that’s close enough.

Bialy is also the name of my 13-week-old five-pounds-big Bichon poodle puppy. She is the cutest dog to ever walk the earth (move over, Boo) so these days I spend a lot of my time talking to random people on the street as they ooh and aah over my puppy, while she assaults her new best friend with puppy kisses and love. Bialy gives freely of her love to pretty much anyone who’ll have it, especially to humans under two-feet tall. And don’t you dare walk by without stopping to admire her cuteness. She’ll stop in her tracks and look longingly at you like the crazy, heartless person you are, because, well, look at her!

 Bialy Bregman, a regular Cindy Pawford.

Bialy Bregman came home with us a mere three weeks ago, and already she has changed our lives for good. Suddenly, my living room is covered in toys, I pop out of bed at 5:30 a.m. and most of what my husband Mike and I talk about is when Bialy last went potty. Much to Mike’s simultaneous surprise, joy and dismay, it turns out she is, in fact, the great love of my life. (Just kidding, Mike. I love you both equally.)

Most people who’ve known me my whole life were shocked to hear we’d gotten a dog. You see, I was never really a dog person. As a kid, I was the girl who couldn’t come to your birthday party if you had a dog. I was t-e-r-r-i-f-i-e-d of dogs. Don’t come near me—I don’t want to pet you, I don’t want you to lick me, and I definitely don’t want you to pee on me. As I grew older, I grew out of this a bit, but I never really thought a dog was in the cards for me. Plus, big dogs still scare me.

It was Mike’s dream to have a dog—he always wanted one as a kid—and it became our dream to raise one together. We had been talking about it for years, but the timing just wasn’t quite right. Then, about a month ago, Mike decided to contact the puppy website we had been visiting/stalking for the past four years. He explained our situation, and we learned that a bichon poo would be the best fit for us—I have asthma, we work full-time and live in the city, and bichon poos are sweet, smart, small-ish dogs that are completely hypoallergenic.

That Saturday, as we drove to the outer burbs to meet two bichon poodle sisters, I defiantly said to Mike, “Under no circumstances are we to come home with a puppy today. We are just here to look.”

But then we met Bialy, who immediately crawled into Mike’s lap to take a nap, and it was all over. She was our little girl.

We are all still getting used to each other, but Bialy has already brought so much happiness into our lives. Like any good Jewish mother, I worry she’s not eating enough, I watch her every move, and I spoil her rotten with toys. And Bialy fit right in to her new role as a Jewish puppy, aiming to please her parents and already at the top of her class at puppy school.

The day Bialy came home.

Now don’t get me wrong, it hasn’t all been puppy kisses and roses. We had a very challenging first few days—potty training a puppy is no fun at all. But Bialy brought out a maternal instinct in me I didn’t even know I had. And Mike, he has turned out to be the amazing, loving and dedicated puppy daddy I always knew he would be. It took a lot of teamwork, patience and very little sleep, but after only a few days, Bialy got used to things around the Bregman household and all was right with the world.

So if you see us walking on the street, be sure to stop and say hello. You might just meet your new best friend.

It’s not just the Jewish athletes making news these days (at least good news), the Jewish owners have emerged into the spotlight. The Great Rabbino takes a look at the top Jewish owners in sports (the three majors sports...I would've included the NHL, but I do not have confirmation on Jeremy Jacobs or Stu Siegel). I might be missing some so feel free to help us out.

Dan Snyder, Washington Redskins— Snyder has tried to make moves over the years but most have bombed. But now he has RGIII, this could be the big move that he has coveted for so long.

Jeffrey Laurie, Philadelphia Eagles— The dream team never lived up to the hype (at least in year one). The Eagles still have a solid team led by Michael Vick. During Laurie's tenure the team has competed and been looked at as a team willing to make the moves to win.

Stuart Sternberg, Tampa Bay Rays— Sternberg is the principal shareholder in the team. More importantly he has created not only a team, but a culture of winning in a division with the big boys. For the last five years he has given the Yankees and Red Sox all they can handle and often coming out on top.

Dan Gilbert, Cleveland Cavilers— Gilbert makes the list because of how much pride he has in his team. He hated, not just for himself but for his city, when Lebron abandoned them. Gilbert has made it his personal mission to overcome that loss. Great start by drafting Kyrie Irving, a star in the making.

Lerner Family, Washington Nationals— It has taken some time but the Nationals are a force to reckon with. Jayson Werth's injury (and contract) will hurt them, but how can you not be psyched about Bryce Harper. Kid's got game.

Zygi Wilf, Minnesota Vikings— Sure the Vikings were not so great this past year, but anyone else read about Wilf's desire and will to keep the Vikings in Minnesota? I would want to play for an owner like that.

Jerry Reinsdorf, Chicago Bulls/White Sox— Reinsdrof owns two major sports teams. He has seven championships (six with the Bulls and one with the White Sox). The Sox have made major moves almost every offseason over the last 10 years, not always panning out. The Bulls should have been title contenders this year but...well...that whole Derrick Rose injury you might have heard about.

Micky Arison , Miami Heat— I hate that he is on this list. But we need to give credit where credit is due. Last year he inked Dwayne Wade, Chris Bosh, and LeBron James. They are still playing and winning.

Mark Cuban, Dallas Mavericks— No owner in sports cares about their team more. Cuban would do anything to win. He will go after Deron Williams this offseason and he will go after him hard. Cuban is a fans’ owner, that's why we love him.

Robert Kraft, New England Patriots— If no owner cares more about their team than Cuban, no team cares more about their owner than the Pats do for Robert Kraft. Kraft has put the people in place for the Pats to always be contenders. Oh yeah, and he has Tom Brady.

And Let Us Say...Amen.
- Jeremy Fine

Last month I wrote about the popularity of the nautical trend, so it's only fitting that this month, as we progress firmly into summer, I write about dressing for the beach (beach fashion goes way beyond the suit and flip-flops!) and packing for a warm-weather trip. As a fashionista, this subject intrigues me and inspires me every summer; and since I'm a Leo, the warmth and excitement of summer naturally runs through my blood.

I have found that a combination of trendy and classic pieces in both neutrals and bright patterns make for the most attractive and versatile summer looks. Also, I'm partial to a combination of Boho and preppy pieces.

This season, I'm all about beach cover-ups that do not look like obvious cover-ups. Laid back and loose-fitting dresses and caftans are, in my opinion, the best way to cover up a suit. They transition nicely from the beach to dinner out, and take up very little room in a suitcase, as they are light weight and serve more than one purpose. I am in love with this quirky green printed number from Diane von Furstenberg.

I was at Bloomingdales doing Mother's Day shopping when this dress caught my eye. It's brilliant because it can be dressed up or dressed down and covers up a suit nicely. You will definitely stand out poolside!

Calypso St. Barth is a summer go-to store for me. It tends to be pricey, but the pieces are timeless and worth every penny. It has been a favorite of mine since I first stumbled upon the store on a college visit to Boston when I was in high school. Now, I visit the Oak Street location about twice a year. I love this simple white jeweled caftan. The color and the slits on the sides make it very ethereal and beachy, but it can be perfect for an evening out when paired with a dangly pair of rose gold earrings.

Do you ever struggle with deciding on the right shoes to wear on a boat or by the pool when you don't want to wear flip flops, but you also don't want to ruin your regular shoes? I just received a Daily Candy email featuring these gems made by Swims.

Lastly, over-sized summer scarves are a MUST have accessory. They're great for adding an extra touch to an outfit or for use as a light shawl in the evening. Definitely throw one in your suitcase on your summer trip— you will wear it a ton. I purchased mine eight years ago from a street vendor in Paris. Eileen Fisher makes a lovely option that I bought my mom. It's shown here on Bloomingdales.com in Sapphire but I also saw it at the Bloomingdale's store in sky blue and gold.

I have only included a sampling of my favorite pieces for women this summer season. If you would like more suggestions, or would like help pulling together some summer looks for upcoming occasions or vacations (for women or men), please reach out to me in the comments below! I would be happy to offer my styling advice.

I have been following former U.S. Senator, Vice Presidential nominee and presidential hopeful John Edwards’ trial until its conclusion on May 31 when he was found not guilty of one charge and the jury deadlocked on the other five. Edwards’ charges were based on his alleged misuse of campaign dollars.

Edwards’ life reads somewhere in between a Greek tragedy and Telenovella. However, the sordid details are not what fascinated me, rather the steadfastness of his daughter, Cate Edwards, who has stood by her father throughout the entire trial.

Cate, age 30, is the daughter of Elizabeth Edwards, who lost her life to metastatic breast cancer. Her parents separated soon after Elizabeth found out about her husband’s affair with a woman with whom he has a daughter who he initially denied fathering.

Cate has been through more tragedy in her young life than most people experience over a lifetime. Besides her father’s epic, humiliating and public fall from grace, her mother died in 2010 and her brother, Wade, died in a car accident in 1996. If John Edwards had gone to jail, Cate would have taken custody of her two younger siblings.
The question begs to be asked, why would Cate sit by her father every day during the trial (and pre-trial hearings)? How could she stand listening to the gross details of his confirmed and alleged transgressions? Before the verdict, Cate leaned on her father’s shoulder and told her dad that she loved him. After the verdict, Edwards thanked Cate for sitting through the trial and sitting through the testimony of the terrible details of infidelity.

How and why does she still love him?

It doesn’t seem to be for opportunist reasons. Cate is a married, Harvard Law School graduate, who now runs the Elizabeth Edwards Foundation. She doesn’t need the Edwards name— especially now that it’s so tarnished.

Cate was able to do something that I don’t think many people could. She was able to still love her father by seemingly compartmentalizing his misdeeds. Whatever anger or hurt she must have felt towards him; somehow her love transcended those emotions and propelled her to play the leading lady role at the trial. Perhaps after suffering so much loss, she decided that despite his flaws, she was not willing to also lose her father, even though no one would have blamed her for abandoning him.

I can only think that while John Edwards has no future in public service (maybe one of the networks will hire him in a year or so to host a talk show), his personal life remains intact and strong due to the seemingly unconditional love of his daughter.

He is a lucky man.

Mazel tov to Oy!Chicago bloggers Jane Charney and Rachel Friedman on the births of their sons!

Ron Ariel Averbukh was born May 21, 2012 at 3:22 am, weighing 7 pounds, 5 ounces. He's perfect, and Jane and Max are completely over the moon. The first name is in honor of his grandfather Rakhmil, who passed away in January. The middle name is in honor of his great grandfathers Arkady and Lev (the latter means lion in Russian as does Ariel in Hebrew).

Colin Harrison Friedman was born on May 24, 2012 at 10:45 am, weighing in at 6 pounds, 11 ounces and measuring 20 inches long. He is a bright and alert little dude and looks forward to meeting everybody soon.

Baby Colin

The Friedmans

Moms, Dads and baby boys are all doing great.

It’s the best feeling when spring gives way to the wonderful, fun filled Chicago summers. The warmth from the sun, the cool breeze off the lake, the faintest smell of lilacs and tulips peppered all across Chicago’s wonderful parks and public destinations. Keeping budget in mind, I have compiled a list of some public places you can explore this summer for free. So whether you are new to the area or have been living here all your life like me, I guarantee tons of fun hitting these spots!

Green City Market
Ah, nothing rivals this collection of local producers and farmers, gathering early each Saturday morning to display their finest products for all Chicagoans to see (and nosh!). Whether you are looking to supplement your own produce or pantry stock, or are just looking to kill some time, the Green City Market is a great place to be found. You may even see some familiar faces wandering around the booths, like Frontera’s Rick Bayless or Province’s Randy Zweiban, or perhaps Drawing Room’s chef Nick LaCasse, winner of the 2012 America’s Best Lounge (he was also on Bravo Channel’s Around the World in 80 Plates, Season 1).

The Beach
Who doesn’t like the beach? This summer promises to be one of the best for beach lovers looking to get their tans and play volleyball by the shoreline. Whether you are at 12th Street (formerly Meigs Field), 31st Street (of the Junior Lifeguard Chicago Area Tug-o-War), 63rd Street (Chicago’s oldest and largest beachouse), North Avenue (center stage for Chicago’s Air and Water Show every August), Oak Street (largest area of deep water swimming and SCUBA diving and home to the Oak Street Beachstro), or even North Shore’s Loyola/Leone (Chicago’s largest beach, I bet you didn’t know that!), you are guaranteed to have a blast. Don’t forget to drink lots of water and wear your sunblock!

Conservatories and Greenhouses
The Lincoln Park Conservatory boasts a Fern Room, an Orchid House and a Palm House to peruse. At Kilborn Park’s Conservatory, you’ll find the park district’s only teaching organic greenhouse! You can check out more information about them here. Don’t forget your camera!

Movies in the Park
Who doesn’t want to grab a picnic basket, some blankets, some eats, and just sprawl out on a park lawn while watching one of your favorite classic movies on a GIANT screen? How about with a few thousand other people? You can click here to download the list of all the movies playing at every park in Chicago this summer. Some highlights I plan to attend include The Sandlot at Oz Park on Saturday, June 16, Tuesday, June 19 at Fulton River to watch Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off at the Chicago History Museum’s Park on Tuesday, July 31.

Navy Pier/Shakespeare Theater
There is so much to see and do, you can spend all day at Navy Pier. One of the major attractions is the largest reproduction of the original Ferris Wheel that made Chicago famous at the 1893 World’s Fair. And let’s not forget the Shakespeare Theater, where you can see Shakespeare and non-Shakespeare plays performed by some of Chicago’s finest actors.

Look out for my next installment, when I hit the town and show all of you Oy!sters how to get out and enjoy the greatest city in the world the way you want.

L’Chaim Chicago!

It has been a year since I was tied up, strapped down, locked in.

A year since I finished treatment, a year since I tiptoed out of the shadows and into the sunlight, and a year since I left the hospital for what I hoped would be the very last time.

In the past year, I have chosen to experience the world in oscillating states of hyper-color. These moments are cherished, savored, and readily accessible.

These moments give me strength, provide guidance, and most importantly provide hope.

On Thursday May 10—one year after finishing treatment—we held a Twist Out Cancer fundraiser in Montreal, a city that I called home for nearly seven years. In the last year this community nurtured and supported me in a way that I did not know was possible. With nearly 200 people in attendance, we were able to raise awareness and funds to help further Twist Out Cancer's mission, and perhaps more importantly, I was finally able to say thank you.

As fate would have it, the same weekend Twist Out Cancer touched down in Montreal, Chubby Checker planned to celebrate 50 years of the Twist.

That Saturday night, at the Rialto Theatre, I took the stage with the man that helped inspire a movement, with the man that has been the focal point of my narrative, with the man that has helped show me that "life is not about waiting for the storm to pass but it's about learning to dance in the rain."

As we twisted—cancer moved from center stage into the chorus.

As we twisted—the heaviness of the last year was lifted.

As we twisted—the pain that I endured softened.

Thank you Chubby for being a part of my past—but more importantly a part of my present and future.

Dancing with you was one of the best moments of my life.

You helped me find meaning in the suffering and for that I am incredible grateful.

As the Jewish half of our relationship I am responsible for building the Jewish foundation of our home. My partner Mandi is completely on board but she doesn't have the experience or knowledge base to know where to start. She grew up in a Catholic family, and now embraces a deep sense of spirituality and belief in God, but does not practice a religion. Since I grew up in a Reform Jewish household, we are clearly an interfaith family, right? Mandi and I recently completed an online course on raising Jewish children in an interfaith family, which got me thinking about a lot of things like prayer and God and synagogues. The most surprising thought, however, was that we are not actually an interfaith family.

The class came at a crazy busy time for Mandi's work schedule and subsequently the rest of us, but this was also as good a time as any because life's not going to get any slower. I don't want to wake up one day with 12 year olds thinking "oh shit they don't even know what a bat mitzvah is." Now that our daughters are two, I'm starting to see just how speedy time can be. Our schedule is busy without even trying. Weeks flow together and already it is May and I still have things on my to do list from January (apparently not such important things). It's going to take a conscious effort to incorporate Jewish elements into our lives.

Going into the class I didn't have too many expectations beyond starting some conversations between Mandi and I about how we want to incorporate Jewish tradition in our family's life. Up until the class we read some Jewish books from the PJ Library, made certain foods for their corresponding holidays, and had some holiday celebrations with family and friends. The Passover highlights this year were Violet's and Autumn's enthusiastic clapping along to Dayeinu and then singing it on repeat for the entire week. So we're not starting completely from scratch; there's already some hamentashen in the oven.

Taking an online course has its pros and cons.

Pro: Scanning the discussion board at your kitchen counter while fixing dinner as two toddlers chase each other around the table, stopping each time around to make their dinner requests for mushrooms, olives, and ice cream cones.

Con: Not always finding time to go online, read the material, and contribute to the discussion.

Pro: Bringing together families from all over the Chicago area since there's no meeting location.

Con: Not really getting to know the other participants.

Even though we didn't get to meet everyone in person, reading other people's comments was my favorite part of the class. Hearing their questions and thoughts about God and Jewish services and prayers put all of those things in a new light. I was inspired by how other parents are so thoughtfully and intentionally incorporating religion into their families' lives. Reading how some families are working to celebrate the non-Jewish parent's favorite traditions (Christmas, Easter, Sunday services) made me realize that we don't have those same challenges in our house, not exactly.

We do celebrate Christmas in a secular way with Mandi's family – spending time together, exchanging gifts. But I also grew up celebrating Christmas with extended family this way. My mom converted to Judaism and Christmas was a good time to spend with her entire family. I love Christmas because of the quality family time we get to spend with so many people we love. So what does that make us – a second generation interfaith family? Even though I was raised in a Jewish home? Maybe it's more like something once removed, a second cousin sort of interfaith.

Despite our different cultural and I suppose ethnic backgrounds, Mandi and I are on the same page when it comes to embracing God, spirituality, and Judaism as the religion and culture of our family. Having the girls grow up with a sense of belonging to the Jewish community and its history is a priority for both of us. Mandi is perhaps even more committed than me, proclaiming on a regular basis that she doesn't want to be a culture killer. She reminds me to teach her as well as the girls so that she can be an active parent in their Jewish education.

Since I don't see us as practicing different faiths, the term interfaith family just doesn't fit right, a pair of jeans that doesn't hug in the right places. Inter-cultural has a snugger fit. We have different cultural backgrounds and upbringings that we're trying to incorporate into our family.

That online course got me thinking about a lot and gave us many great ideas for incorporating something Jewish into our everyday lives. I've got Jewish preschools on my list of possibilities for next year and the girls are learning to sing Hamotzi before dinner and the Shema before bed. Synagogue shopping will commence soon. 

I wish I could post an ad: inter-something family with two moms and twin two-year-olds seeks a synagogue with nice people, inspiring leadership and gluten-free challah. I haven't found a place to submit that yet, so in the meantime we'll just start at home and check out some family services in the neighborhood.

A crucial part of your exercise regimen should include a full body warm-up. A good warm-up helps joints, muscles and tendons get ready to move. Getting your body ready for exercise can prevent strains and other issues. If I don’t warm up, I have knee and shoulder pain. Of course don’t overdo the warm-up, and wear yourself out before you hit the weights, pool, bike or track.

A pre-workout warm-up is not 10 minutes on a treadmill—it involves dynamic movements to help prepare your body for lunges, squats, pushups, running…

I usually pick 3-5 of the exercises below to start a session:

• High knee running
• Skipping (yes, it looks silly but great for speed work)
• Butt kicks (try and kick your butt as you run forward)
• Shuffling (run sideways)
• Bear crawling
• Side bear crawl
• Walking lunge
• Walking straight leg high kicks (think Rockets)
• Arm circles

With my clients that have lower back problems I get them on the floor and warm up their abs and lower back. If you have any back or other pains check with your doctor before exercising. Here is a list of great exercises to warm up the core. I do each of these exercises for 30 seconds to a minute and repeat twice:

• Cat stretch: On hands and knees—lift and lower back
• Alligator: On all fours, bring one arm straight out, and bring opposite leg straight back
• Plank: Hold yourself up in a push-up position
• Side plank: Lay on side, lay on forearm-which should be perpendicular with body, lift your hips, stack feet on top of each other if you can
• Hip raises: Lay on back, lift your hips up and down slowly with feet on the ground

My favorite warm up for upper body workouts is push up walking. It’s a simple exercise that only requires space. You start in the push-up position (arms under shoulders, legs straight) and then move forward, back, and side to side without bending your arms or legs. Check out the video:  push up walk. If you have weak or sore wrists I would skip this exercise.

At the end of each session I spend 5-10 minutes stretching my client. This is more of your traditional stretching, where you hold a pose for 10-20 seconds. There is some debate on the effectiveness of this type of stretching (static stretching), but my clients enjoy it (probably more than the workout). I see it as beneficial and it gives me time to mix in other techniques that help increase flexibility.

Send me your warm up exercises or questions.

In 1967, Chicago was devastated by a massive snowstorm, the Museum of Contemporary Art was founded, and the Picasso Statue was dedicated in Civic Center Plaza.  What went under the radar was the opening of the alleged first sushi restaurant in the city.  The area in between Division and North Avenues on Wells Street was known as Old Town, and that's where Kamehachi of Tokyo first opened its doors.

The place was an instant hit and was frequented by celebrities and locals who had their first sushi experiences.  While Kamehachi of Tokyo has moved two blocks south to 1400 N. Wells and has opened up four other locations, the restaurant is still booming.

The Old Town location is the original and signature, so making your way downtown could be worth the trip.  By no means is Kamehachi of Tokyo the best sushi or Japanese in the city, however the place is part of our Chicago history so experiencing it before it's too late is worth the try.  Within two blocks of the restaurant are Second City, Zanies, Red Orchid Theater, and several other restaurants, boutique shops, and Kilwin's Fudge.  Although you may not need a reservation, they are accepted.

The new venue at 1531 North Wells Street has more of a modern twist this time around.  You'll walk into a the first floor lounge right off Wells Street and take a seat at a lit up bar with exposed brick and traditional drums hanging from the ceiling.  Fortunately, the upstairs lounge still exists but is only open Thursday through Saturday.  There is now underground dining where it's dark and roomy.  The new location also has space for private events.

First date?  Looking for an inexpensive, expensive-looking meal?  This spot has your back.  The Old Town location while being dimly lit is already known as a romantic first date place.  It is also conveniently located near several CTA station locations.

Looking for comfort food?  For some that may be pizza, Italian beef or mac and cheese.  My comfort food is the Nebeyaki Udon ($13) at Kamehachi.  If you are going for sushi, there are several different types of beginner sushi dinners that come with a chef's choice of maki, nigiri, and sashimi that vary in price but never go over $25.  If you are in for a challenge, order the Sushi Boat, a dinner that takes 45 minutes to prepare.  The challenge is $175 - $200 and features a beautiful array of, well, everything.

The history and Old Town locale make Kamahachi a must visit, at least once.  Next time you feel like sushi, give this place a try.

I have been writing about Jewish celebrities for years now, and I have run into a problem. As I look through movie after movie, I keep running into the same names and, while I know these stars aren't Jewish, I kind of wish they were.

So here are the ones I wish were Jewish and why (I will also mention which actor is the closest we get to that ideal, so you can see how far off the mark we are in that area):

Tom Hanks

He's a giant mensch. His movies are some of the few that are both wildly popular and artistically worthwhile. He's capable of both painful hilarity and painful poignancy. And he is able to evoke history as a place in which people lived, not just a page in a textbook. The closest we got: Dustin Hoffman.

Robin Williams

If he isn't the non-Jew who has played the most Jews (turns out, that's John Turturro) he's in the top three. He's one of the few major comedians who don't belong to a minority group (the others include Steve Martin and George Carlin), but he's got the outsider-pathos thing down cold. He's one of the few who started in stand-up and ended up with an Oscar. Plus, he can pull off the accent and beard. The closest we got: Albert Brooks.

Jackie Chan

One area of moviedom in which Jews have been largely absent is action-heroism (at least since Harrison Ford's prime). If we want to claim an action hero, it's got to be the funny one. And it has to be a martial artist for two reasons. One, the two-fisted type typified by John Wayne went out back when Arnold took up politics, if not before. And two, half the Jewish teens I know are black belts. The closest we got: Steven Segal.

 

Ryan Gosling or Ryan Reynolds

We only need one! Your choice… since I can't keep track of which one is which, anyway. All I know is that one or the other is always starring in a movie, and they are always the romantic lead and/or superhero, and they don't look like Jason Segel. The closest we got: James Franco and Jake Gyllenhaal.

Ellen Degeneres

I know, I know… she already belongs to a minority group. So? We haven't had a major female comic since Rita Rudner. We have Joan Rivers to live up to, dammit! And as far as sparkling, quick-wittted talk show hosts, here's what we have come up with: Charlie Rose, Larry King, Matt Lauer, and, um, Maury Povich, Geraldo Rivera and Jerry Springer. Nope, not Phil, Merv, Arsenio, Regis, Oprah, Montel, Dr. Phil, Mike Douglas, Dick Cavett or Rachel Ray.The closest we got: Comics- Roseanne; Talk shows- Ricki Lake? Barbara Walters?

Alex "Jeopardy!" Trebek

He's a know-it-all, but you love him anyway. Dapper, quick-witted, and knows how to say it "en  Francé. The last great Jewish game show host was Monty "Let's Make a Deal" Hall. The closest we got: Howie "Deal or No Deal" Mandel and Ben Stein.

Sophia Vergara

So, she'd be Sephardic. I haven't listed as many women because when you already have both Natalie Portman and Scarlett Johansson on your team, you don't want to seem greedy. But we do need some more, um, variety in the Jewish-star line-up.  Neither Sophie "Hotel Rwanda" Okonedo nor Bahar "Crash" Soomekh have been all that active lately. Besides, who would you rather suddenly turn out to be Jewish- Sophia or Ed O'Neil? I remember the rumors that Catherine Zeta Jones was going to convert to marry Michael Douglas; The Forward put her on the cover. Closest we got: Emanuel Chriqui.

Jimmy Kimmel

Aside from Jon Stewart, we have never had a Late Night Host. Nope! Not Jack Parr, Steve Allen, Letterman, Ferguson, Kilborn, Costas, Leno, Conan, Fallon… no one from Johnny Carson to Carson Daly. So we need Jimmy, the most Jew-ish of today's Late Night Hosts. Wonder what Sarah would think if he converted now? Closest we got: Chelsea Handler and Andy Cohen.

Joss Whedon

Look, Steven Spielberg is great and all, but he's kinda all done with the sci-fi thing. His latest movies, "War Horse" and "Lincoln," are part of his historical-war kick that started way back with "Empire of the Sun" or even "1941." Meanwhile, he hasn't directed a sci-fi hit in a decade ("Minority Report" was 2002)… and all he can come up with now is another (sigh) Indiana Jones and something called "Robopocalypse." Meanwhile, Joss is still full of great, new ideas. Closest we got: J.J. Abrams and Aaron Sorkin, who together make one Joss.

Lea Michele

Yeah, we thought so too. Turns out, she was raised Catholic, but is technically half-Jewish. But her voice! Oy, it's like buttah. Closest we got: Idina Menzel, who plays her birth mom.

"Weird" Al Yankovic

Used to be, we had a monopoly on novelty songwriters: Mickey Katz, Allan Sherman, Tom Lehrer, Kinky Friedman. But ever since the '80s, Al has been the eclipse of the genre, blocking out the Sun so that no others can grow. Plus, many people already think he's Jewish because of his job and his name. Closest we got: Andy Samberg (Adam Sandler only has the one song). 

No, none of these celebrities are Jewish. And it's not like we don't have enough celebrities of our own. But sometimes, in a weak moment, I'll think about the holes in our batting order and think, "Oh… if only…"

I recently traveled a ways to make it to my youngest sister's graduation from Berea College in Berea, Kentucky.  We listened to the commencement speaker give a rather frank assessment of what lay before these young, ambitious rookies to the American workforce.  He didn't sugar coat it; it's tough out there.  With all the daily buzz about the economic woes the world has faced and is currently facing, how do we best prepare the graduating class of 2012?

Is it right to stand up at a commencement address and give them the real story?  Does it help their hope and optimism to share reports and numbers that more than half of them are not expected to find full employment this year?  What does it say to them when we prophesize that many of their peers will be resigning to move back home with Mom and Dad this year and will likely be hanging onto those jobs waiting tables that helped them get through college? 

On the flip side, what would they say to us if we sent them off to the world with platitudes espousing the opportunity of the American dream and the ideal that they have the ability to do whatever they want?  Is it wise to share with them the stories of countless others who despite tough economic times were able to rise above, differentiate themselves and make millions along the way?  Is showering them with what's possible, just sheltering them from what's real? 

My college graduation was over 10 years ago.  I feel like I have taken several steps beyond that phase of my life.  Still, the opportunity to spend an afternoon at Berea College, in that place and time of commencement brought back a bit of nostalgia for me.  I remembered the thrill of completing years upon years of education.  It was a thrill in a very amusement park ride sense of the word.  After walking across the stage, I remember the feeling in the pit of my stomach being the same feeling asdescending that first hill of a rollercoaster. Intellectually, I knew that the ride had been tested thoroughly and that the safety bar across my lap would keep my body firmly in place.  At the same time, through the shaking, screeching, and the wall of wind assaulting my face, I screamed out loud, fearful that I might not make it to the bottom of the hill alive, let alone to the end of the ride.  The juxtaposition between what I knew and what I felt at that time of commencement, helped fuel the thrill of the rollercoaster ride. 

There is an old cliché that life is a rollercoaster.  The post-college life might be bigger, faster and more intense than the ride in college.  At the same time, the rules aren't so different.  Stay in your seat, keep your hands and feet inside at all times and safely sit back to enjoy the ride.

In this week’s double Torah portion, where we complete the Book of Leviticus by reading the portions of both Behar and Bechukotai, we are immediately introduced to the concept of the land resting.

"Six years you may sow your field and six years you may prune your vineyard and gather in the yield. But in the 7th year the land shall have a Sabbath of complete rest.”

Who knew the ground needed a break! It’s hard to remember sometimes that most of our ancestors were farmers, and that our major holidays (of Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot) have agricultural underpinnings.

After seven sets of seven years (49 years) there is a Jubilee year.

In the 50th year, the Jubilee year, the land rests and is returned to its original owners (with a couple of exceptions) and private debts are forgiven. I know quite a few folks who would love for the Jubilee year to be reinstated so as to extinguish their mortgages!

We stopped celebrating the Jubilee for a number of reasons. A couple of thoughts: (1) It was hard to keep count as a Diasporic people spread all over the place. (2) There was a rabbinic argument about when the 50th year technically started, thus there were conflicting opinions about when to observe it. It’s hard to have a society-wide phenomenon, where land holdings are returned to their original owners, if you don’t know when exactly that’s meant to happen.

Also – there were practical issues.

Every seventh year, we were required to let the land lay dormant, and to only eat what it naturally produced. We could not plant, sow, harvest, etc. The Torah says that God promised to provide enough food in year six to cover years six, seven and eight. If the 49th year was a seventh year, which it would be, that means that for both the 49th and 50th years, the Israelites would not have been allowed to grow food! While the Torah says that God will provide, having that kind of faith is admittedly difficult.

During the seventh year of each seven-year cycle, as well as in the 50th year, all debts were forgiven. If you were a lender, and you knew that all debt would be forgiven in the near future, why on earth would you lend anyone money, knowing you might not get it back? We see in our own economy today that having the ability to borrow money is essential for meaningful economic growth.

As you might expect, lenders were loath to lend when close to the seventh or Jubilee years, despite God’s explicit instruction to do so in the Torah (effectively making the potential lenders sinners). In response, Rabbi Hillel created a legal fiction called “Prozbul” that allowed for lenders to lend to others, even when approaching the Jubilee year, by creating a legal document that would accompany the interest-free loans (charging interest to fellow Jews is forbidden in the Torah) that stated that the loans were to be transferred to the courts, making the debt public, and thus not required to be released during a seventh year or during the Jubilee. Prozbul benefitted both borrowers and lenders – borrowers had access to cash, and lenders knew their money was safe. And yet, Rabbi Hillel created a system that explicitly went against God’s specific instructions!

In doing so, Rabbi Hillel established a meaningful tradition that has guided many rabbis in terms of how they make decisions. We look to the Torah, our texts and traditions; we look at the realities in the world around us; and we find a way to meaningfully and authentically blend the two.

But how can we find meaningful ways to blend the two in our own lives? Particularly if many of us don’t have a firm grasp of our texts and traditions?

We learn from Rabbi Shammai in Pirkei Avot, the section of the Mishnah that shares the “ethics of our ancestors,” that we as Jews are meant to set aside a regular time in our schedules for Torah study. Rabbi Hillel echoes Shammai, saying: “Do not say when I have free time I will study Torah, lest you not have free time.” Rabbi Hamnunah says in the Gemara that "[t]he first thing a person will be held accountable for on his day of Heavenly judgment is whether he fulfilled his duty of studying Torah."

While most of us aren’t really thinking about our day of Heavenly judgment, what we are thinking about is all of the work we have to get done this week, the errands we need to run, the room we’re meant to clean, the friends we want to spend time with, figuring out why the Tigers’ offense stinks, and the desire we have to read the third book of the Hunger Games and/or watch the season finale of Glee. With all of those things, how on earth are we meant to set aside time to continue our Jewish educations?

I have a secret to share with you. You may not believe it’s true, but I’m going to tell you anyway:

There is nothing more fun or more meaningful in the entire world than learning. Seriously.

The desire to learn is programmed into us as human beings, both naturally, and with some societal nudging. As babies, we take in the world around us and by trial and error learn what’s dangerous. In elementary school, we learn how to read and write. In middle school, we learn what it is to have a crush on someone. In high school, we start to really figure out who we are as people, and what we really believe about the world around us. In college we lay the foundation to achieve our professional goals. The pursuit of knowledge – and on a higher level, of truth – is our de facto motivator as humans. And wouldn’t you know it – truth is one of the ways we describe God. We end the Shema with the words “Hashem Elokechem Emet” – “The Lord your God is Truth.”

In the spirit of furthering my argument that learning in general, and Jewish learning in particular, is both fun and meaningful, I have some suggestions for topics you may like to study as you continue your Jewish education:

Did you know that there were several different ancient versions of the Torah, mostly differing by spelling, and that there are words that are traditionally read differently from the way they’re written?

Go and Learn!

Did you know that in the Torah, Moses never actually says “Let my people go!” – rather, he tries to trick Pharaoh by having him let the Israelites go on a three day trip into the desert in order to have a festival to God, with the promise that they would then return?

Go and Learn!

Did you know that in the Mishna, our legal code published around the year 200, there is a whole section about people who are “Androgynous” and don’t fit neatly into the category of “male” or “female?”

Go and Learn!

These are just a few of innumerable interesting realities begging to be studied.

Like Rabbi Hillel and his creation of Prozbul, so too do we have the ability, and I would argue, the responsibility, to meaningfully engage with our sacred texts, to be aware of the world around us and the events taking place in it, and to devote ourselves to finding ways to enhance our own lives and the lives of all we encounter by meaningfully and authentically combining the two. To do so, we need to commit to learning from our tradition and to learning about the world around us.

How do we know where to start when it comes to Jewish learning? In the words of our ancient sage Joshua ben Perachyah, also quoted in Pirkei Avot: Provide for yourself a teacher and get yourself a friend. Utilize the rabbis and teachers you’ve formed relationships with. Reach out to new rabbis and teachers. Develop meaningful relationships with them and others. Make our tradition truly your own. Never stop learning.

Tzeh Ul’mad – Go and Learn.

I almost said no when my friend asked if I wanted to come, but in the end, how many opportunities do you have to celebrate a great man's 100th birthday? Last night at the Newberry Library, a packed house honored Studs Terkel on the centennial anniversary of his birth. We sang songs, listened to stories about the man himself, and ate cake shaped like his signature red checkered shirt. "This weekend in particular," said the host, "buy one of Studs' books and give it to a young person."

What's the big deal? you may ask yourself. Who is this guy and why should I read him?

For one, they're amazing books that changed my life, but I understand if that's too hyperbolic to make much of a judgment yet.

Louis Terkel (yes, Jewish) moved to Chicago from New York in 1920, when he was eight years old. He helped his mother run a boarding house near Merchandise Mart, where he first made close study of the characters who would fascinate him his whole life. The boarding house was near Bughouse Square, where rabble-rousers attracted crowds year-round with speeches and calls to action. Studs is an alum of my alma mater—he got a law degree from the University of Chicago in 1932, but "there was some trouble passing the bar," according to our host last night (everyone chuckled).

He came of age during the Depression, and began a life of astounding engagement with the world. Studs was an actor, an activist, a radio DJ, a journalist, an oral historian, a gabber, a talker, a listener, an encourager. He talked to everybody and anybody, fundamentally committed to the idea that all people have a story to tell. He died on Halloween in 2008, just a few days before the presidential election. He and his beloved wife were buried together beneath a tree in Bughouse Square—or Washington Square Park, as it's officially called, right outside the Newberry Library.

Studs came into my life in 2009. I'd heard his name before that, but wasn't really sure who he was or why he was important. At that time, I was living and breathing Band of Brothers, the spectacular HBO miniseries about the 101st Airborne paratroopers who fought in WWII from Normandy to Bastogne to Berchtesgaden. I was reading every autobiography of Easy Company men I could get my hands on, not to mention Stephen Ambrose's original Band of Brothers book. At a bookstore in D.C., a friend shoved "The Good War" into my hands. "I'm not letting you leave without buying this book," she said. "You of all people have to read it."

When I finally cracked the spine (all of Studs' oral histories are doorstops), I was engrossed. No book has moved or challenged me quite so much as that one. Studs talks to everybody, and makes no judgment on any of his interviewees. We hear from SS officers, children who were in Hiroshima, POWs from Bastogne and Bataan, black soldiers who were hideously abused by the Army, journalists who covered the war behind enemy lines, women who worked at factories, crooks who ran the black market, Japanese-Americans sent to internment camps, draft dodgers, conscientious objectors, USO performers, high government officials, Marines who fought through Okinawa, Axis soldiers, Axis civilians, Hitler youth, spies, MPs, ordinary people… Studs lets those who lived it tell it for themselves, and in doing so, never lets us think that WWII is so simple as being "the good war."

This book floored me. All of his do. Read Hard Times, his oral history of the Depression, and tell me the things people said about the 1930s don't sound shockingly contemporary. Lest you think he's one of those "boring, serious" historians, you should know that while Studs takes on issues like race, poverty, age, death and war, he also brings you into the lives of vaudeville musicians, movie stars, sportscasters, rail-riders, comedians and numberless wonderful, joyous, fascinating people. Studs is epic and intimate in scope at the same time, and revels in it, and believes in it with all his being. His work so articulates what I want to do with my own life that, in searching for a career, I found myself asking, "How can I be Studs Terkel when I grow up?"

Again, I understand this may be a bit effuse and hyperbolic. It's easy to get that way about those world-altering experiences. I'll follow last night's example, and let Studs make his own case.

One of the speakers told us about a hotline the public can call, to either share their encounters with or experiences of Studs, or to talk about an instance in which listening has been important to them. The number is (559) 546-1661, and you can hear from other people at the Studs Terkel Centennial Celebration website. There will be more events throughout the next year, but I hope you can attend at least one, on your own time: reading and experiencing one of his books.

When I was 13, I knew nothing. In fact, when it was 13 minutes ago I knew nothing. Even more in fact, when I started writing this sentence, I had no idea how it would triangle fish button. See? Knew nothing. The point is that when it came to my own bar mitzvah, I wasn’t aware enough to appreciate it for what it was. Hence, and I’ve felt this way for many years, I would have loved to have had the option to have my bar mitzvah at the ripe old age of 18. And while a lot of the following involves the celebration side to the whole thing, at the core it’s the reason for having that celebration, becoming a Bar mitzvah, which I wish I could do over again. Therefore, I urge you to at least say chai to the idea.

When it comes to my bar mitzvah, there is one thing that always comes to mind first. During my younger years, basically pre-chai, I wasn’t as social. At best I was a self-proclaimed introverted extrovert. And while many of the other mitzvahs of the bar and bat variety that I attended had a healthy mix of boys and girls, mine was sadly skewed. For when it came to the amount of girls at my own bar mitzvah, I only had…care to make a guess? Anyone?

Two.

Yup. Two. I can count that on one finger if I’m counting knuckles. So needless to say, I was a playa’. Now I have to mention that my fast dancing did, and still does, frighten the hell out of people. So I was lucky enough to slow dance with one of them. However, the media had a field day with this. Hence I have a slew of delightfully awkward pictures of me dancing with said girl in my bar mitzvah book. Her hands on my shoulders. Mine on her waist. About three feet between us.

Not only was the media there but also the entire extent of my extended family. In fact I have a very large extended family. Jews often do. And at the time, I really couldn’t tell you who half the people watching me try to keep my hormones in check while slow dancing were. Five years later that wouldn’t have been a problem. My bar mitzvah day was rough in that regard. I had to have my mom help me figure out everyone’s name. “Okay, who was that?” “Your brother.” “You sure?”

And to this day, I still get upset with myself about one particular item more than anything. The thank-you notes. Oh, yes. The thank-you notes. I wasn’t happy about having to do them. You could almost say I was less than thrilled. I wanted to put them off until somehow they got done by themselves. I wish I could go back and slap my 13-year-old self in the face and call him a selfish nincompoop. How in my right mind could I ever begin to complain about having to write a small, measly, yet heartfelt, thank-you note to each wonderful person who gave me a small check for doing something I didn’t entirely understand? It was the least I could do. Well, I suppose the least I could have done was nothing. But I received an abundance of checks with chais, double chais, quadruple chais and maybe even a few dodecadupel chais that I should have given so much more back. Being older would have helped me to appreciate that fact and who knows, maybe I would’ve taken the time to go to everyone’s place and thank them individually, cause that’s just the kind of guy I am.

Now for a serious paragraph. Okay, let’s be honest. Now for an as serious as I can get paragraph. I recently came back from a Birthright trip (which you should all go on if you haven’t and this may be the most serious thing in the serious paragraph) and when we were in Jerusalem, four of our group received the amazing privilege of having their own bar or bat mitzvah. At 13, the idea of even going to Israel had barely touched my mind. What an ignorant young man I was! What I’m getting at is the amazing envy I have for those lucky few who were able to do this. But it is a very happy envy as I truly couldn’t have felt better to at the very least be at a b’nai mitzvah in the Holy Land. I mean, having that privilege in Israel is astounding to me. I could have never thought that would have been something I would have wanted at 13. When I was that young, I could have never fathomed going to Israel as I was still scared to go to downtown Chicago, as ridiculous as that sounds. Given my experience in Israel, I wish I had the chance to have had the wherewithal to want to make it there for my bar mitzvah.

And you know, I haven’t even mentioned the brilliance of having a var mitzvah at18. I mean, hello! Or, chai! (Gotta stop that joke) Chai means 18 in case you missed the pun in the title and the sheer connection of that to the age of a b’nai mitzvah feels prefect. In general, at 18 you know your friends and your family a lot better.. Not to mention that the “themes,” and for some reason there are “themes,” would be so much better and actually attribute to the personality of the individual. No longer would I have to tell everyone that I chose a Power Rangers themed bar mitzvah because it was “morphin’ time into an adult.” But the one thing I might be most upset about, and I had a lot of time to go on this one, was that I didn’t even get to take advantage of the open bar. Although I guess I would have had to have been 21 and not only 18 for that one. Aw crap. I’m gonna have to rewrite this entire blog.

She looks at you with these eyes
that want love and you laugh so hard
at everything she wants to do.
She runs towards the garbage can, you laugh.
She tries to climb up next to you as you eat, her little head looking up through your legs, laughing with that cute little eyes and nose and mouth, as you laugh along with her.
How can you understand the power of having a child until you have one?
How can you understand the worth of having a child until you have one?
How can you postpone such an opportunity?
How can you weight the scales...
How can you, most importantly, go back in time, and do it again, do it right this time,
have all of those children you were meant to have
that you could have had
had you found the time
the willpower
the vision
to see her, standing there, laughing with you.
And you know that there is no greater love in the world,
there is nothing more cost effective in the long run,
but alas, we can't see into the future
and we can only guesstimate, now
what makes sense
logically
as if logic was the way in which we wanted to live
as if at the end of the day our paychecks weren't really written by God.
But at the same time, it is also through look logic that we must live
how to care for ourselves
how to love ourselves
how to know what we need.
And therein lays the balance.
With all our options today,
to delay birth,
to delay life,
we must decide.
Not a moral judgment
or a rational judgment
but a delicate combination of the two
a judgment
at its very core,
based solely
on love.

Because my first post had absolutely nothing to do with Judaism, and Oy! just happens to be a Jewish blog, I thought I'd give a few recs of Jewish-themed fiction novels that I know everyone will love. If you're not very religious, or even not Jewish at all, don't worry, these are novels that all can enjoy, but do have either Jewish characters or Jewish themes. The summaries are all short and give no spoilers, only a taste of the joy you'll get from reading these books.

The Kill Artist 
First book in the Gabriel Allon series
Author Daniel Silva

In the first book of this incredible spy series, Gabriel Allon is an operative for a clandestine Israeli intelligence agency known only as "The Office." Able to blend in anywhere and handy with a Beretta as well as a paint brush, Allon poses as a world class art restorer trying to hide from his past until he's drawn back into a life of espionage to fight a Palestinian terror threat. Urged on by his famed Nazi-strangling mentor and father figure Ari Shamron, Gabriel Allon defends Israel and the world against numerous dangers. Throughout the series there are references to Jewish history and culture with Israel at the heart. Add that to the theme of Art and European history and this series could almost be deemed 'historical fiction' if it weren't for the fast-paced, page-turning writing that clearly makes each book a spy novel.

The beauty of this entire series is not just the action, or the exotic European destinations in which the characters find themselves in their attempts to save the world from terrorists of all sorts, but the ever recurring characters that we meet in each novel. I have grown to love all of them to the point where now, when I sit down with the newest installment, I feel as if I'm spending time with old friends. If you like "The Kill Artist," you'll have thousands more pages of these loveable characters to enjoy for a very long time.

Deal Breaker 
First book in the Myron Bolitar series
Author Harlan Coben

Harlan Coben pens the Myron Bolitar series. The title character, a charismatic ex-Duke hoops star and Harvard Law grad now heads MB Sports Reps, a start-up sports agency with a purposefully small number of clients. Though few, these athletes always seem to get into some type of trouble, effectively mirroring our favorite real-life athletes. Luckily for them, Myron cares so much about his clients' well-being he is willing to go to any length to keep them safe.  In the Edgar Award winning "Deal Breaker" when his newest client, a highly touted rookie QB, receives a phone call from an ex-girlfriend thought to be dead, Myron is on the case. Along with his waspy and wealthy but dangerous sidekick Win (Windsor Horne Lockwood III) and his female pro-wrestler assistant Esperanza, the team goes about their business as if they were detectives, following up on clues and talking to witnesses, often finding themselves in dangerous, life-threatening scenarios in the process. More complex than they seem on the surface, the characters keep their sense of humor, even when showing their underlying insecurities and vulnerabilities. Humorous and action-packed, the entire series will keep you turning pages. "Deal Breaker" has one of my favorite lines from any book or movie. See if you can spot it.

Really the only thing Jewish about these books is that main character is a New Jersey Jew with the stereotypical Jewish parents doting and nudging. Author Harlan Coben himself is Jewish, and holds high rank with me as he donated an autographed novel to my charity event for the Canine Therapy Corps and is also a good Twitter follow (@HarlanCoben). If you're not into sports or reading an entire series, check out one of Coben's many stand-alone mystery novels. All are excellent reads.

City of Thieves 
Author David Benioff

Taking place during the Nazi Siege of Leningrad in the early 1940's, "City of Thieves" has the most serious plot line of any of the books mentioned here. That said, it's also one of the funniest books I have ever read.  Upon separation from his family, the main character, a Russian Jewish teen named Lev, is forced to fend for himself. And after an unlucky spat with the law, he is imprisoned by the authorities. Given an opportunity to earn his salvation by venturing on the oddest of quests, Lev has no choice but to accept the mission. To succeed means freedom. To fail, means death.  Through Lev, author David Benioff weaves his way through the difficulties of the time period, displaying the atrocities along with the miracles in a manner that can be both heartbreaking and funny simultaneously. It's a must-read for any Jew with ancestry in Russia, which means most of us.

If you recognize the author's name, it may be due to his success in the film industry. His first novel "The 25th Hour" earned him instant acclaim, so much so that he was asked to adapt it into a screenplay directed by Spike Lee and starring Edward Norton. From this stardom Benioff continued his career as a screenwriter for such movies as "The Kite Runner" and "X-Men Origins: Wolverine," taking a brief break from the big screen to release "City of Thieves" in 2008. Benioff's most current success is the hit HBO series "Game of Thrones" for which he shares the role of writer and creator.

One of my co-workers recently came by my office to show off a new gadget. “It’s a Kindle Fire,” he exclaimed. Shining in the bright office light, I could see why it was such an attractive piece of technology – Internet, books, movies, music and more, all in one sleek, smooth tablet.

And while my co-worker was clearly exuberant about his new toy, I didn’t feel much for it.

Don’t get me wrong – like any 20-something, I enjoy modern technology. I have a slew of Apple products (okay, maybe three, but still), and I appreciate cool apps that tell me when the train is arriving, what restaurant will deliver a cheeseburger at midnight, and when my favorite musicians are coming to town.

But the tablet is one gadget that I haven’t given in to purchasing yet. It’s not really the tablet that I have a problem with, or else I wouldn’t have an iPhone, which does just as much, except on a smaller screen. My issue lies with the e-reader.

Whether it is the Kindle or the Nook, all e-readers evoke the same sentiment within me, and that’s discomfort. I admit it – I am uncomfortable with reading books in digital form.

As a writer, I feel a love for words that only other writers and bookworms may relate to. To me, the written word is sacred and the act of writing, almost a holy experience. Think of all your favorite authors or pieces of literature, whether ancient or modern: those books were all born out of nothing. Those writers created masterpieces by filling countless pages with carefully placed letters, words and sentences, each of them playing a specific role and holding a particular place. The meaning and the significance of the work as a whole depended on the placement of each character.

Yep, it’s that serious (for me, at least.) I may have exaggerated a little bit for dramatic effect, but the meaning remains the same. Writing has always been a visceral and physical experience, in addition to emotional. And while we still write on the computer by physically pressing on the keys, we rely on the digital technology to make those letters appear on the screen. A middle man is involved in the craft.

On the typewriter, at least, you were still responsible for the mechanics of placing the words on the page. And there once was a time when people used to dab quills in ink and then place them on paper in order to write, and there was a time even longer ago when you had to carve words into stone tablets.

No, I don’t want to start carving words into stones. Yes, I acknowledge and understand all the limitations with previous forms of written communication. My point is, you used to have to be physically and emotionally involved, truly connected, with the medium in order to write and create words. And with digitization, I am just afraid to feel removed or disconnected from the words that I read or write.

I love folding down my favorite pages on books, or seeing the color of the pages change with age. It makes me feel connected to the history that I share with that book, the same way I feel it when I open up old journals from my teenage years. Why do we like keeping old postcards or letters from loved ones? Because as people, we often connect most to what we can touch, and feel emotions strongest when there is something to physically hold on to.

Overall, I definitely see the benefit of e-readers. They save paper, allow you to read a different book as soon as your mood changes, and let you carry your favorite words with you wherever you go. I will probably end up purchasing one – someday. All I hope is that there won’t be a day soon when physicals books are gone forever.

There is something so special about a reunion with your group of girlfriends. This past weekend, Sari, one of my dearest friends from college, came to visit. Most of us girls live here in Chicago, so Sari coming in made us complete for a short while. If we were guys, we would probably say something like “we’re getting the band back together!” but we’re not, so instead we go to brunch and shop.

It’s a little scary to think about the fact that I met my college friends 10 years ago. So it makes sense that when we hang out these days, things are a little different. We are older, we have jobs, some of us have husbands and boyfriends, we have crazy busy schedules, and like to get up early on Saturday morning to go to yoga.

But when someone comes to visit and the group is reunited, it somehow feels like we’ve been transported back 10 years. Even though we know a lot has changed, it suddenly feels, just for a little while, like the old days.

In college, I had my girls—a constant support system, guaranteed plans for every night, a group of confidants. And while we are for the most part still a very tight group, nothing really compares to the type of friendship and bonding that comes with living with your best girlfriends 24/7 in a college atmosphere. See, that’s the great thing about college—everyone is at the same place in life. There is very little to worry about except finishing your paper and what you’re going to wear out to the bar that night.

These days, we are all at different places in our lives—I have friends who are single, engaged, married, new mommies, students and professionals that run the spectrum from searching for the perfect job to being settled in a career. And that makes things a little harder on friendships. This is an anxious time for most of us—we are coming into ourselves as adults, dealing with real life issues and learning that though we walked together at graduation as a group, now our paths may take us in different directions.

I’m very lucky in that most of my friends from both high school and college live here in Chicago, except for a few very close friends who have settled elsewhere. And it’s weekends like these that remind me of just how amazing my friends are.

I guess the point of all this is that this weekend was kind of a wakeup call for me. A reminder of what I had, still have, and what I need to make sure never to lose. Yes, I’m married now, and yes my friends and I all have very busy lives as young professionals, but we should work to keep our friendships strong. And when times get tough, we can always get the band back together, bond over egg white omelettes, go out and have a good time and still wake up in time for yoga.

Mazel Tov to the newest Jew in the NFL, Mitchell Schwartz. Schwartz was drafted early in the second round with pick #37 by the Cleveland Browns. The Browns believe Schwartz can play opposite Joe Thomas and block for both first round picks Trent Richardson and Brandon Weeden. Read more about Mitchell here.

In more good news for the Jews, immediately after the draft, the St. Louis Rams picked up Alex Hoffman-Ellis who I interviewed awhile back. See below for my interview with Alex.  Alex could make the team as a special team's player. Here is another piece on Alex.

Finally, the Detroit Lions signed Tight End Alex Gottlieb. Click here to read more about Alex.

And Let Us Say...Amen.

-Jeremy Fine

Washington State's Alex Hoffman-Ellis

Originally ran on Oy!Chicago on 08/03/2011

From time to time I miss a player. Last year I missed this guy, Alex Hoffman-Ellis. Good size, competitive edge. The Great Rabbino likes this linebacker. He has gone up against some of college football's best and here is what he has to say:

1. How did you get into football?
I guess the abbreviated version of how I got into football is that a lot of my friends from my freshman basketball team at Santa Monica High were playing, and I wanted to play that year, but my parents wouldn't let me. When they finally said it was okay to play my sophomore year, I became academically ineligible, and that lasted through my junior year. When I transferred to Hamilton High, I changed my outlook on how I approached academics and became eligible to play for senior year. Been playing since then.

2. How is Washington State shaping up for next season? What are your expectations for the team?
This coming season, we expect from ourselves nothing less than a bowl game. A bowl game victory really. We've got some solid leadership and some really good developments on the field as well as in the weight room and conditioning-wise. Guys are starting to develop more of a chemistry, as we've been getting together more frequently to sort of buildup that camaraderie amongst ourselves. I expect this to carry over on the field in terms of us trusting each and every person on this team to get their individual jobs done so that we can accomplish our goals and get W's as a team.

3. What will your role be?
I expect myself to lead this team if nothing else. I have as much experience as just about anyone on this team, and I feel like I'm a very dependable person for guys to look to in tough situations for guidance. All in all, I'm on that field to be both a vocal and physical presence, so I know what I've got to do, now it's just up to me to do it.

4. What is the highlight of your career?
I would have to say the highlight of my career was getting my first interception ever against SMU in 2009. I took it back 54 yards for a score, and it was also my first touchdown ever so it was a very surreal moment standing in that end zone with the ball in my hands and Martin Stadium going nuts.

5. Who is the best player you played against and what was going through your head when you saw him play?
I'd have to say the best player I played against was my redshirt year in '08 when we played against USC and their linebacking corps of Mauluga, Maiava, Cushing and Matthews. I just remember watching those four play the LB position that game (and that entire season, really) how it was meant to be played, straight downhill with an attitude and a purpose.

6. What is your Jewish life like? Did you grow up with a strong Jewish identity?
I never really felt that much of a connection to Judaism growing up. Having a Bar Mitzvah and playing in the Maccabi Games were the most Jewish things I ever did, but I never have been very spiritual. I attended Sunday school and Hebrew school up until 8th grade, but to me it was more of a place I was being forced to go. Being Jewish was more of something I identified with once I got up to Washington. Everybody up here is so religious and everything is prayer this, Jesus that. The team actually says a prayer in Jesus' name before and after games, so I feel almost pushed towards my Jewish identity more than as a voluntary thing. Although I am proud of my heritage, I don't have as big of a connection to it as I might like.

7. Did you get a chance to play against Taylor Mays? What was that like?
Yes, I played against him. I don't really remember much of him as an opponent, just that there was a lot of hype around his physical attributes and him falling to the second round in his draft class. Other than that, I don't remember much.

8. What are you goals when you graduate?
When I graduate, I want to keep training and hopefully (knock-on-wood) keep playing ball. Outside of sports, I'm thinking of writing. I write some poetry and short fiction every now and then, though I haven't made a move to get any of my work published. I guess I'm kind of going with the, "I'll just cross that bridge when I get to it" attitude.

9. If you could play for one pro team and/or coach who would it be?
That's a tough question, so I'm just going to go with my favorite team, the Green Bay Packers. Coach McCarthy seems like a very levelheaded, smart coach, Coach Capers has that defense really coming together, and seeing Coach Greene coach up the linebackers just gets me fired up.

Not Packers fans at The Great Rabbino, but big Hoffman-Ellis fans.

"What characteristics are you looking for?" she asked us. "Umm, warm brown eyes,” we responded. "Loyal, friendly, likes to have a good time and play, not too big...and hypo-allergenic.”

No, this isn’t the beginning of some creepy dating profile story, but it is the beginning of a different tail. My boyfriend Jason and I are dog lovers. We’ve grown up with dogs in our homes and our parents still own dogs. We’d agreed over the past few years that having our own dog was something we definitely wanted, but like kids, not anytime soon. We dog sat from time-to-time and that had been enough of a dog fix.

But things have changed.

We recently lost a family pet in a tragic accident. Losing a loved pet is obviously heartbreaking and I personally had a really hard time with it. Not that a new dog would replace the old, but it could help. Also, Jason is able to work from home occasionally and could care for the dog and help get him or her accustomed to living with us. And with warmer weather on the horizon, the act of dog walking just doesn’t seem as daunting! Finally, my parents agreed to dog-sit whenever we head out of town this summer.

We agreed we wanted to adopt a dog from one of the local shelters. I’m allergic to cats and some non-hypo-allergenic dogs, but after perusing some of the pet shelter websites it appeared as though there were options for us out there. We went into the experience cautiously optimistic that we’d find the right fit for our family.

Well, we were wrong—doggie dating is hard.

The first guy we saw, Auggie, I really liked, but Jason wasn’t as big of a fan. The dog was only nine months old and very cute and small and he wagged his tail at us and sat, but that’s about all he did. The people at PAWS had nicknamed him “little old man,” and suggested he might be a better fit for a blue-haired lady than a young couple. Strike one.

Our second choice, Hermann, was a big hit with Jason, but my nose wasn’t as impressed. He was part schnauzer— not so hypo-friendly— but he was very cute, seemed to really like us and had that combination of just enough energy to run around and play and be a lap dog living in a city condo. I’d all but agreed to go permanently on allergy medication and buy special, super expensive hypo-allergenic doggie shampoo, when one of the PAWS attendants checked Hermann’s file and announced we couldn’t have him. Turned out he’d been returned the night before because city living just wasn’t for Hermann— he got too anxious in the apartment from all the city sounds and tried to attack other dogs on the street. Strike two.

At this point, we were feeling pretty defeated, but decided to give it one more shot and headed over to the Anti-Cruelty Society. There we met Jessie, an adorable poodle, badly in need of a good grooming and a diet. Jessie had recently arrived at the shelter— her owners no longer could care for her— and she was clearly anxious and afraid and feeling abandoned. Poor girl. We took her for a walk and while she liked my boyfriend, she was afraid of everyone else, including me. Strike three.

Three strikes and we were out. I was sneezy and itchy and feeling defeated. We really want to adopt— even with my difficult requirements— and we are gonna keep trying. Fellow Oy!sters, any advice? Have any of you had trouble finding the right fit for you? What should we do? What did you do?

Tail to be continued…

Four years ago, I wrote an essay for Oy!Chicago called “Bittersweet,” where I shared my frustrating dating experiences and my fear that I was living up to the name “Polly,” which literally means bitter. Even my Hebrew name, “Miriam,” means “Sea of Bitterness.” (I didn’t check in other languages. How much can a person take?) I ended the article by asking where one meets his or her beshert: On JDate, through set ups, at work?

No.

In the luggage department at Macy’s in Old Orchard.

I realize this may not work for all single people out there, but for those of you needing luggage, we’ve just killed two birds with one stone.

Here’s how it happened for me: In December of 2006, my mom asked what I wanted for Chanukah, and I decided on a new carry-on suitcase. I assume this was a premonition of checked-bag-fees-of-the-future. Cut to: Me checking out luggage at Macy’s, where I ran into someone I’d gone out with a few times. He was with his cousin Vic and Vic’s kids. Incidentally, my mom’s best friend, Diane, was related to them and had set me up with Vic’s cousin.

So, Vic’s cousin and I said “Hi,” commented on how weird it was to run into each other in the suburbs when we both lived in the city, and that was that. It took over 18 more months to realize that this was a life-changing encounter.

2007 brought the usual: dating on and off, hope, anticipation, despair, online stalking. By the fall of ’07, I was officially on strike from dating. I’d just turned 36 and needed a break. I focused on fun things. Well, I focused on things: work, family, friends, and the realization that I didn’t have hobbies. Why didn’t I have hobbies? Should I buy some puzzles or something? I signed up for JUF’s Young Leadership Division Summer Mission to Israel in the summer of 2008. Not exactly a hobby, but something fun to do.

A week before the trip, Vic e-mailed me. He’s from Chicago, but lived in Israel for many years and travels there several times every year to see his kids, who moved there with their mom in 2003. We’d written a couple times since first meeting, but we’d never talked. He heard from Diane that I was going to Israel and wrote to wish me a great trip and offer a few recommendations, like: “Get the Jerusalem mixed grill, just don’t ask what it is.”

When I got back, I wrote to thank Vic for his suggestions (I was vague, not wanting to confess that I had, in fact, asked what Jerusalem mixed grill is and, after I stopped gagging, gagged again).

Later that summer, we talked on the phone. He invited me sailing (he has a hobby!). We jabbered all the way to the boat in Waukegan and all the way back, and haven’t stopped talking since.

As I mentioned, Vic has kids. At that time, they were 10, 11, 13, 15 and 16. Yes, he has five kids. Take a moment and let that sink in.

We had the standard challenges; it’s always hard for kids when their parents are dating. I understood that because I went through it myself when my own parents were dating and then re-married. But there was more.

His kids are Orthodox and, after living in Israel for years, prefer to speak Hebrew.

I am not religious, and after living in America for years, I prefer to speak English. I do know some Hebrew, though. After years at Camp Ramah, I can say, “Please pass the jelly,” during breakfast. While impressive, this ceases to be useful once the jelly is successfully passed.

And there was another challenge: Vic had dogs. Plural. I am not a dog person. I never wanted to kill them, I just didn’t ever want them ever to be anywhere around me, ever.

I wasn’t the only one to adjust; Vic had to get used to me and my People-reading, 30 Rock-watching, pop-culture-loving ways (I guess I did have hobbies after all!). How did we deal with these challenges? Communication, patience, humor, and respect for everyone involved. Was it really that simple? No. But he’s the love of my life, and nothing we dealt with was bigger than that.

In March of 2010, Vic’s oldest daughter came to visit from Israel. Together, they proposed to me downtown at “The Bean” in Millennium Park. He asked, “Will you marry me?” followed by her asking “Will you marry us?” It turns out that she came in to represent the “L5” during the proposal. Beautiful, right? Are you crying? Because I was crying.

Vic and I got married on Aug. 1, 2010. I started graduate school at Loyola later that month, and in May I will graduate with my Master’s degree in Social Work.

As graduation approaches, I’ve been reflecting on all the changes in my life and wanted to share our story. I’d always heard, “You’ll find “The One” when you stop looking.” I don’t believe that. I’d stopped looking plenty of times, and remained single until the time was right. Which leads me to the second thing I’d always heard: “Timing is everything.” I do believe that. You never know where or when you’ll meet your beshert. You may have already, but just don’t know it. Just remember two things: Be open to everyone you meet, and Macy’s has a really good luggage selection.

Polly Levy Levinson currently lives in Glenview, and after receiving her MSW in May, hopes to work as social worker in the healthcare industry. 

The air travel industry is not popular with consumers. Or rather, it is popular, because people want and need to travel. However, from buying tickets at outlandish prices to long lines at security, followed by the security x-ray and partial pat down, (after which they rifle through your bag because of the bottle of water you forgot was there, followed by a second screening of your now water bottle-less bag) one can get a little cranky. Even at the gate, the crowded, weary travelers endure being begged over the loudspeaker to check their carry-on bags. (Instead of the begging, why not just let people check bags for free at the counter?)

But while I could go on all day about the annoyances of air travel, I would like to praise my flight crew yesterday. It’s so easy to complain, but also important to give thanks when appropriate.

At 4 p.m. Central, I boarded a flight from Boston Logan to Chicago on United. Before I stepped on the plane, everything I wrote above happened, and honestly, besides the pat down, it didn’t faze me at all. As the United employees are begging for bags to be checked over the loudspeaker a little nudge in my stomach tells me to buy a book quickly in case the flight is delayed. (I forgot mine at home).

We depart a couple of minutes late, and then the plane is off. However the 2.5 hour flight soon becomes a 3.5 hour flight as weather delays in Chicago are apparent. The flight approaches from the South, then the West, and finally touches down.

When we land the very friendly pilot lets us know that we cannot approach the gate because United has removed all of its employees from the gates and baggage area for fear of being struck by lightning.

That’s when I start to get anxious. I’ve heard stories about people being stuck on the runway for hours and hours without being able to go to the bathroom, and no food or water.

But what could have been a terrible experience was averted because of the pilot and the flight crew. First of all, the pilot communicated with the passengers throughout the delay. He gave us updates when he had them, and also told us when he didn’t have them. The flight crew put on an action comedy movie and handed out headsets. They gave us water and pretzels. There was no issue with using the bathroom or getting out of our seats. Their main goal seemed to be making us comfortable. At hour 3 on the ground, I did ask the flight attendant if they had ever considered bringing out CTA buses to get us. She smiled, but her eyes flashed, you are starting to lose it. I still think it’s a good idea.

At 3.5 hours, the pilot gave us the good news, we would be pulling up the gate (the last one in the C terminal) and everyone clapped.

As I walked through O’Hare last night completely exhausted, I saw about a thousand people there waiting for their flights to depart or waiting in the cancelled ticket line. I was thankful for our flight crew and even more so that I was home.

Well, home after an hour ride on the backed up Kennedy Expressway.

But at least not on a plane.

Oy, I am knee-deep in teen literature. I just read Twilight and The Hunger Games, back-to-back.

I tried to shield myself from the Twilight-obsessed for as long as I could muster. I blame my co-worker, with whom I frequently discuss favorite television shows at work. I admitted to her that one of my must-see shows is The Vampire Diaries, and she forced the Twilight book into my hands. I'm shamefully old to be watching a CW show about teen vampires, werewolves and witches, but I can't help myself. There is a part of me that will always be 13 years old. The Vampire Diaries merges my nostalgia for those Dawson's Creek days when I was a young teen, with my adult fascination with vampires. It just so happens, Kevin Williamson created both shows.

I've only read the first book in each of the Twilight and Hunger Games' series so far, and my fascination already runs deep. I can't stop talking about them. I respect The Vampire Diaries and Dawson's Creek for their use of strong female characters, despite a somewhat clichéd and slow-as-molasses love triangle plot. The female protagonists in these shows are intelligent, self-aware and wise beyond their years. (It's also worth noting that The Vampire Diaries, like Twilight, began as a book series, though I have not read the series.) While reading Twilight, however, there was a part of me that wished leading lady, Bella, would just meet her demise already.

I'm not the first person to ever connect the dots between vampire stories and puritanical ideals. Still, the pairing was glaringly obvious in Twilight. The 13-year-old in all of us can relate to Bella's teenage vulnerability, obsessive boy crush and utter clumsiness in front of Edward. These are the aspects of the book that drew me in, along with the mystery around the beautiful and super-human "family" in small town Washington. However, I'm not 13, and many of the book's readers likely are. In my opinion, as an early introduction to romance and relationships, this book fundamentally fails, and teens won't necessarily have the tools to question why. In my perfect world, high schools would incorporate women's studies courses in their curriculums and teach this book as a cautionary tale.

In many ways, I think Bella and Edward's relationship mirrors that of an abusive relationship. Bella always watches what she says around him, fears angering him and suppresses all wants and needs of her own to keep him in check. Bella is the gatekeeper of Edward's uncontrollable urges. It's Bella's fault when Edward loses his temper; it's her fault when he cannot control his sexual urges; it's her fault when he cannot control his "hunger." The book is one step away from a Lifetime movie about rape victim blaming. The book unfolds as a sort of Adam and Eve story, in which Bella becomes enamored with Edward, her allure is too strong, and he can't help himself but to be around her. She is thus to blame for putting herself and her family in danger—a reason for which she must be protected. Edward vows to protect her at any cost, but she must abide by his rules, and dare not tempt him.

The book becomes a creepy and tentative game of chicken between the two of them, in which Bella is convinced she has met her love, her reason for living—her future matters not. And because she has urges, feelings and desires, she must risk her life. Bella is at Edward's mercy because she knowingly entered into danger (desire). She'll live, if she listens to him and doesn't get ahead of herself. Twilight is like a disturbing how-to manual for the abstinence movement.

As a latecomer to both Twilight and The Hunger Games, reading them one after another offered an unexpected opportunity for comparison. Hunger Games protagonist, Katniss, is the anti-Bella (not to be confused with antebellum). If I were teaching one of these mythical high school women's studies courses, I might follow my Twilight lesson with one on The Hunger Games. In a stripped-down, post-apocalyptic world, in which there is no time to idly fantasize, Katniss' actions are a product of instinct, obligation, integrity and intelligence. In some ways, she is the prototype to which all teenage girls should aspire—and thank goodness, some do. I wish I had this book as a teenager. Many books I read in school and for pleasure had detached male protagonists, to whom I could scarcely relate. Katniss is a far cry from Holden Caulfield.

The book is purposefully vague, as Katniss navigates survival and love. I believe author Suzanne Collins didn't want to make The Hunger Games a cheesy romance novel (though I don't know yet about books two and three). She makes the book about Katniss and her ability to stand on her own against all odds. The story dances around coming of age themes, in which Katniss begins to question her feelings about her fellow tribute, Peeta, but her curiosity never consumes her—if it did, she would die. In fact, Katniss "plays" the game by pretending to be in love, and models being in love by drawing from clichés and memories of her parents, never having experienced the adult feelings herself. Katniss is not offering a loveless world, but one in which intellectual autonomy plays a leading role. By comparison, Katniss must feign love to survive; Bella must forfeit her free will for love.

Both of these books represent a sort of clash or crossroads girls and women face today. Many still buy into the fairy tale, in which the woman must be rescued. Others are ready to see women take on the world using their brains…and perhaps, a bow and arrow. At 13, I wanted a cleverly scripted fairy tale; my adult self knows better.

Is it just me, or has nautical become a rather consistent annual trend come spring/summer? I’m actually a big fan of the nautical trend, and I’ll go into why, but I still find it a little funny that it has become so wide-spread and mainstream over the years. I mean, clearly the vast majority of Chicagoans are running off to our yachts on the Cape come Memorial Day weekend! (I jest). However, I did go on the occasional Martha’s Vineyard trip during college and there is no doubt that this trend has become so popular with good cause. There is something undeniably crisp and clean, preppy, yet very trendy about the navy and white stripes, anchor motifs, etc.

Hence why I believe the trend has set sail across the country and not just in traditionally “nautical” ports of call like Cape, Nantucket, The Vineyard, Maine, etc. Navy blue (and other shades of blue, although I always prefer navy) and white are universally classic and co-ed colors. Since they are also traditional nautical colors, the trend seems to be a nice fit for the color combination. Second, come spring, I think we all can agree that summer cannot come soon enough. What says “summer” more than boats, the ocean, and the crisp and salty sea air? Throwing on my white jeans for the first time with a striped boat-neck t-shirt really gets me in the mood for a fabulous season. In anticipation of the good summer-times ahead, I suggest you do some spring shopping to stock-up on classically nautical, but ever-so-fashionable wardrobe enhancements.

1. I LOVE this silk blouse and something tells me I will not be able to resist the purchase. At first I thought all of the anchors were a little much, but we always need a little fun in our wardrobe. J. Crew tends to be my go-to store to throw a little nautical punch into my closet.

2. I recently purchased this Ella Moss tank from Anthropologie in blue. The blue stripes provide that nautical vibe, but in a more quiet way. I plan on wearing it with wide-leg denim trousers and a white blazer.

3. I have been meaning to purchase an over-seized knotted rope necklace for some time. It’s a quirky exaggeration of the boating knot, making a stylish statement. This website by jewelry designer Allison Hertzberg offers many rope jewelry options.

4. Gentleman: You’ll be thankful if you take the risk and sport some Nantucket Reds or seersucker pants (I like the seersucker from Brooks Brothers). You’re also sure to look hot sporting one of these.

 

Chef Laura's Guacamole

As a snack this Shabbat, I am serving guacamole in honor of Cinco De Mayo. I love this creamy, healthy condiment and look for any excuse to shmear it on challah, tortillas, and my favorite enchiladas.

The secret to good guacamole is simple: the ingredients should be ripe and really fresh, and each bite or scoopful should burst with flavor. This means no powdered garlic allowed and lots of tasting, to make sure the flavors are well balanced.

Contrary to popular food myth, leaving the pit in the bowl of guacamole will not prevent the avocados from oxidizing and turning black. To ensure that your guacamole stays green, cover the guacamole with plastic wrap or parchment paper and lightly press the wrap directly on the surface. Then go ahead and throw out the pit, or plant it.

Makes 2 cups

3 ripe avocados, peeled and pitted
¼ cup fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons best-quality extra-virgin olive oil
2 garlic cloves, grated on a microplane
2 medium tomatillos, diced
6 cherry tomatoes, quartered
¼ cup diced red onion, diced finely
½ jalapeño pepper, seeded and diced very small
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro
2 radishes, diced very small (optional)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Suggested accompaniments: crispy tortilla chips, jicama strips, cucumber slices, radishes, carrot strips

1. Place the avocados into a large bowl. Add the lime juice, extra-virgin olive oil and garlic.

2. Mash the mixture with a potato masher or fork until it is mostly mashed but some chunks remain. Add the tomatillos, onion, jalapeño, cilantro, and radishes, if using. Stir them in to combine. Adjust the seasoning with salt and pepper. Serve with your choice of accompaniments.

Quick Ancho Chile Sauce for Enchiladas

I make a lot of moles and enjoy the long process and especially the final results. But, when I need a quick sauce for enchiladas, I go for an abbreviated version. This sauce is quick and delicious.

Normally a sauce like this would be made in a molcajete (Mexican mortar and pestle) and the cook would spend hours grinding the ingredients to a velvety constituency, I am going with a blender this week!

10 dried ancho chiles, stemmed and seeded (reserve the seeds)
1 cup oil
3 tablespoons of chile seeds, toasted in a dry pan until medium brown
8 cloves of garlic
½ cup raisins
½ cup pumpkin seeds, toasted
Reserved soaking water from chiles
2 ounces bittersweet chocolate
Kosher salt and freshly cracked pepper
1 package corn tortillas

Suggested filling for tortillas: favorite cheeses, sautéed mushrooms, caramelized onions and peppers, or pulled chicken or brisket for meat preparations

1. Heat the oil in a large saucepan. Fry the chiles, in batches, for about 10-15 seconds until they are dark red and puffy. Transfer the chiles to a large bowl filled with cold water. Soak the chiles for about 15 minutes. Transfer the chiles and about 1 cup of soaking water to a blender. Add the remaining ingredients except the chocolate and process the sauce until it is finely ground and has a thick-saucy consistency (you may need to add more water).

2. Heat a large saucepan, lightly coated with olive oil, over medium high heat and add the sauce at once. Reduce the heat and simmer the sauce for 10 minutes. Add the chocolate and season to taste.

3. Dip a tortilla into the sauce, lay the tortilla on a board and add about 2 tablespoons of filling, roll the tortillas and nestle into a casserole. Top with additional sauce. Bake for 15 minutes before serving.

Light and Crispy Churros

My son Jonah loves these light and crispy Mexican crullers. They are delicious and addictive. I serve them for desserts and an occasional breakfast. The dough is easy and can be made a couple of hours ahead of using.

Of course the churros are best right out of the frying pan, but they are delicious and I have never had anyone turn them down several hours after frying.

I serve the churros with chocolate dipping sauce or fruit preserves.

Yields 24

1 cup water
2 Tablespoons brown sugar
½ teaspoon salt
⅓ cup butter or canola oil for pareve
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
¼ cup sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Oil to fry the churros in-I use canola oil

1. Bring the water, brown sugar, salt, and butter (or oil) to a boil. Remove from the heat and add the flour. Stir the mixture until it forms a tight ball of dough.

2. Place the mixture into the bowl of a stand mixer and mix it until well blended.

3. Add the eggs one at a time with the machine running, being sure to incorporate each addition before adding the next. Add the vanilla.

4. Fill your pastry bag with the churro recipe dough and attach the largest star tip you have.

5. Heat 1½ to 2 inches of vegetable oil in a 10 to 12 inch frying pan to 375 degrees F. In a separate dish mix the ¼ cup sugar and cinnamon and set aside.

6. Test your oil by placing a small amount of dough in it. The dough should bubble up right away and start to brown.

7. Once the oil is hot enough, squeeze some dough into the oil about 4 inches long. I used my finger to release the dough from the star tip. Careful not to burn yourself.

8. Cook 4 or 5 churros at a time. Cook them about 1 minute and turn them over with a slotted spoon. Cook an additional minute or two until they are a golden brown color.

9. Remove the churros with the slotted spoon and place them on a paper towel-covered plate to absorb excess grease. While still warm, roll each churro into the dish with the sugar and cinnamon until coated.

I am surrounded by a sea of boxes that serve as reminders of what was and what is. Each memory is individually wrapped, sealed tight and waiting to be discovered and rediscovered. Over the last few years, I have consolidated, purged, and deliberately parted with many of my material possessions.

In all of my moves I have made the difficult decision of what to take with me and what to leave behind.

This last June, ten days after leaving the hospital for a dangerous infection, I moved out of my apartment into a new one. I needed a fresh start— a new beginning— a new space that didn't remind me of cancer. My previous apartment had been painted in sickness, and wallpapered with pain. Last year when I moved from floor 30 to floor 29, there was a clear demarcation between the past and the present. I had closed the chapter on victim and was determined to write the chapter on thriving survivorship.

And in the last year, my hopes and dreams were not only realized but delivered ten-fold.

A few nights ago in the midst of packing again, I had a run in with cancer. This time she was not in my blood, but instead found twisting between expired prescriptions, worn out wigs, homemade scarves, and hats. She also had taken up residence in my previously worn surgical masks, plastic gloves and hand sanitizer. The memories of what was had resurfaced and soon enough I was on the floor in a sea of tears. As I lay still with those memories, I knew I had a decision to make.

That night, I chose to leave her behind.

I wasn't going to allow her to infiltrate my new space. I wasn't going to let her show up and ruin more moments. I wasn't going to let her take a lead role in this new chapter. And so as I prepare to move from floor 29 to a new home built for two. I decided to package up cancer and seal her in a tight little box, with no room to breathe. And there she can live amongst a sea of discarded memories, in a landfill somewhere far from here.

Along with being a fabulously handsome Oy! Chicago blogger, I am also the youth advisor for a USY (United Synagogue Youth) chapter here in Chicago. This past weekend, I embarked on a journey to Kinnus, the annual culminating regional convention where every April, about 200 energized USYers from all over the region come together, celebrate a year of awesome Jewish fun, and elect the next year’s regional board and discuss regional events, activities and any amendments to the region’s constitution.

Kinnus weekend truly is an exciting moment for Jewish kids to be able to experience such a strong, close Jewish community that encourages and nurtures its youth. This year’s group of high school students from our chapter were amazing to work with and spent lots of fun times doing mitzvah projects, collecting tzedakah, or just hanging out in the youth lounge and unwinding from the everyday pressures of life. From them, I learned that the value in USY does not just come from learning tefillah or engaging in Jewish learning or activities, but also making valuable and lasting relationships with other Jewish teens, in a fun and relaxed environment.

When I think back to my own experience in USY and SHMUSY (the Anshe Emet USY chapter), I chose not to run for any office because, at that time, I was a political pacifist and decided I would never get elected because I wasn’t that popular. I loved the chapter and that I could hang out with other Jewish kids every week and do something fun, sometimes even educational. We all had a great time and will remember it for the rest of our lives, especially those moments of prayer and reflection amongst hundreds of others just like me.

There is no more special feeling than being a part of a Havdalah circle: hundreds of arms draped over shoulders, bodies swaying to the rhythm of the melody, eyes fixated on the Havdalah artifacts and voices singing, proudly praising God, the miracle of Shabbat, and the promise of a wonderful week to come. As I look around the circle, my eyes adjusting to the darkness, I can see the faint glow of the flames flickering in their eyes, the kids entranced by the melody and bursting with joy and happiness as they hug their friends, new and old. When it came to USY and SHMUSY, I always said and believed, “The friendships last a lifetime, the memories last forever.”

As a USY staff member and Jewish adult, I have a greater and more sincere appreciation for these programs and communities. In the wake of a waning conservative movement, more must be done to protect and nurture the growth and development of our youth. I vow to become as involved as I possibly can. I look around our Chicago community and I see Jewish students wanting more, wanting to be involved and their desire and thirst for knowledge, for interaction with others like them, for the experience unlike anything else in this world. I am inspired by people like our CHUSY (regional) Youth Director, Julie Marder, who has dedicated the last five years to fostering the positive trends and changes within the Jewish Conservative Youth movement, and Rabbi Russo, who has dedicated his life to Judaism and has shown tremendous commitment and care for younger generations to model. I only hope that as I move forward as a Jewish educator I am able to instill the same values in the next generation and help usher a new, exciting and fun age of Jewish fun and learning!

So, this issue’s toast goes to all the CHUSY members and staff out there, past, present and future. Long live USY and long live Jewish education! L’Chaim!

If you want a shock, Google your favorite Chinese or Thai recipe. The calories, fat and sodium are usually ridiculously high. As most would expect fried rice is not a health food. I created a similar taste with a drop of oil and a lot of flavor. Hope you enjoy!

I love this recipe it has a lot of protein, flavor, and fiber.

Sesame ginger quinoa almond chicken

2 chicken breasts (boneless skinless)
1 cup quinoa
2 cups low sodium chicken broth
Toasted sesame seed oil
Veggies: medium sweet onion, ½ cauliflower, medium zucchini
Almonds
Agave nectar
Goat cheese
Spices: ginger, curry, pepper, kosher salt, garlic
Sesame ginger marinade (I like Ginger Company)

There are a million variations of this recipe I think the easiest way to make it is:

1. Marinade chicken with garlic powder, ginger and sesame ginger marinade (let sit while you start steps 1-3)

2. Pan fry onion in a large skillet with a drop of sesame oil, add cauliflower, and zucchini (you can also steam the zucchini and cauliflower)

3. While veggies cook pour chicken broth and quinoa in a pot and simmer for 15-20 minutes

4. Remove veggies, cook chicken on medium heat 6-8 minutes per side (until completely cooked), add a drop of all spices on chicken (you should not have to add any oil, the juices from the veggies and marinade on the chicken provide enough sauce for cooking)

5. Take out chicken, let cool, then cut, add another drop of sesame oil, almonds (smash them first in a baggie with a mallet), lightly pour agave nectar over almonds, a pinch of salt, add quinoa, mix, add veggies, pepper, ginger, kosher salt, add chicken back in

6. Serve in bowls, add a small crumble of goat cheese

Try the recipe, and shoot me a picture of it!

The other day, I was lying on the couch catching up on some reading and Toolie jumped up on my chest to see what was going on. Then she started licking my face. Eventually, I got her to settle down and just lie on my stomach for a while. Feeling a little sleepy, I naturally dozed off and later woke up to Toolie licking my hand. It was asleep, though. She was trying to force her head under my hand so I would pet her, and since it was asleep, my hand just lay their limply. She just licked it.

Toolie's new hobby is standing on the back of the couch when I'm sitting there and proceeding to lick the top of my head. It's sort of a grooming ritual, I think. Toolie has other hobbies, too. Set something on the couch, the floor, or the table, and it is important that Toolie go and lay on that item of clothing, piece of paper or bag. No other spot will do for her except that exact spot that you placed something. 

She also likes to play string. That's her favorite game. It's where you dangle the string and she tries to get it. That's it.

Toolie is also up to date on the latest homeopathic medical treatments. After a particularly large meal (or really anytime) I might sit down to relax in the arm chair. Toolie aides in digestion by massaging my stomach with her paws. If only I could get her to give my shoulders a rub every now and then!

Sxsxqsazz

That series of letters was a sampling of what Toolie has to say about Oy!Chicago. As I write this part of the post, she has her butt on the computer, her stomach on my chest and her tongue all over my face. Am I allowed to print that? Because it really all just happened. 

Seven and a half years ago my mom found a stray cat that she couldn't keep. I was living with my sister at the time and I told her we didn't need any more animals. We had a dog, Pookie, and that was enough. Little Toolie came up and licked my hand. We decided Pookie could use a friend. I named her Toolie, she moved to Chicago and she's been my cat ever since.

Since then she has cried at the window almost every day when she sees me walking up to the apartment building. She "mew-isses" me. It sounds like she is saying "I mew-iss you! Mew-ake your way up here, quickly!" Usually, I run in and there she is at the door, waiting to play string. Most days, I get so wrapped up in the game, I don't even notice the vomit on the rug.

 

Jersey Shore. Jersey Couture. Jerseylicious. Real Housewives of New Jersey. House. Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Even Boardwalk Empire is about the early days of Atlantic City, New Jersey. Ever since The Sopranos (which debuted in 1999), New Jersey has been a goldmine for TV shows… and ratings.

Put another way… my friend has a pre-teen daughter who wants to go to Hoboken for winter break. Why? To see the Cake Boss bakery, of course.

This glut of TV shows set in New Jersey is new. Before 2000, Jersey Shore was preceded by two MTV shows, Shore Thing and Summer Share, the latter debuting in 1998. And that was preceded by Down the Shore as early as 1992. On the non-reality end, 1984's Charles in Charge— which starred Scott Baio as a nanny (like Tony Danza in Who's the Boss, which debuted in the same year) was set in New Jersey… as was Tony Danza's Hudson Street.

But isn't Chicago just as interesting, just as filled with memorable types as New Jersey? Right now, The Good Wife and Boss are set here, both critically acclaimed shows. And there's, um, Happy Endings, Whitney, My Boys, Legally Mad, and the aptly titled The Forgotten. The longest-running Chicago show in the past 10 years? According to Jim.

There have been classic shows set here, after all— the first being The Untouchables (1959-63). In the 1970s, there were The Bob Newhart Show, Good Times, and the under-rated Kolchak the Night Stalker, which Buffy fans should revisit. The 1980s gave us the adorable Perfect Strangers and Punky Brewster, the too-adorable Webster, the moving Life Goes On, and the well, popular Married… With Children. That show, I never liked (it seemed like just a crasser Roseanne), but it did give us Futurama's Katy Sagal and Modern Family's Ed O'Neill.

The 1990s brought in Family Matters but also The Steve Harvey Show and Early Edition. Drama-wise, there were two very good medical shows that started in 1994, Chicago Hope and ER… and Sisters, which I think was better than Brothers and Sisters.

These days, Chicago could— should!— easily have as much screen time as, excuse me, New Jersey. So here are my proposals for TV shows set in Chicago. You'll notice that none of them are cop, lawyer, or doctor shows, either… because there are other things people do! [TV execs: if you use these, I want a royalty and a "created by" credit]:

The Daddy Files (comedy): A middle-aged, Royko-style columnist for a Chicago daily is fired. He tries to make a go of it as a blogger taking on government and business corruption, while also being a stay-at-home dad. At night, he blogs his gripes about being a dad, and this blog takes off.

Navy Pier (comedy): Shot with hand-held cameras, the intertwining lives and loves of a dozen twenty-somethings who work at various kiosks, stores, restaurants, and theaters at Navy Pier.

The Randee Simmons Show (comedy): Randee is a talk show host trying to change her show's tone from sleeze to life-affirmation… against the wishes of her producer, agent, and studio head, all of whom like her current high ratings.

I Must Love Stress (comedy): A general contractor tries to manage his crew and satisfy his clients, while dealing with the weather, his suppliers, and ever-changing regulations.

The Exchange (drama): A workplace drama set at the Chicago Stock Exchange. We see two rival brokerage firms and follow two young, ambitious traders as they make their ways up, and also the two CEOs and the huge decisions they must make.

Chicago Blues (drama): An old blues bass player makes the rounds of the blues clubs, always hustling for gigs. Along the way, he sits in with some of the greatest (real-life) names in blues as they come through Chicago. We also see the (former) Blues Festival from behind the scenes as he plays gigs for three straight days and nights.

Busiest in the World (drama): A mom finds it harder to manage her out-of-control teens, kids and husband than O'Hare Airport… the management of which happens to be her job.

Deep Dish (reality): The day-to-day function of a local, family-run pizza place, from the guy who hangs flyers on doorknobs, the delivery guys and the kitchen staff to the management.

First to a Million (reality): Two teams. One is made up of fresh college graduates. The other is all retirees. Each team of four has specialists in finance, marketing, IT, and administration. They are given seed money, computers, a basic office, and someone to handle the front desk. Then they race to start businesses from scratch. First team to clear a million dollars in profits wins.

Windy City Rollers (reality): We follow Chicago's female roller-derby team, at competitions and at home.

The Taste (reality): How The Taste of Chicago happens. We follow the organizers, a couple of participating restaurant managers, and the Park District crews as it all comes together.

Chicago has unlimited potential as a setting for television shows. By focusing on what's unique to our city, we can tell stories here that simply can't be told anywhere else. Even in New Jersey.

Miss college basketball already? The Great Rabbino is bringing you a college basketball player— meet Ian Goldberg a senior at Haverford who happens to be a big fan.

 

1. Please tell Oy!Chicago a little bit about yourself.
I'm a senior at Haverford College from New York City. I'm an Economics major and Anthropology minor. I finished my college career about a month ago and am in the midst of figuring out what I'm going to do next year. In the meantime, I'm focusing on my senior thesis and playing ball for fun.

2. When did you realize you wanted to and could play college basketball?
I knew I wanted to play college ball when I was a much shorter and skinnier version of myself in middle school at Poly Prep. I had played a lot of different sports growing up like most kids and I'd say around 7th grade I really starting focusing on basketball. I made the biggest strides in my game between my sophomore and junior year of high school and that's when I started getting some Division III looks. I attribute a lot of my success to my high school coaches and teammates who taught me the game and inspired me to work my butt off to be successful at the next level.

3. What was your experience playing at Haverford?
Overall, I am very fortunate and thankful for my four years playing at Haverford. I wish we could have had some more success, but the relationships I have formed have been incredible. My main objectives looking for a college were to find a top-tier academic institution and to find a team that I could play for. Although I had to have sports hernia surgery right before my sophomore season, I only had to miss one game during my career. My coaches and teammates placed a lot of trust in me to run the team and I tried to return to the court every year a better player.

4. What was your biggest accomplishment on the court?
My biggest accomplishment on the court was making it to the conference semifinals my junior season. With a few games left in the regular season, we got some big wins and clinched a playoff spot. We ended up winning the first round game by one, before falling to ranked Franklin and Marshall in the semis. Even though we lost that game by a close margin, I was extremely proud of my guys for battling and coming within striking range.

5. Do you see basketball in your future?
I haven't spent much time pursuing the opportunity to play, but it's something I have seriously thought about. I would definitely love to play somewhere if the right situation arose. It would be great to continue playing competitively in a new and challenging environment.

6. Who is the best player you have ever had to guard? How did you fair?
The best player I ever had to guard would have to be 76ers guard Lou Williams. For the past two summers, Haverford has been the only Division III team in the Delco ProAm league in Philly. We had the chance to compete against top NBA and Division I talent. Lou definitely got the better of me, but I drew a couple charges on him and got some buckets too. He is lighting quick. It was an incredible opportunity to play against him.

7. Ever thought about playing in the Maccabi Games or in Israel?
Yes, I have thought about both and would love to try out and get an opportunity to play in Israel.

Thanks to Ian and the Goldbergs for reading. Good luck to Ian and I bet there is an Israeli roster with you jersey waiting.

And Let Us Say...Amen.
- Jeremy Fine

Meet Rabbi Dan Horwitz, our newest Oy! blogger, who will give us a taste of Torah once a month and relate it to our lives.

This week's Torah portion is Shemini – or is it?

In Israel, they actually are already on the next portion.  The reason for this is that outside of Israel, in traditional communities, the Passover holiday lasts for 8 days, while in Israel it only lasts for 7 days.  The 8th day of Passover this year was last Saturday – so while in Israel it was a normal Shabbat and Israelis read the portion of Shemini, outside of Israel it was still Passover, and a special Passover Torah reading was read instead.  A few weeks from now, we'll catch up by reading two portions, while those in Israel will read just one, allowing us to once again have our readings in synch.

I struggle a lot with the idea that not all Jews around the world are reading the same Torah portion at the same time.  I personally find great meaning in knowing that when I'm partaking in a certain ritual (say, for example, something as simple as attending a Shabbat dinner with friends) there are Jewish people all around the world who are doing the same thing I am, at the same time (allotting for time differences of course).  You would think that when it comes to the public reading of the Torah, the ancient rabbis would have been super concerned about having all Jews on the same page (literally). 

The portion of Shemini is the third portion in the book of Leviticus (the third of the five books of Moses), which is often referred to as the "priestly code," and which spends a significant amount of time focusing on "sanctification."  In Leviticus, we learn that speech carries significant power, stressing the need for us to sanctify what goes forth from our mouths.  So too, in Shemini in particular, we learn the value of sanctifying what goes into our mouths in the form of the primary kosher laws (in case you didn't know, we learn in Shemini that pigs are not kosher… sorry to disappoint!).

It is this idea of "sanctification" – of making otherwise ordinary endeavors into holy actions, which can help us cope with any feelings we might have of being out of synch in our lives.  While this week for me it's a literal being out of synch, as the Torah portion we read outside of Israel differs from the one being read in Israel, so too can we be out of synch, for example, when we've failed to celebrate a Jewish holiday in a way that's meaningful to us, when we stray from our inherited morals or values, and/or when we lose sight of the bigger picture.

The way to combat such feelings is by finding opportunities to make holy (if you prefer, to make "special") those things that might otherwise be ordinary.

The next time you sit down to a meal, rather than diving right in, take a moment to reflect on the food in front of you and how blessed you are to be able to eat in a world where many go hungry.  In doing so, you're elevating the meal, making the meal special.

If you're struggling to find the time to read a book you've been dying to have a chance to curl up with, pull out your calendar and set aside a certain amount of time each week, on a particular day of the week (might I recommend Saturday?), that you designate as "reading time."  In doing so, you're distinguishing between the rest of the week and a time especially dedicated to your personal relaxation and joy.

There is undoubtedly something to be said for all of the world's Jews being in synch and on the same page.  I would argue however that the ancient rabbis (who understood the implications of establishing certain holidays as 8 days outside of Israel) knew that literally being on the same page is nowhere near as important as all Jews being in synch with regard to striving to add holiness to our lives by increasing the number of elevated moments we experience, both individually and within community.

Looking ahead, try to consciously set aside a few moments each week that you believe have the potential to be elevated from the ordinary into something meaningful and holy.  And then, live those moments, knowing that you are without question in synch with Jews everywhere.

Two straight days with no shower, no bed and no familiar faces. Don’t dismiss it as a vacation option just yet, though: it’s also one of the best ways to see the United States from the ground. Two weeks before Passover, I did something I’d been dreaming of for nearly a year— I bought tickets for the Southwest Chief, an Amtrak train that runs daily between Chicago and Los Angeles. The stops in L.A. and New Mexico were more than worth it, but the train is another adventure with a personality all its own.

I’ve done train travel before—a few times in Europe and once on another Amtrak route, the California Zephyr, which runs from the San Francisco Bay Area through mountains, desert, high plains and rolling prairie all the way to Chicago. No one who’s ever seen this from the ground could possibly call it “flyover country.” Train tracks bring you into areas you’d never see from highways or roads either. The Southwest Chief is like waking up in your own personal Western. The red dirt and the mesas and canyons and bleached cattle skulls are all real and totally engrossing.

The views are magnificent, and Amtrak exploits that: there’s a viewing car with glass windows from the floor to the ceiling, where you’re free to sit for hours on end, watching the world go by. This experience is most relaxing when the car is empty, but there’s something pleasant about it even full of kids and conversation. For my part, I learned as I was packing that this is a good place to practice musical instruments, which tipped me into bringing my ukulele on the trip, which turned out to be a good decision. But you can learn a lot just by looking out the window by your seat (which, I might add, is nicer than a first-class airplane seat, even when you ride coach). For instance:

• Just saw a billboard for “Dodge City Vittles.” Have we been in Kansas all night?
• Just saw a truck go by that said simply “BEEF IS BEST” along the side.
• “Micro Beef Technologies”? What does that even mean?
• 3 AM and wide awake on a train through the desert in either California or Arizona. This is either country music or Neil Gaiman’s American Gods.

Pictures communicate the scenery much better than words. But you get another perk from traveling on the train: train people. The people-watching and casual conversations in trains are top-notch. The man who sat behind me from Union Station nearly to Los Angeles was on his way home after appearing on the Jerry Springer Show. I ate dinner with a veteran of Okinawa and a man returning to Joplin, Missouri, after the devastating tornados last year. I shared a seat (and snacks) with a lady who spent every other three weeks working on a Navajo Nation organic farm. I learned from many people why Kansas City is the best place to live in the Midwest.

I’d like to take a moment and give a shout-out to the station in Lamy, New Mexico, which is where you get off if you’re stopping in Santa Fe. Lamy is one of those hamlets where you can see most of it from the station itself. As I waited, any number of locals came by to visit the station agent and chat with each other. The station is home to a library, shop and small nonprofit bookstore, run by volunteers. The train was on a three-hour delay to avoid last week’s monster tornados, but I was more than pleased to enjoy this little slice of very small town living.

Taking the train deliberately seems to surprise people when I tell them about this vacation. Sure, if you want to get to your destination quickly, an airplane is much more reasonable. It certainly lets you maximize your time away: I spent about a third of my trip in transit. But if you’re looking for something with the pace of a road trip without the responsibility of driving, train travel is a lovely way to go. If you need a little more convincing, well... this is the view from coach:

I am probably going to die of a heart attack. Or not. I don’t know. I’ll probably have to wait until to find out. Most likely, my hypochondria is going to be the end of me. It may even cause that heart attack. I let my hypochondria run rampant so much that any time I feel anything out of the ordinary, I think “Hmmm, how’s this going to kill me?” Although, if I’m right even once, I win. Like the paranoid guy I follow home every night, we just need that one time to be justified.

Where my hypochondria apparently stems from is I always feel like I have chest pains. There are always little tingles and feelings of pressure that I don’t understand until I stop giving myself tickle massages. But after that, I do often wonder at what point of discomfort I would actually say to the person next to me, “Ahem. I do believe I am currently experiencing the sensation of cardiac arrest. If it would not trouble you in the least to fetch some assistance, I would be most gracious for the prevention of my demise.”

That’s really what hypochondria leads to. A fear of death. A fear of the unknown. Therefore, it’s difficult to say exactly what I believe about life after death. I don’t so much have a belief as much as a want. To sum it up in a sentence, I expect the worst and hope for the best. Like every time I visit my mother. Just kidding. Love ya Mom! However, I do like to say that I don’t care what happens as long as there’s consciousness after death. If I made that into a wish, I’d be sure to make that a little more specific otherwise there might be some bad catches and consequences to that consciousness. I don’t want to end up in the mind of a stick. That’d be quite a sticky situation. (Can’t believe I just wrote that.)

When I was in college, I went through a period of time where I had, what I liked to call, mortality issues. When I thought about my metabolic processes being history, I would get these waves of distress and foreboding over me that was uncontrollable. Strangely enough, I would never say that I got depressed. I was too preoccupied that this whole death thing applied to me too. (Joke lovingly taken from Steve Martin) The idea of infinite nothingness, albeit a thought when I’m conscious, is genuinely freaky. Coming to the realization that in this “worst case scenario” I wouldn’t, in fact, be conscious, had a surprisingly sobering effect. Thus came the next stage of my receptivity towards mortality.

I accepted death, I suppose. Of course I say that at 24 years old and in good health. Maybe wait until I’m about to die to see how I truly feel. However, death, as it turns out, is the number one killer of man. 100% fatal. More so than bizarre vicious grandma attacks. What I really accepted more was that without death, life loses its purpose. Getting limited time can force you do something great with your life. It gives you urgency. Personally, I know I want to leave some sort of legacy, even if in the most minute way. Hence I’m writing this and anything that potentially could and should survive beyond my lifetime. When it comes down to it, I need the whole ceasing to exist thing because I’m possibly more scared with the idea of living forever. My mind has difficulty comprehending something that isn’t finite. Everything must have a beginning, middle and end. For example, this sentence would be tough to comprehend without-

If it isn’t entirely apparent, I might be a little obsessed with death, but at least for, what I feel, are all the right reasons. Hence, again, I love to write. I face death head on because if I face it butt on I’ll probably get prostate cancer, as it runs in my family. I do half expect to get it. Or one out of six expect to get it. If I did end up getting cancer, it’d have to be colon cancer. I’m already prepared should the situation arise. See, I know I’ll be able to beat it (gotta have the optimism). And although they may have to remove a part of my colon, that’ll be just fine. Being that I have a degree in English, I’d have even more smugness in being able to say I’m one of the few people that knows how to properly use a semi-colon. Bah-dum chee! Not to mention that I would be able to refer to it as “butt cancer”. It just sounds softer, you know?

We all have to die someday. Morbid and blunt, I know. But it’s one of the universal truths out there. Accepting it and dealing with it is one way to conquer death. Discovering the Fountain of Youth is the other. Knowing that, I do what I can with the time I got. It’d be nice to actively pursue the philosophy of doing what I want every second of every day, but alas, we live in a world where cash is very important. In case you didn’t know, the way you obtain this cash is you work long strenuous hours doing stuff you may not necessarily want to do. Then they give you money for doing the fun stuff you do want to do. Having enough of this cash can sometimes make you feel like royalty. In fact, there’s a saying that cash is king. And as we all know, it’s good to be the king. And I prefer cash in the form of the shekel. But I’m deviating from my point so that’ll be a blog for a different day. Or did I write that one already?

This piece was originally posted on Oy!Chicago in April 2012 and has been re-published for this blog series.

When I was in junior high, my family hosted a woman in our home who was in town for a weekend speaking engagement. She was in her 70s at the time, blonde, and wore tailored skirt suits. Warm and gentle, yet strong, she reminded me of my grandmothers.

Irene Gut Opdyke
Photo credit: United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

I knew, even back then, that she was special, but I didn't realize how special until a decade later when I spotted her name at Yad Vashem on the list of "Righteous Among the Nations"—or "Righteous Gentiles"—non-Jews who risked their lives to save Jews during the Holocaust. In addition to her, by the end of 2010, Yad Vashem had recognized 23,788 Righteous Among the Nations from 45 countries.

As Yom Hashoah—Holocaust Remembrance Day—arrives this week, it seems fitting to tell the story of this incredible woman who in one weekend taught me what it means to be a hero.

Irene Gut was born to a Polish Catholic family, the eldest of five daughters. When Russia and Germany invaded Poland at the start of the war, Irene was a 17-year-old nursing student. She joined the Polish underground to care for the sick and wounded, and she eventually became separated from her family. A group of Russian soldiers discovered her hiding in the forest with other resistance fighters. The soldiers beat and gang-raped Irene and then sent her to a hospital to aid the Russians.

In search of her family, she fled the hospital, but was soon captured by Germans, and sent to a munitions factory in Poland, where she collapsed from hard labor. Irene, a pretty girl with Aryan features, caught the attention of a 70-year-old German officer, Major Eduard Rugemer, who took a liking to her and assigned her to less taxing work in the mess hall. Amid the horrific conditions she saw of the Jews in the ghetto, she witnessed Nazi soldiers throw a baby in the air and shoot the child for sport, an image that haunted Irene her entire life.

Later, Rugemer employed Irene as a housekeeper in his villa in Ukraine, where her duties included supervising laundry service, carried out by a staff of 12 Jews. When she heard of plans to kill the Jewish employees, Irene insisted on hiding them in the cellar of the villa—smuggling them food and clothing—without the officer's knowledge.

One day, Rugemer came home early and discovered the hidden Jews. Irene pleaded with him not to turn them in, bargaining to become Rugemer's mistress if he would let them stay. She never told her Jewish friends how she kept them hidden, yet she did confess her secret to a priest, who urged her to turn the Jews in. But Irene refused.

In all, she hid her Jewish friends for nine months. When one of the hidden women became pregnant, Irene convinced the mother-to-be not to have an abortion. In 1944, Irene fled with the Jews to the forest, where the baby was eventually born.

At war's end, her Jewish friends helped her escape to West Germany, where she briefly met William Opdyke, an American working for the United Nations. Around this time, she also learned the whereabouts of her family: her father had been killed by Germans, while her mother and four sisters survived.

A few years later, aided by a Jewish resettlement organization, Irene immigrated to New York, where she bumped into Opdyke at a café. Only months later, they married and had a daughter, settling in Southern California.

It wasn't until later in her life—after hearing claims that the Holocaust was an exaggeration—that Irene chose to share her harrowing story, writing a book (with Jennifer Armstrong) called In My Hands: Memories of a Holocaust Rescuer, and speaking for educational groups. In 1982, Irene was recognized as a "Righteous Gentile" by Yad Vashem. It was at that ceremony that Irene met the baby-by then a grown man-she had saved, who owed his life to her.

Irene passed away in 2003 at the age of 86. Two years ago, a show about her life, called Irena's Vow, played on Broadway.

There are certain people who come into our lives who are etched in our memory forever. Irene, for me, is one of those people. I only spent one weekend with her all those years ago, but I credit her with teaching me so much about compassion, empathy, and strength.

Irene is no longer here to share her journey, but I pledge to tell her story for her—and other heroes like her—to as many people as I can. I hope you'll do the same.

On August 20, 2010 I experienced a life changing event.  I was told to read The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.  "Better than Twilight, not as good as Harry Potter" was the way it was described to me.  Being the fantasy book geek that I am, that's all I needed to know.  As early as the last sentence of the first paragraph, "This is the day of the reaping" I was hooked.

I don't even think I was finished with the book before I started recommending it to everyone I knew.  Now, few things give me greater pleasure than a successful book rec. (#dork).  And to my delight the positive feedback came flooding in.  Little did I know the trend that was beginning.  I don't want to take full credit for the 36.5 million copies of the series in print, its three year tenure on the New York Times Bestseller list, or Suzanne Collins' rise to Kindle's all time best-selling author...but I'd like to think I had something to do with it.

It was probably the announcement that Lionsgate Studios would adapt The Hunger Games into a major motion picture that vaulted it from a good rec. among avid readers and "young adult" fantasy/sci buffs into an international phenomenon.  Attaching 2011 Academy Award Best Actress Nominee Jennifer Lawrence to the lead role of Katniss gave the film credibility.  For all of us who love books but worry how our favorites will be adapted to the big screen, this provided a sigh of relief.  It meant that Lionsgate was taking the film seriously.  With this up and coming young star along with a top billed supporting cast, the movie officially had the social media feeds buzzing.

Unfortunately, with this buzz came the unnecessary amplification of the love story that to me is merely a peripheral theme in the book.  Much like "Twilight's" Team Edward vs. Team Jacob phenomenon, we immediately started seeing similar competition between Katniss' prospective love interests, Peeta and Gale.  Websites and Facebook pages sprouted, urging fans to vote for who would most qualify as Katniss' suitor.  But this need to quibble over "who's the best guy" really detracts from the themes of the story.  We love this book because we are angered by the inequitable differences between life in District 12 and that of the Capitol.  Katniss represents the masses, and her strength, courage, and most importantly humanity is something we all admire.  To focus on the theme of love in this book is to diminish the grander ideas such as equality and survival.

The novel is told in first person, so we hear Katniss' every thought, and this is how we grow to love her.  Her quick wit in dealing with some of the less desirable characters and difficult situations is portrayed well in the movie.  However, because the film chose to forgo the first person narration, it struggles to depict how methodical Katniss is in her thinking, how much she truly despises the Capitol, or that paramount to everything else, Survival is most important.  It is this last statement that is the central theme to the novel, not Peeta v. Gale as the movie studio or tween fan pages would lead you to believe.

I am not so cold-hearted as to think that Katniss does not have feelings for Peeta, however her will to survive is actually much stronger than those feelings.  (**SPOILERS from here on out**)  In fact, the highlight of this love story occurs in a cave where the two District 12 tributes are hiding, after the recent ruling that tributes from the same district may both be allowed to win if they are the last two alive.  Katniss then goes to find Peeta, not because she is in love with him, but because she knows that on a team she is more likely to survive.  In the cave, she kisses him, not because she has some undying urge to, but because she hopes it will lead to gifts from sponsors that will aid in her survival.  "If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something to care about," says Katniss.  Nothing proves this point better than the climax of the story, when the Gamemakers announce that there may be only one winner, as opposed to their earlier revision to the rules, allowing tributes from the same district to join forces. In the book, upon hearing this, Peeta pulls his knife.  Reacting instinctively, Katniss nocks an arrow and aims it at Peeta's heart!  Here we see Katniss' survival instinct outweighing her feelings for Peeta.  And yet, this part was left out of the movie.  In the movie, upon hearing this momentous announcement, the two District 12 tributes, after just fighting for their lives for days on end; surviving burns, wasp stings, sword and knife wounds, starvation, dehydration...kind of just stand around wondering what to do.  Seriously?  Here's about five seconds that could have been added which would convey not only the severity of the situation, but would supply some real theatrical suspense. If anything the filmmakers should be playing up this angle.  So why leave it out?  "I can sell the star-crossed lovers from District 12..." Haymitch proclaims in the film.  Lionsgate apparently was on the same page.  But in attempting to pander to the coveted tween demographic, they totally miss the point. Those star-crossed lovers are supposed to fight to the death!  This is part of what makes the story so compelling.  Clearly the filmmakers were afraid that they would lose some of the tween audience because their beloved Peeta v. Gale saga would be replaced by the real theme of the story.  Survival.  

Omissions such as those and others could be the reason Director Gary Ross will not be returning for the sequel, Catching Fire, slated for release in late 2013. Ross decided not to sign on for "Catching Fire" stating, "As a writer and a director, I simply don't have the time I need to write and prep the movie I would have wanted to make because of the fixed and tight production schedule." Reading between the lines we can infer Ross experienced similar problems with "Hunger Games".  Despite all my complaining, I still give the movie a B+.  I'm not so naive as to think an adaptation is going to fit my exact specifications, and this one comes closer than many.  I know I'll never stop being bothered by the Team Peeta v. Team Gale question, but upon being asked, I reply proudly and without hesitation "Team Katniss."

I need to rant a little this month…and I know this might come off controversial to some…but I’m really upset with my fellow 20- and 30- something single Jews— particularly of the male persuasion— who troll around Jewish dating sites looking for girls to hook up with and not date. What is up with this awful phenomenon! And what does it say about us as a people and a generation?

After months and months of convincing, one of my close friends recently decided to try out JDate. This was a big deal. She’d never wanted to go on a dating website before, preferring the more traditional ways of finding a mate, but really wanted to meet a nice Jewish boy and was having trouble finding him in a bar or through friends, so she finally relented. Unfortunately, her story doesn’t have a happy ending (yet) because every guy who reached out to her on the site seemed to want just one thing: a hook up. Even the one guy who did wine and dine her for a few weeks— it turns out it was all a part of an elaborate game for him— just wanted to get in her pants.

I know she is not alone in her experience. I’ve heard time and time again from other friends and acquaintances that somewhere along the way JDate (at least in Chicago) went from a place to meet a mate to a place to score. Another girlfriend of mine stopped her JDate membership all together and switched to a non-Jewish specific site where she can still search for Jewish guys. The breaking point for her was when a guy messaged her with the following: I’d like to get in your pants, are you interested?

Nice, right?

I don’t necessarily think sites like JDate are to blame for this hook up culture brewing in the city, and I get that this can happen anywhere on any site. In fact, I like JDate. My 40-something sister met her husband (second marriage) on the site and I have a friend getting married to the first guy she met on JDate this fall. So I know the site has worked for some and that’s why I was so gung-ho about pushing my friend to join. But I’m really sick of this all too common behavior I keep hearing about. It’s one thing to go out looking for a one night stand in a bar on a Saturday night— I get that and I’m not totally opposed to both parties opting to be slutty— but how do you justify misleading people who are paying for a membership seeking their beshert? It’s rude. It’s wrong. It makes you an asshole and I know karma will catch up to these people one day.

Fortunately there are some really great alternative Jewish dating sites out there that are geared towards people looking for serious relationships. If you’re single and up for expanding your dating horizons, check these sites out:

JWed: I recently just learned about this site and it sounds promising. JWed bills itself as a site that was created exclusively for Jewish-only singles who are ready for the life-long commitment of marriage. They have a screening process to keep those just looking for a hook up off the site— big plus in my book.

TheJMom: Full disclosure, I love this site and not just because I help out with their PR. The brainchild of Chicago siblings Brad and Danielle Weisberg, the site lets moms get involved in setting up their children. Now I know it sounds a little crazy, but the site came into fruition one day when Brad and Danielle let their mom sift through profiles on a dating site. A couple hours later, she had picked out 10 potential dates— they were impressed with her selections and TheJMom was born.

JMatch: Like JWed, this site bills itself for marriage minded Jewish singles. Not only is it a traditional dating website, but JMatch also has matchmakers on hand to provide more individualized attention.

These next two definitely skew towards the Orthodox crowd— where hooking up is probably not such a problem. But if you are religious and looking for a serious relationship, look no further than Frumster and Saw You at Sinai.

A quick Google search pulls up several Jewish dating websites— some I’ve heard of and others not so much— so next time you get discouraged know you do have options and check some of them out!

As soon as I heard her music around six or seven years ago, I knew Regina Spektor would become one of my favorite musicians. I had never heard anyone like her before, and was absolutely captivated by the beauty of her storytelling and piano-playing.

At the time, Spektor was not yet in the mainstream music world. If people knew about her, it was most likely because they were fans of The Strokes – the band for whom Spektor had been the opening act on the Room on Fire tour.

My own journey to discovering Spektor’s music was quite random – I hadn’t been listening to The Strokes, but a friend of mine was a huge fan. She asked me if I had ever heard of Spektor (I hadn’t) and I asked why I would have. As it turned out, Spektor and I had a lot in common – from physical attributes to the Russian-Jewish immigrant story, not to mention that I also played the piano. (To this day, I joke that if God had gifted me with a singing voice, I would be giving Spektor a run for her money.)

As the years went by and I kept listening to Spektor’s music (which I couldn’t stop playing on repeat), I started reading her interviews. What struck me even more than her talent for quirky yet beautiful song writing, was the pride in which she spoke about her background as a Russian-Jewish immigrant.

Spektor never changed her name to make it more Americanized (granted, it wasn’t too difficult to pronounce in the first place, but a quick online search will reveal how many famous people have changed their names, and other personal details, to whitewash their cultural heritage.) She embraces her family’s history, her own history, and is not afraid to speak proudly about being Jewish or facing anti-Semitism. She is not afraid to say that she supports Israel. That’s what I love about Spektor – that she is both an artist worth hearing and a person worth listening to.

Yet she never imposes or forces her beliefs on her listeners. Spektor’s music isn’t about her personal experiences or her religious or political beliefs – her songs are simply stories set to lyrical melodies, and spiced with her sense of humor. Yes, there are many literary, cultural and even religious allusions – but I would say that they are more for imagery than for anything else. Her songs are not political, and that is why I think Spektor is embraced by such a variety of people.

Of all her songs, I can truly think of one that could be construed as political or as genuinely expressive of Spektor’s own beliefs, and it isn’t kind to Holocaust deniers. It is called "Ink Stains" and the words are so heavy that I don’t even feel comfortable pasting them all here. If you want to talk about powerful lyrics, there’s no better example: You who accuse the dying of lying/You can't tell fake from honest crying/Argentina steakhouse, Swiss Bank gold card/Aren't going to help you where you're going at.

As a Russian-Jewish immigrant, I could not be more proud and grateful that there is someone out there like Spektor – a brilliant musician who is proud of who she truly is, and still sells out Radio City Music Hall. Just recently, she performed a benefit concert for the 100th anniversary of HIAS, or Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, in New York, and vh1 recently named her one of the 100 Greatest Women in Music.

I am so appreciative of Spektor’s voice, the musical one and the personal one, and am extremely glad to see her receive the success the she deserves.

JTA recently wrote an article about Spektor, called "Amid mainstream success, Regina Spektor stays true to Jewish roots." To me, that headline sums it up perfectly.

Oh, and on a side note: a few months after meeting Spektor at a record store several years ago, I found out that one of my relatives is very close with her aunt. Small world!

In college, my roommates and I made an annual practice of exchanging Hanukkah gifts before we went home for winter break. My roommates were both in serious relationships for a majority of the time we were in college, whereas I dated around. One year, my roommate bought me "Mr. Wonderful."

Mr. Wonderful has a lean body, a pronounced jaw, a perfect head of hair, giant feet and hands and a sparkling smile. I forgot to mention, Mr. Wonderful is also about a foot in height and battery operated. When one squeezes Mr. Wonderful's hand, he says all the right things.

I found Mr. Wonderful in the depths of my closet. His batteries are low and as a result, his slurred speech resembles a cross between a drunken sailor and Barry White. Here's what Mr. Wonderful knows how to say:

1. "You know, I think it's really important we talk about our relationship."
2. "Let's just cuddle tonight."
3. "Oh, you look so beautiful in the morning."
4. "No, you don't look at all fat in that dress. How could anything make you look fat?"
5. "Aw, can't your mother stay another week?"
6. "Hello darling. Have I told you I loved you lately?"
7. "Did you have a hard day, honey? Why don't you sit down and let me rub your feet."
8. "You're going shopping by yourself? How about if I tag along and carry your bags?"
9. "Actually I'm not sure which way to go. I'll turn in here and ask directions."
10. "I love you."
11. "Yes dear."
12. "You've been on my mind all day. That's why I bought you these flowers."
13. "You know honey, why don't you just relax and let me make dinner tonight."
14. "Why don't we go to the mall? Didn't you want some new shoes?"
15. "The ball game really isn't that important. I'd rather spend time with you."
16. "Here, you take the remote. As long as I'm with you, I don't care what we watch."

According to Amazon.com, you too can have your own Mr. Wonderful for the cost of anywhere from $6.99 to $84.99. I am not sure when and why he got so expensive. However, his package does promise, "He always knows just what to say!"

Now, add "Hey Girl," before any of Mr. Wonderful's key phrases, and you'll be amazed at how Mr. Wonderful shows an uncanny resemblance to Ryan Gosling—or the Ryan Gosling Tumblr meme, that is. Proudly, I can say my plush Mr. Wonderful with a plastic head was ahead of his time, before the Ryan Gosling meme ever exploded across the blogosphere. However, I have to admit, I'm obsessed with the Goz.

If you've been following Pinterest, Tumblr, or really pay attention to what's happening on the Internet at all, you've probably run into a Ryan Gosling meme. According to the Huffington Post, the "Hey Girl" trend originated from the blog, "F*** Yeah! Ryan Gosling."

I didn't catch on to the meme until the feminists took hold of Goz and the "Feminist Ryan Gosling" Tumblr blog evolved, featuring a series of feminist theory flashcards using various steamy and/or sensitive pictures of Gosling saying forwarding-thinking theories about women and gender stereotypes. I got a little choked up/turned on seeing Gosling in this feminist context. Match his fabricated feminist persona with his role in the film Crazy, Stupid Love—in which he had rock-hard abs and wooed Emma Stone's character with a Dirty Dancing move—and I was sold. (For the record, I was never a Notebook convert.)

After the feminists started showcasing Gosling in this sensitive and evolved light, everyone seemed to want a piece. Now you can find "Hey Girl" Ryan Gosling Tumblr sites for puppy lovers, librarians, biologists, teachers, crafters, food bloggers, Silicon Valley geeks, typographers, Jews (check out the latest Passover Gosling memes) and more.

With news that Gosling not only stopped a street fight a few months back, but also recently saved a British woman in New York from getting hit by a taxi, he's basically the sexy messiah. I joined women across the country when I died a little bit inside reading the news, wishing it was me. Gosling has reached a God-like status, and none of us is really quite sure how he got there. 

As Jezebel.com writer Lindy West wrote after Gosling's taxi save, "…how is Ryan Gosling even possible? And how much longer can he keep up this bonkers trajectory of increasing human perfection?"

"Just to recap: He's stupid handsome, just quirky-looking enough that it's not annoying," West added. "He's masculine, but not threatening—like a bro that you actually want to hang out with. He's funny. He's feminist. He wears t-shirts THE BEST. He breaks up fights and keeps the streets safe."

West goes on to point out that he's actually a great actor too (despite his squeaky clean start in the Mickey Mouse Club). 

In some ways Gosling has overshadowed George Clooney in the sweltering Prince Charming department. He's not old enough to be a sleazy bachelor and doesn't date Vegas waitresses (that we know of). Gosling, by no Tumblr efforts of his own, has become an ordinary superhero for women; a champion among dudes; a guy that gets us—or so we've projected upon him.

I was having the old "buy the cow" argument with my mom the other day about women moving in with men before marriage. You know, "Why buy the milk, when you can get the cow for free?" She argued men are being handed everything on a silver platter (companionship, sex, house chores) and then they don't have to work for their meal (or marriage). To make matters worse, she argued, they're just immature. I can't argue with that. But, the cow metaphor makes me a little sick. However, I do agree men aren't set to commit like they were in her day. I also know couples who have lived together for years and then split up. I still believe living with someone is knowing someone. And knowing someone takes time and self-adjustment. I read a Wall Street Journal article a while back that posited that we actually fall for our emotional opposites—for some reason we like the challenge—and each member of the couple has to adapt to how each other receives emotional attention in a positive way.

The Gosling memes have become an arena for women to laugh at themselves and their own quirks and interests. They've also become a bit of a sounding board for women to express how they wish they were appreciated. Women are essentially building the perfect man—or Mr. Wonderful—through this meme form of expression. The fact that so many women have caught on and made it theirs speaks to something—something we feel like we're missing. Messiah Gosling has become a vehicle for the voices of women.

We want someone who loves us for all of our quirks—loves us in our element. We want a mate that thinks we're fabulous when we're engaged in something we are passionate about, be it biology, teaching, cooking, crafting, geeking out or just being ourselves. We want Mr. Wonderful. No batteries necessary.

It has been over a week since my return from TribeFest 2012 in Las Vegas and I am still in shock.  I have not fully processed my experience, and to be honest, I am not sure I ever will.  Let me explain. 

(read What happens at TribeFest Part I here)

On March 24, I left Chicago and headed for Las Vegas for the very first time.  I had heard all the crazy stories and seen pictures, yet, as I saw the strip upon my arrival, I was shocked.  Now, you may be thinking, it is only Las Vegas.  But let me clear something up…it was not ONLY Las Vegas.  TribeFest 2012 was a gathering of over 1,500 young Jewish adults from across the country to connect, explore and celebrate being Jewish.  Maybe Las Vegas or 1,500 Jews alone would not have been so overwhelming, but put the two together and you have one totally shocked young Jewish professional….ME.

Now that I am home, I am trying to process the whole experience.  For three days, I participated in sessions with dynamic leaders in politics, entertainment, music and art.  Speakers ranged from celebrities like Rachel Dratch and AJ Jacobs to social activists like Jonny Imerman and Rochelle Shoretz.  TribeFest 2012 was aimed at engaging the next generation within the Jewish community.  So what does that mean?  I am not sure I have it all figured out, but here are some of my thoughts:

Wow!  Young adults actually care!

At 7:45 a.m. on March 26, I showed up to what I thought would be an empty room.  It was early for anyone's standards, but for Las Vegas, it was only a little after bed time.  To my surprise, approximately 600 others joined me as we boarded buses and headed off to Las Vegas schools and spent the morning reading with children.  Not only did participants get up early that morning, but they stayed up late every night talking about politics, fundraising and their Jewish identities.  Participants debated which city was the best (of course Chicago outweighed any competition), which amazing agencies should be given more money, and yes, even what club to check out next. 

For years I have heard that my generation does not care, that we are self-absorbed and do not think long term.  Yet, 1,500 participants say otherwise.  My generation does care; we just might show it in ways different than those before us.  WE CARE!  We care about our past, our present and our future.

While alone, we can make a difference, together we can change the world. 

Talia Leman, the 17-year old-founder and CEO of RandomKid, a non-profit to educate, mobilize, unify and empower youth, showed the participants that one person can make an difference, but a community can change the world.  She stated, "When we believe in the power that we each have, we have the greatest power of all."  If one 17-year-old girl can inspire youth around the world to donate $10 million to hurricane Katrina relief, imagine what 1,500 young Jewish adults can and WILL do!

What happens in Las Vegas should NEVER stay in Las Vegas!

The Jewish Federations of North America (JFNA) President and CEO Jerry Silverman said it best when he stated, "It is not about just being at TribeFest, it is about taking the energy, the conversations and the excitement and bringing it home.  It is there that the real work begins." 

Got it?  Good!  Now stop sitting here reading and go change the world!

A couple of weeks ago the blogosphere, twitterverse and day time TV world went ballistic over an article written by Dara-Lynn Weiss in the April issue of Vogue Magazine about how she had put her seven year old daughter on a diet and her strict methods of enforcing the diet’s rules.

I began reading the comments and some of the heartbreaking essays about women who never recovered from their own childhoods of being forced to diet. Throughout my inventory of the internet to read more and more about this issue, one thing did cross my mind, it was clear that most of the bloggers, tweeters, and even some of the reporters on the talk shows never read Ms. Lynn Weiss’ article. They were ready to damn her based on brief quotes and others’ opinions.

So I’ve wanted to write about this article, I decided I wouldn’t until I actually read the entire article. Today at lunch, I snuck off and for the first time in my life bought a copy of Vogue and read. (Does anyone want a Vogue, by the way?)

One of the reasons I became so interested is that by the time I was 17, I had probably been on at least 15 different diets. There are many more salacious details I could and won’t recount for you here, but suffice it to say, my issues with food began from the age of seven (or earlier). I have never had a normal relationship with food, and maybe I never will. This toxic relationship has depleted me emotionally, physically and financially.

Given all of that, I have some sympathy for the demonized Ms. Weiss because she has similar food issues to me, as she recounts in the piece, and they are not fun. Also, therefore, as she admits, helping a child who was overweight and eventually obese was an almost impossible task. Ms. Weiss did facilitate her daughter to lose 16 pounds, but almost every commentator would agree that her methods were questionable and that her daughter is at high risk for an eating disorder down the line. Again, Ms. Weiss admits to this. If anything, her article is honest.

By age three, Ms. Weiss’ daughter did develop disordered eating, although it’s not labeled that in the article, just described. Her daughter’s pre-school teacher told Ms. Weiss that her daughter did not “self-regulate” her food intake and Ms. Weiss said she would eat adult size portions. I just wish at that point Ms. Weiss would have inquired as to why this was true, rather than begin the process of worrying (maybe even obsessing) about her daughter’s future obesity. Why was her daughter so hungry? She ruled out metabolic problems, but what was causing her hunger physiologically or more likely psychologically, and how could she work on finding a healthier replacement for whatever the food was compensating for. Yes, even, perhaps especially these questions should have been asked for an overweight three year old.

As someone who hopes to have kids in the next few years, I have already started to think about and address these issues. How will I feed a child when I don’t know how to feed myself? What I’ve figured out is to look to my brother and sister-in-law, who seem to do a great job with their kids. They taught them about nutrition as fuel from an early age and have fed them as such. They allow them to eat sweets, but in appropriate portions and in moderation. They try to make sure that their kids have plenty of time to be active indoors and outdoors. (They also live in the city).

I write this the day before Passover, a difficult night for anyone with issues with food given the feast that takes place at the Seder. And although I’m not certain that Ms. Weiss is Jewish, if she is, I hope that she can look at the Haggadah and figure out a way to be freed from the yolk of eating issues and help her daughter do the same. And instead of giving her daughter a look (if you have ever gotten the look, you know it) if she takes an extra helping of charoset, instead schedule a nice long walk together in Central Park over the weekend.

I’d been circling the cruise ship looking for my family before I gave up and seated myself alone with a plate of cooked carrots, egg salad, lettuce, tomato and a glass of water. I was feeling sorry for myself. I don’t like eating alone. It makes me feel sad. I also was convinced no one was looking for me, which felt even worse.

“You were in the hot tub yesterday.” I turned my head towards the voice. Two seats over from me was a man who looked to be in his mid-60s, his face reddened from the sun. I scrunched my eyes at him and then I remembered.

“Oh. Right. Yeah,” I replied.

“Yeah, I was there with my grandkids and you were there with your kids,” he said.

“Right, I was. So you’re here with your family?”

“Yup. Here with my grandkids, my three daughters and my son-in-law. I’ve taken them on four cruises. But this is the last one.”

“Last one? Why? Had it with cruising?”

“No. I’ve had it with my family not being appreciative. I got one of my kids a brand new car and they said, ‘Thanks. I hate the color. Can you take it back?’ And this morning, I took my grandson mini golfing and he didn’t like how it was going so he threw his golf club down and left me there. My daughters, they, I dunno. It’s not that they disappoint me. I try to point them in the right direction. I say, ‘Don’t do this. Don’t do that.’ Do they listen? Of course not. They do what they want. And then they get into trouble. So I learned a long time ago, don’t let people in too close. Like my grandkids. I love them to death, but I’ll always keep some space between us, because if I let them in too close, I’ll get hurt. Yeah. I learned that a long time ago.

"The other night on the boat my girls all took a picture together. They were all dressed up. They looked so beautiful! I had to fight like heck not to cry all over the place. I thought to myself, this is so beautiful! I felt so happy. I told them, ‘You gotta get me a copy. I need that picture!’ Because, you know, that picture looked like everything I ever wanted. And then my daughter told me the picture would be better if my son were in it. I told her, maybe someday. Maybe someday he’ll get it together and he’ll be in it. But for now, well, he’s in jail. It’ll be four years in May and then he’ll be out. I saw him once. Once. This past Christmas Eve I saw him. And I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe… maybe some kind of remorse. So he said all the right things, but I could tell from his body language he wasn’t remorseful. He wasn’t sorry. Maybe he’s been hardened from the whole thing. I dunno. But I know I wished he’d seemed sorry. More sorry then he acted anyhow.

"I grew up tough. Both my parents were tough. Lots of violence and yelling and that sort of thing. Not a lot of love in my house growin’ up. My daughter told me she didn’t want me to be involved with her kids the way my parents were with mine. My kids don’t remember them. When I was a kid, I barely saw my grandparents. You’d see ‘em once or twice a year and they’d take you out for a malted and you thought they were the greatest. It was really special because otherwise you never saw them. Once or twice a year – that was it.

"My youngest daughter, when she was just a little girl she got cancer. And that changes you. Let me tell you. That changes you in a second! And so I spoiled her. She was my little girl and she was my easiest and I spoiled her. I didn’t think I spoiled her too much, but I dunno. Then when she turned 17, in the first two minutes she met this boy and I said to her, in front of his face I said to her, ‘Really? Are you joking?’ But she was blinded by this guy and he said, ‘So? And? Who are you?’ And he stuck around. He stuck around until I got rid of him. It took me beating the guy silly.”

“He left?” I said.

“Yeah he left! He’s in jail! And he’ll be there for a long time. And I went to jail getting rid of him. I’ve done my job. I’ve done the best I can. It’s upsetting when your kids make the wrong choices. It’d be OK if it wasn’t for the worry.” He said.

“Well, people who don’t want to worry shouldn’t have kids, right?” I said.

“Yeah. That’s the truth. I wish I’d read that book before this all started.” Laughter.

“I know I’m a lot younger, I’m not a grandparent and you’ve had a lot more living than me for sure. But speaking to you as a daughter, I think if you go back to the moment you saw the picture of your girls, and you tell your girls how much love it brought up in you, that feeling will stick with them. You seem like a good man with your guard up for good reason. But I can tell you, hearing a dad say what you said to me, it means something. It can change things. It can make things better. It’s not too late for things to be different.”

“You know… geeze! I haven’t talked about this stuff in, I dunno… years! Well, I always say after the last family trip, ‘This is it!’ No more!’ But then halfway through the year my daughters start talking about a trip again and I say, ‘Eh, what the hell!’ and I give my oldest my credit card and tell her to plan it all. Then the bill comes, I pay it and everyone’s had a nice vacation. Like I said, I did the best I could. You’re a good listener. So, what’s your deal?”

I see my son about five feet from me at the dessert bar. I call him over with my other three kids trailing behind like ducks in a row. “Can I sit on your yap?” my daughter asks. “Yes, you can sit on my ‘yap.’” The man smiles and makes small talk with the kids for a few minutes before standing up to leave. “Well, I guess I’ll go find my family.” the man says. “It’s been a real pleasure talkin’ to you. A real pleasure…” And with a wink and a smile, he was gone.

Hand and hand go the joys and pains of life. No matter how hard we try to shore ourselves up, we get hurt, we get disappointed, we disappoint, we have regret. But living is about all that. It’s messy. And it’s wonderful. Sometimes we’re sitting alone, feeling sorry for ourselves when we realize we were never really alone at all. Sometimes you just need to make a little space at your table for a stranger to be reminded. To be reminded that hope floats.

Two months ago, I promised to write about men’s spring fashion as a follow-up to my women’s spring fashion post. This proved to be more difficult than women’s because I’m much more tuned in to women’s wear and accessories. Nonetheless, I enlisted the help of my boyfriend who, luckily, is an amicable and fun shopper and I noticed a few great looks to help carry guys through the spring and transition them into summer.

We went on a shopping excursion this past weekend and then, like last time, I perused my various daily emails from stores to select a handful of key seasonal items (not necessarily frugal, but also not astronomically priced) that can get Chicago men (or really men anywhere!) through this spring classically, but with a little edge.

Here goes:

1. No one can argue that Burberry is classic and always a smart choice for a casual yet pulled-together look. Also, I absolutely love a guy in a nice button down. What makes this one so special is that it’s linen and therefore more relaxed looking than the typical Oxford shirt; which is the perfect look for spring/summer. Check out this Burberry shirt on Bloomingdales.com.

2. As we continue on, you will notice that I use examples from Club Monaco often. I love Club Monaco because its look, for men and women, tends to be consistently versatile with attractive neutral tones and fabric weights perfect for layering. Check out this sharp sport coat. It can be worn formal, as CM says, to a wedding, but I also think it looks great tacked onto a shorts outfit for a casual night out on the town (see model example). I love this sport coat because it gives the same spring/summer look as the classic linen blazer, but is more tailored and fitted than linen.

3. Hats are big this season! They add nice finesse to an otherwise ordinary outfit. My boyfriend and I went to the Gap this weekend where he tried on various hat options. He eventually settled on their soft newsboy hat in “true black” but we liked their overall selection.

4. Lastly, also from the Gap are these classic but slightly edgy slim fit khakis which come in multiple color options. Unfortunately, I could not get my boyfriend to try these on (I think “slim fit” seemed scary) but I still recommend them for a crisp and clean, yet fun spring/summer look. The “roseberry” and “crystal blue dusk” colors are my favorite and in my opinion, the most versatile.

This past weekend 550 young adult cancer survivors, supporters, caregivers and loved ones gathered in Las Vegas to listen, learn, support, and grow.

Our hope was coupled with fear.

Our strength was coupled with fragility.

Our honesty was coupled with insecurity.

While cancer may have been the reason we were brought together, she was also responsible for tearing us apart.

Are you in treatment?

Are you in remission?

Have you had recurrence?

Are you cured?

We were labeling, categorizing, and inevitably separating each other into manageable groups.

And as we separated this disease into her many shades of grey, it became apparent that it was the desire to make change, the desire to live in spite of cancer that united us, that guided us, and instilled a sense of community and hope amongst a sea of strangers.

As we were repeatedly stripped down to our most vulnerable selves, we confronted our darkest fears, and tiptoed into our hopes and dreams.

The same disease that left my body after two rounds of chemotherapy, took a brother at the age of 34, and a daughter at the age of 26.

The same disease that brought me strength and clarity, caused others repeated pain, devastation and hardship.

It was one conference but not one voice.

It was one disease but not one outcome.

It was one journey but not one story.

As a young adult cancer survivor it is my hope that we continue to share our stories, continue to share our voice, and continue to give a face to cancer.

Through sharing comes strength, through sharing comes bravery, through sharing comes community, and through sharing comes hope.

I hope you will join me.

My brother and me with our lovely sister

This issue, I have something very special to toast!

On March 24th, the first day of Nissan 5772, my sister Hayley married her longtime boyfriend and best friend, Brad Kessler. It was an enchanting weekend at the Four Seasons here in Chicago, and it began with a long, monotonous wedding rehearsal. Yay.

All the boringness aside, I always wondered what it was like to participate in a wedding. I have not been to many in my adult life, let alone been a part of one. It was a great experience and I really felt a part of something special the whole weekend. The hotel was so accommodating and exquisite, the wedding party itself was full of caring and happy friends and relatives eager to celebrate the union, and the bride and groom were on cloud nine. It was as if time was suspended, for just a little while, to allow these two to soak up every bit of this magical moment. You could see the sparkles in their eyes the whole way through. It was worth the long rehearsal, the tux purchase and fittings, the myriad of speech drafts. I was so glad to be a part of it.

The rehearsal dinner at Joe’s Stone Crab was quite a memorable experience, to say the least. To make a long story short, when one of Brad’s longtime best friends and groomsman gave his speech. When he began, many of us at the bride and groom’s table, including the bride and groom themselves, exchanged nervous glances, wondering where this speech was going. This particular friend of Brad’s was known for pranks. He didn’t disappoint.

A loud voice was heard from the back of the room. We all turned to look as a man dressed and sounding like Martin Luther King, Jr., walked to the front of the room, reciting word for word the famous “I Have A Dream” speech in front of the whole group. There he was, a stranger giving an amazing rendition of this famous speech, while the best friend stood in the background, looking cool, nodding his head and interjecting with the “mmm-hmms” and “oh yeahs” you’d expect. The rest of us were caught between listening intently and trying not to crack up. Apparently, this was Brad’s favorite speech and it was his best friend’s tribute to him. As touching as it was, we were all certainly caught off guard. The man finished his speech, we all gave him a standing ovation, and the night continued.

And the party...let’s not forget the party! Since the wedding was so late, we did not finish the ceremony until close to 9pm! As we exited the ballroom to wait patiently for the resetting and the band to set up, everyone got to enjoy some tasty appetizers. They went fast! Mac and cheese balls, mini sliders, truffle french fries and mini corn dogs were some of the awesome bites offered. Everyone was having a great time mingling and enjoying themselves. As time passed, I noticed that the busiest areas of the room were where the bars were, and that got me very excited.

Now, all of my avid readers would know that no celebration of this magnitude would be without a specialty cocktail to match. I was honored when Brad and Hayley asked me to create a cocktail to celebrate their nuptials. I thought back to one of our recent couples’ dinners and recalled how much the two of them loved to drink sangria. From that recipe, combined with inspiration from the traditional Spanish sangria, “Sweet Beginnings” was born. You can make this at home for yourself or for any summer occasion. Notice that the sparkling wine used is Spanish as well, keeping to the rustic traditional theme as much as possible. I hope it brings as much joy and happiness as it did to the bride and groom. They absolutely loved it!

Sweet Beginnings (recipe for 10)

1 bottle (1.5 liters) dry Spanish red wine (Shiraz, Rioja)
⅓ - ½ cup brandy (blackberry preferred)
⅓ cup Cointreau
2 tablespoons honey, TO TASTE
2 nectarines or peaches, pitted and cut into wedges
½ pineapple, diced
12 strawberries, cut in half or diced
2 kiwis, diced or thinly sliced
2 apples, skin on, diced (optional)
1 ½ cups fresh orange juice
3 lemons, juiced
2 limes, juiced
Ice cubes
CAVA sparkling wine
Garnishes: diced fruits stirred into the sangria: lemon, lime, peach, strawberry, orange, pineapple, apple

In a pitcher, combine wine, orange juice, brandy, cointreau and sugar; stir until sugar dissolves. Stir in fruit (not garnishes!). Cover and refrigerate until well chilled, at least 3 hours (or overnight). If left overnight, strain old fruit out and add fresh fruit garnishes and stir well before serving. Serve in punch bowl. In individual servings, fill half the glass with ice pour sangria, then top off with 1-2 oz of Cava.

So, to my sister and her husband: I am so happy for the two of you and wish you all the happiness you can imagine and a long and healthy life together as a couple. L’Chaim!

I know many home cooks who make elaborate Passover meals for an insane number of family members, friends, and those in their community who do not have their own seders or Shabbat Passover dinners. These cooks create meals that feature course upon course of delicious and complicated food ornately displayed on platters with garnishes garnishing the garnishes. As a chef, I am impressed and blown away by the care and time taken to prepare the festive meals. As a mom and home cook, I am puzzled by the plethora of dishes and platters. Where do they keep all this stuff? These meals are sumptuous and elegant until dessert.

Dessert for a professional chef is understood to be the last bite of food that is meant to speak to the guest. It is the final message that says who we are and how we feel about you, the diner. For home cooks, it can be the final straw. I have been taken to heights of tongue titillating ecstasy with appetizers, soups, and entrees only to be dashed to the ground by a packaged, store-bought or worse yet, flown in from a faraway bakery, a Pesadich disaster. Who could blame the cook? Making huge dinners for large numbers of hungry guests and then you throw the Passover restrictions into the mix and it not hard to see why dessert is the final frontier. The place that no one wants to go!

Most of these disasters are disastrous because the cook/bakery thought it would be a good idea to mimic a cake or other pastry normally made delicious when all ingredients are fair game but during Passover the cupboard is bare or at least really sparse and many desserts are off limits. Ersatz ingredients are not good substitutes. My Passover philosophy is this: If I wouldn't eat it during the rest of the year, I'm not going to eat it during Pesach. I would much rather truly mark this time as one separate from the rest of the year, and go eight days without cake, brownies, and pie than use ersatz ingredients. The secret to good desserts during Pesach is to understand your ingredients and how they work.

The Feast of Unleavened Bread is confusing to many people. I know experienced cooks and observant Jews who do not understand how a cake recipe for Passover can include baking powder and baking soda and not be considered leavened. I know many people who think that we can only eat "flat" food during Passover.

It is common to think that the options during the holiday do not include delicate, fluffy, and lovely cakes, but they do!

There are a lot of misconceptions about leavening and what differentiates leavened food from unleavened food. These are the four different types of leaveners.

Understanding Leavening:

Biological leaveners
Typically yeast, also beer, kefir, sourdough starter, yogurt are in this category.

Yeast produces carbon dioxide which is part of the organism's life cycle called fermentation. The process of fermentation is one in which carbon dioxide is released in the form of foam or bubbles which create air pockets which when mixed with starch form a sponge-like matrix that gelatinizes and "sets" the holes left by the gas bubbles. Ethanol is a waste product of yeast and adds character and flavor to the end product. These leaveners are not permitted during Passover. While kosher for Passover yogurt can be eaten during Passover, it may not be combined with wheat.

Chemical leaveners
Common chemical leaveners are baking soda and baking powder

Chemical leaveners rely upon heat and acid in the batters and doughs to activate. A balance of acid and alkali with heat cause the chemical leaveners to give off carbon dioxide. These leaveners are usually used in cakes, quick breads, and cookies when a prolonged fermentation would be undesirable or not practical. These leaveners are permitted during Passover.

Mechanical leaveners
Rapid whisking and beating air into food with the aid of a whisk and/or mixer.

Creaming is the process of beating air into sugar and fat. The sharp sugar crystals cut holes into the fat structure leaving air pockets in the fat. Whipping egg whites and whole eggs creates a foaming action that produces a sponge type of matrix that supports batters and custards (think of soufflés and chiffon cakes).

Most home cooks have employed a mechanical leavener when beating eggs and sugar to a "ribbon" stage in baking or when whisking together egg whites to lighten matzo balls. This type of leavening is commonly used in baking and is permissible during Passover.

Other leaveners
Steam can leaven cakes and puddings, and nitrous oxide forces air into whipped cream which, when whipped, can be folded into batters.

Kosher For Passover and throughout the year:

Vanilla Beans

One of the greatest joys when baking is adding the vanilla. I love the aroma with its floral bouquet. Suddenly the simplest recipe becomes a gourmet treat. When my sons were very young, I would perch them on the counter next to where I was cooking and let them smell the ingredients going into the dish. My oldest son, Zachary's eyes would light up and he would announce 'smells like yummy in here,' when I pulled the vanilla extract out of the cabinet.

Vanilla is a flavoring derived from an orchid native to Mexico. Vanilla is the second most expensive spice after saffron due to the extensive labor needed to grow the plants and harvest the seed pods.

Vanilla is used mainly in the cosmetic and culinary industries. Vanilla is available for culinary use as a whole pod or bean, a powder, extract or paste.

Vanilla beans or pods are not kitniyot (foods avoided during Passover) and are considered by the highest level or rabbinic supervision to be allowed for use during Passover.

Vanilla beans deliver an assertive vanilla flavor and when split open and scraped add small black specks or seeds. The seeds are edible and are considered a gourmet touch. I use vanilla beans in my flans, crème brulees, and homemade ice creams during the holiday and year round. Vanilla beans do not require kosher supervision.

Vanilla extract is an effective way of adding vanilla flavor to a recipe. Vanilla extract contains at least 35% alcohol which evaporates during cooking. Vanilla extract requires kosher supervision.

Vanilla powder is a mixture of vanilla pods, sugar and starch. Vanilla Powder is not kosher for Passover.

Vanilla paste is a mixture of vanilla pods and corn syrup. Vanilla paste is not kosher for Passover.

While kosher for Passover vanilla extract is available, the quality of the product is not great. The vanilla is inferior and the product is very expensive. Many of the kosher for Passover extracts contain artificial vanilla flavor and artificial color added and blended with real vanilla.

For my Passover baking I prefer to go with the real thing and I reach for whole vanilla beans. A high quality vanilla bean should be shiny, plump and moist. To use a vanilla bean: When you are ready to add the vanilla to your recipe, use a sharp paring knife to slice the bean in half lengthwise, about 7/8 of the way. Scrape the seeds from each half of the bean and add them to your ingredients.

Generally, one inch of whole vanilla bean equals one teaspoon of extract. You may not need the whole bean for a particular recipe. You can store your vanilla bean covered in a jar away from light. Do not store vanilla beans in the freezer or refrigerator. They may become dry and brittle.

When you have scraped the entire bean, save the pod. I like to save used pods in my sugar container. All my sugar has a faint vanilla fragrance. Vanilla beans are available in most grocery stores or online.

Chocolate Mousse with Extra Virgin Olive Oil

This recipe is magical. You can serve it as a mousse, as a frozen dessert, or baked as a flourless chocolate cake! One recipe gives you 3 different desserts. In previous years, Passover chocolate was not of a high quality, now we can eat chocolate desserts with newer chocolates made without lecithin (a soy product and not kosher for Passover) and still with a high cacao content.

Serves 10

7 ounces best quality semisweet or bittersweet chocolate (for Passover, I only use Schmerling's 70%)
½ cup mild extra virgin olive oil
4 large eggs, separated
¾ cup kosher for Passover confectioners' sugar
⅓ cup brewed espresso, or water
1 vanilla bean, scraped
2 tablespoons kosher for Passover rum or other liqueur or water

1. In a small saucepan, melt chocolate over very low heat. Remove from heat, let cool to room temperature, add the olive oil, and mix well.

2. In a bowl, combine the egg yolks and sugar and whisk until foamy. Add espresso or water, vanilla bean and liqueur. Whisk until well blended. Add the chocolate mixture and whisk together until well blended. Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula.

3. Using a standing mixer, or a hand-held mixer, beat the egg whites until they form stiff peaks. Scoop about one-third of the egg whites and fold into the chocolate mixture with a rubber spatula. Repeat with half of the remaining egg whites. Finally, fold in remaining egg whites until no white streaks remain visible.

4. Transfer mousse to a 10 inch spring form pan, bowl, or individual serving glasses. Cover and refrigerate for at least 8 hours, or overnight. Alternately for a frozen chocolate terrine, mousse can be frozen for at least 5 hours or for up to 3 days. To bake the mousse into a flourless chocolate cake: Preheat oven to 350. Line a springform pan with parchment paper and lightly grease the parchment paper and sides of the pan and then sprinkle the parchment paper and sides with cocoa powder. (All 100% cocoa powder is kosher for Passover) Bake for 30-40 minutes or until a toothpick, inserted, comes out clean. Cool completely before unmolding.

5. Remove the mousse from the refrigerator or freezer, serve as desired. Frozen mousse can be sliced and served like a cake. If freezing the mousse, allow to soften slightly before serving.

6. For added elegance, garnish with a flaky sea salt.

Serve with seasonal fresh fruit.

Clementine Confiture

Passover straddles winter and spring with in-season produce being scanty. But, fresh Mandarin oranges are easy to find and are often sweeter this time of year.

Mandarin oranges are a group of small citrus that include tangerines, Clementines and Satsumas. The fresh mini citrus are brightly flavored and sparkling. You can supreme* them just as you would any other citrus. If you love Mandarin Oranges as much as I do, you can make this brightly flavored and ooey-gooey confit and hang on to the season for just a bit longer.

Serve the confit as a charoset variation by adding chopped pistachios or almonds, pile it on matzoh schmeared with cream cheese, dollop on top of your favorite cheesecake, serve it with a cheese platter, on top of pancakes, or with duck to make my favorite modern Duck a la'Orange .

4 cups sugar
2 cups water
1 pound Clementine tangerines or other Mandarin oranges, cut in half

1. Place a large saucepan over medium heat. Bring the sugar and water to a simmer. Add the tangerines. Cook over medium heat until the tangerines are very soft and the liquid has become a jelly consistency (about 1 hour). Check the "set point" of the jellied confit by drizzling a spoonful; of the juice on to a plate and placing the plate in the refrigerator for 10 minutes. If the juice is thick and not runny, the confit is finished. If it is still runny, continue simmering for another 10 minutes and check again.

2. Store the Confiture, covered in the refrigerator for up to 2 months.

*The beautiful citrus sections or supremes-in French-look picture perfect on a plate and are easy to cut.

Start with a sharp paring knife and cutting board. Cut off a small section from the top and bottom of the fruit. This will give the fruit stability and keep it from rolling around.

Cut down the rind from top to bottom following the curve of the fruit. The goal is to remove the rind and the pith (white bitter part) but not the fruit. Continue until all of the rind has been cut off.

Hold the fruit in one hand and cut ½ into the fruit at one of the dividing membranes. Cut on the other side of the segment along the membrane. This should release the segment or supreme. Continue until all of segments are cut out. Squeeze the juice into a bowl and discard the membranes.

Laura Frankel is the executive chef of Spertus Kosher Catering featuring cuisine by Wolfgang Puck at the Spertus Institute for Jewish Studies in Chicago. Visit Laura Frankel's website at www.lauraskosher.com.

I'm writing this post fresh off the plane from a trip to Vegas. And despite how the old saying goes, this time, I hope what happened in Vegas won't stay there.

You see, for the past three days, I joined over 1,500 young Jews representing 81 communities throughout North America as we literally took over the Venetian Hotel in Vegas for JFNA's second annual TribeFest. There is something so cool about walking around a gigantic hotel and recognizing members of your community in the elevators, at the blackjack table and all around you. After spending three days and nights learning, networking and partying with my peers, I am physically exhausted, but mentally and spiritually, I feel energized and invigorated.

I've only been back a mere 24 hours, and aside from needing a good night's sleep, I also feel a need to take some time away from this experience, to step back and fully process everything. I wanted to share my initial reactions with you here, but you can find an in-depth piece with specific details on the speakers and program in the May issue of JUF News.

I have to say that I was a little anxious going into TribeFest. I knew with Las Vegas as the backdrop, this would not be your typical conference and I wasn't sure what to expect from the programming or the people. I was pleasantly surprised by both.

During the days we heard from incredibly powerful speakers, who inspired us to take action, get involved—who let us know that the actions of one small person can make and impact, and that together we can change the world. We learned about the important work of Federation, and how to take responsibility for the future of our communities. We woke up early after a long night out to share our morning reading to a young child from an underfinanced Las Vegas school, to deliver them a gift of a backpack full of books. We talked to each other, face-to-face, and tweeted at the same time. We engaged in conversation, networked with our peers, made lasting connections.

Some of the Chicago TribeFest participants

At night we dressed up and bonded while dancing to Israeli bands, waiting in excruciatingly long lines to get into night clubs and around the roulette table. We met people we might never have otherwise. "Where are you guys from?" was a common conversation starter, often sparking this retort, "Oh, do you know so and so?" Somehow, in the oversized, overstimulated setting of a Vegas night club, our Jewish and social worlds seemed both larger and smaller at the same time. I reconnected with old friends from college who I hadn't seen in years, became friends with members of my own community who I hadn't yet had a chance to meet, and put faces to the names of the Jewish professionals I had heard of, or spoken to via email or over the phone.

At the closing session on Tuesday, we were shown a video of reactions to the trip by participants, which you can see on the TribeFest website. I found their sentiments echoed my own. As a group, we left feeling pumped up, filled with ideas, and encouraged by the video's message to take that momentum home to our respective communities, to ensure that for once, what happened in Vegas did not stay in Vegas.

(read What happens in Vegas Part II here)

Spice it up! Instead of adding salt, butter, or oil to your meals, add some flavor! My number one cooking tip— flavor lightly, you can always add more spice, but if you drop in too much Tabasco, it’s over. It’s also important to know what your guests are allergic to and what they don’t like. If I have someone coming over like my nephew Ryan who’s allergic to all nuts, I make sure to not even touch a peanut before I start cooking.

If you aren’t a big cook or don’t know where to start, look at the foods you like. I like to eat Italian, Asian, and Latin, so I spice it up accordingly. Here are some of my favorite spices for each region.

Italian:
Balsamic Vinegar
Basil
Garlic
Lemon Juice
Olive oil
Oregano
Parmesan Cheese
Romano Cheese
Rosemary
Thyme

Asian:
Agave Nectar (like honey but breaks down slower in your body)
Cashews/Peanuts
Coconut Milk
Curry Powder
Garlic
Ginger
Lemon Zest
Low Sodium Soy Sauce
Pepper
Red Chili Paste
Rice Wine Vinegar
Sesame Oil
Sesame Seeds

Latin:
Celery Seed
Chili Powder
Cinnamon
Curry Powder
Garlic
Lemon Pepper
Lime Juice
Onion Flakes
Paprika
Parsley
Red Pepper Flakes
Smoked Paprika

Building Flavor
Most of my dishes start with a fresh onion and some jarred minced garlic. Then I dash in some of the above seasonings. I love boxed tomatoes— if I’m cooking Italian or Latin, I will cook them with the onion and garlic, and toss in whatever veggies I have in the house. Once the veggies are soft, I’ll take them out of the pan and then use that same pan to cook chicken, beef or fish. That helps add flavor. Another secret trick, if the spices and some veggies are stuck to the pan, I will pour a little wine or chicken stock in the pan to loosen it up. Those little bits add a ton of flavor.

If I’m cooking rice, pasta, or potato, I season them after they are done cooking. I like to season my noodles before I add any type of sauce. Since high blood pressure runs in my family I try to avoid cooking with salt. If I decide to add salt, it’s usually at the end of cooking. If you use kosher salt, it gives you a bigger flavor then table salt, and it’s easy to pinch a little of that into a dish.

Quick Grill
Grilling season is about to begin! You can create really healthy meals on the grill that taste great without a ton of calories. You should pay attention to what’s in the store bought marinades. Many of them are loaded with salt and sugar. A simple marinade is olive oil, pepper and garlic— try marinating your meat overnight. If you can’t do it overnight, 20 minutes before cooking works fine. If you have a sweet sauce that has honey or sugar, add it the last few minutes of grilling. If you add it to soon, the sugar will burn your food. I add more seasoning each time I flip whatever it is I’m cooking. If there’s a sale and I buy a bunch of extra meat, I’ll toss pepper, basil, and garlic on it before I freeze it. When you defrost it, it will already have a great aroma.

For more on spices, check out this video where I quickly talk about my 10 favorites:
1. Onion Flakes
2. Garlic Powder
3. Lemon Pepper
4. Celery Seed
5. Pepper
6. Basil
7. Rosemary
8. Curry
9. Ginger
10. Cinnamon

Let me know some of your favorite spices.

As a word buff (OK, fine, word geek), I read books on subjects like "words that have been forgotten" and "words that only exist in one language" and, most recently, "surprising origins of common words."

Turns out, many of the words we use as put-downs of certain types of people were actually once slurs against certain groups of people— foreigners, women, the poor, and those of a minority faith or a specific ethnic group. "Nazi" is rapidly sliding down this slippery slope from "a particular group of murderous, fascist bigots engaged in government-enforced genocide" to "anyone strict with a rule I think should be flexible." Here are some words that have already made this slide:

"Barbarian"
The Greeks said that non-Greek speakers sounded like they were just saying so many nonsense syllables: "bar-bar-bar." The rest of us got back at them, sorta, with the Shakespearean saying "It's all Greek to me," which means, "It may as well be gibberish for all I can understand it."

"Gyp"
To give someone less than what was promised. This word may be a slur against the Gypsy people, now more politely called the Roma, although that might also be a folk etymology. It's also possible it comes from a word for lowly kitchen workers, named after their tunics, called "gippos." (And isn't it interesting that they are called "Gypsies" because they were falsely thought to come from Egypt, when in fact they originate in India… while Native Americans were called "Indians" because they were falsely thought to come from India?)

"Jaywalker"
Crossing an intersection from, say, the southeast to the northwest corner is called this because another word for "out-of-towner" or "yokel" is "jay." Those new to city life, not knowing traffic laws, would intuitively cross an intersection in the most direct manner instead of at right angles.

"Vandalize"
Now meaning someone who defaces property, perhaps by spraying graffiti on a building, this word comes from a case of sore loser-ship. The original Vandals were "a member of a Germanic people who overran Gaul (ancient France), Spain, and northern Africa in the fourth and fifth centuries CE, and in 455 sacked Rome." The Roman response? To use their name as an insult.

"Welsh"
Obviously, a slur against the Welsh people. The word means "to renege on a debt." (Sometimes spelled "welch.") 

"Yankee"
This term, now meaning "American" (or "member of a rich baseball team"), has origins that are muddy at best. The best guess is that it was originally a slur against the Dutch by the English, who ran into each other in New Amsterdam and early New England. It either made fun of Dutch names… or their love of cheese. The term then broadened to include all New-Worlders, including the British colonists themselves, and the word was used to insult them by British loyalists once the Revolution got underway. The now-Americans embraced it instead.

"Bum"
Now replaced by the more polite "homeless person," the word originally mean "sponge, mooch," someone who was content to reap the benefit of others' work. Message? "You're poor because you're lazy."

"Cheat"
In English feudal law, land owned by a serf with no heirs would "escheat," or revert to the lord of that region. It is not surprising that those survivors not considered legal heirs would feel "cheated."

"Truant"
Now mostly confined to "a kid who routinely skips school" it was first another word for someone who did not work. It was assumed that they simply didn't want to, not that they were unemployable due to circumstances beyond their control. (See "Bum," above.)

"Vulgar"
It now means "tasteless, offensive," but once just meant "common, not noble." The "Vulgate," for example, is the standard Catholic bible, in the then-common language of Latin.

"Dodger"
This baseball team name embraces a slur against certain New Yorkers. Because Brooklynites had to run between streetcars to cross the street, Manhattanites dubbed them "trolley-dodgers." A far cry from today, when public transportation is hailed as solution for everything from traffic jams to pollution.

"Dude"
As in "dude ranch." The laid-back ranchers at these ranches liked to mock stuffy, dirt-averse city folk who came to play cowboy as "dudes," which meant "dandies."

"Heathen"
Now a word meaning "someone yet unconverted to a given faith," it comes from the word "heath," and referred to someone living outside the city.

"Savage"
Today, this means "ferocious." But it comes from a word simply meaning "forest related" or "forest dwelling."

"Hysterical"
The root "hyster"— as in "hysterectomy"— means "uterus." When a woman was accused of acting with heightened emotions, regardless of the reason (which may have been legitimate!), this was attributed to uterus-related problems. (Relatedly, "lunatic" comes from the same word as "lunar," meaning "moon-related"; the word "moon" gives us both "month" and "menstruate.")

"Prude"
Now someone puritanical and anti-fun, it originally meant simply a "good woman," a prudent, decent one… perhaps the female equivalent of a "mensch."

"Brute"
A crude and aggressive person. But first, an animal. As if all animals lacked grace and tenderness— didn't these people own horses and dogs? 

"Sinister"
This word means "evil, malicious"… but originally just meant "left-handed." Meanwhile, "dexterous," or "agile, skilled," meant "right-handed."

Other, older words that began in as slurs against a specific group include: "Scalawag," "Vagabond," "Blackguard," "Cad," "Knave," " Lout," "Rascal" "Rapscallion," "Rube," "Riffraff," "Cretin," and "Dunce."

I have nothing against denouncing bad behavior. But reprimands cross a line when they denounce someone for who they are, not what they did. As these words show how today's offensive, lawsuit-worthy, career-ending slurs can become tomorrow's generic insults. Bigotry against foreigners, the poor, and other minorities deeply impacts our speech and the way we think and act toward others we consider inferior.

Over St. Patrick’s Day weekend, while many flocked to the streets to enjoy the parades and then to the bars to enjoy a fresh pint of Guinness, I ran my first marathon. I crossed the finish line after four hours, 23 minutes and 12 seconds of beating up my body. I can’t tell you how I finished. I can tell you it hurt a lot, it wasn’t fun and I admittedly felt sick for a day from what I think was slight dehydration. I can also tell you, that I’ll likely do it again.

The day of the race— and the little bit of time that has passed since— has taught me two important lessons.

Lesson 1:

Marathon running is absolutely crazy. Unless you are some kind of elite athlete like the guy who won the race a full two hours ahead of me, it’s not a good workout. I’m not even sure our bodies are made to go through that abuse. Most importantly, there are plenty of good ways to spend four to five hours of your day other than running.

Those of you that have run 5K’s, 10K’s and even half marathons have probably finished feeling good, assuming you trained well. It probably took a couple of hours and you left feeling tired, but fulfilled after a good long workout. During the race, I felt very much the same way, as I passed the half marathon mark after two hours of running. Then I kept going for another 13.1 miles. As I kept going mile after mile, fatigue and pain set in more strongly. It went from fun-run to serious work. Soon I realized, there was only one reason to keep going: bragging rights.

The first lesson I learned was that the only good reason to run a marathon is to say that you have run a marathon.

Lesson 2:

I finished, collected my medal and post-race paraphernalia, stretched out and posed for a picture with a smile. I had finished in the time I had targeted and more importantly had bragging rights (see lesson 1). I had plenty to smile about.

Then over the next few days, I saw the likes, comments and messages stream in over Facebook. Never before had a post about an event or achievement in my life garnered such a huge response from my friends and family. Everyone was proud and excited to hear what had happened and how it had happened. Many commented specifically on how much of an inspiration I had been to them.

The second lesson was that running a marathon can really move and inspire others. The second lesson challenges the first lesson because it implies that maybe there is a good reason to run this thing after all: inspiring others.

We all have our marathons to run in life. They are the long races that push us beyond our limits and call us to do the things that other people cannot or will not do. I believe we should seek out these opportunities. When we finish marathons, whether they are literally 26.2 miles of running or the equivalent in some other arena of life, we get to say that we did. By saying we finished, we inspire others to do the same.

The author Marianne Williamson wrote in her book, A Return To Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. You playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

There is a new generation of wandering Jews. We are the child immigrants who came to the U.S. from the Soviet Union during Operation Exodus. We went to Shalom Sunday at the JCC, we and took ballet classes at Ballet Russe, we wore hand-me-downs from our American "volunteer families." We wore more layers than anyone else, talked to our grandparents every single day, ate smoked fish when everyone else ate peanut butter, we learned English and translated for our parents. We had finished pre-school and maybe even the first few grades in Soviet schools where we had learned that our nationality was "Jew." Then we came to America and were told that our nationality was "Russian" and that "Jew" is not a nationality. We were confused.

I can't speak for all of us, but there is definitely a group of Chicago-raised Russian-American-Jews who have spent our twenties in a search for meaning and identity. We graduated from college and went into many different fields. Whatever we did, our Babushkas bragged about it. Some of us stayed in Chicago, but many of us have lived all over the country and even the world and are now entering our thirties with a whole plethora of adventures behind us and many more ahead.

How did our quest start? I know it can't all be explained by our Jewish Refugee identity crisis. We are a part of the generation who graduated from college right in time for the post- 9/11 job drought, which sent many non-immigrant grads to law school or to ashrams in India. But our quest was special. We were brought up by parents who struggled. Many of them, like mine, were former Refuseniks who had lived through hardships which are completely outside of our capacity for relating. They came to this country with advanced engineering degrees, literature, violins and $90 per family member. They started out working in stores and nail salons and factories so we could have the choices and freedoms they hadn't had. They didn't teach us about the stock market, or saving for retirement, and they didn't have savings accounts for our college education, but they managed to help us anyway. Our families lived through our accomplishments and we were afraid of disappointing them, but we also wanted to take advantage of the American freedoms they had provided for us. So we packed up our degrees and went on a search. And they said, "Why are you going?"

In my case, I have lived in New York, Israel and most recently Texas. In Jerusalem I married an Argentinean boy who was on a similar journey and we had a beautiful baby girl. My travels and experiences have not only molded me into the adult I have become, but they have also inspired me and enriched my artwork. I started a business painting modern ketubahs and selling Judaica which allows me to merge my passion for art with my love of Hebrew and Jewish culture. On my journey I learned that who I am doesn't have to be defined by my religion or cultural identity, but it is very much enriched by it. As we raise our daughter I hope that I can infect her with the same curiosity, lust for life and eagerness to explore that my Chicago immigrant childhood fostered in me.

Anna Abramzon graduated in 2004 with a Bachelor of Fine Arts inPainting and Graphic DesignfromThe School of the Art Institute of Chicago.Anna now lives in Houston, Texas creating ketubot (illuminated marriage contracts), designing invitations and art for weddings, and various commissions. You can see her work at http://www.annaabramzon.com/ and www.AAketubah.com.

Yes, it’s Spring Training. Yes, the NCAA tournament has started. Yes, the NBA trade deadline just happened. But The Great Rabbino wants to give you something totally different. Meet Matt Baum and the American Ultimate Disc League. Enjoy! 

Tell us a little bit about yourself.
My name is Matt Baum. I am a 20 year old Jewish student at the University of Connecticut, and I grew up in New Rochelle, New York. I began playing rec league basketball and youth league baseball at a young age, and I've always been a pretty athletic kid, but loved playing music more than anything. I began taking piano lessons at a young age, and in elementary school began to play the saxophone. I played sax all through middle school and high school, and I am now a Jazz Studies major at UConn. I have also taught myself guitar, and I constantly think about music in everything I do. Being brought up around sports though, I always had that athletic outlet in basketball and baseball. 

When did you get involved with ultimate frisbee?
I actually began playing frisbee in middle school during lunch recess, but did not start playing ultimate until I got to high school. My junior year of high school, I saw a poster for the start of an ultimate frisbee club. I went to a few meetings and practices, and immediately became obsessed. I wasn't great in high school, but it was a good way to start playing the sport. I got involved with the ultimate team at UConn (our team name is GRIND) as soon as I began my freshman year, and have been playing ever since. I also played for the club team "Slow Children" this past summer, which gave me a ton of experience with high level ultimate. 

What is the American Ultimate Disc League? How did you get involved?
The AUDL is a new league that was recently formed, with the main goal of making Ultimate more accessible and spreading the sport to take it to new heights that the sport has never been to before. The AUDL is doing a ton of promotion and marketing with the main goal of making the sport more mainstream. I got involved after hearing a little bit about it from my teammates, my coach, and other ultimate players. When I first heard about the league, I did not think too much of it. I really did not think that it would be as big as it is today. A few weeks ago, my UConn coachinsisted on a bunch of the UConn guys going to the open tryouts that the Connecticut Constitution were holding. We had nothing to lose, so about 15 of us went. Four of us were invited to the second round of tryouts, and three of us were invited back to the third and final round of tryouts. Those three players, myself included, all ended up making the team. 

What are the Connecticut Constitutions chances of winning it all?
I think that the Constitution's chances of winning it all are really good! Next to all of the pure athleticism and talent that we have, our team chemistry is like nothing I've ever been a part of before. Every single guy on the team is incredibly nice, supportive of each other, and has a desire to win that is unparalleled by other athletes. I could not think of a better and more talented group of guys to play with. 

How can more people get involved?
More people can get involved by coming to some of the clinics that the Constitution will be holding throughout the season and by contacting the team. The absolute best way to get involved though is to come to a game.

Where do you think the league will be in 10 years?
In 10 years, I see the AUDL becoming huge. I can see this league blowing up and become a national thing. I'm thinking specials and full games covered on ESPN or some other national network. It definitely has the potential to become that big.

What are your aspirations for yourself and team?
I always aspire to become a better player in every aspect, but as a team, I would love to see us win the championship in the inaugural season of the league. I know that I am part of something special here, and I am really looking forward to an incredible experience.

Thank you to Matt. And good luck.

And Let Us Say...Amen.